by Faith Wood
“I did more than that. All you need to know, for now, is things will probably start to move quickly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I said enough . . .” Remington didn’t want to let too much out of the bag for fear of compromising Colbie’s investigation, as well as fearing Al’s discovering her duplicity. She was counting on Colbie to take Al Vincent down—only then could she rest easily.
Brian had to take advantage of Remington’s loose lips. “One more thing—and, I won’t say a word—who’s behind this? I know as sure as I sit here this isn’t your idea. Am I right?”
Remington hesitated, wondering if she were saying too much. Although she couldn’t imagine how Al Vincent would learn she was selling him out, she also never imagined herself in such a position in the first place.
“Keep thinking . . .”
That was all she said.
Chapter 19
Colbie found herself thinking about her last call to Tammy. She hadn’t heard from her since then, and she began to question whether she made the right decision. She didn’t want to come across as a mother-hen type, but she did worry something happened. She didn’t trust Vinnie Alberico as far as she could throw him—even so, it wasn’t any of her business, and Tammy was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She hoped. The problem was her intuition was telling her otherwise—and, it wasn’t until she thought about her professor’s lecture on willful blindness that she made a decision.
She dialed Tammy’s number.
Several rings later, voicemail took over. Tammy’s voice sounded young, and Colbie thought how difficult it must be to have the responsibility of caring for a young child. Since she didn’t want to come off as a Nosy Nettie, she left a generic message asking her to call as soon as possible. That was all she could do—but, if she didn’t hear from her by the following day, she’d investigate further. In the meantime, she had plenty to keep her busy.
Ryan parked across the street from the dry cleaners, under a tree providing decent cover. His car looked like others on the street, so it was likely no one would notice as he surveilled the block. He had the perfect vantage point to see across the street and up, but he had no view of those businesses on the right side of the street. He’d have to change his position if he wanted to surveil them, as well.
It was a long time since he visited the south side—five years when he thought about it—but everything looked the same. In fact, nothing changed—still loaded with culture, along with dark alleys that made his skin crawl. The area had its difficulties, and it was widely known to outsiders as a rough part of the city. Those same outsiders also thought no one in their right mind would walk its streets after dusk—but, with an escalating crime rate, it was the perfect feeding ground for a money hungry, dirty cop.
He remembered Alvin showed up around noon, giving him ten minutes to adjust the settings on his camera. He scooted over to the passenger’s side to avoid detection—the last thing he needed was someone calling the cops on him. That way, he was in the shadows and his telephoto lens would do the heavy work. The tree provided the shade he needed to camouflage himself, plus he wore a dark navy hoodie to further blend into the interior of the car.
Ryan thought it odd there weren’t more people on the streets. For a Friday it was nearly deserted, and the only person he saw was half a block away. All he had to look at were some poorly designed storefronts—until a red-haired cop turned the corner, heading directly for the dry cleaners. Bingo! And, he’s in uniform, Ryan thought as he snapped pics of Alvin’s pulling open the door—Ryan’s telephoto lens was brand new, allowing him perfect, close-up access.
Three minutes later, Alvin strode through the door, making his way up the block. Same thing—disappear through a door, only to leave minutes later. Four times. Even without knowing how much Alvin was extorting from the business owners, it had to be a tidy, weekly sum. Within fifteen minutes Alvin disappeared, rounding a corner. Probably stashed his car, Ryan surmised as he watched him walk out of view.
He texted Colbie to let her know he got the photos, and they agreed to meet later that afternoon. She had no idea what time she would wrap up her end of the investigation, so they settled on touching base around five o’clock.
Right then, she was more concerned about Tammy.
Colbie timed her call to Sarge for late afternoon, right before the end of his shift—it was the best time to find him in his office and, if everything went according to plan, he would spend a little more time with her on the phone. The past several times she spoke with him, he was rushed due to a backlog of cases—this time, she had more to present and she wanted to get his thoughts on the whole Optimum Security thing. Certainly he would be interested, but she still had to tell him the news about Alvin. Colbie wasn’t sure if she wanted to drop that bombshell right then—she wanted physical evidence of wrongdoing and, until then, Sarge wouldn’t give credence to her theories—whatever they were. Until she sifted through all the information Tammy provided, she wouldn’t have a complete picture. She did have a couple of questions about the files, though, so they served as the perfect excuse to check on her.
Tammy picked up on the fourth ring.
“Hi, Tammy—it’s Colbie. How are you doing?”
“Fine . . .” Her voice sounded strange, as if she were talking with a mouthful of rocks.
“Are you okay?” Colbie listened carefully to her voice, noting any differences from Tammy’s regular tone and inflection.
“Yeah—I’m fine.”
Colbie didn’t buy it. Mental alarms were in full swing, and she knew something was wrong. Very wrong. She also knew Tammy wouldn’t tell her—so, time for another approach. With Colbie doing most of the talking, Tammy answered questions about the files.
“Okay—that’s it for me.” Colbie paused as if she were trying to remember something. “Oh, one more thing—what’s your address?”
