“Got it,” said Tag, motioning for Holmes to follow her back to their desks.
Marco watched them go, then looked over at Devan. “Ready to go watch Chicago’s interrogation?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” said Devan, pushing away from the doorjamb. “Let’s go make him fess up.”
“Fess up? Where the hell did that come from?”
“My daddy always said we had a little Mississippi in us.”
Marco shook his head. “Mississippi my ass.”
“Oh, you too,” Devan said, then gave him a wink. “So, what’s this I hear about incriminating pictures?”
Marco frowned, crutching alongside of him toward Cho and Simons’ desks. “Of Sugar Bear?”
“No, not of Sugar Bear,” said Devan, rolling his eyes in disgust. “You in eye makeup?”
Marco stopped crutching. “Ryder!” he shouted.
Jake walked out of the break room next to Lee, carrying a cup of coffee. Lee carried three, handing one to Devan and keeping the other two. “You bellowed, Adonis,” said Jake, taking a sip from his mug.
“Captain!” growled Marco.
“Captain Adonis,” Jake said, motioning for Marco to hurry up with his other hand.
“You told Adams about Saturday night?”
Jake glanced between the two of them. “I said I had pictures.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, thumbing it on.
“When I can walk again, Ryder…”
“Oh, by the way, I heard you chased down a perp with Pickles,” said Jake, holding the phone out to Devan.
Devan took it and stared at the picture.
Marco frowned at Jake. “Pickles stayed here with Lee.”
“He did,” offered Lee.
“I notice you didn’t deny chasing down a perp.”
Marco glanced at Devan, who looked up at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Damn, D’Angelo, you even make eyeliner look hot. What the hell!”
“Sickening, isn’t it?” said Jake.
“Captain,” called Cho, stepping around the partition. “We’re ready if you are.” He had a file folder in his hand.
“We’re coming,” Marco said, watching Devan hand back Jake’s phone.
“Here, I’ll take Captain Hook’s coffee,” said Devan, giving Marco a wink and accepting the second cup from Lee.
“Don’t do that.”
“What? You’d make a pretty pirate, D’Angelo,” said Devan, drawing a laugh from Jake as he walked back to his desk.
Marco glared after Jake, then turned back to see Lee fighting another smile. “Don’t make me get even with you, Adams, because I will.”
“Not after I tell Peyton you took her dog on a raid,” said Devan.
“And chased down a perp!” called Jake over his shoulder.
“Right, and chased down a perp.”
“I’ll vouch for you, Captain,” said Lee, still fighting the smile.
“Thanks,” Marco said, moving toward the interrogation room.
Cho and Simons waited for them in the observation room, while Danté and Bartlet guarded a young African American man with tattoos covering his body. They even climbed his neck and snaked across his forehead. He had piercings in his eyebrows and running up and down either ear lobe from the top to the very tip. A bolt went through his lower lip and he played with it as he glared at the metal table in front of him.
He wore an orange jumper from the county jail and slip-on shoes without laces. His hair stood up in a large afro and he had a day’s growth of beard on his young jaw. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, Marco figured.
“Roscoe Butler, aged twenty, has a sealed juvenile record from Chicago, Illinois,” said Cho, reading from the file in his hand. “Brought in for questioning for a robbery on Market of a convenience store. The clerk died in the robbery. Roscoe here wasn’t the gunman, but he was there.”
“So he’s an accessory,” said Devan.
“Exactly.” Cho closed the folder. “How do you want to play this, Captain?”
Marco watched Danté instead of the perp, thinking about what Simons had told him, how he thought Danté would make a good detective. “Simons, you wait here. Cho, you question him, but send Bartlet out. I want to see how Price handles the situation.”
“Okay,” said Cho, turning for the door.
Simons gave Marco an imperceptible nod as Marco leaned against the table, settling his crutches beside him. Devan passed him his coffee and he took a sip. As Cho entered the interrogation room, he motioned for Bartlet to leave, but he told Danté to stay, then he took a seat at the table. Simons reached over and turned on the audio.
