The borough chief cleared his throat. “I’d like to hear the validity of voiding this arrest, Commissioner.”
The police commissioner puffed his cheeks and waved his arms. He began to speak and then shrugged.
The chief of detectives locked eyes with the police commissioner. “Well?” he asked. “What are your grounds, Commissioner?”
“There is no probable cause that Mr. Rock committed a crime.” The police commissioner crossed his arms and pinched his lips. “I want him released immediately.”
The borough chief addressed Richie. “Detective, can you articulate probable cause to the District Attorney’s Office in preparation for a complaint?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take two civilian eyewitnesses as well, sir. One is in surgery for a gunshot wound, but he should be stable enough to appear in front of the grand jury, sir. And I’ll escort the other witness to court personally.”
“Detective, safeguard your prisoner in a holding cell and report to me.” The borough chief looked at Mark. “Sergeant, did you verify this arrest at the scene?”
“Yes, sir. I interviewed both complainants on the scene. They positively identified the prisoner and his accomplices.”
“Very good, Sergeant.” The borough chief waved a pointed finger. “Assign an officer to guard Mr. Rock at all times. And get him whatever he needs.”
The mayor stepped into the muster area in front of the desk. “I’ve heard enough. Release Mr. Rock immediately.”
“My detective is not complying with your unlawful order.” The chief of detective’s stepped up nose to nose with the mayor. “This arrest is valid!”
The police commissioner hopped over the desk and jumped to the floor. “Detective, remove Mr. Rock’s handcuffs!”
Richie felt his muscles tense all over but he held his ground. “Sir, I respectively refuse to comply—”
“I’ll do it myself.” The police commissioner pulled a handcuff key from his pocket and pushed Richie aside.
“Commissioner, put that key away!” The chief of detective’s clipped his shield onto his crisp suit jacket, and stepped away from the mayor. “The arresting detective is under my command and I am ordering him to make the arrest. I’m taking full responsibility.” He stepped between the police commissioner and Dewer Rock. “The cuffs stay on.”
The police commissioner glared at the chief of detectives and stomped his foot like a child. “If you process this arrest, I’ll have your shield and your command.”
The borough chief brushed a piece of lint from his NYPD shoulder patch and squared his jaw. “Commissioner, you may as well have my shield too.” He pointed at Dewer Rock. “Because NYPD is taking that prisoner through the system!”
Richie looked at the borough chief and then at the chief of detectives. He was awed by their determination. The men were willing to give up their careers to do what was right.
The mayor walked in front of the desk and approached Dewer Rock. Richie raised his arms, prepared to push the mayor away. Protocol and common sense warned that he couldn’t allow a civilian near his prisoner—even if the civilian was the mayor of New York City. But he didn’t want the matter to escalate either. Would he be forced to arrest the mayor too? And then what would happen? Richie looked at the chief of detectives for guidance. The chief nodded and waved Richie back. Richie stiffened and took a half step back.
The mayor whispered into Dewer Rock’s ear, patted him on the shoulder, and left the station house without a word to anyone else. The police commissioner trailed after him.
Chapter 49
“Hold still, detective.” The EMT packed Richie’s palm with ointment-soaked gauze, and wrapped an elastic bandage around his hand. “Now, the other.”
Richie looked up when Mel entered the muster room. She had changed into tight Levi’s and a clingy purple Henley. “So Mark rustled up some clothes for you as well.” The pants and shirt Mark had found for him fit nice, but her clothing looked a bit small for her healthy figure.
She grimaced and did a knee bend. He held back a chuckle at her attempt to loosen the jeans.
“I’ve never been thin enough to wear this brand, but at least they’re clean.” She looked at his sweater and designer jeans and whistled. “Nifty. Too bad Eva didn’t see you in that outfit. She came by with the Bronco while you were showering. She asked if she could pick up Martin’s wife and take her to the hospital. I told her to go ahead.”
