Most Wanted

by Michele Martinez

  “Melanie? Butch Brennan.”

  “Butch! Are you still at the hospital? I’m just sick over what happened to Amanda.”

  “No, we wrapped up a while ago. The bodies were discovered first thing this morning, couldn’t’ve been more than an hour or two after it happened. Real clean MO this time. One shot each, smack in the middle of the forehead.”

  “Did you recover the bullets?”

  “Yeah, in fact we got preliminary ballistics already. Gives us a ninety-nine percent probability the bullets were fired by the gun that killed Jed Benson. I’ll have final confirmation in a couple days. But it looks like the same killer.”

  “No surprise there,” she said, then held the phone away and placed her hand over the mouthpiece. “Butch Brennan,” she told Dan. “He says the bullets that killed Amanda and Bill Flanagan came from the same gun that killed Benson. Presumably Slice’s.”

  “But, hey, Melanie,” Butch called.

  She put the phone back to her ear. “Yeah?”

  “Why I’m calling is about your message last night. You know, about those latents on the accelerant can? The ones come back to Rommie Ramirez?”

  “Oh, yes, right. What can you tell me about that?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “No.” She forced herself to keep her face blank, not to look over at Dan. She cupped the phone closer to her ear so Dan couldn’t hear Butch’s end.

  “Who you with, O’Reilly?” Butch asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Look, nothing against O’Reilly. But I’d keep this to myself for now if I were you. Till you follow up and check it out more.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “I never been one to drop a dime on another cop. O’Reilly’s an organization man, and he don’t like guys ratting each other out either. This is real sensitive information.”

  “I understand,” she said. Dan was listening intently to her end of the call, but she didn’t think he could hear Butch.

  “Here’s the deal, okay? No way Ramirez’s prints got on that can legitimately,” Butch said. “It couldn’t have happened when Ramirez was working the crime scene. You see, my boys got to the scene first, before any other cops. The initial call came from the fire department. Ramirez only showed up afterwards. Frankly, I have no idea who the hell called him, but it wasn’t us.”

  “So what does all that mean, Butch?”

  “We had total control of that crime scene before Ramirez ever set foot in it. We already collected the can before he got there. If those are really his prints, maybe he thinks he can explain them away, but I gotta think they were there from before.”

  “Before when?”

  “Before. Like during the crime. Unless the fingerprint report is wrong, Ramirez was there when Benson was killed.”

  “WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?” DAN ASKED when she hung up.

  She’d never been so aware of the muscles in her face. How could she arrange her expression so she didn’t look like she was in complete shock?

  She met Dan’s gaze. “Oh, just ballistics stuff,” she said, trying to sound casual.

  Dan’s eyes bored into hers. She marveled once again at their exquisite clarity. The eyes of an innocent man. They demanded the truth, made her feel treacherous for deceiving him. She told herself it was merely a physical thing, that she shouldn’t be swayed by it.

  “You’re lying, I can tell,” he said. “Are you holding something back from me on our investigation?”

  “Of course not,” she said, but her voice came out small and uncertain.

  He smashed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel, making her jump.

  “What was that for?” she said, annoyed. If he was going to act threatening, she would feel no compunction about misleading him. But he looked over at her with terrible hurt in his face.

  “I can’t believe you just looked me in the eye and lied to me,” he said. “I thought we trusted each other. I thought we had something, that we were a team.”

  “Hey, pal, let me tell you something,” she said, anger coursing through her veins. “Team is a two-way street. Who’s the one who won’t give up the name of his informant? Who’s the one with his own agenda to protect? On the day you come clean with me, you’ll be justified in acting self-righteous. But today you’re out of line.”

  He looked back at the road, shaking his head, whistling through his teeth.

  “Well?” she said.

  “You’re tougher than you look, you know that?”

  “Never doubt it.”

  44

  DAN DROPPED HER AT HER OFFICE AFTER A HELLISHLY tense ride, claiming he was going to look for Randall and would call once he found him. She got out without a word and slammed the car door. He sped away, not looking back.

