Ambush

by Patterson, James

  Announcing new plans for dinner caused quite a stir in the household. Mary Catherine seemed relieved that we were all going out. I pulled her aside to tell her about my conversation with Trent.

  Mary Catherine said, “That little shit.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He acts like all he cares about is baseball and sports, but he’s been hiding this from us for so long. He lets us focus on Eddie being some kind of genius, while he’s smart enough to coast along.”

  “Why do I think we’re looking at this from two entirely different points of view?”

  “Don’t be silly, Michael. I’m thrilled. I just like to think I’m the slyest one in the family. I’ll have to keep an eye on that one.”

  No one could ask anything more than to have a fiancée with a great sense of humor. It was just one of the many things I was grateful for. And she took my mind off my problems for a few minutes.

  We were going to make the trek to Super Tacos on foot. It was only a few blocks away, on West 96th Street. I was going to throw in a surprise visit for dessert at 16 Handles. Everyone loved the frozen yogurt there.

  Just as I had the younger kids lassoed and ready to get on the road, I noticed Juliana sulking on the balcony. The wind whipped her beautiful long hair behind her. She looked like a model, which I was sure hadn’t escaped her.

  Mary Catherine stepped out onto the balcony, and I just watched the two of them interact for a minute. Mary Catherine put her arm around Juliana’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

  As they stepped into the living room, I innocently asked, “Everything all right?”

  That made Juliana cry and rush into her bedroom.

  Mary Catherine waved me off and said, “For a change, it’s not your fault.”

  “What is it?”

  “Her boyfriend, Carter, broke up with her.”

  “I didn’t realize they were actually boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “Apparently, neither did he. Juliana found out he was dating other girls. Two of them right from the set of their show.”

  “I better go talk to her.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “I’m her father. I never have any good ideas. But I’m going to do it anyway.”

  I lightly tapped on the door to Juliana and Jane’s bedroom.

  I heard a muffled sound and eased into the room. Juliana was lying facedown on her twin bed. I think I heard her say, “Please leave me alone.”

  As a father, I took that to mean, Sit on the side of the bed and talk to me for a few minutes, Dad.

  After I sat silently at the foot of her bed, she rolled over and looked at me. She said, “I guess you were right about Carter.”

  “No, sweetheart, I wasn’t. I was worried about him being too mature for you, but he proved he was not mature enough. I just hope you see that you deserve much better than a guy like that.”

  She sat up on the bed next to me and leaned her head against my shoulder.

  Juliana said, “It just hurts so bad. I thought we had something real.”

  “You did. He was just too stupid to realize it.” I put my arm around her and wiped a tear off her cheek with my finger. “There’s nothing I can say right now that’s not a stereotype of something every dad would say. But you are so beautiful and so smart that you’ll have your choice of men across the city. And you’ve always got this guy, who loves you no matter what.”

  She squeezed me, then mumbled, “Thanks, Dad.”

  I patted her on the back and said, “Do you feel like going to Super Tacos with us? It’s up to you. No one will force you.”

  She sniffled and said, “I heard Trent might be some kind of brainiac like Eddie. I can’t miss a celebration for that. Can you give me a few minutes?”

  “As long as you need, sweetheart.”

  I kissed her on the top of her head, and somehow I was the one who felt better.

  Chapter 68

  My ad hoc task force on homicides had attracted some attention. While I was briefing the forensics people and some of the detectives involved, I noticed Internal Affairs inspector Alice Witcroft slip into a seat at the rear of the conference room.

  Roddy Huerta had been true to his word and not mentioned to anyone that I had cut a deal with Julio Laza just before he was murdered. He sat, in his usual suit and tie, making notes as I spoke.

  I had to give him credit because he didn’t even shoot me any sidelong glances when I talked about the murders and failed to mention Julio and his cousin Willie Perez. Of course, there was no evidence that the two Dominican gunmen were murdered by our suspect. But I still believed it deep down.

  When I asked if anyone had anything new, Cassie Max was the first to speak up.

  She said, “I’ve done nothing but look through surveillance videos in the areas of my two homicides. I have a couple of shots that don’t show a face but do show a woman with long brown hair, about five foot seven, who seems to have something strapped across her that’s not a purse.”

  Cassie handed out photos taken from the video. She had described it perfectly.

  Roddy said, “I have a similar-looking woman coming out of the East Harlem hotel.”

  “Can you see her face?”

  “No. Just long hair, nice legs, and high heels. I discounted her the first time I saw her. Once you gave us more information I zeroed in on her immediately.”

  A plump forensics tech named Harry said, “I think she has a camera on a strap around her.”

  I said, “How do you know?”

  “Because I have one strapped around me most of the day. No one ever even notices.”

  Now, with a new perspective, I saw it, too. “It does look like a camera.”

  Cassie Max said, “Do you think she takes trophy photos?”

  I said, “Or is it a cover?”

  The meeting broke up on its own. Everyone had things they wanted to get done immediately.

