The Battle of Jericho

by Walter Marks

  Wait a minute. Maybe she just felt like paying the damn check!

  Jericho’s mind reeled from so many unresolved issues — Maria, the murder investigations, Katie.

  He looked longingly at Maria’s half-consumed Dos Equis. But he knew he couldn’t go there.

  He put down a five-dollar tip and left.

  CHAPTER 45

  The next morning Jericho went to the muster room. Maria was at her desk. “Morning,” he said. “Listen, about last night…are we good?”

  She hesitated before speaking. “…Yeah. We’re good.”

  “Good.”

  There was a momentary silence.

  “Okay,” Jericho said. “I’ve got a question for you. The RV Pérez was using for an office at that cabin court — was it a Winnebago?”

  “It could’ve been. I don’t really know.”

  “Let’s take a ride over there. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  When they arrived at the Residencia cabins, they saw Ernesto Pérez’s RV. It had a triple brown stripe along its side, with a large “W” in the middle.

  “Winnebago,” said Maria, her voice tight with anger. “If there’s no engine under the hood, we’ll nail that creep Ernesto. And if those damn Russians are involved we’ll…”

  “Maria,” Jericho said quietly. “I understand your feelings. I feel the same. But — and I don’t mean to lecture you…”

  “Then don’t.”

  Jericho pressed on. “But for us to do our job, we’ve got to keep emotion out of it. Otherwise, we’ll start jumping to conclusions, overlooking leads that don’t conform to our feelings, and treating suspects and witnesses improperly. I know it’s hard, but we’ve gotta stay cool.”

  Maria was silent for a few moments. “It’s just…this sex trafficking thing, it hits so close to home. And it’s not only me. This could happen to anybody’s sister, anybody’s daughter.”

  Jericho thought of Katie, and suddenly he wasn’t so objective. “That’s…very true,” he said intensely. “So let’s do all we can to bring these guys to justice. Okay?”

  Maria nodded.

  As they walked to the Winnebago she said, “I wish we could just lift up that hood and see if the engine’s missing.”

  “We can’t without a warrant,” Jericho said. “But let’s see if Pérez will give us permission to. If he refuses, that’ll tell us something right there.”

  They approached the side door of the RV.

  “If he’s inside,” Jericho said, “use your persuasive charm to get us invited in. Then let me take it from there.”

  “Right.”

  “Remember, we’re allowed to lie when we question someone, so don’t be surprised at any bullshit I lay on him. And don’t forget, before we leave, you’ve gotta use the restroom.”

  “Got it.”

  Ernesto Pérez let them into the cramped interior of his motor home. They sat down opposite him at a Formica table at the rear of the vehicle.

  “Mr. Pérez,” Jericho said, “we’re here investigating a car accident. Hit and run. Witnesses say they saw a Winnebago RV leaving the scene.”

  “Not me. I only live in RV. Never drive it.”

  “You live here?”

  “Yes. Table can be pushed down, turns into bed. I used to live in office cabin, but then I think better to rent it out. More money. So I buy old trailer. Cheap. Not much room, but hey…”

  “So you never drive this vehicle.”

  “No. Battery dead. I think no gas.”

  “Mind if we check the motor?”

  Pérez looked apprehensive. “Why? Why you want to check motor?”

  “Mr. Pérez This is a police investigation,” Jericho said. “Do you refuse?“

  Pérez didn’t answer.

  “You’re within your legal rights to say no,” Jericho said. “Do you wish to exercise those rights?”

  Pérez hesitated before answering. “Yes. I mean no. I mean okay, you look.”

  He got up. “Follow me, please.”

  Once they were outside, Pérez pulled up the hood on the slanted nose of the RV. When he lifted it, the hood came loose from the chassis and fell to the side. Inside there was no engine block, only a bunch of loose tubes, wires, and auto parts.

  “Those bastids!” shouted Pérez. “They’ll steal anything.”

  “You think it was stolen?”

  “Son-a-bitch! People ’round here. Got no morals. What they want they take.”

  “Wouldn’t you hear the noise if they ripped out your engine?”

  Pérez shrugged. “I go out sometimes.” He pointed to an old Chevy parked nearby. “Maybe they wait till I leave.”

