The Council House (The Impoverished Book 3)

by Frances Fletcher

  “The lieu is briefing the chief of detectives and the borough chief on everything.” Richie shuffled file folders until he found the one he wanted. “The DA wants all our original files. We have under an hour to photocopy all this.”

  Mel gazed at the files piled on his desk and her eyes widened. “What should I copy first?”

  He handed her the thickest file.

  “Get the next file ready.” She cleared her desk. “I’ll pile the copies right here. And you could label new folders.”

  He smiled. Mel always knew the best way to help. They’d get this done in no time.

  When the last report had been copied, Richie shoved all the copied files into his bottom desk drawer. And just as Mel was tucking the last original file into a carton, the DA’s Office detective arrived to pick it up.

  After the detective left, Richie took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “Mel, would you organize the files for me? I just shoved them in my drawer half-assed. After lunch, we could work on the link diagram.”

  “Okie doke.” She walked around to his desk. “Trade seats with me.” She began rearranging folders. Ten minutes later, she held up a few pieces of paper. “All done, except for these loose pages. I don’t know where to file them.”

  “Let’s see,” he said and stretched over their desks to take the papers. He glanced at them. “It’s the list of text message subscribers who received the warning message about the attacks. I forgot to make copies for the DA.” He stepped to the copier and fed in the pages one by one. “Holy shit.” He recognized the first recipient’s number and ran back to his desk to make sure. Thank goodness Lieutenant Jordan gave him a heads up to copy all the files or he’d never have been able to confirm this.

  Mel got out of his way and then hovered over him as he pulled Moen Pindar’s folder from the drawer.

  “Look, Mel.” He pointed to Moen Pindar’s cell number and then to the first subscriber’s number. He shuffled through another file folder and pulled out the list Todd Wilson had given him. “The men from Moving Systems received the same warning text message. Two hours before the first plane hit. That’s why they were waiting, video camera rolling, for the planes to fly into the twin towers.”

  “Oh my God.” Mel slumped back into Richie’s chair. “This proves the Mossad had foreknowledge and didn’t warn us.”

  Richie sat on the edge of his desk and looked at her. “Mel, it proves more than that. The Mossad was involved in the attacks.”

  She looked at him and shrugged. “They definitely knew about the attacks that morning, before it happened, but are you sure they were involved in the planning or execution stages?”

  “The Mossad agents knew what time the planes were going to smash into the towers. Then they waited for them to collapse. They had to know explosives were planted in the buildings.” He filled her in on what he’d learned over the weekend about the Moving Systems warehouse involvement in the Day of Terror plot and Claremont Salvage upgrading its facilities before the attacks.

  She put her head on the desk. “What are we up against?”

  “It will all come out in Dewer Rock and Moen Pindar’s trial.” He labeled a new folder and slid the copies inside. He tapped the top of her head with the folder. “Cheer up shorty, we’ll get the originals to the DA’s Office when we go out for lunch. It’s more ammo for court.”

  She lifted her head. “Let’s check with the lieu first.”

  Richie followed Mel into Lieutenant Jordan’s office and heard footsteps from behind.

  “Atten-hut!” The lieutenant jumped to his feet, arms stiff at his sides.

  Richie and Mel stood at attention as the uniformed borough chief and plain-clothed chief of detectives entered the office.

  “At ease, men.” The borough chief took a seat and the chief of detective’s sat next to him. “Thank you for the brief over the phone, Lieutenant. I wanted to meet the detectives involved face to face.” He looked at Richie and then Mel. “Before I jeopardize my career with the fallout.”

  The chief of detectives shook Richie’s hand and then Mel’s. “I’ll vouch for them. I gave them their shields because they earned them.”

  Richie swallowed and Mel’s cheeks turned red.

  “Your recommendation is good enough for me.” The borough chief slipped a piece of paper across the desk. He looked at Richie and Mel. “Dot all your i’s and cross all your t’s. Do not give Dewer Rock’s attorneys the chance to get him off again.”

