by Tina Reber
Marcus sighed. “Could be a recent injury or could just be a brother with a strut.”
This case was starting to pile up mounds of details. I had papers spread out all over the desk, in boxes on the floor, until something from the Johnson Ford heist caught my eye. I tore through the other file boxes, looking for one thing. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Marcus spun in his chair.
I held the two papers up to him. “Notice anything?”
His eyes widened. “No shit. Same carrier company.”
“Same fucking carrier company.” I pinned the crucial detail to the wall where I had all the known players, dealerships, and possible drivers laid out in one huge visual map. The noose was tightening.
“SEEING ANYTHING GOOD on there?” Erin leaned up on my shoulders while I sat at the kitchen island with my laptop. She was cooking dinner for us, which I had to say smelled fucking fantastic.
“Not yet.” I held her arm to keep her in place, needing her closeness to wash away my lingering frustration until I realized the recording was still playing.
She rested her chin on me. “What footage is that?”
I paused the video. “Uh, sweetheart, no offense, but I can’t really discuss that with you.”
Erin tried to pull away; I felt like a huge asshole.
“Doc, it’s part of an ongoing investigation. I can’t…” She slipped out of my hand and walked away, shutting me out.
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t be discussing any of my patient cases with you either.” She set a dirty pan in the sink. “No matter what we do… I guess we have no choice but to live in secrets anyway.”
FUCK. I was able to hurt without even trying. Her shoulders fell—instant defeat.
“I don’t want that.”
“Neither do I,” she said to our dirty dishes.
“Erin… please come here.”
She ignored me for a few beats, pretending to be busy washing a plate.
“Baby. Please.”
I tucked her between my legs, rested her on my thigh, and clicked the arrow to play. “This is the surveillance video from outside Benando Auto Salvage in Newark. Their ATTF has two cameras on this place. They asked me to give it a scan.”
“Auto salvage? Guess it’s a good place to hide car parts.”
I rewound the last thirty seconds. “Yep. They seem to do a hell of a business, especially after hours.”
She leaned against me. “Was that your stomach?”
“Yeah. I’m starving. When’s the pasta ready?”
“I just put the garlic bread in the oven. Few minutes.”
“Garlic? You gonna kiss me later?”
She put her arm over my shoulder, doing that soft scratching thing in my hair that I loved. I gazed back at her. God, she made me happy. “I’m sorry. No secrets, babe. Agreed?”
Erin nodded. “Yes.”
I brushed her hair back from her face. “We’re partners.”
“Partners.” Her smile was breathtaking. “I like that.” Her fingers drifted over my cheek. “I just want to be there for you. No matter what you need. Every part of me is yours.”
I twisted the tips of her long hair around my fingers, needing her mouth on mine. “I love you.” I adored that twinkle in her eyes.
“I love you, too. And I promise,” she uttered on my lips, “our conversations will stay completely confidential. I know you can tell when I’m lying, so you know I’m being truthful.”
“I know.” I was just about to turn the oven off and take her upstairs when I lost her lips and her attention to my computer. Guess I’d take a rain check, though scanning hours of video had completely lost its appeal.
She leaned, brushing a bit of unintentional attention against my partial erection. “Isn’t Pantera that heavy metal band that wears those freaky masks?”
“What?” How did she go from my tongue in her mouth to death metal? “Where did that come from?”
“On your screen. Go back. No, stop. Too far.”
I let it play, since I was quite distracted a moment ago and missed a bunch.
“See? There next to the dude with the gimp.” She pointed. “Pause it.”
“Gimp?” I was squinting at the stilled image. Could it be the same dude?
“Yeah, he’s dragging his leg when he walks. Here, babe. Let me.” Erin commandeered my computer. “I’m just surprised so many people listen to that band. Aren’t they like scary metal or something?”
Women.
“They aren’t scary metal. They’re…” The warm rush of shock flowed through when the recognition hit. “No. It can’t be.” I must have rewound and played it over twenty times to be sure. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That son of a bitch. You know who that is, right?”
Erin moved my screen closer. “Oh my God. He was wearing that coat the night your hand was cut.”
We stared at each other while the betrayal twisted my gut into knots.
“SO YOU UNDERSTAND you’re not under arrest or anything like that? We just want to ask you some questions.” I moved our tabletop microphone closer to him, fumbling with it on purpose.
We’d called all six of the camera crew in and sat them in one big room together, letting them speculate that they were in some sort of trouble. Now it was time to put my primary suspect in the hot seat.
I closed the door behind me. “Thanks for waiting, Scott.”
“Yeah, no problem, Adam.”
“Have a seat, buddy.”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I’m hoping you can tell me,” I joked, needing him to relax for me. “Hey, do you want a can of soda or water or something before we start? I’m pretty sure we have your favorite Pepsi in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”
Scott sat down in the chair. “Nah, I’m good. So what’s up?”
Pressing for info already? All in due time.
