Voice with No Echo

by Suzanne Chazin

  “Look, Michelle, I’m asking you to trust me on this. Something’s going on here. I can’t explain it all now. I’m not even sure I’ve put all the pieces together. But I think it involves the DA and maybe ICE and cops too. We need Aviles. If he gets deported, we’ll never unravel this case. Please. I’m begging you. If you have any power to call this off, please ask Bowman for an emergency stay.”

  There was a pause. Vega wasn’t even sure she was on the line anymore.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She hung up. Vega lifted his gaze from his phone to see Greco barreling toward him. His whole body had a forward thrust to it like he wanted to punch something.

  Vega opened his door. No way was the big man going to drive over to Beth Shalom now. Vega would have to drive himself.

  “Get back in the car,” Greco ordered. He yanked open the driver’s-side door and lumbered into his seat. He started up the engine. “You were right about the body cam.”

  “Bale’s on there? Removing a GPS from Adele’s Toyota?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Shouldn’t you be inside, speaking to your chief about this?”

  “Not until we contain the problem,” said Greco. “The unit Lake Holly dispatched to Beth Shalom was Bobby Fitzgerald and his partner, Ryan Bale.”

  Chapter 40

  Adele hadn’t called the television stations. That was Max Zimmerman’s doing. He arrived right after the two ICE agents did. By the time he’d gotten out of his car and shuffled up the steps of the synagogue, the first television van with its big call letters on the side and satellite dish on the roof had rumbled into the parking lot.

  “What the hell?” Tyler, the black agent frowned at Adele. “You want to make a spectacle of this?”

  “I didn’t notify anyone,” said Adele.

  “I did,” said Zimmerman from the foot of the stairs.

  “Why should it matter? If what you are doing is just, then who witnesses it is of no concern.”

  Zimmerman proceeded to make his way slowly up the stairs. There was a ramp for the disabled on the side, but Adele sensed he wanted the agents—and perhaps the news van—to see him struggle. Tyler and Donovan looked panicked. This was a complication they hadn’t anticipated. They plastered themselves against the railing. Adele walked down the stairs and gently coaxed Zimmerman up them and through the doors. Once inside, he leaned in close and grabbed her arm.

  “I cannot sit by on this, Adele. As a Holocaust survivor, I cannot. Even if Edgar is willing to give himself up, I can’t let him go down this route without a fight.”

  “I understand,” she said. “But please let me handle this. How did you know this was going on, anyway?”

  “Eve told me.”

  “The rabbi’s wife?”

  “What? You think it was Adam’s?”

  Adele thanked him and then turned back to the doors where Tyler and Donovan were still waiting for Aviles to step outside. They had their arms folded against their Kevlar vests, but their postures were relaxed. They were in this for the long haul.

  Adele stepped out the doors and attempted a smile. She hoped to reason with them. She suspected Agent Tyler, the black agent, was the senior man. He was older, for one thing. Plus, he didn’t seem quite as inclined to assert his authority—which made Adele think he had more. When she unfolded a copy of Daniel Wilson’s letter to Aviles, she showed it to Tyler.

  “I want to share something with you gentlemen,” said Adele. “This is a copy of the original letter informing Mr. Aviles of ICE’s intent to deport him. It was signed by Daniel Wilson who, as I understand it, retired six months ago.”

  Tyler scanned the letter. “So?”

  “If Daniel Wilson signed that letter, he wasn’t authorized to do so, since he was already retired. If he didn’t and someone signed it for him, the whole letter is invalid.”

  “I sent him a letter a week ago,” said Tyler. “I can assure you, ma’am. It was very real.”

  “Yes, but it was based on Agent Wilson’s previous, invalid letter,” said Adele.

  “I don’t see what difference it makes if Mickey Mouse signed it,” said Tyler. “We have a warrant. Signed by a federal judge—”

  “Who believed he was affirming actions taken by a federal employee,” said Adele. “Not a civilian.”

  “Doesn’t matter at this point,” Donovan said, inserting himself into the argument. “Our ace beats your joker any day.”

  Adele raised an eyebrow. “Who exactly is the joker here? Agent Wilson?”

