Brooklyn Blood

by M. Z. Kelly

  I googled the name Donna Wallace and the city of Monticello, not coming up with anything worthwhile. I then remembered the last known address for her that Sam had given me. I typed her name and address into one of those people find search engines and waited.

  After a few seconds, I got an address back with the name Donna Wallace on Howard Street in Monticello. The birthdate that came up was the same as my mother’s. Even though I knew, from what Sam had told me, that my mother had moved from that address, my pulse raced as it occurred to me that whoever was now living there might have a forwarding address for her.

  As I turned off my light and again tried to sleep, imaginary images of my mother moved through my mind. I saw us reuniting and even imagined her telling me that she’d gone away because she was fearful I would be harmed by the man who had been stalking her.

  I knew it was a total fantasy, but, as sleep finally tugged at my consciousness, I prayed that it might be true. I also knew that I had to find out what happened to William Jeffers.

  ***

  The next morning, Max and I took the Long Island train to the department’s Central Records Division. We weren’t sure how long our reassignment would last, but I hoped it would be lengthy, given that my former boss was soon to be our new lieutenant.

  Max was on her phone as we pulled into the station and said, “I just got a text from Rosie. Carl Sutton was indicted for Remy Powell’s murder. She said word has it that Jenkins and Hammond got him to confess to the murder.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  She shrugged. “He was a homeless guy, with mental problems, and probably coming down from a high. You lean on someone like that long enough, and there’s no telling what he’ll admit to.”

  I stood as the train came to a stop. “It’s wrong, and we need to find a way to make it right, both by him and by Remy.”

  After checking in with a secretary and waiting around for a half hour, Max and I were met by an older black detective named Sonny Chase. He had an easy way about him that I immediately liked, as we took seats across from his cluttered desk.

  “So how did you two draw the short straws and end up here?” he asked with a gap-toothed smile.

  “Don’t know, exactly,” Max said. “They just said you guys needed some extra help.”

  “We’re actually happy about the change of scenery,” I said. “You might have heard that Precinct Blue isn’t exactly a plum assignment.’

  Sonny, as he asked us to call him, thumbed through a file on his desk and said, “I hope you can still say you’re pleased with your new assignment after spending a few days here.”

  “What are our duties?” Max asked.

  “The party line is you’re here to help organize files and put things in order. The real task is to sort out evidence and information that, over the years, has been mistakenly merged, lost, or just ignored.” He stood, his perpetual smile still on his face. “Let me show you what we call the ‘black hole’.”

  We followed Sonny, past several rooms, to the end of a corridor. He stopped there and opened a door to a large warehouse with subdued lighting and rows of shelves containing barrels receding into the darkness.

  “You can see why we call this the black hole,” Sonny said. “Years ago, somebody had the bright idea to cut back on the electric bill by taking out most of the lighting. You’ll be given flashlights to help you work on organizing things.”

  I had no idea how we would even begin to organize what looked like a football field’s worth of files, some of them stacked to the building’s rafters.

  “Where do we start?” Max asked.

  “Files are arranged from the most recent crimes, going back to evidence collected back in the 1960s. A lot of the documents were dumped in barrels and merged, so much of what you’ll be doing is sorting through the files and separating things out by crime and date.

  The recent files should be in pretty good shape, but, as you work your way back in time, you’ll find that some of the documents are disintegrating, and the rats have had their way with some of it.” Another smile. “Think of yourselves as detectives in a rat trap, working in the largest time capsule in existence.”

  After giving us flashlights and gloves, and leading us to a work area where we could start sorting through the evidence, Sonny left and said he would check on us later.

  After gloving up, Max let her light wash over the endless metal shelves stacked with barrels. “I got me a feeling this is what they call job security. There must be hundreds of barrels here.”

  I shook my head at the enormity of the task before us. “I can’t say that I disagree.” I suddenly had another thought. “Do you suppose they’re planning to permanently assign us here? We’ll never see the light of day again!”

  “The department’s version of Blue hell?”

  I nodded.

  “I guess we just take it a day at a time and see how things go.”

  ***

  After spending a fruitless day sorting through mountains of disintegrating paperwork, Max and I met Amy at Dargon’s, an Irish pub in Queens that had great food, not to mention drinks. We were surprised when we found our roommate sitting at a table in the back of the bar with Mojo.

  “Don’t tell me you two are an item now,” Max said, as we took seats across from them.

  Mojo smiled at his boss. “I think I’ve finally grown on her.”

  “Yeah, like a terminal fungus,” Amy said. “I brought the nitwit along because he’s got some more information about our case.”

  A server came over, and we ordered drinks. After she left, Amy said to her employee, “Tell ‘em what you found out.”

  Mojo downed the last of his beer, since he’d ordered another. After belching, he said, “Sophia’s got a sister named Maria who’s in the mix.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” I asked.

  “My friend at Uptown Catering said she’s seen Bobo with Maria a couple of times. She describes him as ‘smitten with her’.”

  “Mojo means he’s screwing her,” Amy said. “He also said she’s a twelve on a scale of ten, even prettier than Sophia.”