Danté positioned himself off to the side, but close enough to the perp to react if he needed.
The perp glanced at Danté, then stared at Cho, slumping in his chair. “I don’t talk to pigs. Get me a lawyer.”
Cho sighed and opened the file. “I can get you a lawyer, Roscoe, but that means I can’t help you anymore. I’m just guessing, but you probably can’t afford one on your own, can you?”
“Get me a lawyer. I ain’t got nothing to say. And the name’s Chicago.”
“Look, all I want to know is what happened with the kid in front of the laundromat. Tell me that and I bet I can get you a deal, but if you lawyer up, I gotta go for murder one and you know what that means, Roscoe, that means the death penalty.”
Roscoe turned cold eyes on Cho. It was like looking into the eyes of a crocodile, devoid of remorse. “Get me a lawyer.”
“Fine,” said Cho, slamming the file shut. He got to his feet and headed for the door.
Marco glanced over as he stepped inside the viewing room.
“I’ll go call a public defender,” said Cho.
Marco nodded his eyes going back to Danté. Bartlet moved to go back inside the interrogation room, but Marco stopped him. “Stand by the door,” he told the younger man.
Bartlet did as instructed.
Devan sipped his coffee. “What’s in your head, D’Angelo?”
“Just curious,” said Marco, watching the room.
Roscoe fidgeted with his handcuffs a little, shooting a look at Danté, who stood with his back ramrod straight, his eyes trained at a distant point over Roscoe’s head, his hands clasped behind him. The difference between the two young men stood out glaringly – Roscoe in a jail jumpsuit, Danté in his cop’s uniform.
“How you stand it?” said Roscoe after a few more minutes of brooding silence.
Danté glanced down at him. “Stand what?”
“Working for the man.” He shook his head in disgust. “You’re one of them.”
Marco tensed, waiting to see how Danté would react.
“Your lawyer will be here in a while,” he said calmly.
“What difference that make. It’s a public defender. He ain’t gonna waste no time actually representing me.”
Danté didn’t respond.
“You know that. Yeah, you know I’m right.”
Danté narrowed his eyes on the young man. “Then why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Shoot at the laundromat.”
Roscoe made a scoffing sound. “I don’t talk to pigs.”
“Fine. Wait for the public defender then.” Danté lifted his chin and went back to staring above Roscoe’s head. “You shouldn’t be talking to me anyway.”
Roscoe fidgeted some more, glancing at Danté from time to time. “They disrespected us,” he said after another few minutes passed.
“Who?” asked Danté in a bored voice without even looking at him.
“The Big Block. They don’t respect our territory.”
“That’s not the way I hear it,” said Danté, still not looking at him. “I hear you’re invading their territory.”
Roscoe made another scoffing sound. “They messed up Jupiter bad. He can’t even shit by hisself, gots to wear diapers now. That’s not right.” He messed with the bolt in his lo
wer lip. “You look that up, you wanna know the truth. His name’s LeJohn Thompkins. We calls him Jupiter. Man, he was big as a planet, no doubt. How his mama gonna keep lifting him? It’s not right.”
“What about Mavis Jones? You wonder how she feels?”
“Who’s Mavis Jones?” Roscoe reared away as if he smelt something bad.
“Jamaad Jones’ mother. She gets to bury her son.”
Roscoe jerked his head, staring at the table. He didn’t respond for a long time, but Danté didn’t move, just waited patiently at attention. No one in the observation room spoke. They barely breathed.
Roscoe played with the bolt some more, then he shifted in the chair. He tugged on the cuffs as if he were pulling down his sleeves. Finally, he shot a look at Danté.
“I wasn’t aiming at him,” he said. “I didn’t mean for him to die.” He scrubbed a hand on his forehead, his cuffs jangling. “I didn’t mean to shoot no kid, no doubt,” he whispered, “but I did.”