“That’s fine. I’d like to stop by as soon as he’s out of surgery anyway. The DA’s complaint should be ready for his signature by then.” The EMT finished wrapping his hand and gave him extra bandages and ointment. Richie thanked him and he left.
Mel sat beside him on the bench and rested her head against the bulletin board. After a second, she turned and looked at him. “The hospital visit will have to wait until tomorrow night,” she said with a sigh.
“You think Martin will be out of it that long?” He flexed his hands, testing the mobility with the bandages. Almost as good as new. The ointment must contain some sort of pain killer.
“Have you heard from Art?” She pulled at her waistband and squirmed in her seat. “My phone is still charging.”
He shook his head. She struggled with her jeans, and he couldn’t hold back a grin this time.
Still squirming, she made a face at him and groaned.
“What made you come looking for me, anyway?” He exhaled and held up a hand. “I’m thankful you did. Really. But how’d you know Eva and I needed help?”
“Art couldn’t reach you, so he called me.”
“I should call him.” He reached for his cell.
Mel put a hand on his forearm and inhaled. “Wait.” She puffed out air and looked at him.
Uh oh. That look could only mean one thing—bad news.
“Rashid died,” she said with a frown. “Art’s on his way to the penitentiary.”
“Rashid! Dead? No!” He lowered his head and remained silent for a long moment before looking up at her again. “I spoke to him last night. What the hell happened?”
“He cut his wrists and bled out. They found him in his cell.”
He shook his head. “No. No way.” He punched his thigh. “They got to him. I should have protected him.”
“You couldn’t have saved him.” She patted his arm. “The Shadow Intelligence Network is lawless and can get away with anything. If they did kill him, that is. The prison is calling it suicide.”
He sighed, and stood. “We gotta get there and search his cell before it’s cleaned up. If the Shadow Intelligence Network is responsible we have to find the proof.”
“Art is expecting us to follow him anyway.” She looked at her wristwatch. “He’s got a five-hour head start. He’ll safeguard the cell.”
He loosely fisted his hands. “Shouldn’t be too much traffic at night.” The pain in his palms had dulled—they were a bit stiff, and a little sore. But he’d have no problem hanging onto a steering wheel for a few hours. “Let’s find Mark and hit the road.”
They headed toward the arrest-processing room. Mark looked up from reviewing a pile of paperwork and waved them out. “I’ll be right there.”
Richie glanced at Dewer behind the bars. A worn out, old man wearing a dirty, rumpled thousand-dollar suit. Richie paused, imprinting the image in his mind. Dewer couldn’t plot against humanity from jail. If Richie died this very minute, he’d die knowing that he had served his life’s purpose. As long as the SOB was in prison humanity had a chance. He had come a long way from his drug dealing days on Marcy Avenue to someone his grandmother would be proud of. Had he been guided all along?
Mark tapped his shoulder. “Richie, come on.”
He swallowed and followed Mark into the hallway.
Mark looked Mel up and down and back up again. She raised her eyebrows and pulled at her blouse. “Are you trying to tell me something about my wardrobe choices, Mark? Comfort is more—”
“Hon, I don’t care what you wear. I’m ju
st glad you’re okay.” He pulled her close and peeked at her backside, then winked at Richie. “Take care of my girl.”
“Always do, but lately she’s been taking care of me.” Richie looked at the floor.
Mark held her at arm’s length, looked at her and pulled her in for a kiss. He fished her car keys from his pocket. “Your sedan is gassed up and your cell is charging in the ashtray.”
She reached up and hugged him. “You’re the best.”
Mark squeezed her around the waist. “Be careful, hon.” He released her and looked at Richie. “Both of you.”
“Thanks for having our backs,” Richie said, and chest-bumped Mark. “What she said before—you are the best.” He felt heat rise up his cheeks, but he was glad he’d said it. Mark trusted him with his wife’s life, and he trusted Mark with his own life. Things couldn’t get any more sentimental. Yep, he had come a long way.
Mel locked her fingers around Mark’s hand. “How did you know we needed you at the Council House, anyway?”