  As she rode up in the elevator, exhaustion and depression overwhelmed her. She was in the middle of a murder investigation, and everybody assigned to help her was now on her list of suspects. Dan was now on her list of suspects. She had every intention of getting Slice. But she’d never counted on having to do it by herself.

  She stepped off the elevator.

  “Hey, Melanie!” the guard called from inside his glassed-in booth. “Lady here to see you.”

  He pointed to the adjoining small reception area, where Mary Hale sat ensconced in a chair surrounded by at least twenty cardboard file boxes.

  Mary stood up. “I’m responding to your subpoena.”

  “So I see,” Melanie replied, startled. “But the subpoena said Mr. Reed should bring the documents to the grand jury himself, tomorrow morning. I don’t have time to review all this now.”

  “Mr. Reed isn’t going to show up. He saw your fax and instructed me to start shredding.”

  “Do you realize what you’re saying?” Melanie asked. “Destroying documents sought by a subpoena is a crime. Why would he do that, unless he had something to hide?”

  “Ms. Vargas, I always realize what I’m saying,” Mary replied.

  “So you’re telling me the Securilex deal was rigged?”

  “Oh, my, yes.”

  “And Mr. Reed knew that?”

  “He didn’t just know it, he set it up,” she said, almost gleefully. “When Securilex went public, Mr. Reed structured the IPO. He demanded kickbacks from any investor who wanted to buy large blocks of stock at the insider price. All carefully disguised as legitimate payments, of course.”

  “Does he know you’re here?”

  “No, and when he finds out, he’ll do everything in his power to stop me from talking to you. I suggest we get down to business. There are years’ worth of documents in these boxes. It’ll take time to go through them.”

  Melanie looked at her watch and then back at the boxes. Even if Securilex had played a role in Jed Benson’s murder, poring through boxes wouldn’t help her track down Slice and get him off the street any faster. On the other hand, if she uncovered enough evidence to arrest Dolan Reed, that could help find Slice. Reed would flip in a heartbeat and start talking. White-collar types like him couldn’t stomach the inside. And since there was at least some chance Reed had ordered the hit, he might have a way to get to Slice. A thought flashed into her mind. A way to get the work done and do a favor for a friend at the same time.

  “Ms. Hale, could you wait here for just a moment, please? I’ll be right back,” she said eagerly.

  “Certainly.”

  Melanie swiped her card key through the magnetic lock and raced to Joe Williams’s office halfway down the hall, stopping, out of breath, in the open doorway. Joe looked up in surprise, chopsticks poised above a white paper carton.

  “Joe! Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I need a few minutes of your time. More than a few, actually.”

  “Sure. Everything okay?”

  “Yes! Guess what? I have the perfect case for you.”

  AFTER SHE SETTLED MARY AND JOE IN A CONFERENCE room, Melanie dashed back to her office to figure out her next step. It wasn’t until then that she noticed
her office door was shut tight. Strange, she’d left it wide open, as usual, last night when she went to the retirement dinner. She reached for the doorknob, sensing that something was wrong. Inside, the furniture seemed disturbed, as if someone had moved it and put it back in slightly different places. The cleaning service? Was she getting paranoid?

  She walked over to her desk. The second she looked down at it, she knew for sure—the carefully arranged piles covering its surface had been tampered with. Somebody had been here, looked through them. She rifled through the piles frantically. The Bensons’ bank records. Gone! She immediately thought of Rommie Ramirez’s behavior last night. Despite her rebuffs, he’d repeatedly insisted on seeing them. Would he have gone so far as to sneak into her office and steal them? Who else had known about the bank records besides Rommie? At the very least, Bernadette and Dan. Neither of them was above suspicion the way things were going, although certainly Ramirez had expressed the greatest degree of interest. A highly unusual degree of interest, as she recalled.