  Mojo went on for a minute, giving us the physical attributes of Maria Sanchez, Sophia’s sister. He ended by saying, “From what my friend said, she’s got a body that...” He bit his lip. “...let’s just say that she could be on the cover of one of those Sports Illustrated swimsuit editions.”

  As Amy rolled her eyes, I said, “Maybe we need to go over what we know about your case and try to put things in perspective.”

  Amy agreed as our drinks were delivered. After the server was gone, she began to recap what we knew.

  “Sophia Puig hired me because she separated from her husband a few weeks ago. She’s planning to file for divorce. There’s no prenup, but she wanted me to investigate her ex’s case as it relates to information that might be used in court.

  “We know that Alex Puig has a history of domestic abuse. He’s also going to be fighting for the middle-weight championship in a few days. According to Sophia, he threatened to kill her and her baby, Isabel, and is increasingly being influenced by Bobo Calderon, his manager.”

  “A man with a checkered past,” Mojo said before tipping up his drink.

  I took up the summary, going over what we knew about Calderon. “Bobo’s a drug dealer, the head of the Manizales Cartel, according to Sophia’s godfather, Armando Guillermo. He also runs several strip clubs, specializing in Russian working girls, and is worth a small fortune.”

  Max chimed in. “And we know, from what we overheard at his apartment the other night, that he and Alex aren’t getting along. Bobo said something about a situation that needs to be resolved. There’s also some kind of dispute over money. When Bobo told Alex that his money has been invested, the two got into a fistfight.”

  “And now, Sophia has gone missing, along with her mother, who’s in Colombia, and we’ve got Sophia’s sister, Maria, in the mix,” Amy said. “It could be that Maria’s working w
ith Bobo to skim the proceeds from Alex’s boxing purses. They could be the key to what’s going on.”

  Max agreed. “Bobo’s probably investing the money that he’s been stealing in his drug business.”

  “And Alex is none too happy about it,” Mojo said. His eyes brightened. “Why don’t you let me and Katerina go undercover again? Bobo has parties at his place almost every night.”

  Amy glared at him. “You stay away from Katerina. I don’t have a problem with you going undercover again, but you’re not going near that girl.”

  Mojo grinned, exposing his crooked front teeth. “If I’m going to continue to work the case, I’m going to need more expense money.”

  “Expenses for what? Lap dances and hitting on the women you’re working with at the catering company?”

  Mojo smiled. “Let’s just call it incidentals.”

  “Incidentals,” Amy scoffed. She found a couple twenties in her purse. “Why don’t you scurry off, go back to the rat hole you live in. I’ll be in touch.”

  We endured Mojo’s complaints about his working conditions for a couple minutes, then, thankfully, he left. The server brought over our sandwiches before we got back to Amy’s case.

  “We need to find Sophia’s sister,” Max said, munching on a fry. “And I wonder why your client never mentioned her to us.”

  “There’s obviously a lot more going on than we’ve been told,” I agreed.

  Amy chewed, sighed. She took a sip of her drink, then said, “You’re right. I’ve got a feeling I’m being played. I just don’t know exactly who’s doing the playing or what the end game is. I’m going to work on finding both Sophia and Maria starting tomorrow.”

  As we ate, the discussion moved to the Remy Powell case, Amy asking me, “Anything more from that Holmes guy?”

  I shook my head. “I’m still processing what he said about our killer probably not being finished.”

  “I’ve got my friend Rosie looking at similar cases where the perp has recently been paroled,” Max said.

  “I feel like both cases are going nowhere fast,” Amy said. She looked at me. “You busy tomorrow night?”

  I shook my head. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Jake. I wanna go by his place and talk to him. I thought I could make it casual, like we were just in the neighborhood and stopped by. I could use some moral support from you.”

  “Talk to him. What does that mean?”

  “About waiting six months until...you know.”

  “You think that’s a good idea? I mean, going by his place unannounced?”

  “I don’t think I’m getting any younger.” I agreed to help her out, before she asked, “Anything new with you and Sam?”

  “Actually, he called and wants to go on a picnic.”

  Amy’s voice pitched higher. “A picnic? He’s crazy, but technically that would qualify as a second date.”

  “It’s not for a couple weeks,” I said. “I told him about us going to Monticello to look for my mother. He agreed it’s better if he doesn’t tag along.”

  “Speaking of that,” Max said. “I got a friend who runs a motel in the area. If you want, I could make us all reservations for Saturday night. We could share the same room to save money.”

  “Do it,” Amy said. “My bank account’s on fumes, and I just gave the biggest pervert on the planet my last forty bucks.”

  “Max and I got this,” I said, picking up the bar tab. I tried to be optimistic. “I think something’s going to break on the Sophia Puig case soon.”

  Amy brushed her red hair back with both hands. “It better, otherwise I could end up homeless or living in a fuwking graveyard. Wait a minute, I’m already living in a fuwking graveyard.” She sighed. “Life sucks, you go broke, then you die.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Max and I spent the next day in the bowels of the Central Records warehouse. We made the mistake of deciding to go as far back in time as the records went, which approximately coincided with the year of President Kennedy’s assassination.

