Alex knew she was stealthy, but this was ridiculous. All he had to do was turn his head a few degrees to the left and she’d be in plain view. Instead his eyes were glued straight ahead as she heard the ESPN intro music on the TV.
It was an odd feeling to be in a room with someone who had no idea you were there. It was almost like watching a movie. It was like some new, fantastic interactive television.
It sent an odd thrill through her, and she savored it for almost a full minute. The longer she waited, the greater the surprise. This man was clueless. It was embarrassing that he and his associates thought they could kill her.
Alex just watched the man until he unbuttoned his pants and started to slip his hand down them. Then she stepped away from the wall and said in a calm tone, “Who are you? Where is Willie?”
“Jesus Christ,” he shouted as he sprang to his feet and tried to close his pants. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?” Then recognition set in, and he said, “Oh, it’s you. Willie isn’t here.”
“Who are you?”
“His cousin Julio.”
“The driver he mentioned.” She thought about it for a moment and said, “When will Willie be home?”
Just as he started to answer, she raised the revolver and pointed it at his face. It had the effect she wanted.
Julio said, “He usually comes home in the afternoon about now. When I talked to him on the phone earlier, he said he’d be here.”
“Good boy. You’re using your head.”
“You’re not using yours. Willie is a really bad man. Everyone knows him. Everyone’s afraid of him. If you shoot me, he’ll know who did it.”
Alex said, “I hope so.” Then she fired once, striking Julio in the dead center of his chest. He took a slight step backward, then tumbled onto the couch. He let out a raspy breath and tried to say something. He never got it out.
His eyes didn’t close, even after his heart stopped. Those lifeless brown eyes seemed fixed on Alex.
She shook off the unnerving stare of the dead man and surveyed her work for a moment. She lifted his right leg onto the couch and crossed it over his left. She straightened his body against the pillow so that it looked like he was reclining on the couch.
Then Alex stepped back and looked at the room again. A plan popped into her head.
This could work out.
Chapter 63
Alex Martinez could hear her second target trudging up the stairs and through the hallway for twenty seconds before he reached the door. She’d been sitting in the apartment with the dead man for almost a quarter of an hour. This came as a relief.
She stood behind the door when it swung open and immediately saw the heavily tattooed left arm of Willie Perez. He was chatting on the phone in Spanish.
“Yeah, baby. I know. No, you can’t come over here. My cousin wouldn’t like it. Okay, I’ll talk to him.”
Alex didn’t have to be a mind reader to tell what the conversation was about.
Willie called out to his cousin on the couch. From this angle, all he could see was the top of his cousin’s head and the TV playing in the background.
When he got no response, he called out louder, “Julio.”
Behind him, Alex said, “He’s not going to answer you.”
She couldn’t hide her smile when Willie flinched and spun around to see the barrel of a gun right in his face.
Willie said, “I guess you’re not here to pay me.”
“Do you really think you earned anything?”
Now Willie focused on the gun for a moment. He said, “Is that my revolver?”
“It is.”
While keeping the snub-nosed revolver pointed at Willie’s face, she used her left hand to pat down his waistband. She felt a gun hidden in his belt and pulled free a Taurus 9mm pistol.
She placed the revolver on the kitchen counter and pointed the newly acquired semiautomatic pistol at Willie’s head.
She backed him up past the couch so he could get a good look at his cousin.
Willie just stared at him.
Alex said, “A single gunshot in this neighborhood doesn’t draw any attention. I doubt your neighbors like you enough to call the cops if they heard a problem anyway.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
“Who’s going to catch me? The police? They’ll be glad you’re gone.”
Willie shook his head and said, “I knew you were trouble the first time I saw you. Who looks like you and then decides to kill people for a living? You’ve got something very wrong with you, lady.”
“The fact that you found it easier to kill me than the person I paid you to kill makes me question your judgment.”
“And what were we supposed to do about you killing Cesar in the hospital?”
“Which is why I have to do this today. I guarantee your friends on your crew will know exactly what happened.”
Willie nodded. “I can see your point. Perhaps we were out of line. Maybe we can work something out.”
Alex knew it would be easier if she were able to position him before she pulled the trigger. She needed him to move more to his right so he was in front of the couch, as though he and his cousin had had an argument face-to-face.
That was her mistake. She didn’t have her full focus on the killer in front of her. Instead she was thinking ahead.
As Willie shuffled away from her, he paused at the low coffee table between them.
Willie said, “Let me say one thing.”
As Alex said, “What’s that?” Willie kicked the coffee table hard into her shins, distracting her and making her lose her balance. He sprang across the space between them and wrapped a strong hand around her wrist so she couldn’t point the gun anywhere but straight up.
Most people would struggle against the power of his grip and try to get the hand free. Alex had too much training and experience for that. She lifted her knee and caught Willie on the thigh, making him step back.
