Gil exited the car and opened his trunk. He traded his suede jacket for a navy sweater with a hood and made his way to the perimeter of the gathering crowd. It was sunny and almost 60 degrees, but the gusting wind caused onlookers to huddle together.
“What’s going on?” Gil asked, inching next to a man in a denim jacket just behind the police tape.
“They say somebody’s been murdered in there,” he said.
“A man or a woman?” Gil asked, with a dry mouth.
The man shrugged and shook his head. A few of the L2D gang members stood on the sidewalk, handcuffed, being questioned by the police. One glanced toward the onlookers and Gil stepped back from the police tape, pulled on the hood, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He watched as cops traveled to the side of the house, and he angled for a better view.
Officers took fingerprints from the rails of the fire escape, and a few searched the grass underneath. When a cop stooped to examine something in the road and pointed in the direction of the lot across the street, Gil approached two firefighters standing near the perimeter and pulled out his notebook.
“Can you tell me how many people were shot?” Gil shouted, removing his hood.
The firefighters paused to look at him, giving him the once-over. Gil reached into his pocket and held out his business card to a female officer who walked toward him.
“Who said anything about someone being shot?” she said, looking at his card.
“That’s what I heard,” he said, smiling.
“Nope. It’s just one guy on the top floor, and he’s been stabbed. What’s your interest?”
“I’m working for the company that insures the building,” Gil lied.
He turned away and walked toward the corner, but by the time he got to his car he was running full out. He needed to find Betti. He sped eastbound back to Cass Avenue. At Temple Street he began a patterned search driving slowly north, staring into the alleys, turning onto each side street and then squaring the block back to Cass, repeating the pattern in the next block. He’d covered twenty blocks in his serpentine search when he spotted a splash of turquoise behind a dumpster.
Pulling to the curb he saw the alley pockmarked with deep crevices and still muddy from the rain two days before. Gil stepped around holes to avoid soiling his Timberland boots, and as he drew closer to the dumpster, he recognized Betti’s turquoise leggings. She was curled into a ball, slumped against a concrete wall. She appeared to be sleeping, and the front of her clothing was dark with blood.
“Betti,” Gil said, nudging her. “Wake up.”
When she didn’t respond, he lifted her arm to feel a pulse that was fast and steady. He shook her shoulders and pulled her to a sitting position, then attempted to lift her. That’s when she woke up screaming and thrashing.
“Let me go! Help!”
“Stop, Betti; it’s me, Gil. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Betti continued flailing until Gil pulled her into him and wrapped his arms tight around her. “It’s okay. You’re safe. What happened?”
“I got to get away before they find me,” Betti said frantically.
“Who’s after you?”
“Monty. Monty is after me,” she shrieked, trying to pull away.
“They will find you if you don’t stop screaming. Look at me, Betti.”
Gil lifted Betti’s chin to peer in her eyes. They were veiny and dilated. She was high on something. Gil wanted to get her into his car, but couldn’t take the chance she’d try to run if he went back to the street. He removed his sweater and wrapped it around her bloody clothes.
“Come on, we need to get out of here.”
Gil moved her down the alley. She was quiet now, in and out of consciousness and her toes barely touched the ground. He hoped no one would see them. When he deposited her into the backseat, she slumped face down onto the seat.
Gil fired up the engine. He thought about calling Charlie and Don, but didn’t want to take the time. He wasn’t sure where to take Betti, but the car’s tires squealed as it careened up the street.
# # #
Don didn’t answer his phone, nor did Gil. Charlie called Judy, who answered on the first ring.
“What’s happened, Judy?” asked Charlie. “I just heard from Reggie.”
“I wanted to call you, but Don said not to. We didn’t want to interrupt your happy day.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’s going to call you.”
“Judy. Tell me!” Charlie hollered.
“Gil was arrested. They picked him up in the Corridor for killing that Monty guy.”
Charlie moved about the kitchen until she found a pencil and a piece of paper. “Give me the information.”
Mandy followed from the deck with the remnants of their lunch. She threw trash into a bag, and put the leftover drinks into the refrigerator. She put on her jacket and was ready to leave when Charlie entered the living room.
“I’m sorry, honey. I have to go. Gil’s been arrested and is at police headquarters. Can you drop me off there?”
They rode in quiet for the fifteen-minute drive to Beaubien Street, Charlie lost in worry about Gil’s predicament and Mandy upset and frustrated. When they got to the police station, Charlie hesitated before getting out of the car, but Mandy had already opened the passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side.
“Are you going back to the house?” Charlie asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll call you to see where you are when I’m done.”
“Okay,” Mandy said.
Charlie looked around to see who might be watching. She wanted to offer Mandy a kiss, but Mandy had already dipped into the seat.
“I hope Gil is going to be okay,” Mandy said, then gunned the Vette away from the building.
# # #
As Charlie stepped into the Corridor on the third floor of police headquarters, she saw a glum Don sitting on the bench in front of Captain Travers’ office. Inside, a high-level meeting involving members of the DEA Task Force, the gang unit, and other DPD personnel was underway.