  Donovan’s face flushed. He was through with wordplay. “Aviles needs to turn himself over now. Or we’ll do it for him.”

  Adele noticed a Lake Holly Police cruiser pulling into the lot. Donovan read the concern on her face. “That’s right, Adele,” he said, switching to the informal, like she was already a prisoner under his command. “You obstruct us? The Lake Holly Police can arrest you right here and now. For interfering with a federal agent carrying out his duties.”

  The cruiser pulled up to the curb. Bale and Fitzgerald got out. Adele paled. She couldn’t quiet the fear that curdled in her gut at the sight of Ryan Bale.

  Donovan leered at Adele. “I hear you got arrested last night so this won’t be a new experience. Guess you’re one of those gals who’s into handcuffs.”

  * * *

  Greco flipped on the Taurus’s dashboard flashers. It was a ten-minute drive to the synagogue, but they wanted to get there before ICE arrested Aviles. On the way over, Vega told Greco about the phone in Aviles’s possession.

  “That’s what everyone wants,” said Vega. “The phone. I’m betting it belonged to Deisy Ramos. And I’m betting there’s incriminating video of Crowley on it—and maybe texts and emails with whoever set the deal up.”

  “You think that was Bale?”

  “Maybe,” said Vega. “Or maybe someone who can tie Bale into this.”

  A dispatcher got on the radio and requested a second cruiser at Beth Shalom for “traffic control.”

  “What the hell?” asked Vega. “What’s going on there?”

  Greco got on the radio.

  “This is car forty-seven. Can I have a status update at Beth Shalom?”

  “There’s a preschool on the premises,” the dispatcher replied. “They are evacuating. There’s also heavy media presence.”

  “Ten-four.” Greco disconnected. “Little children, Jews, and an illegal immigrant. Lake Holly’s gonna be all over the six o’clock news with this one.”

  Greco cut a sharp right and dropped his speed near the school. The whole trip felt like they were driving through molasses. Everything seemed denser. The leaves on the trees. The bushes. Even the humid air around them.

  “You know,” said Greco. “You could have this thing all wrong. Everyone else on Elmer Ortega’s list was involved in some way with a crime. What if Aviles is too? What if he was going to turn over the alarm code to the synagogue so Ortega could rob it?”

  The idea chilled Vega. Talking to Aviles, he didn’t get the sense that the man was anything but hardworking and honest. Then again, every immigrant on that list appeared to have been hardworking and honest before they were thrown into a compromising situation.

  “When Michelle and I went through the names,” said Vega, “Wilmer Diaz was on the list. Probably because he was in danger of deportation. But it was his wife, Nelda, that this so-called ICE agent actually blackmailed. He used Wilmer to get her to cooperate.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Maybe Aviles was the one in danger of deportation,” said Vega. “Maybe Lissette was the one they blackmailed.”

  “Blackmailed, how?”

  “Play this out with me for a minute,” said Vega. “I know from my cop friend in Port Carroll that Elmer Ortega may have been working with the Ramirez brothers and their crew out of Port Carroll. Let’s say for some reason, the Ramirezes thought the DA was onto their scam. They know Crowley is into underage hookers. They need something
damaging on Crowley to keep him from going after them—”

  “I’m with you so far—”

  “So they use Daniel Wilson or someone else with a connection inside ICE to find a young, vulnerable asylum seeker and blackmail her into going to Crowley’s house to have sex with him and record it.”

  “Not too hard to imagine—”

  “But Lissette walks in on them. Or something else spooks the girl. She leaves so quickly, she forgets her wallet and phone.”

  “And Talia finds it,” said Greco.

  “Talia finds it, hides it, and doesn’t tell her husband where,” said Vega. “But he knows about it because she’s threatening to take his behavior public. She caught an STD from him. She got pelvic inflammatory disease from him. Maybe lost her baby because of his actions. She’s mad. And she’s got the evidence—in the form of a video recording on Deisy’s phone.”

  “Evidence that Ortega and the Ramirez brothers want too,” Greco noted. “Assuming they set Deisy up to get it.”