He was strong and tough and jerked her along with him. Then he twisted, and they both tumbled onto the couch.
Alex found herself sandwiched between the dead man and the man trying to kill her.
Chapter 64
They struggled on the couch as Willie used his size and strength to keep the pistol pointed away from him. Alex wished she could get to her stiletto, but she’d have to make do with just her fist for now.
She punched him once directly in the Adam’s apple. The shock and inability to breathe made him shrink back and ease his grip on her wrist. Her next blow was to his solar plexus, knocking out any wind he had left.
That sent him off Alex, and he struggled to stand up.
He took a few steps back and ended up in almost the exact spot Alex wanted. She was lying on top of his dead cousin. It didn’t line up any better than this. She fired once, and the bullet hit him in almost the same place where she had punched him.
He slapped both his hands over the wound in a futile effort to ease the pain and stem the bleeding. He stood staring at Alex, as if he couldn’t believe she’d do something like that in his own home.
Willie just stared at her, trying to form a word. He wheezed and coughed. Blood mixed with his spittle as it flew onto the coffee table.
The ESPN music blared from the TV again.
After what felt like hours, but was really only ten seconds, he dropped to his knees, then fell forward.
She got off the couch and checked his pulse. It was weak for a few beats, then faded out completely.
Alex listened carefully for any movement in the hallway or any signs of concern from the neighbors. There was nothing. Just as she expected.
It was a little more difficult than she had anticipated, but the results were exactly what she wanted. She slipped on the plastic gloves she always kept in her purse. The one time a date had found them, she told him the oval case contained a diaphragm. Of all her professional equipment, gloves were the easiest things to hide in a purse or suitcase.
&
nbsp; Now was the time for her meticulous nature to come out. She had to arrange the crime scene. She put the Taurus semiautomatic pistol in Julio’s hand. She found the spent casing the gun had ejected when she shot Willie and rubbed it on Julio’s hand and arm, then tossed it back onto the floor. She thought that would be enough to fool people if they bothered to test the dead men for gunshot residue.
Then she picked up the revolver, removed the spent casing from the cylinder, and rubbed it on Willie’s right hand. Then she returned the casing and nestled the revolver in his hand.
She stepped back and admired her work. The time of death was close enough to make it hard for the medical examiner to determine that the shots came fifteen minutes apart. The longer the two bodies stayed here undetected, the more difficult the task would be.
She spent another minute making sure the apartment was in order and wiping down any surface she’d come in contact with.
Alex slipped out of the apartment. That familiar exhilaration sweeping through her. She may not have been paid, but she’d handled something vital, and she had done it well.
As she came down the stairs, Alex noticed the woman she’d helped with the groceries earlier standing in her doorway.
Alex waited a moment until the woman turned back into her apartment. Then she scampered down the last few stairs and darted out the back door without anyone seeing her.
There were no police cars racing to the apartment, so no one had been alarmed by the two separate gunshots. She knew people in a building like this wouldn’t cooperate much with the police. Even if they figured out it was a staged double murder, they had nothing they could pin on her.
She walked along the sidewalk down 129th Street. Now she could focus totally on Michael Bennett.
Chapter 65
I was sitting at my desk in Manhattan North Homicide when I noticed a message on my computer alerting me to an active homicide investigation up on 129th Street in Harlem.
Normally I keep my eyes open for homicides in general just so I know what’s going on in the city. I found enough to keep me busy on the homicides I was assigned to, so I didn’t run off to every crime scene.
But the address made me take a second look. It was Julio Laza’s building.
I had a bad feeling.
I arrived on the scene about half an hour later. Before I could pull out my ID, I saw Roddy Huerta step out from the apartment and say, “It’s okay. This old geezer is with me.”
I carefully stepped into the apartment, avoiding the crime-scene techs and photographers.
Roddy stood next to me and said, “Happened sometime yesterday. The neighbors said they were so used to loud noises and men coming and going all the time that they ignored it.”
I said, “They ignored gunshots coming from the building?”
“These two were dope dealers. They were bullies, too. Everyone in this building is just relieved they don’t have to worry about them anymore.”
Roddy pointed across the room and said, “The guy on the floor is Willie Perez.”
He brought up a booking photo of Perez on his cell phone. Then he brought up a photo of the other man.
Roddy said, “The dead man on the couch is—”
I mumbled, “Julio Laza.”
“That’s right. How’d you know that?”
I looked at the younger detective, with his sharp suit and his reputation for following policy to the letter. I had done nothing by the book. I should never have cut a deal with someone who tried to shoot me. I wondered if this would be the last conversation I’d ever have as a detective with the NYPD.
I could see Roddy was angry, so I led him out of the apartment, away from the cops working the scene.
At the far end of the hallway, I had to sit on the stairs as I filled him in on my conversation with Julio and the fact that he and his cousin had tried to shoot me.