  “What about the other residents? Wouldn’t they hear the noise?”

  “Much noise here all the time. Nobody pay no attention.”

  “Well, I guess we’re done now, Maria,” Jericho said. “Mr. Pérez, thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Ernesto,” said Maria. “¿Usted le importa si utilizó baño antes de irme?”

  “Sí, como no,” he answered. “Ven conmigo.”

  While Maria went to the RV’s bathroom, Jericho walked back to the car.

  Pérez was not telling the truth, he thought. He made two mistakes with the RV’s engine. He neglected to pull the hood release lever under the dashboard beforehand, so he must’ve known the hood wasn’t attached. Also, if he’d been surprised that his engine was gone, he’d have had a moment of shock and confusion. Instead he instantly declared it had been stolen.

  So clearly Pérez already knew his engine was missing. Which means he had some connection to Teresa’s murder. But what?

  Maria returned from the Winnebago with a photo lit up on her cell phone. She had photographed the spec sheet on the inside of the bathroom’s medicine cabinet. The engine serial number was clearly spelled out: J7T — 238239274. They had a match.

  CHAPTER 46

  In the afternoon an e-mail arrived from John Alvarez.

  Subject: Match/no match.

  1) Preliminary examination of the remains of Teresa Ramírez reveals cause of death to be single gunshot wound to the head. Bones of the leg exactly match the severed foot discovered on Montauk beach. One oddity — inside the skull was found bits and pieces of goose down.

  2) Regarding the hair sample you left here yesterday. Our expert says it is Malaysian, but it does not match the sample found on the ankle of Mrs. Ann Richman. This second hair (Mr. Sidek’s) is thicker than the first, indicating it comes from someone whose Malaysian family has a great deal of Indian blood. The sample from Mrs. Richman’s sock is what is called Virgin Malaysian Remy hair. It’s known for being fine, soft, and beautiful, and is prized for use in high-end wigs and hairpieces. So — I guess this info doesn’t help, unless of course, you have a murder suspect who wears a very expensive toupee. Heh-heh-heh! Best, John

  Expensive toupee, Jericho thought. Sanford Richman! That jerk with the cow-flop rug has been the prime suspect all along.

  Datuk Sidek? Damn! — probably no involvement at all. He was capable of killing Teresa, but two suspects doing two separate murders, each with Malaysian hair atop their heads? Dubious.

  All right, let’s concentrate on Richman.

  Jericho remembered the hair maintenance receipt found in Richman’s trash. He checked his evidence file and there it was — “Men’s Hair Solutions — Southampton.”

  He went to their website. They advertised using “only virgin donor hair.”

  Then there was a FAQ: What is virgin donor hair? Virgin donor hair is unprocessed human hair, which is collected from one single person. It is hair that has not been damaged by perms, dye, or bleach. Men’s Hair Solutions only uses premium virgin donor Malaysian Remy hair. This is the highest grade of human hair. Remy hairpieces are stronger, healthier and tangle free as compared to non-Remy hair.

  Jericho read the first sentence again — “hair which is collected from one single person.” This meant the DNA of the hair found in the sock on Mrs.
Richman’s body would match the hair on Mr. Richman’s wig, if he could only get a sample of it. But wait, he thought. Even if I succeed, Richman could claim he’d handed the socks to his wife and his wig hair might’ve fallen into one of them. And how could I prove in court that my sample was from Richman’s wig? There could have been other wigs made from the same hair. This is circumstantial evidence at best, and rather weak at that. Damn!

  But Richman was still the obvious suspect in his wife’s murder. The question was — how to build a case against him? Jericho printed out the e-mail from Alvarez and went to discuss this new development with Maria.

  CHAPTER 47

  At her desk, Maria was working on another track. Despite the muster room’s constant cacophony of chatter, raucous laughter, and ringing phones, she’d learned to concentrate on the task at hand.

  She was reading more online articles about the Russian Mafia. She learned on Long Island there was a war over control of Internet escort services. One faction was Mexican Mafia, the other an organization of Russian mobsters from Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. These hoods were the offspring of ’70s émigrés from Odessa; one of the most ruthless, vicious gangs in the world. An informant told the FBI that by agreement the Brooklyn mob Sointsevskaya Bratva ceded the territories of Nassau and Suffolk counties to the Kievs’ski gang.