  Wait a minute! She looked through the piles a second time. The fingerprint report identifying Ramirez’s prints on the kerosene can was gone, too. Now she was convinced it was Ramirez. There were a few too many coincidences. Like the fact that he’d sneaked up on her in her office the other night, right before she got chased in the basement. Normally cops couldn’t just come and go as they pleased in the prosecutors’ offices. But Rommie had special access. Bernadette let him in.

  Blind with rage, she backed out into the hallway. Before she thought twice, she was in the anteroom to Bernadette’s office.

  Shekeya’s two daughters, maybe four and six, played jacks on the linoleum floor while Shekeya typed. Intent on their play, they granted Melanie only the same brief, resentful glance she received from their mother. Shekeya kept typing, not bothering to explain their presence, a foul silence hanging over her.

  “Bernadette in?”

  “What you think? It’s the middle of the afternoon,” she said coldly, eyes on the keys, not looking up a second time.

  “It just seems quiet.”

  “Quiet like a snake before it bite you.”

  Not troubling to decipher that comment, Melanie walked in unannounced. Bernadette looked up from a paper she was reading. The afternoon sunlight glared through the window behind her desk, hurting Melanie’s eyes, making it difficult to see Bernadette’s face. Melanie knew that her boss had placed the desk there for precisely that reason, to gain advantage, to unnerve visitors.

  When Melanie’s eyes adjusted, what she saw surprised her. There wasn’t a trace of last night’s excessive drinking or its stormy aftermath. Bernadette looked fresh, better than she had in recent memory. Her eyes were clearer, her color better, her carriage more vigorous and erect. She looked like a woman who had come through a terrible ordeal relatively unscathed and finally figured out who she was and where she stood.

  “Sit down,” Bernadette commanded. “You’ve saved me the trouble of summoning you. We need to talk about your handling—or should I say mishandling?—of the Benson investigation.”

  “What?” Melanie exclaimed, shocked, stumbling as she backed into a guest chair. Her heart began to pound.

  “I assume you’ve heard about Slice’s latest victims? Amanda Benson and her bodyguard?”

  “Yes,” Melanie said warily.

  “I was just proofreading this memo. Here, take a look.”

  Bernadette slid a piece of paper across the desk with her fingertips. Her fingers were gruesome. Like Dorian Gray’s picture, they revealed the strain that didn’t show in her face—red polish horribly chipped, cuticles bitten to bloody shreds. Melanie picked up the memo, saw it was from Bernadette to the U.S. Attorney, dated that day. It announced Melanie’s reassignment to administrative duties. The Benson case would be handled by Bernadette herself.

  “Did Rommie Ramirez put you up to this, Bernadette? You know it’s completely wrong.”

  “Wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Assigning this case to you was wrong. Rommie’s been telling me that all along, and now I finally see.”

  “You know why he wants me off the case? Because I’m getting too close.”

  “Close? You’re not even in the ballpark, girlfriend. I gave you a chance. But enough is enough. You’re parading around like a hotshot, screaming about conspiracy theories while the killer picks off your witnesses one by one. Do you have any idea what it means that Amanda Benson was killed? Any minute we can expect her mother to march into the front office and demand our resignations. I can’t believe it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Do you have any idea what it means that Amanda was killed, Bernadette? She was a scared, confused little girl. Fifteen years old, and now she’s dead. She’ll never get a chance to grow up. And you’re sitting here worrying about how it looks to the front office.”

  “Yes, I’m worried,” Bernadette snarled. “You should be, too. With the way the bodies are piling up, we look downright incompetent.”

  “Oh, it’s a lot worse than that!” Melanie cried.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s not incompetence, it’s corruption, and your boyfriend is in the middle of it. Rommie told Slice where to find all my witnesses. He was involved, Bernadette. Open your eyes! His fingerprints are all over a can of accelerant found at the scene of Jed Benson’s murder. I’d show you the report proving that, but it was stolen from my office last night, along with the bank records Rommie was so interested in at the retirement dinner. Funny coincidence, isn’t it? Was Rommie here last night, after the dinner?”

  Bernadette’s mouth fell open, all color draining from her face.

