One of Carlos’ men called out to him. “You can’t park there, this is—”
Tip flashed his badge. “Police business.”
The doorman, the same one as before, moved aside as we approached. “Where is he?” Tip asked.
“Floor three.”
Tip nodded and the four of us got into the empty elevator. I punched number three before the servant could. I could hear the music blaring before the elevator door opened, and when it did I thought I was stepping into a club.
“Must be a hundred people here,” I said.
“Maybe more,” Tip said, “but I’m only interested in one.”
Two men who looked to be bodyguards rushed to greet us, their English impeccable. “May I help you?”
“Point me to Carlos Cortes,” Tip said.
“Sir, this—” The man stepped in front of Tip, as if he would block his way. I almost wanted to warn him.
Tip got real close. “It’s detective to you. Now point me to Carlos or your ass is going downtown with him. I bet if I search you I’ll find something to make a case with. If not, I’ll make it anyway.”
“He’s near the far corner, by the bar,” the man said, as he stepped aside.
We cut through the dance floor, flanked by the two uniforms. People spread out of our way, many of them tagging along after we passed.
Carlos must have seen us coming. His eyes turned into narrowed slits and his body tensed. He moved to meet us, but with the grace of an experienced host. “This is a private party.”
Tip grabbed his arm, twisting it behind him. “Carlos Cortes, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Filomena Santiago.”
“This is insane. I already told you—”
I stepped in close to him, blocking one of his men from the side. “You have the right to remain silent. You have—”
“I know my rights. Let me go. I want a lawyer. Tico, call Señor Griffin.”
I finished reading him his rights, then Tip yanked him by the handcuffs, forcing a groan from Carlos.
“You can have a lawyer once you get downtown,” Tip said. “Let’s go.”
The look on Carlos’ face froze me. His eyes narrowed, then became bullets. “You will pay for this, señor. I promise, you will pay.”
Chapter 54
Repercussions
I opened the door to the apartment and dragged myself inside. It had been a very long day, more exhausting than any I could recall in recent memory, with the exception of the night in the alley. I opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, then plopped on the couch. Two more sips had me recalling the events of the day, none more exciting than arresting Carlos Cortes. I only hoped the DA would hold him without bail. That would really piss Carlos off.
I smiled. Not much was better than settling a score. My own problem remained though; if I didn’t find the drugs I’d still be painted as a dirty cop. Frankie said he was working on it, but…just have to hope for the best.
After fifteen minutes or so I decided to drag my ass up and take a hot bath. I checked my phone. Two emails from Maxwell.
Hi, Connie. Hope you’re doing well. I’m sorry about messing up. I completely forgot. Call me or text so we can make arrangements to get together.
“Make arrangements my ass,” I said. The next email was more of the same.
Connie, I realized after I sent that I didn’t include my number, so here it is: (281) 555-8788.
Despite how hot that guy was, just thinking of him made me feel dirty. “Bath,” I said. “I need a bath.”
For twenty minutes I soaked in a hot tub, relaxing, thinking of fun times in Brooklyn, and of growing up in the Bronx. Some people might think that was punishment, but as far as I was concerned it was the best education a kid could get. When you grew up on the streets you learned about people. Real people. And more importantly, you learned of consequences. When you did something wrong, there was always somebody there to dish out your just rewards. I closed my eyes, imagining that idyllic world, and a smile came, then the phone rang, forcing me to bolt up. At first I thought about letting it ring, but then realized it could be Tip.
I stepped out of the tub, grabbed a towel, then hustled toward the phone. Caller ID showed it was Maxwell. I thought about not answering, but did anyway. “Hello.”
“Connie, it’s Jeff. I can’t believe I caught you. Did you get my emails?”
“Actually…I did, but I jumped into the tub.”
“The reason I called is I got second-row seats to the “Jersey Boys,” tomorrow night. I know you’re from New York, so you have to like the Four Seasons.” He paused. “You can’t say no to this.”