“Your dad called, and then Art called.” He tugged on her hand. “Why did you go there alone?”
“Turns out I wasn’t alone for long.” She put her palms on his chest and kissed him on the lips. “You always have my back.”
Richie wiggled the car keys from her hand. “I’ll meet you outside.”
After settling into the passenger seat, Richie phoned Todd Wilson to fill him in on Dewer’s arrest. He told him about the photocopied checks he was expecting in the mail proving Moen Pindar and Dewer Rock had paid for the dredging. And when he told him about the logbooks that documented Moen’s conspiring with Dewer, Todd got hyped to make the arrest immediately.
“Hold on, Todd. We don’t have the books yet. They’re still hidden in the Council House.”
Just then Mel got in the vehicle. She started the ignition, put her hands on the steering wheel, and then paused. She turned toward Richie and shrugged. He smiled and shook his head, moving his mouth away from the phone. “You don’t know the way? Can you get to the Pennsylvania Turnpike?—No, not you, Todd.”
She nodded and pulled away from the gas pumps.
“And Todd, watch your back. Our only witness linking the CIA to the Mossad, and both intelligence agencies to terrorism, just died—he may have been murdered. So be extra careful when you take down Moen Pindar. I’ll call you as soon as we confiscate the logbooks.” He clicked off.
Mel handed him a candy bar. His stomach grumbled at the sight of the snack.
“We’ll stop for real food in a few hours.” She unwrapped a 3 Musketeers bar and took a bite.
“I’ll call Art and fill him in.” He looked at his cell phone display. It was dark. He frowned. “Dead.”
“Charge it.” She pointed at her phone charger in the ashtray.
As he connected his Nextel to the charger he noticed the D & D cup in the console armrest. He had forgotten all about it. “Mark left that coffee for you, and he got me a water. He really is the best, you know.”
“I know.” She yawned and stretched her neck.
He looked at her. “Should I take the first shift?”
She took a gulp of caffeine and held the cup up. “I’ll be fine as soon as this kicks in.” She looked over at him. “Get some rest. You can take over later.” She took another sip.
He put the seat back and stretched out his legs. “When you reach the end of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, look for signs for Interstate 70. Wake me if you have trouble finding it.”
He flipped open his Nextel and the display lit. “I’ll give Art a quick call first.” He scrolled to Art’s contact details and pressed the Call button.
Mel’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth and then shut it without speaking. She chewed on her bottom lip.
“West!” Richie answered the unspoken question. How could she not know that Illinois was west? If she drove east, she’d take them into the Atlantic Ocean. He shook his head. “Just head west—Oh hi, Art, no, not you. I’m with Mel. She told me about Rashid.” He looked at the speedometer and did some fast calculations in his head. “We’re doing ninety. We should reach the penitentiary by dawn.”
Chapter 50
Richie squinted as the sky brightened. He had been driving in the dark for hours. When he turned onto Prison Road, sun glare struck the windshield and he was blinded for a moment. He fumbled with the sun visor with his bandaged hand and took his foot off the gas pedal. Shit! He tapped the brakes and finally pulled the visor down. Able to see again, he eased down the gas pedal. He glanced at Mel. She was still dozing against the passenger-side door frame, unaffected by the unsteady motion. She must be wiped, having driven most of the way.
He made a soft right around the entrance circle and drove into the parking lot designated for visitors. He quickly spotted the only other vehicle in the lot, a suburban with New York State license plates. He parked and waved at the silhouette in the driver’s seat of the suburban, and it waved back.
Art got out of the suburban, stretched, and opened the rear door of the sedan. “You made good time.”
Richie put his finger over his lips and pointed at Mel. He might as well let her sleep for a few more minutes. When they head back home it would be her turn to drive again. Art snuck into the rear seat and pulled the door quietly shut.
Richie twisted around and shook Art’s hand. “Have you been inside yet?”
Art’s brow furrowed when he felt Richie’s bandaged palm. “How did that happen?”