  It was believed that in a struggle for control, the Russians had blown the whistle on the Mexicans, who, in a plea bargain, told the Feds about the Russians’ Smithtown strip club operation. Several of the Mexicans had subsequently been whacked while serving their time at Sing Sing, demonstrating the reach of the Russian mob and making it clear who had won the turf war.

  No doubt about it, Maria thought. The Russian Mafia controls the entire sex trade on Long Island.

  Then Maria researched online escort services. She learned the Village Voice and Craigslist had once featured sex ads, but due to political and community pressure they had cancelled them. However, the Voice continued to run online ads for escort services on their subsidiary website, BackPage.com.

  Maria was studying the BackPage section “ADULT — ESCORTS AND BODY RUBS” when Jericho walked in. Before he could bring up Sanford Richman, she called out to him. “Jericho,” she said. “Check this out.”

  longisland.backpage.com

  long island, ny free classifieds

  adult entertainment

  body rubs

  domination & fetish

  Escorts★••★• ██ F I E R Y LATIN •★••★• R e D H E A D •★••★• G o R G E O U S ██ 40DDD - 22 ((( EAST HAMPTON ))) 631-555-3882

  SpeciaLs 24/7 Pleasure Island MY Treat sooo CoMe SEE - 24 (EAST END Long Island) 631-555-4130⭐★ •• —— •

  ♥ • CURVY BusTy 5’4 TEX MEX • ♥ • i LoVe whAt I dO —— ••★★ - 24 (Hauppauge// CoMmaCk)

  — ██ LATINA body slidy $60/hr█ - 23 (LONGISLAND&&&&&QUEENS) (HMAPTONS) 917-555-4444

  HoTTie★MEMN♥MExXotiC~ Thai~N~ FilipinO★ CaLL Me★ NEW PICs - 24 (Ronkonkoma, StonyBrook)

  Ready for fun - 22 (Massapequa park)

  Brown Dominican/Black Goddess Visiting and Ready To Play. Come See Me- 716-555-6187 - 21 (Long Island/ EAST HAMPTON )

  No1 ReQUESTED (MEXICAN HOTTiE) *CoMpLeTe KnOcKOuT* Brown EyEd DoLL* DonT MisS Out On Me* - 24 (LONG ISLAND : AMAGANNSETT/THREE MILE HARBOR/ INCALLS) 631 555 0786

  And there was a banner over every page —

  GIRLS — NEED MONEY? POSITIONS AVAILABLE — MODEL, ACTRESS, WAITRESS, MASSAGE. CASH PAID. BIG MONEY.

  backpage.com > long island jobs > long island showbiz/audition

  “I can’t believe how easy this is,” Maria said. “A guy can pick up the phone and order a woman as easy as ordering a pizza.”

  Jericho shook his head in disgust. “Gotta figure this is what they made Teresa do. And probably Rosario as well.”

  “This is slavery in its most terrible form,” Maria said.

  “The first thing we’ve gotta do is investigate Teresa’s murder,” Jericho said. “That’ll lead us deeper into this sex trafficking ring.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Well, I’ve thought about it. But at this point it’s all guesswork.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Okay,” Jericho said. “Your research confirms the Russians control the whole eastern Long Island prostitution business. And as you said, the single bullet to the back of the head indicates a mob hit. But there’s more. The ME reported pieces of goose down in Teresa’s skull — that suggests they used a pillow to muffle the gunshot.”

  “Jesus.”

  “That’s pretty common in mob hits. You put the handgun against the skull with one hand, put the pillow over the gun with the other. Then when you fire, all you hear is a dull thud. And the pillow catches any blood splatter.”

  Maria nodded grimly.

  “Anyway,” Jericho said, “my guess is Teresa was killed by the Russian mob near Pérez’s place.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “If she were killed somewhere else, they wouldn’t need that Winnebago engine to weigh her down. They’d find something else heavy wherever they killed her.”

  “And Pérez was clearly lying about his car engine,” Maria said. “He knew it was missing before he opened the hood. He acted surprised but he was full of crap. Why would he do that unless he had some connection to Teresa’s murder?”