“Let me just get this working. We don’t have the sweet technology like you guys have. We’ll be recording our time today both on audio and video.” I pointed out the camera system. “You ever been interviewed before?”
He bobbed his head. “Yeah, for my job with Werner, but I wasn’t videoed.”
“It’s a formality for my protection and yours so that there’s an official record, ya know? Today’s date is May first, 2014. The time is five twenty-nine p.m. Detective Adam Trent interviewing Scott Kirschner.” I filled out the standard interview log sheet we had for all suspects. “So how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve been busy, I guess. Our boss has not been happy at all. No one is telling us where you’ve been or what’s going on.”
I shrugged, keeping it casual. “Police work comes first.” I wasn’t going to let him know that Melissa Werner was on her way from Manhattan after bitching out everyone she could reach by telephone. I ignored her calls.
“So before we get started, I want to review your rights with you. You’ve probably seen them on TV before but we’ll go over each. We’re doing this with everyone on the crew so don’t think this is only being done with you.” I reviewed each of his Miranda rights, getting his documented initials and sign off on our form.
“Scott, just to avoid any confusion… you’re obviously not under arrest here today. The door isn’t locked so if at any time you want to leave or feel you want to speak to counsel, a uniformed officer is out in the hallway and will walk you back to the lobby. If anything comes up during our interview that you feel you want to speak with a lawyer about, you just let me know.”
“Yeah, okay.” His right leg was bouncing.
“Cool. So how’s that new Charger of yours running? I’ve been meaning to ask you and every time I think of it, something always comes up.”
Instantly, he relaxed a bit. Just like with every interrogation, I started with nonspecific chitchat, needing to get his emotional baseline. Everyone had “tells;” it was time to get familiar with his.
; “Yeah man. Runs like a champ.”
“So no problems?” I also needed ammo to counter any of his potential denials.
Scott shook his head. “No.”
“Wow. You’re lucky. A friend of mine had one but he got so sick and tired having to fix it, he just traded it.” That was a lie but he had no clue. “I remember he had to replace the alternator, then the exhaust had a leak and he replaced the whole system. Hell, even the rear tires didn’t wear evenly.”
“Wow. No, mine runs great. Haven’t had to replace anything on it.”
Direct eye contact. No fidgeting or signs of deception. Truth.
“You’d try to fix it yourself if you had to? You know your way under the hood?”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can hold my own. Been known to fix up my rides.”
“Yeah? That’s good. I got a buddy selling a sweet Mustang convertible. Shit, he’s practically giving it away. It needs a lot of work though. Interested in a project car?”
“Nah. I don’t have much time. Between school and this, I’m pretty jammed.”
“I hear ya. I remember those college days.” I lived on Raman noodles and drove a piece of shit—not a forty-thousand-dollar new car. “How about any of your friends?”
Scott pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “Nah. Parts for that would be expensive.”
That’s it… relax and talk to me. I’m going to lead you right where I want you to go.
“Dude, I think you live in that hat. I take it Pantera is your favorite band?”
Scott smiled and adjusted his cap. “Seen ’em in concert probably like ten times. What? You don’t like them?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just wondering if you ever take that hat off your head.”
He chuckled. “Not usually.”
“Hey, I got to step out for a minute.” I gathered up my files. “You want anything? Bottle of water or something?”
“Yeah, water would be cool.”
“Okay. Hang tight. Hey, before I go, how tall are you?”
I watched his reaction, visually marking his fact recall and truth indicators. “Five ten.”
Marcus and a few others were in the surveillance room next door, watching the video feed. I didn’t need to get anything. I needed my suspect to stew for a minute, observing his behavior when isolated. Oddly, he used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the table where his fingers just touched.
After another ten minutes of questioning him, hearing his denial that he hasn’t been to Newark lately and watching him blatantly lie to me, I pulled out the video stills. “We have some problems, Scott. I will continue to treat you with respect, but I’m not happy that you’ve been lying to me. I have video evidence that disputes your statements.”
I laid out each photo one by one.
“We’ve been working with a video expert who does facial recognition and all sorts of identification on recordings, and these are the images they captured from video surveillance at Benando Salvage.”
“Here’s a close-up of your hat. Here’s a clear one of you wearing the same jacket you’ve got on now. Here’s another that they digitally enhanced to see your face. They can even calculate height.” I showed him the report that stated the suspect was five foot ten inches.
Scott’s fingers trembled over each photo.
“Scott, look at me.” I needed to restore our connection. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to tell me what’s going on as I’m sure you haven’t been truthful with me. You said you hadn’t been to any places in New Jersey and yet these photos put you at an auto scrap yard with solid ties to our case over ninety miles away.”
He resigned back, distancing himself, knowing he’d been busted.
“I’m not asking you to confirm you were there because I already know you were. I don’t even need to prove that. I have the video evidence that places you there. That’s enough to hold up in court. Even without it, your eyes tell me you were there.”
“My eyes?” He sounded skeptical.