  I thought I might slip out of the conference room without having to talk to Alice Witcroft. I had nothing against her personally. It was just a general feeling that it was best to avoid Internal Affairs.

  The tall and fit fifty-year-old woman nearly blocked the door to keep me from escaping.

  She smiled as she said, “C’mon, Bennett. You really think you can evade me that easily?”

  “I thought I’d try.” I matched her gaze. I’m sure many a cop had melted under those intelligent blue eyes. “What are you doing here, Alice?”

  “Internal Affairs just wants to make sure one of the department’s most well-known detectives is not too close to a case.”

  “I’m just helping out with a series of homicides. Technically I’m not even the lead on any one homicide investigation.”

  “As I understand it, you think these murders of Canadians could be related to the death of your partner, Antrole Martens. Am I right?”

  There was no sense in denying anything. But there was no reason to admit it, either. “Possibly. We really don’t have much yet.”

  “Look, Mike, I get it. The public is never that outraged by the murder of a cop. They remember every shitbag shot by a cop in the middle of the night, but aside from a few headlines and a high-profile funeral, no one remembers the names of cops killed in the line of duty. Except other cops.

  “No matter what you think, Internal Affairs is still staffed by cops. I don’t want to stand in your way. I just don’t want you to get in the trick bag, either.”

  “Since when is Internal Affairs so worried about my job security?”

  “Since the Post called you the best detective the city ever produced.”

  “So it’s more of a PR issue than a desire to catch a cop killer.”

  The slick IA detective said, “Why can’t it be both?”

  Chapter 69

  Alex Martinez finished her conversation with both her daughters over a static-plagued cell-phone line. Her daily conversations with Gabriela and Clemency just made her miss home that much mo
re. It didn’t help that her mother called every other day and made her feel guilty about staying so long in New York.

  She sat at a computer in a café a few blocks from Times Square. She’d been making notes from articles and posts about Detective Michael Bennett on the Internet.

  Normally this was the part of her job she really enjoyed, but now she was ready for some time with her daughters and her horses.

  As she was reading yet another article about Bennett’s involvement in the famous case of hostages taken at the First Lady’s funeral, her phone buzzed. Only a few people had the number. For a moment, she was scared something could be wrong at home, even though she’d just spoken to the girls.

  When she looked down, she recognized the number as that of her mounted police officer, Tom McLaughlin. She let the phone go to voice mail. As sweet and fun as Tom was, she had a job to do, and she wanted to do it as quickly as possible.

  She still could find no photographs of or information about any of Bennett’s children. Not that she would ever hurt a child, but the kids could be a trail to the detective’s weakness. Or perhaps she could use one as bait. At this point she didn’t care, as long as she was able to finally close the contract on Bennett.

  She decided to start serious surveillance, which meant she had to rent a car. The first place she watched was his office, on Broadway and 133rd Street.

  Unless you knew what you were looking for, there was no way to tell that this was an official police office. There were a lot of Chevrolet Impalas and Ford Crown Victorias parked on the street around the building and under the elevated train track, but the building itself was unmarked and innocuous.

  Alex was peering out her open driver’s-side window when a rap on the trunk of her car startled her. When she looked into the rearview mirror she saw a tall black woman, a traffic enforcement agent, strolling to her window.

  Alex smiled and said, “I’m sorry. Do you need me to move the car?” The woman didn’t say anything but leveled a stern glare at Alex.

  She said, “It’s too late. The signs posted all around here clearly say no parking or stopping.” She pulled out her ticket book and started writing.

  Alex said, “I’m still in the car. I never got out. I was just stopping for a few moments to check my phone.”

  “I saw you sitting here for more than six minutes. That’s six minutes of breaking the law. That’s an awfully long time to be checking your phone. I don’t care how pretty you are.” She stepped to the rear of the vehicle and noticed from the tag that it was a rental. “Where you from, young woman?”

  Without hesitation Alex said, “Philly.”

  “I don’t know if Philadelphia enforces the law, but here in New York we do.” She wrote something else in her ticket book, then continued to lecture Alex.

  “If you don’t pay attention to the signs, you get a ticket. Just as simple as that.”

  Alex didn’t like the position she had been put in and couldn’t afford to be readily identified by someone who worked for the city. Her pistol was stuffed next to the seat for tactical purposes. She always carried it there when she was driving.

  She was prepared for situations like this.

  The traffic enforcement agent said, “I need your license.”

  Alex sighed and retrieved her wallet from her purse. She pulled out a valid Pennsylvania license in the name of Michelle Pagan and gave it to the agent.

  It was legit except for the photo. It also would cost her $2,600 and was now useless. She’d have to toss it as soon as she was free of this overzealous agent. It was too bad. She had started to build this identity up nicely.

  As the woman finished writing the ticket, Alex noticed Detective Michael Bennett walk out the main door of his building with another man. The man was almost as tall as Bennett and had an eighties mustache. He had to be another cop.

  Alex needed to get going and felt her anxiety rise.

  She was careful not to snatch the ticket from the parking attendant when she signed it. There was no sense in pushing this woman any further.