I wanted to tell him to shove the tickets up his ass, but Tip was right, we needed to find out why this guy lied to us. “You’re right, I can’t say no. What time?”
“Show starts at 8:00. Why don’t I pick you up at say…5:00. We’ll have dinner first.”
“That would be nice,” I said, then almost immediately, “no, that won’t work. I can make the play but not dinner. I’ve got way too much to do.”
“All right. Eat something light and we’ll grab dinner after the show.”
That did sound good. Eating dinner was always good, even with a guy like Maxwell. “Okay. Tell me where to go and how to find you.”
“Hobby Center, downtown. I’ll be waiting for you inside the door at the bottom of the steps.”
“See you then.”
“Great. See you tomorrow.”
After placing the phone down, I stepped back into the tub, dropped the towel, and thought…Jersey Boys and a nice dinner. I can put up with Maxwell for that.
***
Tip sipped on a beer and chewed some beef jerky. Not the best dinner in the world, but it beat peanut butter and jelly, and he’d had that enough for several lifetimes. He gulped down the last of the beer, grabbed another one, petted Flash, then headed to the dining room to work. As he sat down the first thing he noticed was Mollie’s handiwork. She had left notes on several of his charts, proclaiming her theories about the murders.
He got up, heading toward the bedroom. “Mollie!” He thought he heard the vacuum in the bathroom. “Mollie, are you in there?” She said her work day ended at six, but it never did. He suspected she hung around just to have somebody to talk to.
When he got to the master bath, he found her in his closet vacuuming. “Mollie.” She didn’t hear, so he pulled the plug on the vacuum, shutting it off. She turned around.
“Mollie, did you write on my charts?”
“Of course I wrote on them. Who do you think did it?”
“I’ve told you before, I don’t like anyone messing with my charts.”
She shrugged. “If you ask me, you need help. Did you look at my notes?”
“No, I didn’t look at your notes, and I don’t intend to, and…” Tip looked at his closet. Pants were hung on the wrong side, shirts not organized by color, shoes… “What did you do to my closet?”
“I fixed the damn thing is what I did. It looked like some eight-year old had fixed up a crayon box.”
Tip slapped his hand against the wall. “I liked it that way.”
She picked up the vacuum, closed the door, and turned off the light. “That’s so much nonsense. Nobody could like their closet the way you had it. Now you can find things.” And with that said, she walked right past him and back into the dining room.
Tip followed her out. “Don’t change my closet, don’t arrange my drawers, and don’t ever touch my charts.”
“How are you going to solve this crime if I don’t help you. I looked at those charts; you don’t have anything. You need to focus on that Yankee girl. She’s the wild card. How did he find her? How did she get hooked up with him? You figure that out and you’ll find your killer. Take my word on it.”
“I’m not shitting—”
“Yeah, I know. Leave my charts alone. Well go to hell for making me want to keep the streets safe, but I got news for you, Mr. Detective, I
don’t want no crazy bastard running around the streets after me.”
Tip cracked a smile. “Well you got nothing to worry about; he only goes for young, pretty girls.”
“If you think that hurts, you’re wrong; besides, I got a pretty daughter. So pretend I’m protecting her.”
Tip started to say something, then stopped, and after he caught hold of himself he laughed. “You win. I’ll take a look at your notes.”
“About time,” she said, and moved to the kitchen, picking up her purse and the money Tip left on the table. “Sorry about the closet, Tip. I won’t mess it up again.”
Now she made Tip feel bad. “That’s okay, girl. I appreciate it.”
She was petting the dogs good night when Tip called to her. “I appreciate your thoughts on the case, too. I just—”
She waved her hand. “I know. You don’t like nobody messing with them charts. Won’t do it no more. ‘Night.”
“Good night.”
Tico showed up with the lawyer four hours after Carlos was processed. Tico hoped Carlos blamed the lawyer and not him for being late, although Carlos would probably do both. The guards escorted them to see Carlos.
