In Pursuit of Justice

by Radclyffe

  Again, Jason nodded, the same predatory glint in his eyes as Sloan’s. “You can bet this guy is going to be wired for everything. Count on it. Anyone receiving this kind of feed will be recording and probably uploading to their own server. He’ll have a sophisticated wireless system that Sloan should be able to hack into from outside the building. She ought to be able to see what we’re seeing.”

  “This is loose,” Rebecca insisted steadily. She knew she didn’t have to tell Sloan, or Jason for that matter, what she meant. There were a dozen ways something could go wrong.

  “It won’t be by the time we get ready to roll,” Sloan said just as steadily.

  “We’ll need to inform Clark,” Rebecca added with a sigh.

  “Let’s tighten it up first,” Sloan suggested.

  “Right,” Rebecca said brusquely, slapping her hand on the tabletop. “Okay then. I’ll take it to my boss.”

  Catherine rode down with Rebecca in the elevator and walked her to her car. “I’m going to stay here for a few minutes, then I have a few patients to see.”

  Rebecca nodded, tossing the file folder with the transcripts onto the front seat. “Okay.” She started to turn away, then as an afterthought added, “Uh, I’ll be at the station house most of the day doing this paperwork and making phone calls. See you tonight?”

  “Yes,” Catherine replied, smiling at Rebecca’s effort to explain her day. The detective tried, even when it was foreign to her, and it made Catherine feel more cherished than any other gift possibly could. “That would be just perfect.”

  *

  When Rebecca walked into the squad room later that morning, Watts was seated at his desk, his chair turned toward the door as if waiting for someone. The minute he saw her, he got to his feet and walked quickly to her.

  “Man, am I glad you finally called me. If I had to chase down one more flasher at the mall, I was going to have to start taking drugs. Have you got something? Because I’ve been working the computers every chance I get, and I still can’t spring any names. It seems like every time I get close, I run into another dead end. It’s uncanny. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say someone had been erasing files.”

  Rebecca regarded him closely, because she had learned that Watts rarely said anything that he didn’t mean. Only people who didn’t know him very well thought he was all empty talk. “There are still some things you and I need to look into along those lines, but not right now. I’ve got something to take to the captain, and I need you assigned officially from here on out.”

  Watts beamed and then, looking around the squad room as if to make sure that no one had seen him, added, “Anything I need to know before we go in there?”

  “No surprises,” she assured him. “Just try for once to follow my lead, and keep quiet…if you can.”

  He just grinned as she turned and walked away. Five minutes later, they sat facing Captain John Henry across the expanse of his desk, waiting for him to finish a phone call. When he put down the receiver, he immediately said, “It’s Saturday morning. What have you got that can’t wait?”

  Rebecca began unhurriedly to explain. “The task force you assigned me to has turned up a lead here in the city on a kiddie porn ring. We need to stake out a suspect who we believe is receiving live child pornography over the Internet, marketing it to people he meets in chat rooms, and possibly broadcasting it as well. We think that he may have an indirect connection to the people making the videos, and they’re the ones who are using kids for sex.”

  Henry regarded Rebecca quietly for a moment. “This task force, it’s being run by Justice, right?”

  “Officially, yes. Most of the work has actually been done, though, by the private computer consultants which Justice brought on board. The feds have pretty much taken a backseat up until now. I’d like to keep it that way. Any arrests should be ours, and if there’s a connection to anything local, I want to know about it first. You know what Justice is like—they’ll snatch up a couple of these guys and offer them immunity to turn state’s evidence on somebody higher up the food chain, and we’ll never bring anybody to trial.”

  “The civilians—who are they? You trust them?”

  “I do,” Rebecca informed him. “It’s an outfit by the name of Sloan Security. They’re experienced and highly skilled. In fact, Sloan could probably get this new electronic investigation division that the commissioner has been harping about off the ground. I don’t think we’ve got anybody in-house who can actually do it.”

  Henry merely grunted, then glanced at Watts. “And Detective Watts figures in this, how?”

  “We’re going to need manpower for stakeouts, plus I have information from a confidential informant that some of the younger prostitutes may be involved in making these films. I don’t have any names yet, and I’d like Watts to work with Harris in Juvie to track down some of the younger girls and question them.”

  Rebecca took a deep breath. She knew she was asking for a lot and needed to make the case firm. “We really need to work through the juvenile unit because they’ve got all the records and most likely can find these kids a lot faster than we can. Plus, Harris is a good detective. I’m willing to bet she has relationships with some of these kids and can help us get the information we need.”

  “So, what’s the rush to go to the DA? You know they’re going to be running with a skeleton staff, and finding a judge to sign off on a warrant is always tricky on a weekend. Plus, it usually pisses off the judge to get paged during a golf game, and that doesn’t help matters.”

  “It’s possible that we’re going to have contact tonight or tomorrow night with one of these Internet guys dealing with the live video broadcasts. We’re going to bring him in for questioning, go through his place looking for verification of child porn, and confiscate all of his electronic equipment. I’d like to have a warrant to cover that.”

