Alex backed away from the body, then turned and walked quickly away. The few people on the edges of the park paid no attention to her.
Alex kept moving onto Broadway. She looked straight ahead as she passed the Flatiron Building and continued. She turned right on 21st. Looking around quickly, she pulled out the Browning pistol she had used to kill the Canadian financier and tossed it into the back of an idling garbage truck just before it rumbled away from the curb.
Thank God for lucky opportunities.
Alex worked to control her breathing and made sure her jaw wasn’t broken. It was sore but intact.
If nothing else, it would confuse the cops for a while that there were two bodies at the same scene killed by different methods. She started to smile thinking about the detectives who would have to figure that puzzle out.
Chapter 36
I finally decided that if I wanted to understand murders associated with the drug trade, I needed to understand the drug trade a little better. My best contact in the NYPD narcotics unit was a sergeant stationed right in my building.
Sergeant Tim Marcia was a few years older than I was, and no one would mistake him for anything but a cop. At six one and beefy, he’d kept the same mustache since the mid-1990s. He was about as straight a shooter as anyone would ever meet, and he understood the drug world better than anyone else.
I sat in the passenger seat of his seized Range Rover. The narcotics unit often used cars it seized from drug dealers to conduct surveillance or undercover operations.
We drove up into the Bronx so Sergeant Marcia could talk to a couple of his informants. He treated them more like he was a big brother or mentor than a cop. I liked that.
Near Yankee Stadium, I sat in the Range Rover while he chatted with a young Puerto Rican man just outside the SUV.
Sergeant Marcia said, “You sure that’s it? You haven’t heard any other rumors?”
The thin young man shook his head and mumbled, “No. Nothing at all.”
Sergeant Marcia put a playful headlock on the young man, then said, “Don’t be late for class. And don’t make your mother worry about you tonight. Be home by ten.”
The young man smiled and waved as he walked off.
When Sergeant Marcia slipped back into the car, I said, “That’s not exactly how the movies portray your job.”
“Everyone has his own style. I never pretended to be Popeye Doyle from The French Connection. I would rather fix a few lives while making a case than run a big operation that disrupts an entire neighborhood.”
“I couldn’t agree more. What did your young friend have to say?”
“He says there’s been a disruption of the synthetic drug market. Everyone was making a fortune on ecstasy and meth, and now they’re back to selling pot and coke. My snitch says there’s been some Canadians trying to dump extra meth on the market, but the Mexican cartel has told people to steer clear.”
I said, “Sounds like my son Brian got the straight scoop.” I wouldn’t have chosen these circumstances, but I’d been grateful to see Brian in the Buffalo hospital at least twice a week.
Sergeant Marcia said, “I don’t want to admit that a Homicide puke came up with an explanation for what’s going on in the narcotics trade. This is embarrassing.”
“You help me find this killer, and I’ll never tell a soul.”
Sergeant Marcia laughed. “We go back too far. I have too much on you. You won’t tell a soul no matter what happens.”
“But you’ll help me just the same?”
“I’m insulted you even have to ask. We’ll figure this out, and I’ll write an official report saying that we got the original information from Brian. Maybe we can use that as a way of showing the court how much he’s cooperated. Who knows? Maybe we can cut that crazy sentence down a little bit.”
That was the mark of a true friend.
Sergeant Marcia said, “Synthetics are a part of the drug trade I don’t have a lot to do with. All my experience is with heroin and cocaine. I can predict what those users and dealers will act like. The synthetic drugs like ecstasy attract a new kind of seller and affect all users differently. I knew the Canadians were heavily involved in that market, but they tend to stay under the radar, and we haven’t made any serious arrests.
“It’s just semantics when we’re talking about drugs. People are going to use them whether they’re in the form of prescription pills or black tar heroin. Sometimes I feel like we should just legalize all drugs and take the consequences.”
“What kind of consequences?”
“A surge in overdose deaths. A much higher percentage of the population that doesn’t contribute anything to society. A bunch of drug dealers looking for a different crime they can commit because the government has taken over their jobs. Who could tell what would happen? I don’t even like to think about it.”
Listening to the narcotics sergeant, I remembered an old-timer in Vice talking about how the Dutch handled some of their crime problems. He had said, “The Dutch had a problem with prostitution, so they legalized it. Then they had a problem with drugs, so they legalized them. Let’s hope they never have a problem with homicide.”
Chapter 37
Alex reached a few conclusions after her first day following Michael Bennett. The detective was as busy as any man who ever lived. Between work and a huge family, Alex wondered when the man slept. She would probably not use her stiletto unless she could catch him by surprise, because he was tough and in shape. A gun would be the safest avenue.
That was why she was meeting with these two Dominicans at a White Castle off Webster Avenue in the Bronx. She would’ve preferred a busy Starbucks in Midtown, but she understood what they were doing. They wanted to meet her on their turf.