* * *
“We got a full confession,” said Marco, shaking his head in wonder.
Peyton braced her chin on her hand. She was sitting on the balcony of the hotel, her face illuminated by the decorative lights strung along the railing. “Seriously? A full confession?”
“Yeah. He didn’t mean to kill anyone, certainly not a high school kid, but it doesn’t matter. He was in possession of an illegal gun and he admitted to shooting at the laundromat.”
“You’re not going for the death penalty, are you?”
“No, but Adam’s wants to go for murder one, not manslaughter.”
“No deals?”
“I don’t think so. Javier talked with Adams and made it clear we need to start taking the gang problem more seriously. Asking for stiffer punishments is a start.”
Peyton nodded. “I get that. What about Jamaad’s family?”
“I’m gonna go out with Danté tomorrow and talk to Mavis in person. She deserves that much.” He rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted Pickles on his lap. “I’m thinking of asking Mavis if she’ll help out on the taskforce. I might even be able to pay her a small salary.”
“Is there enough money for that?”
“Osborn said there was enough to pay me a full salary and for me to hire an assistant. I don’t want the job, but after I get it going, I’m gonna hire someone. Maybe Mavis would want the paid assistant position. I think the director should go to someone with law enforcement experience, though.”
“It doesn’t hurt to ask Mavis. She might feel like she’s doing something positive with Jamaad’s death.”
“She might.”
“I agree with you about the director, though. It should be someone who knows the law.”
“I had to call that young reporter, Harper McLeod, and tell her Roscoe’s name before it hits the papers. She’s been giving me information on Harlan Osborn.”
“Ah, quid pro quo, the bane of law enforcement.”
He nodded, then scrutinized her over the video chat. “You look tired.”
“Frustrated and homesick. We got a break in the case, but another kid died last night.”
“God, I’m sorry, Peyton. Overdose?”
“Yeah. And a second one’s critical.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Bambi played volleyball with both of them for the last two days. She’s a little shaken up. Anyway, we figured out how they make initial contact with their buyers.” She explained about the single-sided coins. “But we can’t figure out how they make the exchange from the coins to the drugs. The other kid we met, Trevor, bought drugs this way, I’m sure of it, but he won’t talk to us. He’s being held by the AFI, and he refused to even see us until his parents get here tomorrow.”
“So you didn’t get a crack at him?”
“Not yet. Federico thinks his parents will convince him to cooperate with us, but I can understand, in a way, why they might not. He’s terrified. He’s been buying drugs in a foreign country and people are dying from those drugs.”
“That’s frustrating.”
“I just wish he’d tell us how the coin works. We think the buyer offers it to someone face to face and somehow the drugs exchange hands, but we don’t know who that contact point is. It could be anyone – waiter, bartender, store clerk.”
Marco considered that for a moment. “What if the exchange doesn’t happen face to face?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.
“You know the purchase of the coin is face to face, so it would be natural to assume the exchange of coin and drugs is also face to face, but what if it isn’t? What if the buyer leaves the coin somewhere and the dealer picks it up, leaving the pills in its place?”
Peyton considered that. “Then the buyer would never have to see the dealer’s face and both parties would be protected. The only weak link is the exchange of the coins.”
“But that’s not even a weak link, Brooks. The coin gets hidden in the rest of the coins during the exchange. If anyone questions it, both parties can act surprised to find a strange token. And it’s not illegal to exchange a token like that between two people, so what could you arrest the guy with the coins for?” He shifted again. “You’ve gotta find the person who picks up the coins and leaves the drugs, but since the buyer never sees that person, it’s gonna be hard to identify them.”
“Which is why we need to know who’s making that secondary exchange.” She gave him a slow smile. “You are brilliant, D’Angelo. Do you know that?”
“Yep, I’m not just another pretty face in eyeliner,” said Marco with a heavy sigh, and Peyton burst into laughter.