  She scribbled her false name, then darted into traffic with the rental car. She could see Bennett’s Impala a few blocks up and fell into her surveillance mode again.

  Chapter 70

  I wasn’t that crazy about meeting the regulator again. I understood he had a certain image and wanted to project that he was quirky and odd and that everyone could trust him, but he was nevertheless involved in the drug trade. I didn’t care if he talked about curbing violence and making everyone happy—he still lived off other people’s misery.

  Sergeant Tim Marcia had once again set up a meeting. We had to find out more information, because the last lead the regulator had given us was a dead end. With Julio Laza out of the picture, I had nowhere else to look.

  We met in the lobby of the Aloft Hotel, a little south of our office. The bar tucked in next to the side entrance was empty, and we sat at a table where no one could hear us. A skinny young waiter delivered my Coca-Cola and a glass of Scotch for John, the regulator.

  Today John was a little more dressed up, with a long-sleeved plaid shirt and a bolo tie. His long silver-streaked hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and the beautiful woman who had been sent to keep an eye on him was nowhere in sight. I didn’t ask any questions about it.

  He insisted on paying for his drink, and I noticed the first name Johann on his American Express card. Again, I wasn’t going to ask any questions.

  The regulator said, “I heard what happened to the Dominicans I told you about. Did you have anything to do with their deaths?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You realize that no one on the street or in their crew believes they shot each other in an argument.”

  “I don’t believe it, either.”

  “The whole crew is running scared. Whoever they crossed has no sense of humor whatsoever.”

  I said, “I was hoping you might have another lead for me or some information I could use.”

  The regulator shook his head and said, “I was lucky to get those names. Things are odd right now with this unpleasantness going on between the Mexicans and the Canadians.”

  “So you have no idea why they would want to kill me?”

  The regulator said, “The question is, what would lead them to you? What connection do you have to the Mexican cartel?”

  I thought about everything that had happened in the recent past. Brian being arrested. My being forced to shoot a teenage hit man named Diego in the Columbia library. The man who had corrupted Brian.

  I snapped my fingers.

  The regulator said, “There’s always a moment when things become crystal clear. What have you recalled, my friend?”

  “Caracortada.”

  This time it was Sergeant Marcia who said, “The guy we arrested in his underwear? What’s Caracortada mean again?”

  The regulator said, “Scarface.”

  I said, “He’s a dealer for the cartel. I locked him up a few months back, and he’s in Rikers Island right now.”

  The regulator took a sip of the Scotch and said, “Perhaps he could help.”

  Chapter 71

  Alex Martinez saw Bennett pull to the curb near the Aloft Hotel. She slipped her car into an overpriced lot and followed him and the other tall police officer into the lobby. Alex had been there before. She headed right for the lobby bar, where she almost ran into Bennett and the other detective, seated at a table tucked in behind the bar. There was something familiar about the man they were meeting.

  Alex picked up her camera and snapped a few photos inside the lobby, as if she were cataloging the architecture.

  A little girl in a pretty blue dress smiled and waved a tiny hand at her. Alex smiled back and knelt down so the little girl could see her camera more clearly.

  The girl’s mother said, “Don’t bother the nice lady, Susanna.”

  Alex said, “No—it’s fine. I miss my own daughters, so it’s nice to see a friendly little girl.”r />
  It was true that she missed her daughters, but the little girl also provided her with better cover. No one would suspect her if she was kneeling down to chat with a little girl in the lobby.

  Alex also used the opportunity to snap a quick photo of Bennett and the man he was meeting in the bar, an older man with long, graying hair.

  Then Alex realized who it was. Johann Batterberg. He called himself John and claimed to be some kind of drug-world negotiator. She had once heard him referred to as “the narcotics whisperer.” He brokered deals between rival gangs, avoiding unnecessary violence.

  Suddenly she realized that Bennett was working hard at trying to figure out who had ordered the hit on him. He must have reasoned that it was someone in the narcotics business. He was definitely a smart detective.

  It was interesting that he was talking to the regulator. While the Austrian-born man was involved in a lot of different negotiations, the major cartels tended to ignore him completely. They gave no credence to the idea that anyone besides them wielded power in the business. She wondered what kind of information Johann could provide to Bennett.

  Suddenly this was getting very interesting. She might have to move her schedule for eliminating Bennett ahead, before he figured anything out.

  When the little meeting broke up, she already had her car ready to go. She watched Bennett and the other police officer as they stepped onto the street.

  Chapter 72

  I didn’t bring Sergeant Tim Marcia to Rikers Island with me. I was a little embarrassed that I had missed such an obvious link as Caracortada. His real name was Albert Stass, and he had been born in Uruguay, then raised in Mexico. I had barely even met the man, even though I was part of the team that arrested him and sat in on his early hearings.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t know a lot about him. He’d ruined my life. At least ruined it as much as any one man could. He had set up a network of high school students to sell various forms of methamphetamine and ecstasy. The Mexican cartel considered synthetic drugs the next logical step in their business plan.