Don't Look Twice
Page 8
“Why don’t we take one thing at a time, Ms. Fletcher? You said you believe these were the people who did this. What makes you so sure?”
She stared back, her eyes tremulous, glistening. “Because I saw the news, Lieutenant. I saw you on it—talking about the type of gun…”
Hauck glanced toward Munoz. “Gun…?”
Annie turned away, pressed her lips, then came back with “I have a business to run. So how are you gonna protect me, Lieutenant? Not just me, people who work for me. I saw how he looked at me. I know what these people do.”
“I promise, I’ll make sure it doesn’t come out.” Hauck leaned forward and looked in her eyes. “Until we figure out how to handle it.”
“Everyone makes promises, Lieutenant…” Harried, Annie ran a hand through her dark hair. “What are you going to do, take up a post outside the door every night?”
Hauck shrugged. “Whatever it takes.”
Annie Fletcher closed her eyes and shook her head. “In that case, I defintely hope you like curry, Lieutenant…”
“I love curry, Ms. Fletcher. Just tell me what is it you found.”
There was something in his deep-set eyes Annie Fletcher trusted.
“On the news you said you were still searching for the gun. What did you call it, a Tec-9?”
Hauck nodded.
“The guy in the bandana, he tossed something into the Dumpster.”
Hauck shot a glance toward Munoz, who had already sprung into motion. “Tell me again where your place is, Ms. Fletcher. I’m going to send someone out there right now—”
“No need…” Annie Fletcher shrugged resignedly. “I brought it with me. I have it in my car.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was the gun.
Bundled in newspaper, taken apart. The registration filed down, wiped clean.
The muzzle indicated it had been recently fired. They ran a trace through the National Tracing Center. Hauck wasn’t exactly optimistic.
The results took a couple of days.
The Tec-9 had been purchased at a gun show in Virginia, then reported stolen from a dealer in Pennsylvania six months later. Part of the thousands of weapons that drop through the system every month and end up on the street.
Hauck was a little more hopeful they could locate the car.
That came the next day. There was another case Hauck had been working, trying to track down this bond trader who had closed three multimillion-dollar mortgages on the same property here in town and now was nowhere to be found.
Freddy Munoz ran into his office. “We got it!”
“We got what?”
“The Jetta. Ewell got a beat on it through one of his contacts. They know where it is.”
Hauck jumped up, strapping on his Glock. “Tell him we’ll be up there in twenty minutes.”
“Not Bridgeport, LT. Hartford.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Jetta was left in a vacant lot in a run-down area off Vine Street in central Hartford. It had the rusted color and the same blue and red marking on the trunk that Annie Fletcher had described.
Art Ewell had traced it to a street figure named Hector Morales. Morales had been living in this country for only two years, but his rap sheet already read like a lifetime offender’s. Assault. Possession of cocaine. Possession of a stolen weapon. Burglary. Attempted murder. Fleeing the scene of a crime. Resisting arrest.
Morales had come here from the Dominican Republic when he was nineteen. Since then, he’d been making his way in the world in the only way he knew how. He basically lived on the streets, cracking heads, shooting people, doing jobs for people. Tough jobs. Whatever needed to be done. In street terms Morales was known as a “recruit.” Someone from back home who came here and did things. Climbing the rungs of the one organization that understood his roots. Where he came from.
And he was gone.
The people where he lived said Morales had left a few days before. Paid the rent. Said he wouldn’t be back.
“We missed him, Artie.” Hauck had already looked through the guy’s file and recognized the carved jaw, the light complexion, the thin mustache, the same cold, dark eyes. Definitely the guy he had seen rolling down the window of the red pickup. “He’s gone. Maybe out of the country. Took his passport.”
The Bridgeport detective replied with an audible groan. “Probably back in the DR. We can try to track him. But you know as well as I do that’s a whole different ball game, Ty.”
A completely different game. Bringing in the Feds. Sculley, Taylor. Putting pressure on the Dominican government. Getting the local police involved. It also meant getting caught up in whatever issues happened to be going back and forth between the two countries. Not to mention trying to extradite the guy.
If they even located him.
Something started to pound in Hauck’s brain. “Why the hell would DR-17 do this, Artie? We’ve found nothing between them and Josephina Ruiz. No link to the girl’s brother either. The shooter yelled out her name. They left behind the truck, that newspaper article. They bring in this dude from back home to do the job and now he’s history. You think we’re being played?”
“Played?”
“This didn’t just happen, Artie. Someone authorized it. Someone gave the okay. Who’s running this show, Art? Who’s calling the shots?”
“DR-17? The guy’s name is Vega, Ty. Nelson Vega. His street name’s L’il Nell. I rounded him up once or twice. Nothing ever stuck. They wouldn’t be making a move like this without him pulling the strings.”
“So how do we get a face-to-face, Artie? I think it’s time we find out what the hell’s going on.”
“Your buddies at the FBI ought to be able to help you on that one.”
“Run that by me again?”