  “Excuse me Chief, did you say again?” Richie asked. “There’s no history of Dewer Rock being arrested, ticketed, or under investigation—ever. Not in our records or the FBI’s, or in historical newspaper articles. There’s nothing anywhere, Chief, I checked thoroughly.”

  “This won’t be the first time our department will bring charges against him.” The chief’s eyes narrowed. “I locked him up myself when I was a rookie. All my paperwork disappeared. Even my memo book went south.” He tapped the paper he had placed on the lieutenant’s desk. “These are our cell numbers. It’s going to get hairy. You’ll need them.”

  Lieutenant Jordan picked up the paper. “May I enter the numbers into the contact list on my cell phone?”

  The chief nodded. “And the detectives should do the same. Notify each of us as soon as you schedule the arrests. We’ll respond to the scene.”

  “Yes, sir.” He entered the numbers into his phone. “Thank you both. We appreciate the support.” He passed the paper to Richie and the desk phone rang. Jordan read the caller identification display. “It’s the DA.”

  “Take the call.” The chief of detectives nodded at Richie and Mel. “Good work, detectives.”

  Jordan’s forehead wrinkled as he listened, he mumbled something, and then slammed the receiver onto the cradle. “The DA is convening a grand jury before he issues arrest warrants for Dewer Rock and Moen Pindar.”

  No! They were so close. Richie rested an elbow on Mel’s shoulder and lowered his head, hiding his watering eyes. The grand jury was a secret hearing. They would never know what testimony or evidence was presented to the jurors. “The bastards are getting away with murdering thousands of innocent people.”

  The chief of detectives stood and gripped Richie’s shoulders. “The NYPD will bring them to justice.” He pointed at the borough chief, and waved his finger. “We will back you up on this, no matter what happens. You have our word.”

  The borough chief nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 35

  Richie left work desperate to find a pay phone. He couldn’t risk calling Rashid from his desk phone or Nextel. Now, more than ever, he needed to keep Rashid’s cooperation secret. He began searching as soon as he drove down the Brooklyn Bridge’s off-ramp. He passed corner after corner. No public phones in sight. Had they all disappeared from the city streets? He banged the steering wheel and huffed.

  That afternoon, right after the DA backpedaled from issuing arrest warrants a rock of tension had formed deep in his gut. As the day progressed, and he and Mel weren’t served subpoenas, he lost all faith in the DA’s case. Dewer Rock and Moen Pindar were getting away with mass murder, remaining free to carry out whatever else they had planned. The DA had no intention of presenting all the hard evidence he and Mel had turned over because they were not subpoenaed. And the grand jury had no cause to indict without their testimony. The procedure would just be a whitewashed waste of time.

  The only chance to bring charges against them now depended on Eva and Rashid. Eva needed more time to search the Council’s files and Richie needed to cement Rashid’s testimony with hard evidence.

  Eva had uncovered Moen Pindar’s connection to the Council through the logbooks. The DA didn’t have that information because Richie and Mel hadn’t disclosed the evidence yet. The logbooks were stored inside the Council House in a place only Eva knew, waiting to be seized and vouchered as evidence. Moen Pindar’s connection to the Mossad was verifiable through legitimate FBI and CIA records—undeniable proof tha
t the Mossad was linked to the Council.

  Rashid was the link connecting the CIA to the Mossad via the Moving Systems warehouse and the Day of Terror plot.

  As soon as Rashid offered physical evidence to back up his testimony, Richie could bypass the Manhattan DA altogether. He’d bring Eva’s and Rashid’s evidence to the Special Prosecutor’s Office. Right now, the DA and the feds had no clue that Rashid was cooperating with his investigation, and he’d keep it that way. Rashid’s testimony had become monumental because all the other evidence was being ignored.

  The traffic light turned red and Richie hit the brake pedal just in time. He’d almost driven into cross traffic. He looked out the window. A pay phone was mounted on the corner. Finally! The light turned green and he sped across two lanes. Ignoring the honking, he pulled to the sidewalk.