  The only problem was, the barrels from that era were filled with paperwork that had turned to sawdust, mixed with rat pee. The barrels reeked and had little that was salvageable, something that Sonny Chase commented on when he checked on us at midmorning and saw the disintegrated pile of paperwork on the table in front of us.

  “It looks like a giant puzzle that’s turned to dust,” Sonny said, smiling. “Maybe starting at the beginning wasn’t the best place to start.”

  Max scratched her head. “I’m not sure if the other barrels are going to be in any better shape. You want us to look at some cases from the seventies and see if they’re also dust and pee?”

  He sighed and rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “Guess so. Why don’t you check a couple of barrels from the seventies and eighties and let me know what you come up with.”

  “I think we’re going to need some surgical masks,” I said. “I’ve smelled worse things than what’s in these barrels, but not in this lifetime.”

  “Why don’t you take a break, and I’ll see what I can find,” Sonny said, covering his nose with the back of his hand. “This is worse than I expected.”

  Max and I took a break and walked up the street to a coffee shop. While we had muffins and coffee, she took the opportunity to call Rosie. I could tell from the side of the conversation I heard that Bobo Calderon was deep in debt, something that Max confirmed when she ended the call.

  “Bobo’s bought three dance clubs besides Gonzo’s over the past year. He’s barely making ends meet.”

  “And maybe borrowing money from his wealthy boxing client to cover his debts.”

  Max nodded. “That’s probably what’s going on. I also had Rosie find out what she could on Puig’s finances. He owns Warren’s Gym and is behind on the mortgage there, as well as the one on his condo.”

  “And the other night, Alex let Bobo know he’s none too happy about the way things are going.”

  Max paused, apparently turning over in her mind what we knew. “I wonder why Bobo’s not using the drug money to bail himself out of debt.”

  “Maybe someone has cut in on his territory, and things aren’t going well.”

  “Why don’t you talk to Amy about this tonight? Maybe she can ask Armando what he knows about Bobo’s drug business.”

  I agreed, then asked about our other case. “Did Rosie have any luck connecting any past cases to Remy Powell? Or the one in Binghamton?”

  “Nothing, so far, but she’s still digging. I got a feeling it’s like us searching through those barrels in the warehouse, looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Only without the rat pee.” I’d noticed earlier that Max had her hair done and complimented her on it. “You have plans for tonight?”

  She smiled. “Sonny asked me to have a drink with him after work.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded, her smile still there. “He’s a bit on the older side, but I’m not in a position to be picky. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Max and I finished up our workday in surgical masks, finding that the rats had also had their way with files from the seventies and eighties. Things were better in the nineties, where Sonny decided we should spend our time.

  I had no idea how much longer we would be on loan to the Records division, but decided that sifting through barrels of sawdust and dried rat pee was preferable to dealing with an even bigger rat—Lieutenant Corker.

  As Amy and I drove to Jake’s place that night, I told her about our day. “Lots of decomposed paperwork and rat droppings. The only good thing about our new assignment is that our boss and Max have made a connection. The guy’s name is Sonny and he’s taking her out for drinks tonight.”

  “Wow. Both you and Max have guys on the line, while I can’t even get a nibble from a hopeless romantic. What the hell’s wrong with this picture?”

  “I’m sure Jake will come around. He just needs to be nudged.”
r />   “Maybe ‘plunged’ is more like it, since he’s a plumber.”

  I laughed, then told her what Rosie had found out about Alex Puig and his manager. “Bobo’s heavily in debt behind his purchase of several nightclubs. It seems increasingly likely that he’s skimming money from his big client to make ends meet, since Alex is also in debt. Max thought you might want to check with Armando and see what he knows about Bobo’s drug business maybe going south.”

  She nodded. “It would explain the fight he and Puig had the other night.” Amy turned off the highway in Brooklyn Heights, where Jake lived. “I spent my day following Bobo around. I never saw any sign of Sophia or her sister, but I think he hooked up with a high-end escort. Maybe she was one of his dancers.”

  “So much for him being smitten with Maria.” I thought about what she’d said. “I still think we’re missing a big piece of the puzzle.”

  “Yeah, and I sucked at puzzles when I was a kid.” She blew out a long breath. “Why is it things can never be easy?”

  I laughed. “You’re asking me? If you’ll remember, I’m the girl whose mother dumped her, who ended up living with Twisted Mister and Little Sister, and being molested by Mojo.”

  Amy stopped down the street from Jake’s place. “Maybe we just got us a shitload of bad karma from our last lifetime.”

  I smiled as we got out of the car. “I just hope whatever we did was a hell of a lot of fun.”

  Jake Rogers lived in a brownstone that had been converted to three units. We stopped on the landing at his apartment and listened.

  Not hearing anything, I said, “Maybe no one’s home.”

  Amy frowned. “Shit. I hope we didn’t come all this way for nothin’.”

  She rang the bell, and, after a lengthy wait, we heard movement from inside the apartment. It took a couple minutes before we heard a man’s voice saying, “What is it?”

  Amy glanced at me before answering. “Jake, it’s me, Amy. I was just in the neighborhood and stopped by to say hello.”