“My address? Why do you need it?”
Colbie avoided the question. “Don’t worry—I’m not going to use it against you. I’m just trying to keep all of my notes up to date—I don’t want to take a chance on getting confused!” Her reason didn’t make much sense, but Colbie counted on Tammy’s not really listening.
“Oh. Okay. 1579 Charleston Place.”
“Got it! I’ll call again if I need anything else . . .” With that, Colbie ended the call before Tammy had a chance to say a word.
Propped up against the kitchen counter, Colbie cupped her hands around her oversized cup of tea, thinking about Tammy. She sounded weird, she thought as she replayed the conversation in her mind. I don’t know what, but something is wrong. She couldn’t think about it any longer—grabbing her notes and keys from the kitchen table, she was out the door.
She knew Tammy’s area of town, but she didn’t know it well. Initially, she thought Tammy lived in an apartment, but was pleased to see the address was a cute bungalow set back from the street. She parked at the curb in front of the picket-fence gate, sitting for a moment to see if there were activity in either the yard, or outside. At least her son has a yard to play in, she noted as she scanned the neighborhood. It was too quiet—the cop in her told her something wasn’t right—so did her intuition.
The cement walkway was cracked with bits of grass growing in its jagged seams, and the front door needed a good coat of paint—other than that, it appeared to be in good shape. The neighborhood was established with the majority of residents in their forties and up. Tammy’s living there appeared an anomaly, but it seemed a good environment for her child.
She rapped on the wooden door, listening carefully for the slightest sound. Nothing. She knocked again.
Tammy slowly opened the door, the late afternoon sun highlighting the right side of her face. Colbie stared, stunned, at the woman standing before her—Tammy’s face, beaten and
blue, was swollen to the point of her right eye being completely shut. She held an ice pack to her lower right jaw, droplets of water streaking down her forearm.
“Holy shit! What the hell happened to you?” Colbie opened the door, inviting herself inside. “Did Alberico do this?”
Tammy nodded.
“When? The day I called you?” Colbie led her into better light so she could see the extent of her injuries. She tilted Tammy’s head slightly to the left, her fingertips gently resting under her chin. The bruising exploded under her jaw, snaking up the side of her face.
“Where’s your child?” Colbie glanced around the room as she asked the question.
“He’s staying with my sister.”
“Did he see you like this?” Tammy nodded.
“Did he see Alberico wail on you?”
The receptionist’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes . . .”
“Did you go to the hospital? Did he rape you?”
Tammy shook her head. “No—he got pissed when I wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”
Colbie asked again, “Did you go to the hospital?”
“No—I’ll be okay.” Her response was classic. So many abused women don’t want to get treatment or report an assault and, to Colbie’s way of thinking, it was a foolish decision although she understood it. Tammy undoubtedly knew if she went to the hospital they may report the incident to the cops.
It wasn’t a secret Vinnie Alberico threatened Tammy with further harm if she opened her mouth. He was the type who thought he could take whatever he wanted and, until then, it may have been true. But, what Colbie also realized was his beating Tammy to a bloody pulp would be his undoing—it was the open door she needed for her to ask Sarge to pull him in for questioning.
She planned to do exactly that.
“It probably wasn’t the best idea to order Chinese chicken wings,” Colbie commented as she wiped her fingers on a paper towel. “They’re too damned messy!”
Ryan laughed as he reached for another. “They may be messy, but they’re good!”
She sat back in her chair, looking at Ryan. His account of Alvin’s coming and goings on the south side were interesting, and she was thrilled he snapped photos. She slipped the thumb drive into the port of her laptop and, a couple of clicks later she was looking at fifty pictures of Alvin from the time he entered the dry cleaners to when he rounded the corner at the far end of the block.
“He’s so stinkin’ arrogant—he doesn’t have a clue we’re surveilling him. He can’t imagine anyone would . . .” The more she looked at him in the photos, the more she was beginning to hate his guts.
“Yeah—I made sure I was as inconspicuous as possible. He was in each business for only a couple of minutes, then it was out the door to the next.”
Colbie enlarged each picture enough so she had a good look without compromising pixilation.
“Ryan! Check this out . . .” Colbie adjusted her glasses, leaned forward, and squinted at the photograph on her screen.
“Hold on a sec . . .” He wiped off his fingers while Colbie slid the laptop to an angle so both of them could see.
“Look—right there!” She pulled the picture to full screen, pointing to Alvin’s left front pants pocket. “It didn’t look like that when he went in . . .” She compared the pictures side-by-side. “I’ll bet that’s a wad of money! Makes sense, too—the business probably doesn’t have a bunch of large bills hanging around, so the owner probably paid Alvin in smaller bills. Tens. Twenties—maybe smaller.”
Ryan leaned closer to get a better look. “You’re right—I bet he has a stash of cash rolled up in his pocket!”
The picture of Alvin leaving the dry cleaners was the only one providing a good front view of his body. As they reviewed the other photos, by the time Alvin completed his rounds, both pant pockets were bulging considerably.