  “Only now, that phone doesn’t just have a recording of Crowley on it,” said Vega. “It has contacts that can be traced back to the gang. So Talia has the phone and both the Ramirezes and Crowley are searching for it—for different reasons.”

  Greco cursed as they slowed behind a UPS truck. They were on a curvy road with a double line and traffic in both directions. They couldn’t do anything but wait.

  “So we’ve got Crowley and the Ramirezes searching for the phone,” said Greco. “Talia’s hidden it. And suddenly Talia’s dead, the phone’s missing, Lissette’s missing, and the phone turns up in an envelope that was, at some point, clearly in Lissette’s possession.”

  Greco turned his face from the wheel and looked at Vega. “You do realize what you’re suggesting?”

  Vega didn’t. Until this moment. His heart felt heavy. “Lissette Aviles killed Talia Crowley.”

  Greco ticked off the evidence as they began moving again. “She had easy access to the Crowley house. Talia trusted her. And most importantly, she had motive. She knew that phone would buy her uncle’s freedom. She believed she was dealing with someone corrupt inside of ICE who could fix his immigration status—and maybe hers as well.”

  “She was willing to kill another human being for that?”

  Greco shrugged. “People kill for a lot less.”

  * * *

  By the time they arrived at Beth Shalom, three television vans were parked by the entrance. Hefty men shouldering cameras and reporters with freeze-dried hair stood beside a police cruiser acting as a checkpoint on the driveway. A cop Vega recognized by the name of Ianelli was leaning in car windows and letting some people pass while turning others away.

  Greco pulled up and powered down his driver’s-side window. “What’s the situation?”

  “ICE wants to arrest an illegal taking sanctuary inside the temple,” said Ianelli. “Bale and Fitzgerald were called down there to assist. But they’re in a stalemate, as far as I can tell. The guy’s not coming out and nobody wants to break down the doors and go in.”

  “Where’s your partner?” asked Greco.

  “Hart’s helping Bale and Fitzgerald evacuate the children from the preschool on the premises. We suggested to the rabbi that maybe he should get the kids out. It’s chill down there at the moment. But still—we’re talking a fugitive arrest. You never know.”

  Greco jerked a thumb at the row of television vans lined up alongside the road. “Then what’s with all this media coverage? Did the temple call this in? Or did Adele Figueroa?” Greco shot a sideways look of disapproval at Vega.

  “I don’t know,” said Ianelli. “I saw them interviewing an old man earlier, before we suggested that the rabbi move the media off Beth Shalom’s grounds. He may have been the one who called. I think he’s a Holocaust survivor.”

  Max Zimmerman. It figured. Vega smiled to himself, thinking about that story Max had told him on their drive home from the synagogue Friday night. Vega supposed Max was trying to get the horse to talk. He had to admire the old man’s determination, even if he didn’t always agree with his choices.

  Ianelli waved them through the checkpoint. Greco slowed as they made their way along the temple’s driveway. SUVs and minivans lined the curb. Teachers walked preschoolers to their parents’ vehicles. Vega was relieved that at least the kids were being evacuated.

  “Look, Vega,” said Greco as they drove past the knot of vehicles and into the parking lot. “If you can make this fustercluck with ICE go away, then do it. But I don’t want you saying a word to Bale about that body-cam video or Deisy’s phone or any of this—you got me? That’s a Lake Holly problem and our department will deal with it.”

  “Gotcha.” Vega pulled out his phone. “Let me call Michelle and see if she’s made any progress getting Bowman to sign a stay.”

  The news from Michelle wasn’t good.

  “Wayne Bowman’s in a meeting,” she said. “I’ve tried to reach him but he’s not responding.”

  “Well, make him respond,” said Vega. “I’m in the parking lot of Beth Shalom. ICE is here. And we’re running out of time. Did you reach Wilson?”

  “Still trying,” she replied. “But I’ll tell you right now, Dan Wilson’s not involved in any of this. I pulled up some of his old ICE orders. The signatures don’t match. Wilson never signed those letters. Someone else did.”

  “So then, why can’t you vacate Aviles’s order of removal?”