“Vega’s awaiting trial on drug trafficking and attempted murder charges,” Ewell said. “He’s a guest of the federal government these days. Stowed away at some facility in upstate New York. I think it’s called Otisville, Ty.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Annie was rushing.
They had a full house tonight and there was still tons to do. Sauces to finish, the menu of specials to print out.
She pulled her Prius into the lot behind the restaurant.
She tucked a bag of farm-stand veggies under her arm and three bottles of Barolo she’d had to run for to complete a sauce. Though it was still before five it was already dark.
She balanced the two bags in her arms, kicked the car door shut, and headed into the restaurant through the kitchen door.
She never saw a thing.
Just felt the heavy, blunt weight force her up against the wall. Before she even realized what was happening, her face was pressed against the cold, rough siding.
A voice whispered close to her ear. “How you doin’, Annie Fletcher?”
Annie’s heart went wild. She heard the crack of the wine bottles shattering on the concrete, her eyes fixed on the puddle of dark red spreading around her feet.
She knew immediately who they were. What they were there for.
Her blood came to a stop. “Don’t hurt me, please…”
“Why would we want to hurt you, Annie Fletcher, of 2262 Soundview Cove. Apartment 2B. In Cos Cob…”
They knew her name. Where she lived.
That terrified her even more. “What do you want?”
“What do we want…?” The man chuckled. The accent was unmistakable. His breath crawled over her like a snake on the back of her neck. She felt his thick hand slide down her side to her jeans.
She cringed. “Don’t…”
“Don’t what, pretty lady? Don’t stick your little nose into where it doesn’t belong? Don’t see things you weren’t meant to see?”
“I didn’t…,” Annie said, shutting her eyes against the fear. She didn’t know if she should scream. Manuel’s car was in the lot. She knew if he came out, they would kill them both for sure.
“Didn’t what, Annie?”<
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Her voice was shaking deep in her throat. “See anything.”
“So that’s good.” The hand released her side. “’Cause the news, it’s saying something completely different. It’s saying you found things that were none of your business, Annie Fletcher, and turned them over to the wrong people. People who aren’t really your friends, yo…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” He pressed her face back against the wall and laughed. “You don’t get sorry, lady. You get dead, you understand?”
Suddenly, Annie felt something cold and hard brush against her cheek, and her heart started to almost jump out of her rib cage as a bolt of horror rippled down her spine.
She nodded against the rough concrete. “Yes, I understand.”
“That’s good. You know…’Cause you see how easy this is—Annie. You see why you gotta be careful these days. When you see something…”
All of a sudden she felt a cold, hard shape pressed into the back of her skull. Tears flooded her eyes. “No, don’t…”
The next sound was a click.
Annie froze. The man pushed the muzzle up against her. She sensed there was more than one attacker. “So you see now? You see who your friends really are? ’Cause we’re the only ones keeping you alive. Not them—us. You see?” He tapped her skull with the gun. “You see how you have to think about what to do? Whoever you might talk to? What you think you may have seen?”
“I see,” Annie said. Every cell in her body was shaking. “I see.”
“You bet your sweet ass you see, lady. ’Cause you make me say it again, I’ll shoot you in the head.”
Annie cringed against the concrete. Nodded. Let out a grateful breath.
“You’re a lucky lady, Annie. Most people don’t get no second chance. You cook with beets? You make me come back here again, they’ll be wiping you off the floor here. Like beet soup. So help me God. You understand?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and whimpered. “I understand.”
“Good.” The man eased the forearm from her back. Annie sank against the wall, her legs like weights. “That’s all I came to tell you, Annie. Be seeing you then, Annie. Be watching how things go.”
She heard footsteps hurrying toward the street. She gulped air deep in her lungs, the night chill suddenly sweet and cool on her sweaty cheeks. She didn’t move a muscle until she heard the car door slam and the sound of the vehicle speeding away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Annie was sitting on a stool at the bar when Hauck ran in. She looked drained, in a gray Napa Valley T-shirt under her kitchen whites, her hair in a short ponytail, while a couple of local detectives finished up.
She seemed relieved to see him.
“I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, ashen. She took off her glasses and ran a hand through her hair. “I knew this was going to happen.”
“And I knew I should’ve assigned someone to look after you. I’m sorry.” He sat next to her. “I know you’ve probably already been through it more than once, but I need to hear what happened…”
“What happened? Someone slammed me up against the wall and put a gun to my head and basically said to forget about whatever I may have seen or next time I wouldn’t have the option. You promised me it wouldn’t get out. That I’d be protected.”
“I know.” Hauck grimaced guiltily and shook his head. “I wish to hell I could’ve controlled what happened. But listen, this is important: was this the same person you saw the other night?”