“It’s not important.” Richie shrugged. “Have you seen Rashid?”
“Yes.”
“What did he get cut with?”
“The blade from a melted-down plastic razor.”
Richie took a deep breath and lowered his head. Perhaps Rashid had killed himself after all. “I saw the makeshift weapon when I was in jail. It’s pretty effective, and easy to hide from the guards. But would Shadow Intelligence Network operatives be that prison savvy?”
“Richie, from what I’ve learned about the SIN so far, I’m convinced its operatives have unlimited resources.”
“So do you think the cuts were self-inflicted?”
“The arteries in his right wrist were sliced deep and only one artery was cut in his left wrist. The blade was embedded in the heel of his left palm.”
“Any bruises on his body? You know, maybe they held him down.”
Art shook his head. “But the prison doctor said he didn’t lose enough blood to go into cardiac arrest. He did find a needle mark in the hairline above Rashid’s neck. He’s running toxicology now.” He handed Richie an Instamatic photo.
“A needle mark!” Richie stared at the close-up of the back of Rashid’s head. “It’s grainy. I can’t make it out.” But the doctor must know what a needle mark looked like. If it was hidden in Rashid’s hairline, he had to have been murdered. Richie was sure that Rashid would never willingly take drugs.
A Nextel beeped, and Richie and Art checked their phones. It beeped again and Mel rolled her head and looked around. “Oh, hi, Art.” Another beep. She yawned and reached for her cell in the ashtray. “It’s Mark.” She smiled and flipped the Nextel open. “Hey, hon. We’ve just arrived, I think.” She looked at Richie and he nodded. “What!” She slapped the glove box. “After everything he’s done!”
Richie tapped her on the shoulder. “What happened?”
She inhaled deeply and rasped out air. “The District Attorney declined to prosecute Dewer. He released him as soon as Mark and his cops transported him to court.”
Richie punched the steering wheel. “Put Mark on speaker,” he said. Pain flamed through his palm, and he clenched his teeth. He raised his hand for another punch, but Mel grabbed his wrist and squeezed until he opened his fist.
“Calm down, Rich.” She examined his palm. “There’s no blood leaking through the bandage. Yet!” She pressed a button on the Nextel and placed it on the console between them. “Hon, you’re on speaker.”
Richie didn’t know if he was
dizzy from pain or outrage. No, damn it! No. Now Dewer was free to plot who knows what again. “Mark, what reason did the DA give to decline prosecution?”
“No proof that he ordered his bodyguards to assault or unlawfully imprison anyone. The DA dropped all the charges against him.”
“What about the tons of files the DA’s investigator took from my desk?” Richie rubbed the back of his neck. “Its clear-cut proof of conspiracy, terrorism, and 2759 counts of murder!”
“I know, Richie! Believe me, I know. My heart hurts for all of them and their families. But the DA claims he never received any files from the Detective Bureau.”
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” Richie fisted his hand and was about to punch the steering wheel again but stopped himself. He lightly punched Mel’s leg instead. “So freaking glad we made copies.”
“And I made copies of my cops’ memo book entries and all the arrest paperwork,” said Mark. “Richie, it’s not over.”
Richie sighed. No, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. “How long ago was Dewer released?”
“Just now. Ten minutes maybe. Why?”
“I should call my Jersey City contact ASAP. He has to arrest Moen Pindar before Dewer warns him.” He switched off the speaker and handed the cell to Mel. He grabbed his own phone and selected Todd Wilson in his contact list. He twisted around and looked at Art. “We need those logbooks for probable cause so Todd can lock up Pindar.”
“I set up the recovery last night. Eva described where she hid them. My guy, disguised as a telephone tech, will retrieve them as soon as the Council House opens this morning.”
Richie held out his hand for a high-five, but Art looked at the bandage and shook his head. “Make the call, Rich. Todd will have the logbooks in time. You’ve got my word.”
Richie nodded and pressed Call.
The Council House (The Impoverished Book 3) Page 22