  “He was, wasn’t he? He has free run of our office after hours, isn’t that right, Bernadette? That’s how he found out where Rosario Sangrador was sequestered, I bet. Who let him in here, any idea? Would it happen to be you? Don’t you think the front office would be interested to know that?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bernadette said, her voice fierce and quiet.

  “Let me explain it more clearly, then. The fingerprint analyst compared the print on the kerosene can to all law enforcement present at the crime scene. Rommie’s prints matched.”

  “Well…so?” Bernadette stuttered. “He messed up. Didn’t handle evidence properly. That’s bad, but it doesn’t mean—”

  “I already spoke to Butch Brennan,” Melanie interjected. “The can was recovered from the scene before Rommie ever arrived there. So it couldn’t have been a mistake.”

  “No. No, there has to be some other explanation,” Bernadette declared emphatically, shaking her head. “You’re just confirming everything I said about crazy theories. To accept that a fifteen-year veteran could be involved in murder, rather than doing the extra work to find the right answer. It’s…it’s…why, it’s just ludicrous!”

  “I believe the evidence I see before my eyes, Bernadette. Maybe I don’t have personal motives for disregarding it.”

  They stared at each other. Melanie imagined she saw a second’s hesitation, a moment’s doubt, flicker on Bernadette’s face. But then Bernadette squelched it out. Doubt was not an emotion she tolerated.

  Holding Melanie’s gaze, Bernadette pressed the intercom. Shekeya came into the room.

  “This memo is fine. Distribute it!” Bernadette snapped.

  Shekeya took the memo without so much as a glance in Melanie’s direction. She must have typed it right before Melanie walked in. No wonder she’d acted so hostile; she was covering up her embarrassment. She knew that Bernadette was about to deliver a humiliating blow, yet she’d presumably been instructed not to tell Melanie.

  “It’s done,” Bernadette said dismissively. “You’re off the case. I’ll handle this matter from here on out. If you want something done right, do it yourself, I always say. Oh, and by the way, I made you a list of new assignments, starting with a week of bail duty. Idle hands do the devil’s work, after all.”

&nbs
p; She thrust a piece of paper at Melanie, who took it without looking at it.

  “You’re going to find out I’m right, sooner or later,” Melanie said, standing up, looming over her boss’s desk. “Let’s just hope nobody else dies in the process.”

  Melanie turned on her heel and marched from the room. When she got out to the hall, she took Bernadette’s list of bullshit administrative chores, ripped it to shreds, and threw it in the nearest trash can. She wasn’t about to get sidelined. Damned if she’d leave that animal and his cohorts on the street one second longer.

  45

  ONLY ONCE SHE HIT THE STREET DID MELANIE ask herself where she was going. New York was a big town. Slice could be anywhere.

  The basic principles of investigation counseled starting with his last known location. That would be Mount Sinai Hospital, last night, wielding a nine-millimeter. The way things had fallen to shit on this case, she doubted anybody had even canvassed the hospital staff to pick up leads. She hailed a taxi. She’d do it herself. And if somehow she managed to find him, then she’d figure out how to take him down. No point worrying about that now.

  Settling back into the seat, finally catching her breath, she noticed a red cardboard tube protruding from her handbag. The blueprints. They reminded her of Sophie. She’d never heard back from her friend about the problem in the park. Checking her watch, she saw it was nearly three o’clock. Sophie should have delivered Maya to Melanie’s mother some time ago. Quickly, Melanie dialed home.

  “Hello?” her mother answered.

  “Hi, Mom. It’s me. Everything okay?”

  “No, as a matter of fact. I’ve been waiting for over an hour, but your friend hasn’t showed up yet. I don’t know why I had to leave work early to sit around your apartment all alone, Melanie. I have a real job, too, you know.”

  Melanie went cold with fear. Sophie had been gone for hours longer than she should have been. Had something happened?

  A persistent clicking could be heard on the line.

  “Oh, hold on,” her mother said. “It’s this damn Call Waiting.”