  Richie nudged aside the lighter in the cup holder and grabbed some quarters. He threw his police placard on the dashboard and jumped out of the Bronco. As he approached the phone kiosk, he looked up checking for surveillance cameras just in case the phone was tapped. Not spotting anything that could pass for a camera, Richie fished the prison’s telephone number from his wallet.

  After dialing the number, he went through more rigmarole than usual because he didn’t identify himself as law enforcement, but he did use a lawyer friend’s credentials. Ten minutes and three quarters later, Rashid picked up his end.

  “I don’t need a lawyer.”

  “No? Rashid, you sure about that?” Richie heard an intake of breath. Rashid had recognized his voice. “Lawyer-client telephone conversations are privileged, you know, even in prison.”

  “What can you do for me that my lawyer couldn’t?”

  “Get you your freedom back, for one.” Richie paused. “And your pride.”

  “Freedom and pride go hand in hand. And I’m beginning to get some of my pride back already.”

  Rashid’s tone had changed. He must be convinced that the prison guard had lost interest in his side of the conversation. “I’m losing mine,” Richie said.

  “Why? Have you hit a wall in the investigation?”

  “Things on my end are not panning out procedurally.”

  “I’m half way through that book.”

  What freaking book? He’s not gonna testify after all. Richie squeezed the phone receiver and took a deep breath. “Listen Rashid, I need your cooperation. America needs your cooperation. Every American’s freedom depends on it. And if we fail, at least we know we did everything possible to safeguard the future. We could die in good conscience.”

  “Like I was saying, I’m holding you to your word to get me out before I finish Thinking and Destiny.”

  Now, he gets cryptic on me. “Thinking and what?” Richie shook his head, and then remembered. The book! He laughed. “I’ll get you out. I’ll visit you next week with the friend we discussed last time. We’ll have a workable strategy by then.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Keep your eyes wide open,” Richie said. “I don’t think they’re on to us, but be careful just in case.”

  “There’s something I want you to know. It’s important.” Rashid’s voice lowered to a whisper. “The real reason I joined the jihad was because of the heroin. When I was in Afghanistan, I found out how the poppies grown there ended up in our kids’ veins in Bed-Stuy.”

  Richie nearly dropped the phone. Rashid had been concerned about the drugs, and not the jihad! And it had never crossed Richie’s mind—not once. But it should have, especially since Rashid had scared him into giving up dealing crack all those years ago. The reason Richie had become a mole in the Impoverished to begin with.

  Rashid continued. “The drug trade is run by the Shadow Intelligence Network and backed by the same fucks who planned September 11.”

  “Just so you know, Rashid. Drug use in our old neighborhood is down—a lot. Maybe you did make a difference.” Richie suddenly heard a clicking noise. “Rashid, you still there?”

  “Damn, so you heard it too.” Rashid said, and then the clicking noise repeated.

  Shit. How much had been overheard? But it didn’t really matter, just the fact that someone was listening was a big problem. “Stay alert, Rashid.”

  “I’ll return the book when I see you. It’s definitely worth your time.” More clicking. “Damn.”

  “Rashid, I’ll have the local PD check up on you every day.” He wasn’t sure if the Marion Police Department would comply with his request, but he wanted whoever was listening to think it was a done deal.

  Chapter 36

  After the chiefs left yesterday, Mel and Richie had tried to work on the investigation, but couldn’t focus. They gave up and took Lieutenant Jordan out for a liquid lunch—something they had never done before. But they all needed it to tolerate the disappointment of the DA’s Office cancelling the arrest warrants. When they returned from lunch, they conducted criminal record checks for another team. Mindless, easy work until the tour ended. But today was a new day, and Mel was ready to start fresh.

  She glanced over her desk at Richie slumped in his chair. It would take a little doing, but she’d get him enthused again. Brooding wasn’t his style. “Richie, dig out your chart,” she said. Studying the link diagram Richie had begun when she was on maternity leave was a good way to gain a fresh perspective. A big picture of the businesses, subjects, and events and their connections in one place might light a bulb. “Let’s update it.”