  “Because a federal judge signed a judicial warrant, Jimmy. I can’t go over a judge. Bowman might be able to. But like I said—”

  “He’s in a meeting.”

  “Hey, don’t get mad at me. This is Adele’s fault. She forced Tyler and Donovan to go before a judge. You want to blame someone, blame her.” Michelle hung up.

  Greco got the gist of the call.

  “There’s nothing else we can do,” he told Vega. “You can’t walk through those temple doors. You’d be telling every cop here that you’re working for the other side. And besides, it wouldn’t help anyway. Aviles is going to come out or not. Nothing you do will change that.”

  Vega glanced at the front steps where Max Zimmerman was talking to the two ICE agents. The old man looked exhausted. Vega wondered if the kindest thing he could do right now was take him home.

  “How about this?” Vega suggested. “You go back to the station house and do what you have to to preserve Bale’s body-cam footage from last night and convince Chief B. we need to keep the Crowley case open. I’ll convince Max Zimmerman to go home. He can drop me off at the station house on the way. All he’s going to do is rile up ICE and that’s the last thing we need right now.”

  Chapter 41

  Max Zimmerman was so deep in discussion with the two ICE agents on the steps of the synagogue that he didn’t notice Vega maneuvering past the preschoolers toward him.

  “Jimmy!” Zimmerman called excitedly. “You’re a police officer. Please tell these two officers here that I’m not anti-police. I am only anti-injustice.”

  Vega felt the two agents’ wary gazes. Vega’s military-short haircut and the gun on his hip gave him away as a fellow cop. But if he was Zimmerman’s friend, he wasn’t theirs.

  “Who the hell are you?” demanded the white agent, a young man with thin lips and translucent blue eyes.

  “Jimmy Vega. I’m a detective with the county police, working on a case in Lake Holly. I was just going to offer to take Mr. Zimmerman home.”

  “I don’t need to go home,” Zimmerman insisted. “I need to beg mercy for a man who can’t beg it for himself.” Zimmerman raised a bony finger. “As a wise man once said, mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.”

  “I’m not interested in your Hebe quotes,” said the white agent.

  “That was Abraham Lincoln.”

  Embarrassment flashed on the agent’s face, then quickly turned to anger. Vega wanted to diffuse the situation. He hooked an arm under Zimmerman’s. “Mr. Zimmerman? Please let me take you
home.”

  “I will go—”

  “Good—”

  “If Adele and Rabbi Goldberg ask me to.”

  “Ay, puñeta!” Vega pulled out his phone and dialed Adele.

  The black agent pointed to Vega’s phone. “You have the head of La Casa on your speed dial?”

  “Detective Vega is dating her,” Zimmerman said proudly.

  The two agents exchanged a look like they’d tasted something rancid. Vega turned his back and tried to ignore them while he explained to Adele that he was trying to remove Zimmerman for his own good.

  “I’ll be right out,” she promised. She sounded breathy and excited. “Good news—Michelle just faxed over an emergency stay.”

  “She got through to Wayne Bowman?”

  There was a pause. It sounded like Adele was reading the paperwork for the first time. “It’s . . . not from Bowman. It’s from Michelle.” Her voice faltered. “She can do that, right? Issue an emergency stay?”

  Vega glanced over his shoulder at the agents. Their jaws were slack, their postures nonchalant but unyielding as they checked their phones. Nothing but a higher judge’s order or an emergency stay from their ultimate boss was likely to dissuade them.

  “I don’t know,” Vega replied. “Either way, I think you’d better come out.”

  * * *

  “Michelle Lopez is in investigations, not enforcement,” The black agent, Tyler, told Adele when she thrust the faxed paperwork into his hands. “She doesn’t have the authority to set aside a judge’s order. And for that matter”—Tyler gave Adele a suspicious look—“what’s she doing interfering in the first place?”

  Vega tried to explain that he and Lopez were working an investigation together. “Edgar Aviles’s testimony may be crucial to the case.”

  “So?” asked Tyler. “Let him give it in detention if it’s so crucial.”

  Back and forth they went. The rabbi came out and butted in. So did Zimmerman. It took three tries before Vega finally managed to coax the old man away.