Don filled in Charlie on the events of the morning, which had started off as Don had planned. He got to the office at ten o’clock for a meeting with Gil, who was to check out of the hotel and bring Betti back to the office to cool her heels. Judy was already updating the company filing system and whistling show tunes. At eleven, Don called Gil, who didn’t answer. A half-hour later he called again. This time, a breathless Gil reported he’d awakened to find Betti gone and had been looking for her for more than an hour.
Don instructed Gil to wait for him at NSO, but found neither Gil nor Betti when he arrived, so he’d driven around before seeing the parade of emergency vehicles and heading over to Monty’s house. He told Charlie about the house being surrounded by police cars, but even with his insider status he couldn’t get past the perimeter. He had left a message for Detective Scott and called Gil again with no result, then reported in to Judy.
Finally, Don got a call from Alonzo Scott. A patrol car had spotted Gil driving erratically. When they signaled him, he didn’t stop and led them on a brief chase. When Gil got out of his car, he was covered in blood.
“Have they let you talk to him?” Charlie asked.
“No. I haven’t spoken to anyone, and I’ve been sitting here over an hour. How did you know something was wrong?”
“Reggie called to tell me Monty was dead. Don, you should have called me.”
“No, I shouldn’t have. What would you have done that I didn’t do?”
“I could have worried with you.”
“Judy was already doing that.”
They sat another half hour in miserable silence. Once or twice an officer or a plainclothes entered the room, and they could hear raised voices. One of them Charlie recognized as Travers. At three o’clock the door opened again and various law enforcement officials streamed by, a few of them staring curiously at Charlie and Don. Then Detective Scott approached
them.
“Travers wants to see you,” he said, solemnly.
“Maybe you should stay here,” Don said to Charlie.
“The hell I am.”
“He said he wants both of you.”
Travers sat alone at the head of his conference table. He had photos and papers in front of him. His tie was loosened, his collar button open. He looked up as they entered, and Scott pointed to chairs. Don and Charlie separated to sit on either side of the table, a tactic they used so one could watch as the other engaged in conversation, but Travers thwarted the plan.
“Please sit there,” he pointed to the two seats across from Scott. “Your partner has confessed to killing Monctezuma Velanzuela.”
Travers displayed none of the one-upmanship or casual flirtation from their earlier meetings. He was a man filled with worry. Charlie tried to get a hint from Scott, but his face was passive and locked on the captain.
“He confessed?” Charlie asked, incredulously.
Travers nodded, and Scott slid a piece of paper to Charlie and Don. There in Gil’s neat cursive was an account of an altercation with the gang leader at his house. Gil wrote that he and Monty had quarreled over stolen cash and drugs. Monty brandished a knife and threatened him with it. That’s when the two scuffled and Monty was stabbed, at least twice. Gil then panicked and fled the house. The confession had Gil’s signature. When Charlie looked up, both Travers and Scott were staring at her. Don pushed the paper back across the table dismissively.
“I guess you don’t believe this any more than we do,” Charlie said.
“Why would your partner write this confession?” Travers asked.
Charlie and Don remained still and silent. Charlie imagined Don was working out his own explanation, as she had done as soon as she read the confession. Don crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. A sign he was either disgusted or stonewalling. In this case, Charlie assumed it was both.
“Based on what you told me, Rutkowski, Gil had baited Monty. Why would he go to the guy’s house?”
“You tell me, Scott.”
“Okay. This is getting us nowhere,” Travers said to the other three. “Let’s drop the pretense. You’re right, Ms. Mack, we know Gil Acosta didn’t kill Monty. His story is inconsistent with the facts at the crime scene.”
Charlie thought she’d try to take advantage of Travers’ anxious state by turning on some charm. She gave him her full-frontal view and flashed a quick smile. “Do you mind telling us something about the crime scene, Captain? Where in the house was Monty killed?”
“His bedroom.”
“Was he, uh, fully dressed?”
“He was wearing his skivvies.”
“He was stabbed? Not shot?”
“Correct. Multiple times.”
“So, we all know Gil didn’t do it,” Charlie said. “Who do you think did?”
“We thought you might have some idea.”
“Would you let us speak with Gil?”
Travers looked at Scott and got a silent affirmative. Scott gathered the papers and waited for Travers’ orders.
“He’s in our holding cell downstairs. One of you can see him for fifteen minutes. The other waits here.”
Charlie felt Don move at her side, but when she also shifted, he paused. Charlie had a dilemma. With some cajoling and flattery she was sure she could convince Travers to bend the rules, and help the Mack partners find a way out of this mess, but she was also sure Gil would open up to her more fully than to Don. She did a quick mental calculation. “Don, you meet with Gil.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’ll stay here and talk to the Captain and Detective Scott.”
# # #
Gil huddled in the corner of a holding cell bunk, looking up toward a rectangle of muted daylight. The low sun had to penetrate a yellowing window, covered by a protective steel mesh screen. Gil turned toward the cell door when he heard the key scrape the lock. The guard didn’t announce his visitor and said nothing as he relocked the door.