  With a sigh, he opened his middle desk drawer and pulled out the cardboard backing from a legal pad marked up with a Sharpie. He glanced at it and passed it to her with a frown. “It’s such a mish-mosh.”

  She placed the chart in the middle of her desk and inspected it. Lines connecting circles and boxes crisscrossed everywhere. They had added so much data that it had outgrown the legal-pad-sized backing. The chart was too crowded to be helpful. She grabbed a fresh legal-sized manila folder and placed it next to the link diagram. “I’ll make a neater chart.”

  “Open it like a centerfold.” Richie stretched his long arms over their desks and opened the folder. “See. Now you have double the space to work on.”

  She smiled at him. It didn’t take much to get him back in the game. She shifted the original chart toward the top of her desk and the manila folder directly below it, and began transcribing everything they had learned so far. Every once in a while Richie handed her a different colored marker. Red for subjects, green for businesses, orange for events, and black for the connecting lines. When she was done she leaned back and examined the new diagram. Much better. And there would be room to spare as the investigation progressed. She passed the neater chart to Richie. “Did I miss anything?”

  As he scrutinized the new version, he nodded every couple of seconds. She smiled watching his eyes narrow as he studied the diagram. She could tell it was helping him sort things through. “Pretty good,” he said. “But the connections would stand out better with corresponding colored lines.” He stretched over to gather the Sharpies from her desk top and she handed him the ruler she had been working with.

  She watched his serious expression as he drew bold lines. Yep, he was back in, she sighed. And all it took was office supplies.

  Her desk phone rang. “Detective Ronzone. May I help you?”

  It was reception clearing a visitor. She put down the phone and jumped from her chair. “Guess who’s coming to see us?”

  Richie grinned. “By the sparkle in your eyes, I’d guess maybe Johnny Depp.” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back against his chair.

  Mel neatened her desk. “Try an older version of Antonio Banderas.”

  “Really!” He sprang forward, hands pressed on his desk. “I finally get to meet the mysterious Vando.”

  She scooted down the aisle examining empty chairs. “No, no, no.” Each chair was stained, torn, or wobbly. She dragged a decent chair all the way from the kitchen and pushed it adjacent to their desks. “I have so many questions.” Mel reached for
a fresh legal pad. “He’ll give us a handle on things.”

  “He may be one of the conspirators, Mel.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “Why would he meet with us if he was working with them?”

  “Disinformation. To keep us looking in the wrong direction. Screw with our investigation.” He raised his eyebrows. “Should I go on?”

  She tilted her head and stared at him, willing him to stop jabbering. He got the message and huffed. He snapped the chart closed and shoved it in a drawer, out of sight.

  “Vando has devoted his life to studying the Council. He understands its power structure and inner workings like no one else. The frightening reports Eva found at the Council House alone substantiate his—”

  “Here he comes.” Richie nodded toward the aisle.

  A trim silver-haired gentleman with a matching goatee approached their desks. “Nice to see you again, young lady.”

  Richie stepped in front of Mel and extended his hand. “I’m Detective Carson.”

  Mel nudged Richie with her elbow and gritted her teeth. “Chill,” she whispered. He’d better not alienate Vando. So far he has been super helpful, and she planned to keep it that way.

  “Thanks for coming by. Please, make yourself comfortable.” She patted the back of the extra chair. “How long will you be in town?”

  “Thank you.” Vando nodded and gestured at Mel’s empty chair.

  Realizing he was waiting for her to sit first, she quickly settled into her chair. Nice. She could get used to being treated like a lady.

  “We have much to discuss,” he said.

  “How do you know the Council planned the attacks?” Richie asked. He rolled his chair closer to the edge of his desk and slowly sat down. “Detective Ronzone and I are just now connecting the dots.”

  “Once you widen your viewpoint everything makes sense.” He placed his leather messenger bag on his knees.

  “Why did you spy on the Council House so soon after the attacks?” Richie asked.