  Jericho was impressed that she’d picked up on that. Maria continued, “But what was Teresa doing in the Three Mile Harbor area?”

  “Well,” Jericho said, “I’ve got a possible scenario of what went down. It’s all conjecture — but if you want I can run it by you.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s possible the Russians are housing their escort girls somewhere nearby, in a location where they can service the whole East End. The hills above Three Mile Harbor Road are ideal. They’re heavily wooded, with lots of winding roads and houses that are isolated and out of sight.

  “Anyway, one night — for whatever reason — they kill Teresa. They throw her body in garbage bags and drive down the hill to the marina — figuring they’ll get a boat and dump the body in the Sound. But they need something heavy to weigh it down. They get to Pérez’s place and see the light’s on in his Winnebago. They knock on his door, threaten him at gunpoint, then rip out his car engine and put it in the body bag. They warn him to keep his mouth shut and drive the couple blocks down to the marina.”

  “Then they steal a boat?”

  “They may have,” Jericho said. “But it’d be pretty hard for non-sailors to take a boat out in the middle of the night. More likely, they found a boat owner and forced him to take them out.”

  Jericho paused for a moment. “I know I’m making a lot of assumptions,” he said. “But it kinda makes sense.”

  “It does,” Maria said, looking at Jericho with admiration. “Did you figure all that out just now?”

  “No. I worked it out last night,” he said. “I sometimes do that when a case is really puzzling. I try to make up a sequence of events, using whatever facts and suppositions I’ve got. I know it could be all wrong, or all right, or somewhere in the middle. But it gives me a new perspective.”

  “Well, it sounds right to me,” Maria said. Then her face twisted in anger. “Jericho, we’ve gotta stop those goddamn Russians. They brutalize and kill any way they fucking want!”

  “Maria, I told you — we’ve gotta stay cool.”

  Maria exploded. “Stay cool?” she shouted. “You’re not a woman. You can’t possibly imagine the degradation, the suffering, the violation these girls have to go through!”

  “I understand,” Jericho said. He did understand, but this was not helpful in a criminal investigation. Sure, he felt deep empathy for victims — he’d encountered so many in his NYPD days. But he’d trained himself to suppress his emotions and regard cases as puzzles to be solved, not vendettas, or personal causes, or challenges to his ability.

  “We
have to stay focused,” Jericho said in a calm voice. “Or we’ll start messing up.”

  Maria did her best to compose herself. “You’re right,” she said. “Maybe…maybe we should check with the harbormaster at the marina. Maybe he knows something.”

  “I doubt it,” Jericho said. “But let’s go see him anyway. I know Tim Rasmussen — he’s a good man. A while back we worked together on a drug investigation. He grew suspicious of a yacht that kept making fast runs between here and Cancún. He helped us set up a stakeout and make the bust.”

  “Sounds like he thinks like a cop. So maybe he can help us.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  As they walked out to the car, Maria spoke softly. “Sorry I blew up back there. I know it’s unprofessional.”

  “But it’s human.” Jericho said.

  “So…are we good?”

  “We’re good.”

  “Good.”

  CHAPTER 48

  The harbormaster’s office is a small weathered wood frame structure at the end of the Three Mile Harbor Marina pier.

  Maria expected the harbormaster to look like an old salt, but Tim Rasmussen looked neither nautical nor grizzled. He was a fresh-faced, clean-shaven young man, wearing a Gap sweatshirt and khaki cotton Dockers.

  “Good to see you, Jericho.”

  “Tim, this is Officer Salazar. She’s working with me on a case.”

  “Another drug bust?”

  “No,” Jericho said. “But you may be able to help us. We’re looking for a boat that could’ve been used to dump a body in the water.”

  “…A dead body?”

  “Yes. We believe the victim was killed around here.”

  “When?”

  “A few weeks ago. At night.”

  “And dumped in the Sound?”

  “Yes,” Jericho said. “I assume you have records of every boat that’s docked here.”

  “Of course,” Rasmussen said. “But most everyone’s pulled their vessels out for the winter. There are six left in the water — mostly diehard fishermen and a few residential boats.”