Tico bowed. “Señor, my apologies for being late.”
Carlos’ expression didn’t change. “What time did you get to his house, Tico?”
Tico gulped. He knew the “his” meant the lawyer. “Soon after you instructed, señor.”
“How soon?” Carlos’ eyes never left the lawyer.
“I cannot be certain, but—”
“I know you can be certain. Don’t worry about protecting Señor Griffin. He is beyond protection unless he has a very good excuse.”
The lawyer stepped close. “Tico arrived right away, but I had a…situation that I couldn’t leave.”
Carlos smiled, but his eyes were not smiling. “Tell me, Counselor Griffin, what is a…situation?”
“There was an important gentleman at my house. I couldn’t find a reason to leave without embarrassment.”
“Fine, now do me this small favor, Counselor. Find a way to get me out of here immediately, or I will find a way to have your head.”
“I’ll get on it right away.”
After the lawyer left, Carlos turned his attention to Tico. “I want them.”
“Señor, you—”
He clenched his teeth, and his eyes turned to burning embers. “I don’t care what it takes, I want them hurt.”
“Señor, to kill cops is to bring down all the weight of the system on us.”
“Find a way to make them suffer.”
Tico lowered his head and nodded. “Si, señor. Consider it done.”
Chapter 55
Snakes Come out at Night
I was excited about seeing “Jersey Boys,” and about eating a good dinner, but I put it out of my mind and spent most of the day detailing the notes on the interviews with Carlos and Manuelo, as well as the ladies from the ball. We had to ensure everything was documented perfectly or Carlos’ lawyer would tear us a new asshole. When it was time for me to leave, I searched for Tip, finding him in the coffee room with Fat Charlie. “Hey, Charlie, still losing weight?”
“Losing it, Connie, but I occasionally find it, too.” He let the words flow with laughter on the tail, the kind of laughter that made me go along with it.
“Charlie, you’re a riot, but keep it up. Don’t forget ‘one pound a week is fifty-two pounds a year.’”
“That’s what they say. I never was good at math though.”
I walked past Charlie, grabbed a coffee, then joined Tip at the table. “How’s it going, partner?”
“Glad to see somebody’s in a good mood.”
I propped my feet up on Tip’s legs and leaned back in the chair. “Damn right I’m in a good mood. Going out on a date.”
“With that degenerate?”
I sipped coffee, but let a smile slip by.
Fat Charlie pulled up a chair. “I was going to leave but it’s getting too juicy.”
Tip kicked at his chair, but it didn’t budge. “I’d tell you to eat shit, Charlie, but I’m afraid you might do it.”
I gulped the last sip of coffee, tossed the empty cup into the trash can, and headed for the door. “Much as I’d love to stay here and trade bullshit stories with you two studs, I’ve got unpleasant work to do.”
“Have a good time,” Tip hollered, and Charlie joined the chorus.
All the way home I planned what I’d do with Maxwell, how I’d act, talk, walk, even what I’d eat after the show. Most of all I thought of how I’d play it to get information out of this guy without going to bed with him. No way that was happening. When I got home I showered, laid all my clothes out on the bed, then started the God-awful process of preparing. I wrapped my hair in a bun, applied make-up and eye shadow, lipstick, then had a quick cup of coffee before dressing.
My dress was a baby-blue, tight fitting strapless that showed off every curve I had. I don’t even know why I brought it to Texas, but now I was glad I did. I checked the mirror three times, then focused on finishing. I slipped on a pair of shoes that complemented the dress and what little jewelry I brought with me, did one final check on lipstick and eye shadow…
Damn, I look good. He’s gonna tell me everything tonight.
***
Tip and Charlie drank more coffee, then Charlie worked up the energy to stand and make his way to the door. “See you later, Tip. Let me know if I can do anything, huh?”