Alex sipped a coffee while the men worked their way through a plate piled high with tiny hamburgers. They spoke in Spanish, but in this neighborhood, that wasn’t any shield against someone listening in. Their Dominican accents were a little difficult for Alex to understand, but she had explained who the target was and where they might intercept him. Then she said, “I want just the two of you involved. The fewer the better.”
The older, pudgier man, with tattoos running up and down his arms, said, “We’ll need a driver. My cousin Julio will do it. But…”
Alex was losing her patience. “What? What’s wrong now?”
The man said, “A cop is a big deal. We took the job before, but now it’s going to be a second cop. There’s heat building.”
“You told me your crew was the toughest in the city. That any one of your men would die rather than be dishonored and not finish a job. I’ve already paid you a lot of cash up front.”
The man interrupted her. “And we have three men dead because of it.”
“That’s not my issue. That’s why I hired you as contractors.”
“What about Cesar, who was killed in the hospital? Did you do that so he wouldn’t talk?”
Alex had lost her cool. She snapped, “Give me back the money.”
“What? I don’t have it just lying around.”
“If you’re not going to give it back, do your job. Do what I tell you or I’ll make sure no one ever hires you or any of your crew again. Is that what you want?”
The younger man started to say something, a vein on his forehead popping out. But the man with the tattoos put a hand on his chest.
“We’ll do it. And we’ll expect you to come up with the rest of the cash quickly when it’s done. Then we’ll be square. At least as far as money is concerned.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We have some questions we’d like answered. After we get paid.”
“Once I close out my contracts and you’ve done what you’ve been paid to do, I’ll talk with you all you want.”
The man picked up a tiny hamburger and popped it into his mouth. He washed it down with a big gulp of soda. Then he looked at Alex and said, “You’ll have me, Laszlo here, and my cousin Julio whene
ver you need us.”
Alex eyed Laszlo. He was the surly, emotional type that made this job miserable sometimes. She hoped his older friend could keep him in line.
Chapter 38
After meeting with the Dominicans, Alex used the entire afternoon to gather more information on Bennett. By following him to meet his grandfather—who, she learned, was a priest—she had the opportunity to photograph the churches in the neighborhood where Bennett lived and his grandfather worked. She loved the architecture of churches and relished the opportunity to mix pleasure with business.
Late in the afternoon, when she was tired of waiting for Bennett to emerge, Alex strolled into Central Park. She eyed a cop on horseback who was checking her out, then was distracted by a group of tourists riding horses with a guide. Horses right in Central Park!
Clemency and Gabriela could ride better than any of these adults, Alex thought. She knelt down and snapped half a dozen quick photos of the group with the sun casting wild beams of light through the trees. It was a wonderful sight.
Then she heard a man’s voice say, “Are you a spy conducting surveillance or just a fan of horses?”
The voice startled her, and she turned quickly, rising to her feet. She stared for a moment. It was the policeman sitting atop his bay horse, more than sixteen hands tall. The horse’s placid eyes took her in.
Alex said, “Excuse me?”
“I said, are you a spy or just into horses?”
“Both.” She hated to lie.
It was hard for a man not to look sexy on top of a horse, but this policeman also had broad shoulders and a square jaw. He looked like a recruiting poster. He gave her a smile, showing his perfect white teeth.
Alex felt herself flush slightly. She liked the way his eyes stayed on her face. It showed a good upbringing.
She stepped closer to him and ran her hand along the horse’s graceful neck. “What’s his name?”
“Traveller.”
“Just like Robert E. Lee’s horse.”
The cop stared at her, then said, “That’s exactly right. Almost no one gets that.”
“I bet the horse people do.”
“The horse people and the Civil War nuts.”
On impulse, she said, “How do I rent a horse here?”
“You know how to ride?”
“I’ve been around horses my entire life.”
The cop said, “What do racehorses eat?”
Alex smiled. “That’s the oldest joke around. Fast food.”
“Okay, that’s one. What goes in the horse’s mouth?”
“The bit.” She tried to look insulted, but this guy was too adorable.
The cop said, “Finally, the most important question. Will you go out with me?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Let’s see how the ride goes.”
“Fair enough.”
Suddenly not only Alex’s day but also her whole trip started to look brighter.
The cop’s name was Tom McLaughlin, but his friends called him T-Mac. He’d been raised in Quantico, Virginia, where his father was stationed in the Marines. That’s where he developed his love of horseback riding.
Alex couldn’t remember the last time she actually enjoyed herself this much on an assignment. Time flew while they rode through the park.
Alex said, “Is it hard to get an assignment in the NYPD horse unit?”
“It’s called the Mounted Unit. And you’d be shocked how many cops want to get in. There’s only about fifty-five horses now. We go all over the city for PR and sometimes crowd control. We also patrol the park. I love it, except I never get weekends off.”
He had a simple, direct way about him, and Alex found him interesting.
When he asked for her phone number, she gave him the number to her burner phone, which would be good for the length of her stay in New York. A stay she hoped would be long enough to see this handsome cop again.