  “Which means we’re gonna need the crime scene techs, too,” Watts added. “That’s a lot of overtime, and it will help to have the DA on board to back us up with that.”

  “Thank you, Detective,” Henry said dryly. “I’m well aware how the fiscal distribution of my division works.”

  Rebecca squelched a smile, but she knew that Watts had made a good point. Administrators like Henry, even the ones who had once been good cops as he had been, were highly motivated by the bottom line, which was usually financial. The more paperwork he had to back up his allocation of funds and manpower, the better the final accounting of expenditures would be.

  He pushed back in his chair and sighed. “Okay, put the paperwork on my desk and I’ll make some calls.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Rebecca said, preparing to rise.

  “You stay, Frye.”

  Watts hesitated for a second, glancing quickly from Frye to Captain Henry, and then left the room when it became apparent that no one was going to say anything until he did.

  After Watts had closed the door behind him, Henry said, “How actively are you involved in this investigation?”

  “Just gathering the information as it comes in.”

  “I still haven’t seen anything on you from Whitaker.”

  “I’ll see that he gets it to you.”

  “See that you do, Sergeant.”

  “Absolutely, Captain.”

  Once outside, Rebecca glanced at her watch and decided that Whitaker probably wasn’t available on a Saturday afternoon. Monday would be in plenty of time.

  *

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Hmm? Oh,” Rebecca exclaimed with a wry smile. “I was thinking how nice it was not to be thinking about anything.”

  They were walking hand in hand through the narrow streets of Old City on First Saturday, a monthly event when artisans of all persuasions displayed their wares on the sidewalks for passersby to peruse, musicians played in alcoves and on street corners, and the many bistros and cafés served drinks or cappuccino at tiny tables lining the walkways. It had a certain Mardi Gras flavo
r with the historical charm that made Philadelphia famous. They’d had dinner at a small, intimate restaurant and then had taken to the streets along with scores of others to luxuriate in the still-warm September evening.

  “You might have been thinking that five minutes ago,” Catherine said with a faint laugh, “but now you have that look of complete and utter detachment that spells cop mode.”

  Rebecca blushed, an occurrence so rare for her that it was nearly reportable. It was true, she had been thinking about the case, and she had no idea that it showed so plainly. All she’d wanted, when the evening had begun, was to somehow show Catherine how crazy in love with her she was, and now, not three hours later, here she was obsessing about the job again. Jesus.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I was just—”

  “Don’t apologize. I have to admit that I’ve been wondering what was happening with Sloan and Jason, too. This waiting for something to break can get very wearing.”

  “You were?” Rebecca was pleasantly surprised. It hadn’t occurred to her that Catherine could become as absorbed in a case as she, although she certainly should have realized that after their experience with Raymond Blake. Then, Catherine had been as persistent as any obsessive detective in bringing him to justice. “You know, we’re just around the corner…”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.” Catherine stopped walking and regarded Rebecca with an eager glint in her eyes, then glanced at her watch. “It is after 9:00 on a Saturday night. Think anyone is still around?”

  “Can’t hurt to see.”

  Ten minutes later, Jason’s now-familiar voice rumbled from the speaker above the door. “Come on up. Might as well have a party.”

  When they had ascended the elevator and disembarked on the third floor, they discovered Jason and Mitchell hunched over the monitors and murmuring conspiratorially. Rebecca regarded Mitchell impassively when the young officer turned at the sound of footsteps. Mitchell gazed back, a faint hint of challenge in her eyes. It was the first time Rebecca had ever seen her any way but appropriately respectful.

  “Mitchell,” she said with a perfunctory nod.

  “Sergeant,” Mitchell said stiffly.

  Turning to Jason, Rebecca asked, “Anything?”

  “The usual. Saturday night seems to bring out all the perverts. LongJohn hasn’t shown up, though.” Dividing his attention between the screen and the newest arrivals, he crossed one elegantly trousered leg over the other and asked, “How’s the warrant situation?”

  “Captain Henry’s working on it. I should have something by show time.”

  “Good,” he replied distractedly. “I’m not entirely certain that our guy will contact me tonight, since we already have a specified meeting for tomorrow. On the other hand, I want to be here if he does log on.”

  Catherine nodded in agreement. “He may very well want to be sure that you’re still interested, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he sends a few more verbal tests in your direction—to verify your authenticity. He’s got to be suspicious that you—BigMac, I should say—might be law enforcement. I would suggest you appear enthusiastic but don’t probe too overtly for more information at this point.”

  “Gotcha.” Jason reached to his right and thumbed through an inch-high pile of computer printouts. “These are from the last couple of days, and there might be some other possibles in here. We might as well take down as many of them as we can when the time comes.” Glancing then at Catherine, he asked apologetically, “Have you got a few minutes?”

  Catherine hesitated, looking at Rebecca, who shrugged infinitesimally. By unspoken agreement, they had thus far kept their personal involvement private from the others in the group, for no other reason than that they both preferred to separate their professional and personal lives whenever possible.

  “Sure,” Catherine said. “I’ll just take them back to the conference room and go through them.”