“Yeah. So what I want to know is why you were there. You know, we all make mistakes. It’s okay. It’s in the past. But here and now, it’s time to be honest with yourself, Scott. It’s okay to say ‘hey I messed up,’ and be man enough to make amends and do what’s right.”
I was wearing him down.
“I thought we were friends. Are you hoping that harm comes to me? To Marcus?”
“No, it’s not like that,” he muttered.
“Why don’t you tell me how it is then? How did it start? Did they contact you?”
His head nodded ever so slightly.
“Who contacted you? It’s okay. It’s just you and me here. I know you’re a good guy, Scott. You’re going to film school. Working a full-time job. That’s all very respectable stuff, man. I know how tough it is. That’s how I know you don’t want this burden. Just lay it out. Let me help you.”
Scott’s resolve was wavering.
“I’ve got to tell you—the evidence doesn’t look good. I’m being straight up with you. Conspiracy, aiding and abetting, all make you an accessory to robbery, Scott. Doesn’t matter if you didn’t commit the actual theft; you can still be charged with the crime. These are all felony charges you’re facing. It’s just going to get worse if you don’t start explaining things.”
I gave him dead silence—just a stare. Waiting. First one to speak loses.
“I didn’t go looking for trouble, Adam. All right? They came after me.” Scott dropped his head into his hand.
“It’s okay, dude. I get that you’re scared. I’m right here. Talk to me. Just you or did they go after any of the other crew that you know of? You can tell me. They try to get Ritchie, too?”
He pegged me with an obvious glare. “Ritchie’s uncle is a state cop. They knew that.”
“Who are they, Scott?”
He started wringing his hands together.
“They said they’d make me disappear if I didn’t give them what they wanted,” he whispered. “No one would ever find my body.”
“Why do you think they chose you?”
Scott shrugged. “They know we’re filming you. Wherever you are, pretty safe to say the rest of the ATTF are too.”
I tamped back my rising anger. “What were your orders?”
He started to withdraw, shutting me out.
“Scott.”
His head shook more adamantly.
I rolled my chair closer to him.
Eyes filled with fear met mine. “They are going to kill me. You get that? I’m dead.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
He scoffed. “They put a fucking gun to my head.” His emotional control was unraveling. Tears fell down his face. “And now, now when I go to prison for helping them, someone in there is going to kill me. That’s what they said. Nowhere is safe.”
“Help me understand and I swear I’ll do whatever I can. Is my team compromised?”
Scott appeared confused. “Compromised? What do you mean?”
“Are we in danger?”
He shrugged and receded. “I don’t know.”
I leaned in closer. “Anyone else on the team involved in this? I need to know if we have any others on the camera crew, production, a cop perhaps, working for them. You need to tell me what you know.”
Scott kept shaking his head. “I never saw anyone else.”
“You know all of the ATTF officers,” I said. “You ever see or hear any mention of their names being involved?”
I was sort of relieved to see the shock register on his face. “No.”
“Okay. What were your orders?”
He drew in a breath. “They gave me a number to text. I sent updates with our location. But it’s just been recently. That’s it. I swear.”
It was hard to mask how I felt about being betrayed. One thing was certain. Our television careers just came to an abrupt end.
Thank fuck for that.
“You went to Newark to get paid, didn’t y
ou?” It wasn’t a question. Scott’s shame was obvious.
“Who contacted you, Scott? I want to help you. I do. But you have to tell me.”
Scott nodded at the picture on the desk, pointing to the one with the noticeable limp to his walk that we were unable to identify. “That guy. I don’t know his full name. They call him Switch. I think he’s the one who coordinates everything. He’s a driver too.”
“If I showed you some photos, you think you could pick him out?”
He reluctantly said, “Yeah.”
“Do they have eyes on you?”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t want to use Scott as bait, but it was time to play the players at their own game.
FINDING MILTON CRAWFORD—also known as Switch—wasn’t easy. He moved about a lot, but once we located him, everything fell into place. Still, something gnawed at me. That little niggle of doubt I’d harbored kept worming its way around everything, at the start of every shift.
I had no solid proof, but I couldn’t ignore the facts—no matter how coincidental. This investigation was mine. The blowback from the team could get ugly, but it was a risk I had to take to being thorough.
Ultimately, it was my captain’s decision, and when faced with the knowledge that we’d already been compromised by the film crew, it was easily justifiable.
All of us—every one of us who wore a badge—had taken an oath to protect and serve. Even thinking about the possibility that we had a traitor in our midst made my stomach twist into hateful knots.
I watched the closed-circuit television from an adjoining room as Officer Brian Sidel was questioned by an interrogator from Internal Affairs. They’d connected him to the polygraph machine after he agreed to subject himself to a lie detector test.
I needed irrefutable proof. Did he or did he not have any ties to Vincent and Salvador Mancuso?
SARAH WAS SITTING at the nurses’ station, pale and exhausted. “You look so happy. I’m glad.” Her observation was genuine, though she was breathing hard through her mouth. Her knees were parted while she and her enormous belly molded to the desk chair.