Roddy rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to tell me this is all part of your assassin conspiracy? The woman from Colombia who no one in New York ever seems to see coming? Give me a break, Bennett. I think you’re starting to go senile.”
“I wish it was as simple as that. But I have a couple of years of experience, Roddy. I do something the book never tells us to: I follow my gut instincts sometimes. Maybe you should try it.”
“Maybe, but I get good results, and I’ve never been disciplined. Can you say that?”
“Is a letter in your personnel file that important? I know I’m doing what’s right.”
“Cutting a deal with killers? That’s not right. Our job is to arrest assholes like that.”
“Our job is to protect and serve. All you seem to be protecting is your reputation.”
After a few moments, Roddy said, “I’d say for a hot-shit homicide dick, you really screwed this one up.”
Finally I said, “Look, Roddy, I’ve got a lot of reasons to stop this Colombian woman. Not just because of Antrole or that she’s trying to kill me. Someone went after my son in prison. She might be able to lead me to the person who ordered it.”
“Does Lieutenant Grissom know about all this?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want Harry in trouble, too.
Now Roddy was showing his outrage. “Do you guys understand anything about best practices? I know you laugh at me because I follow procedures on everything, but those procedures were created for a reason. We don’t stop and frisk anymore because some officers took it too far. We have our cars inspected so often because some detectives never kept up with maintenance. And we don’t get involved in cases with a personal connection because it could affect our judgment and it’s a conflict of interest.”
I was about to rebut his argument, or at least ignore him, when I realized he was right. That hurt.
I mumbled, “Any fool can make a rule, and every fool will mind it.”
Roddy said, “What’s that?”
“Henry David Thoreau.” It was a quotation I used to live by, thanks to my philosophy degree.
Roddy said, “Henry who?”
“That Syracuse education of yours didn’t include philosophy?”
Roddy’s surly look told me all I needed to know.
I sighed, stood up, and said, “You going to tell IA about my trek off policies and procedure?”
Roddy glanced down the hallway to make sure no one was close enough to hear anything. The longer he took to answer, the tighter the knot in my stomach became.
Finally he said, “Not just yet. Maybe we can both learn something on this case.”
Chapter 66
I sat on my couch, staring out the wide windows at the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I had a hard time believing that a squabble between Julio and his cousin resulted in both of their deaths.
Willie Perez was a terrible person. All the records I could find on him indicated that he was involved in several murders, even though he’d never been charged. Julio Laza wasn’t much better. His records were for narcotics trafficking, but I had no illusions about what he’d do if he had to.
It didn’t matter now, because they were both gone. I hated to be selfish, but that mainly meant they couldn’t help me with my case anymore.
I was at a loss.
Then Trent strolled into the room and plopped down on the couch next to me. If there was such a thing as a ray of sunshine, it was Trent. He was the youngest of my boys, with bright brown eyes and the darkest complexion of any of the kids. When we adopted him, there was very little information about his family or circumstances. He was only three weeks old at the time.
From the first days, Maeve and I just fell in love with him.
He had a real sense of humor, too. More than once I found him lining up his brothers, then standing between them and singing the Sesame Street song: “One of these things is not like the others.”
Trent said, “Whatcha doing, Dad?”
“Nothing, bud. Just enjoying the view.”
“Is something wrong?”
I smiled at the boy and rubbed his head. �
�No. Just thinking about work.”
“You always tell us that family is more important than work.”
I said, “It is.”
“Well, we’re doing great as a family.” He smiled and held up an algebra test. It looked like a foreign language to me, but I understood the teacher’s comment at the top. Sister Agnes wrote, “Very impressive, Mr. Bennett. We need to find something more challenging for you.”
The nuns could be formal, but they never gave false praise.
“That’s great, Trent. You never fail to amaze me. I love that you have your own way of doing things. It’s very logical. You’d be a good philosopher.”
“But I like math.”
“You could be a philosopher like Pythagoras. He was also a mathematician.”
“You mean the Pythagorean theorem?”
“Yes, exactly. I have no idea what the theorem is, but I’ve heard of it a couple of times.”
Trent said, “It has to do with a triangle. The square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides.”
I just stared at him. Eddie was so brilliant that sometimes I forgot how smart some of the other kids were as well.
“Now, there’s good news and bad news, my boy.”
“What’s the good news?”
“I’m gonna buy you that new baseball glove you’ve been looking at and take us out for a nice dinner. All of us.”
“Super Tacos?”
“I guess, if that’s where you want to go. We live in New York City. There are a thousand great restaurants, and you want to go to a taco place.”
“Is that okay, Dad?”
I laughed. “Of course. It’s your night.”
Trent gave me a sly smile and said, “Okay, what’s the bad news?”
“I’m going to have a talk with Sister Agnes, and your work is going to get a lot more difficult.”
Trent gave me that beaming smile and said, “Bring it.”
Chapter 67
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