“I didn’t see him. I was pressed up against the wall. He cocked a gun to my head. He…” Her voice was shaky and her eyes filled up. Hauck squeezed her hand. “They knew my name. They knew where I lived. What am I, some kind of target now? I was just taking out the fucking trash…”
“Listen…” Hauck turned her around to face him. “I know how you must feel, but you’re not a target. They came here to scare you, Annie, not hurt you. Otherwise they would have. They wanted to show you how easy it was. You gave the detectives here a description as best you could? For the complaint.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Her eyes shone at him. “Look, you seem like a good guy, Lieutenant, and I know you’re just trying to do right by me, but I don’t want to file a complaint. I want to go back to my life. I want this over. I’m sorry about that man who was killed. I’m sorry about what happened. I hope to God you get these guys…
“But these people want to give me a message…I’m not exactly dense, Lieutenant. I’m out! This is your case, not mine. I wouldn’t have even goddamned called in the police if Manuel didn’t come out and find me there. I just want to go back to running my stupid restaurant.”
“That’s all I want for you too,” Hauck said. “I promise.”
“So what are you going to do—relocate me to somewhere in Arizona? Help me open up a little taco joint out there? I have a son. I’ve got my life in this place. How’s it going to play once the press gets hold of it? ‘Local Eating Place Target of Gang Intimidation.’ ‘Half off on any entree if you come in wearing a red do-rag.’”
Hauck wished he could answer. Then Annie shut her eyes, shook her head in frustration, and came back with almost a smile. “Might just give me a bit of a lift with the Bridgeport market…”
Hauck smiled back.
“He cocked a gun against my head, Lieutenant. He said next time he’d shoot me.”
“I promise, this won’t happen again,” Hauck said.
“How? Are you going to come in here and keep watch at the door every night?”
“I don’t know. That depends…”
“Depends…That depends on what, Lieutenant?”
Hauck shrugged. “The food, mostly.”
Annie Fletcher stared at him. She brushed a wisp of dark hair out of her eyes, then smiled. “It’s good. I promise. Before I became a witness intimidation target, I ran a pretty tight little kitchen here.”
“Let me drive you home.”
“Yeah, right…” Annie sniffed. “You must be kidding. We have a full house tonight.”
“Your crew can handle it.”
She tapped her fists on the bar, lightly at first, then with more force, something brewing up in her between anger and tears. “I wanted to do the right thing, do you understand? For that man. And his family. I wanted to fight them back. Say ‘You can’t do this to people’…”
Her eyes started to flood. “When he put his hands on me, I wanted to turn and say ‘No, you can’t…You can’t hurt me.’ But you know what? They can. They can totally hurt me. And you know how that makes me feel?”
“I know exactly how it makes you feel…,” Hauck said. He put an arm around her and she sank against him, squeezing the lapel of his jacket tightly in her fist.
“All I could think about was seeing Jared again. That I just had to get through it. Whatever they wanted. You know what I mean?”
Hauck stood there with her leaning against him and nodded back against her head. “I know exactly what you mean.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The federal prison in Otisville, New York, was in the foothills of the Catskills, about ninety minutes from Greenwich. It housed mostly midlevel felons, drug dealers, and prisoners shuttling to trial in Manhattan. Not exactly Florence, Colorado, or Pelican Bay.
But someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep Nelson Vega away from the old neighborhood.
Hauck and Munoz stowed their guns at the entrance in the administrative building, and the assistant warden, Rick Terwilliger, met them and took them through a network of checkpoints to the facility’s Secure Housing Units, SHUs, the maximum-security detention pod.
“Don’t let the street punk act fool you, Lieutenant. If you read Vega’s file, you already know he had a couple of years of college. A stint in the army. He tests high. He’s been very active in his own defense.”
Hauck asked, “What kind of contact is he allowed with the outside world?”
Which, Hauck knew, didn’t mean Vega wouldn’t be the first crime figure who continued to run his day-to-day operation from jail.
“Nonetheless, we look at Vega as a very dangerous man. This is a person who had no qualms about trying to gun down a Connecticut state trooper in the process of committing a felony.”
They arrived at a secure, bolt-locked room with a tiny window on the door.
“You can record your conversation, if you like. But I ask you not to transfer anything to him physically or it will have to be confiscated.”
Hauck looked in. A guard with a Taser was positioned behind Vega.
“You’re about to meet ground zero of the human race, Lieutenant. Ready? I hope you didn’t eat before coming…”
The warden nodded to open the door.
Vega was in an orange jumpsuit, seated at a metal table. He had a smooth, chiseled face, tattoos on his neck, a shaved head, a scar that ran from under his nose to his upper lip.
A uniformed guard who looked like he could bench-press most of South America stood in the corner with a stun gun tucked in his belt.
Hauck took a seat in one of the chairs across from him. “I’m Lieutenant Hauck. This is Detective Munoz.”
Vega showed his wrists, making a show of the rattling of chains. “Sorry if I don’t shake hands.”
“I’m the head of detectives in the town of Greenwich, Connecticut, Mr. Vega. We’re here to talk with you about a drive-by shooting that took place there last Saturday morning, at an Exxon station in town. A bystander was killed, who turned out to be a prosecutor out of the U.S. Justice Department in Hartford. Are you familiar with this incident, Mr. Vega?”