  As Catherine lifted the pile and turned to leave, Rebecca looked pointedly at Mitchell and said, “Officer, let’s take a walk.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mitchell said and rose instantly.

  The two of them headed toward the far end of the vast loft space, in the opposite direction from the conference room, finally stopping beneath an expanse of windows that afforded a view all the way into southern New Jersey. Between them and the industrial center of Camden ran the Delaware River, illuminated by the lights of oil barges and other ships.

  “Captain Rodriguez called me this afternoon,” Rebecca began without preamble, referring to one of the uniform commanders and Mitchell’s superior. “He told me that all they need is your paperwork cleared up and you’ll be reassigned to street patrol.”

  “I don’t want to be reassigned,” Mitchell said immediately. She was in jeans and a work shirt, but despite the casual garb, she stood at parade rest, as if she still wore her Army lieutenant’s bars.

  “Is there some problem in-house?”

  Mitchell glanced at her sideways, surprised by the question. It was rare for detectives to take any interest in uniformed officers, and rarer still for them to question the workings of other divisions. Frye was essentially asking her if she had a problem with her superiors or her fellow officers, which, to her knowledge, was unheard of.

  “No, ma’am. No problems.”

  “Okay.” Rebecca expected no other answer. Mitchell was clearly a by-the-book cop, and if she was having problems, she’d keep it to herself like any good cop and try to handle it on her own. Rebecca didn’t intend to push her on it, not now. They had other issues to get clear. “Then why don’t you want to go back to your regular duty?”

  Mitchell squared her shoulders even further and said directly, “Because I want to stay on this assignment. I like working with Sloan and McBride…and I like working with you.”

  Rebecca turned her head and regarded Mitchell steadily. “Every uniform wants the gold shield, at least any uniform worth anything at all.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’ve got a long ways to go before that, Mitchell.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “But you’ve made a good start.” Rebecca slid her hands into her pockets and rocked slightly on the balls of her feet as she watched the night slide by on the river below. “I’ll see what I can do about keeping you around.”

  “Thank you very much,” Mitchell said, trying not to sound as relieved as she felt. Frye was not the type you kissed up to.

  “One more thing.”

  Mitchell looked at her questioningly. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “You want to tell me about you and Sandy Sullivan?”

  Mitchell’s heart began to race. Suddenly, for the first time since the day she had stood on the parade ground at West Point as a new cadet, she felt her knees shaking. In a clear voice that she willed not to waver, she answered, “No, ma’am, I do not.”

  “If you get between me and this investigation, or any other investigation, I’ll have your badge.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good,” Rebecca said. “We’ll meet here tomorrow afternoon at 4:00 p.m. to review the details of the operation.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mitchell said, hoping that the shock didn’t show in her voice. Frye had just invited her along on a high-level tactical maneuver. This was more than a dream come true; it was a career-making opportunity. And that was after her asking about Sandy. How in hell had she known?

  “And Mitchell,” Rebecca added as if in afterthought, “don’t ever turn your back on the night. You never know who might be watching.”

  *

  For the next hour and a half, Jason and Mitchell occupied themselves inputting data into one of their seemingly endless analysis programs. Rebecca sat with her feet up on the counter, leaning back in a swivel chair, watching a computer monitor and thinking about Mitchell. After the third time she’d seen her in the Tenderloin late at night and out of uniform, she’d decided to find out what the rookie was up to. It hadn’t taken long
. She’d followed them from the diner to Sandy’s apartment earlier in the week, and now she had to ask herself why she was allowing another cop to have anything to do with one of her confidential informants. Maybe it was the way she’d heard Sandy laugh at something Mitchell had murmured to her as they’d walked close together, their arms brushing with each step.

  “Hey there, Detective,” Catherine said softly as her hand passed across the back of Rebecca’s neck.

  “Hey.” Rebecca grinned, grateful for Catherine’s reappearance so that she didn’t have to analyze precisely what she’d felt when she’d seen the two young women together. “How’s it going?”

  “I’ve pulled three that I think have promise. Officer Mitchell,” Catherine said, “I’ve circled the identifiers that I’d like you to cross-reference.”

  “I’ll get on it right away.”

  “Tomorrow will surely be soon enough,” Catherine said with a smile. Glancing at her watch, she added, “It’s nearly 11:30. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need a break. Where’s Sloan, by the way? She seems to be the only one of us with any common sense.”

  Jason laughed. “Don’t you believe it. She went to the airport to pick up Michael. If it hadn’t been for that, you can bet she’d be right here.”

  “Ah,” Catherine said, still somewhat surprised. She would have thought Sloan was a lesbian, but perhaps that was just because she found her attractive. Smiling inwardly, she reminded herself that appearances were most often deceiving. “Well then, I’ll say good night.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Rebecca said, getting to her feet. “Jason—call me if anything comes up. Mitchell—go home.”

  Both of them nodded, but they were already engrossed in some bit of electronic information, their heads bent close together over a printout. Neither of them said good night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Michael Lassiter glanced at her passenger. “I could have taken the train from the airport, you know.”