“Excellent work! This is the proof I need so I can take it to Sarge—now he can do something, and I’m going to ask him to start with Vinnie Alberico.” She looked at Ryan as she took a swig of coffee. “If I tell him about Alvin now, I’m not sure how he’ll handle it—but I’m thinking he’ll want to do his own investigation into Alvin’s second—no, third—job. Optimum Security is his second. Fleecing timid business owners is his third. However, no matter how I look at it, Sarge won’t immediately do anything—he’ll want to be sure first . . .”
“What if he refuses to do anything at all?”
“He can’t if we have proof of one of his own helping himself to citizens’ money.”
“Well, maybe . . . but something tells me it isn’t going to be quite that easy.”
“You’re probably right, but I have to start somewhere. I’ll call him in the morning to set up a time to talk—I want to be sure Alvin isn’t anywhere near the precinct.”
“Smart . . . good luck!” Ryan pushed his chair back, and grabbed his jacket. “Let me know how it goes . . .”
Even though is was Saturday, Colbie had a fifty-fifty chance of contacting Sarge at the precinct. The murder case from a few weeks ago was still active, so every cop he could spare was putting in overtime, including him. She sat on her couch, laptop positioned just right, considering what she would say. If she decided to bring up Alvin, she had to walk on eggshells when presenting her suspicions for she was certain Sarge wouldn’t take it well.
She dialed the precinct, asking the cop on the front desk to patch her through.
“Sure thing—he just got here.”
Colbie thanked him, and waited for Sarge to pick up.
“Rifkin.”
“Sarge! It’s Colbie—I’m glad I caught you!”
“I just walked in the door—what can I do for you? Any news on Brian?” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to put as much time into it—the Lansing murder has all of us working extra hours.”
“I know—I’m keeping up with it when I watch the news. Although, I have to admit, I haven’t had much time to do that.”
“So—what’s up? Why are you calling?”
Colbie swallowed hard. “Well, I do have news about Brian’s case—any chance you have time to meet with me this afternoon?”
“This afternoon? I don’t know if . . .”
“I’ll be brief, I promise—I won’t take up much of your time.”
Sarge paused, considering whether he wanted to meet with her after his shift. “Come in at four—I only have half an hour, though—Melissa and I have plans for this evening.”
“You got it—I’ll be there at four!” Colbie clicked off, considering her good luck. Maybe, she thought, just maybe this is the break I need!
At precisely four o’clock, Colbie waited for Sarge outside of his office. Clements was on the desk when she arrived, and he informed her Sarge would be back within fifteen minutes—she could wait, but there was a possibility Sarge may be later than that.
“Thanks, Clements—I think I’ll wait.” She headed down the corridor, running into only two officers by the time she reached Sarge’s office. She knew Alvin wouldn’t be there—he hadn’t shown up on a Saturday since her time at the precinct, so there was no likely reason for him to start.
It was twenty minutes before Sarge ambled down the hall.
“Hey, Colbie—c’mon in . . .” He flashed his toothy smile as he greeted her. Must’ve had a good day, she thought as she gathered her stuff from the chair beside her. He opened his office door, standing aside so she could enter first.
“Have a seat . . .” Sarge plopped several folders on his desk, then headed to a small refrigerator he kept in the corner to grab a bottle of water. “So, what’s the news?” He sat down at his desk, leaning back in the old- fashioned precinct chair.
“My investigation is going pretty well, a
nd I’ve made progress, but—I’m not quite ready to bring my findings to you, yet.”
Sarge raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get it—then why are you here?”
Colbie recounted her visit to Optimum Security, leaving out the part about running into Alvin at the coffee shop. For this conversation, she decided she didn’t want to mention Alvin’s name at all. Thirty minutes later, she paused to take a breath, leaving the weight of what she told Sarge hanging in the air. She told him everything. Tammy. Alberico. The attempted rape.
“The thing is, Sarge—I think Alberico is up to his neck in Brian’s disappearance, but I don’t have any proof. If you haul him in for questioning regarding Tammy’s attempted rape, maybe he’ll slip and say something about Brian. He will, at least, be a blip on your radar . . .”
Sarge sat silently before commenting. “Did Tammy file a report?”
“No—she’s too scared.”
“I should have a report to get this going, and I’ll need to talk with her. But, since the murder investigation is winding down, I can put a couple of guys on it.”
Colbie breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thanks, Sarge, I really appreciate it.” She hoisted her messenger bag over her shoulder as she prepared to leave. “Will you let me know when you bring Alberico in for questioning? I know I can’t be here for it, but I’ll appreciate an update.”
“You got it . . .”
As Colbie walked across the parking lot, something didn’t feel right. Sarge didn’t exhibit his usual disgust when talking about Alberico’s smacking Tammy around. She recalled several years ago when a victim showed up at the station to file an assault report, Sarge was Gung ho for nabbing the S.O.B. who did it. When Colbie told him about Vinnie Alberico assaulting Tammy, it almost seemed as if he feigned interest. What’s up with that, she wondered as she climbed in behind the wheel.