CHAPTER 21
Rosa answered the door to Radar the next morning. “Hey?”
“Hey,” he said, stepping inside the room as she motioned him through the door. “I’ve been thinking about the bearded guy.”
“Beardy McBeardson?” said Rosa with a slight laugh as she moved toward the small table where she’d ordered room service.
“You’re letting Sparky get to you, Sarge. You better be careful.”
“She has a way about her.” She picked up the coffee carafe. “You want some?”
“Sure.”
As Rosa poured, Radar took a seat at the table. She handed him the mug and he sipped. “So what have you been thinking?” she asked.
“At first I figured he was part of the Dios Mayas.”
“The drug cartel? So did I.”
“Now, I’m beginning to doubt everything.”
Rosa sat down, pulling her own mug to her. “What do you mean?”
“He followed Celeste Miller to San Francisco. Now he’s down here watching us, but he only showed up after Miller’s body was found.”
Rosa curled her fingers through the handle and cradled the cup against her palms. The warmth seeped into her skin, calming the riot of anxiety Radar’s words provoked. “What are you saying, Radar? Just come out with it.”
“I want your permission to look into Miller’s background.”
“Why?”
Radar scratched the back of his neck, then he leaned forward, looking her directly in the eyes. “Rosa, are you sure you knew Miller as well as you think you did?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is there a chance…” His voice faltered.
“That he was dirty?”
Radar shrugged.
“None.”
“Sarge.”
“I’d bet my life on it. Miller was the most upstanding agent I’ve ever seen. He would never have done anything shady.”
Radar looked down into his coffee as Rosa fought to regain her composure. She finally did, holding out a hand to him.
“Okay, let’s pretend there was something. After a long career in the DEA, why would he suddenly do whatever you think he might have done? And how does that connect to the bearded guy?”
“To answer your first question, he has kids. He has a family. They have needs. Eventually those kids will go to college and he wasn’t getting any you
nger. Maybe he figured a pension from the government wasn’t enough for putting his life on the line all these years.”
Rosa wanted to vehemently deny it, but she’d told Radar she’d play this game with him. “Why would you think that? Why him?”
“Because he’s the one who died, Sarge. Because he clearly crossed the wrong people.”
“You’re victim blaming, Radar!” she said incredulously.
He held up a hand. “I’m just trying to figure this thing out. Why did Miller come down here later than Bass? Why was the bearded guy following his wife all the way to San Francisco? The common denominator is Miller.”
“Then who is the bearded guy?”
“I still think he might be a Dios Maya.”
“You just said you didn’t know who he was. Okay, then, why follow Celeste? Why show up here?”
Radar drew a deep breath and released it slowly, his fingers tightening on his cup. “I think Miller stole money from the cartel, Sarge. I think that’s why he died, and I think Celeste has it.”
Rosa sank back in her chair, her hands falling limply into her lap. “I can’t believe that, Radar. I just won’t believe it.”
He gave her a level look. “Then let me dig into Miller’s finances. Let me see if there’s anything there.”
She closed her eyes, fighting tears. She hated to cry. She rarely did. And she’d never believe that Miller would do something like that, and yet…and yet, there was a tiny sliver of doubt. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes again.
“You have my permission.” She pinned him with her gaze. “You and Tank can look into Joe’s finances, but I want it kept on the down low.”
Radar nodded. “Just the two of us. No one else.”
“Fine, and when you find nothing, I want it dropped. Got it. I want your entire focus back on the case before us.”
“You’ve got it,” he answered, and Rosa felt like she’d just betrayed her own family.
* * *
Bambi waited by the door as Peyton rushed around, trying to find her badge and slip on a pair of pumps. Today, they both wore their FBI black suits with their hair neatly pulled up in a bun. They were on their way to interrogate Trevor Wellington. The boy’s parents had arrived and Vega had convinced them it was in Trevor’s best interest to cooperate with the FBI.
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