Ten years Gil’s senior, Don was what he seemed to be, an ex-Marine, an ex-cop, and a tough guy. For reasons he couldn’t begin to understand, this investigation had caused Gil to have uncharacteristic lapses of judgment, but Don had a strong creed of loyalty to, and protection of, those he deemed worthy. Gil was worthy.
“You look like shit,” Don said.
“Glad to see you too, partner.”
Don sat next to Gil and put a hand on his shoulder. They sat like that for a moment, acknowledging their bond, before Don moved to the empty bunk across from Gil.
“Why’d you sign that bogus confession, Acosta?”
“Who says it’s bogus?”
“Everybody. The facts don’t correlate with your account of things.”
“I killed the asshole,” Gil growled.
“No, you didn’t, man.”
Gil stood up and shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets. Blood smeared his flannel shirt and the front of his jeans. He still wore his boots, but his shoelaces were missing, and his belt had been confiscated. Gil paced a few times between the bunks, and finally stopped and leaned against the cell bars. He was ready to answer Don’s questions about Betti.
“When did you find her?”
“Around one o’clock. She hadn’t answered my calls, so I just drove around. I found her in an alley not far from the tent city. She’d taken a hit of something and was terrified. She clung to me like a little girl.”
“Is that how you got the blood on your clothes?”
Gil’s face twisted in anger. He kicked the cell door, then sank onto the bunk. Don hadn’t noticed the scratches on his forearms until now. The guard appeared.
“Everything all right in here?”
“Yes. We’re fine,” Don replied.
The guard looked at the expressions of the two men, and took a beat to make his own assessment. “Okay. You only have another eight minutes,” he said, looking at his watch and walking away.
“Did she scratch you up?”
“She didn’t know it was me at first. She thought it was one of Monty’s guys. I don’t know why she went back to Monty’s in the first place. I told her I’d help her find a training course or something so she could get a job.” Gil shook his head in disbelief.
“What happened to Monty? What did she tell you?”
“He hit her. Several times. Asked who I was and where he could find me. She made up some lie, and he sent some of his boys out looking for me. Then he forced her to have sex. She said there was a steak knife on a plate in his room. She was high, Don, and scared. She just picked up the knife and stabbed him.”
“Where is she now, Acosta?”
The guard returned to the cell door. Don took out his notebook and pen, and handed it to Gil who jotted something and returned the items.
“Travers knows you didn’t kill Monty. Charlie is with him now. We’ll see what we can do about getting you out of here.”
“Thanks, Don. Tell Charlie I’m sorry. And please, give Betti a chance to explain.”
“I think you should just worry about your own situation.”
# # #
Charlie had appealed to Travers’ ambition to nudge him in the direction he was already inclined to go. He would tear up Gil’s fake confession and release him to his partners. He hadn’t been arrested, only detained for questioning. As far as record keeping was concerned, Scott had made sure Gil didn’t go through booking, and the patrol report about detaining Gil on suspicion of murder had been secured by Travers.
However, Travers also made it clear to Charlie that there would be problems for the Mack Agency if she, or any of her partners, were found to be obstructing justice. When Don returned to Travers’ office, he was met with a question from Scott.
“Who is your partner protecting?”
“He may be protecting a prostitute who’s been helping us in the Corridor, but he doesn’t know for sure if, uh, she killed Monty,” Don said.
“
What’s her name?” Scott asked, with a pen poised over a notepad.
Don and Charlie shared a look, but Don wasn’t going to be cautious. “Bettina Waller. We don’t know much about her.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“No,” Don said.
“How has she been helping you?” Travers picked up the questions.
“She’s just keeping her eyes and ears open for any talk about the immolation murders,” Charlie offered. She purposefully changed the subject with a question aimed at Scott: “How will Monty’s death affect the gang violence in the Corridor?”
Scott angled his head as he thought about it. “It’ll probably make the violence worse for a while, because rival gangs will see the L2Ds as weaker. There will be some fighting for turf, I think.”
“What about the drugs? Will the supplies continue at the same rate?” Don asked.
“I doubt we’ll see even a dent in the supply chain. One of Monty’s guys will try to step up in command. Whoever the new guy is, he’ll contact the suppliers and get a chance to make his mark.”
“There’s still one unknown factor,” Charlie offered. “Anderson. He’ll have to react in some way.”
Charlie caught the look between Scott and Travers. “I appreciate our candid conversation this morning, Ms. Mack. However, there are some internal policy decisions we can’t share with you and your partner at this time. I know you can appreciate that.”
Charlie nodded. “I understand that sometimes, even with colleagues, you have to be able to operate with a certain amount of impunity.”
Travers nodded, smiling weakly. Scott’s glance and body language indicated he knew Charlene Mack was sending a message of her own.
“How soon will Gil be released?” Charlie asked.
“He may already be waiting for you downstairs,” Travers said. “His car was impounded, and it may be a few more hours before it can be processed for return. We’ll give you a call when we know.”
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