“You’ll be the first, Charlie. Count on it.” Left alone in the coffee room, Tip thought for a minute about drinking more, but worried he’d have to stop and piss before getting home, so he refrained. After a call to Renkin and another one to the DA’s office to make sure they needed nothing else, he headed home. His messages showed a missed call from Emily Miller, the daughter of an old neighbor. He’d reamed her ass out a week or so ago for drinking. Damn kid was probably in trouble again. Should have never given her my card.
He called Elena to see if she wanted to grab dinner, but he got no answer. He stopped and got a few things at the grocery store, and twenty minutes later he was entering the gate to his private sanctuary, gravel drive and all. He parked the car, got out with his two bags of groceries and started up the walk. Kassie was lying next to a pile of mulch that he had yet to clean up, something he should have done long ago. Damn dog didn’t even get up to say hi. There’s man’s best friend for you. “Kassie, how’s it going, girl?” Nothing. She didn’t even stir. “Kassie, get your lazy ass up.”
He continued up the walk, but then from the corner of his eye he caught sight of Kelly, lying in one of the flower beds.
She never lies there. Kelly hates to get dirty.
He dropped the groceries and broke into a half-run, calling as he got near. “Kelly. Kelly! What’s going on, girl?” When he got halfway there he saw a splotch of blood by her side. A long plastic drink stirrer was sticking out of her chest next to two big holes.
“What the fuck!” He dropped down beside her, knees settling into a pool of blood. He reached his arms under her and scooped her toward him. “Kelly, baby, what happened?” Even as he said it, realization hit. Someone had shot his dogs. Tears came and burned his eyes.
He lowered his ears to Kelly’s heart, listening, then felt her mouth to see if any breath came out. “What the fuck is going on here.” He lay her down then raced to where Kassie lay. Blood was everywhere. He confirmed what he already knew, then jumped up, drawing his gun as he called for Flash. “Flash! Where are you?”
Tip raced to the door, kicked it open and entered the house, gun drawn. “Flash.” He crept in, his gun leading the way, eyes alert, listening. A trail of blood led from the dog door toward the kitchen. Tip heard a whimper and threw aside all caution, racing to her. Flash lay on the floor, blood pooled under her. Tip scooped her up and raced toward the car, placing her in the back seat then climbing in and gunning it. As he raced down the driveway he thought about Connie. She might be in d
anger, too. He pulled the cell and punched in her number.
***
I was about to walk out the door when the phone rang. “Hello.”
“Are you all right? Is everything okay? Where are you?”
I wasn’t prepared for the emotion that came through the phone. “I’m home. What’s wrong?”
“They killed them, Connie. They killed my babies.”
My chest grew tight and I paused for breath. “Slow down. What’s going on? Who’s hurt?”
“Fuck hurt. That motherfucker killed them.”
“Settle down. I’m coming right over.”
“Damnit, don’t you hear what I’m saying? He killed Kassie and Kelly, and maybe Flash.”
Oh my God. “Where are you?”
“On my way to the vet. Flash was still alive when I put her in the car.”
“Which vet?”
“Animal hospital, by my house, the one—”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
I kicked my heels off and grabbed tennis shoes, then raced out of the apartment and down to the car, squealing tires as I turned corners in the apartment complex. Who the hell would do something like this?
In less than fifteen minutes, I screamed into the parking lot of the emergency veterinary clinic. I jumped out and ran into the building, presenting an odd sight wearing a baby-blue gown and tennis shoes. As soon as I walked in I saw Tip, sitting on the floor holding Flash in his arms, blood covering his pants and shirt. I knelt beside him and hugged both of them.
“How is she?”
He shook his head, tried to wipe tears with his sleeve.
“I don’t know,” Tip said. “They said they’d be out in a minute.”
“Screw them.” I got up, raised my voice. “We need a doctor here.”
“The doctor is with another animal. She will—”
I reached behind the desk and grabbed the assistant. “Listen to me. This is a police dog, which means she is a police officer. Get a doctor out here now. We have an officer down.” I let the glare frighten the girl. “Did you hear me? We have an officer down.”
A Bullet for Carlos Page 32