She said, “I’ll only be in New York another week or so. But I would enjoy a nice dinner. Steak and horses are two of my favorite things.”
T-Mac gave her a dazzling smile and said, “Mine, too.”
Chapter 39
I got the call about a double homicide down in Madison Square Park around nine o’clock. Mary Catherine understood that I had a certain duty, no matter what time of the day or night I was called. She just reminded me to take it easy, since I was still recovering from my injuries.
There’s a certain Zen to doing the job you’re trained for and understand so well. I even had a twinge of excitement as I hopped in my city car and headed south. This time of night, I made it to the crime scene pretty quick.
Sometimes I forget about the turnover in the NYPD. I didn’t recognize a single one of the young uniformed officers maintaining the perimeter of the crime scene. It was at the lower end of the park near a massive water fountain. I had my ID and a badge on a chain around my neck. I didn’t wear a jacket, so everyone saw the second badge clipped next to my gun on my belt.
As I approached the fountain, I saw exactly who I was looking for. Cassie Max was on one knee by the edge of the fountain looking back toward some bushes and a low wall. Her short black hair was covered by a scarf as she focused her attention on the far side of the fountain.
As soon as she saw me, a smile whipped across her face and she sprang to her feet.
Cassie said, “It’s nice to see that senior detectives still come out after dark.”
“When I was younger, the word senior was code for ‘old.’”
“Nothing’s changed.” She gave me a sly smile that conveyed her wit and intelligence. Then she said, “I called you as soon as I realized this victim was Canadian. When I saw she might be connected to the Canadian mob, I knew you’d be interested.”
“It looks like you get all the homicides in parks.”
“They can be a convenient place to kill someone.”
“What about the second victim? Is he a Canadian as well?”
“No. He’s a local thug named Anthony Chichee. He has half a dozen arrests for assault and is the suspect in two homicides. He’s known as an enforcer and bodyguard for hire.”
I said, “So what have you figured out so far?”
“The woman, Alicia Toussant, was shot one time just above her nose. The bullet never exited. The medical examiner’s people took both the bodies about twenty minutes ago. I was just trying to line up where the shot was probably taken from. There’s a spent casing over there.” She pointed to the edge of the concrete.
“Depending on the weapon the killer was using, I suspect whoever took the shot was standing about ten feet away.”
“Same caliber as your murder near Bryant Park?”
“It was a nine, but so are about seventy million others. If the killer is as professional as I think, I doubt we’ll match up the slugs.”
I took a few seconds to scan the entire crime scene. Experience had taught me that you sometimes thought of a new angle when you just looked around.
I said, “I don’t think anyone wants to hear about a turf war here in the city. It sure looks like someone has got it in for Canadians, and my sources say it’s one of the Mexican cartels.”
“I’ll leave it up to you to look at the big picture. I just want to find the killer here and in Bryant Park.”
“Was the second victim also shot?”
“No. He was killed up close. I suspect it was before Ms. Toussant was shot. Someone shoved a sharp-edged weapon up through his jaw and into his brain.”
Instantly I realized the other connection to murders in the city. I didn’t need to take a look at the ViCAP database to tell me what I already knew. I said to Cassie, “Would you call that sharp-edged weapon a stiletto?”
She thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
I said, “Then I can guarantee that these murders are connected to what I’m looking at.”
Chapter 40
I stayed at the scene with Cassie Max until almost the middle of the night.
I didn’t bounce any more of my conspiracy theory off Cassie. She needed to focus on this individual homicide scene. Cleared murders are the currency of a homicide detective.
No detective wanted a double homicide to go cold. The fact that there were two victims meant that there were almost twice as many leads to follow up on. Twice as much media coverage. And twice as much pressure from above to clear the case.
I was confident in Cassie’s abilities and intended to work with her as I developed more leads myself.
I managed to wake up and get into the office early, and at midday decided I needed to check on my grandfather. It also gave me a break from the mountain of reports I’d been reading.
I came in through the administrative offices of Holy Name and found my grandfather absolutely motionless at his desk, with his head to one side. His mouth was open, but he wasn’t snoring.
I approached from the door slowly, feeling a wave of fear rise up in me. I said his name several times softly. I carefully placed my hand near his mouth and nose, hoping to feel his breath.
I wasn’t sure, so I leaned in closer. As I did, his right eye popped open.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was clear and his accent sharp. That meant he was alert.
I hopped back, trying to hide being startled. I also didn’t want him to think I was afraid he had died at his desk.
I said, “Just came by to say hello.”
Seamus said, “Do you sneak up on everyone you want to say hello to? Go say hello to Alonzo back at the indoor basketball court. I want to finish my nap.”
I thought that was sound reasoning and headed through the rear of the gymnasium attached to the school.
There was a spirited basketball scrimmage going on as Alonzo shouted encouragement from the edge of the court. When he saw me, he handed his whistle over to one of the assistant coaches.
He extended his hand as he said, “How are you, Michael?”
“Good.” I almost had to shout over the noise of the game in the enclosed gym.
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