“Because it’s my job. So who is he?”
“A friend of Edgar. He’s just a pothead, that’s all.”
“I’m going to need to see your cell phone, Justine.”
“My mom has it. What are you going to tell her? You promised—”
“Calm down. I’ll tell your mom that you have contacts of other friends on there and I just need to copy some numbers, all right? That’s all she’ll hear. You can listen to the whole conversation if you want. I won’t burn you with your mom, and like I already told you, I won’t burn your Playboy. But you’re gonna have to keep your mouth shut or you’ll lose everything. You understand that?”
“Yes.”
“I mean it. You wanna keep your little adventure, then you’d better make sure someone like Playboy never learns about our conversation.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not stupid.”
There is irony there.
Forty-six
Life can be hard, especially for a bored suburban teenager on drugs.
After this job, I’m done with teenagers.
Hard to believe I used to be one. I might even feel a little bad for my parents.
No, not really.
When you think about it, I’m not much different from some of these kids. The only thing that separates us is I don’t have to worry about my fucked-up parents anymore.
So why didn’t they take Justine like they took Amanda, and more than likely like they took Miriam? Maybe Playboy can answer that question.
But then there’s Edgar. He said he brought Miriam to the Salvadorans’ house, but maybe they didn’t have to use the tactics they used for Amanda. Maybe Miriam was willing. Crack is some powerful shit. It rots you from the inside out.
Cocaine is a monster, but crack is the devil. You can keep the monster in a closet, but not the fucking devil. It’ll possess your life and get you to a point where there’s nothing left but the devil himself. I’ve seen it enough times on the job. I was smart enough not to take that first hit. I know how weak I am. It would’ve changed my life from something manageable to something out of my control. I feel like that’s happening now sometimes, but I believe in the power of good grapefruit, Valium, Klonopin, and a few hours of sleep.
If Miriam was willing, then she’s either dead or working in one of those row house brothels you’ll find on almost every other block in certain sections of DC. And shit, this isn’t a competition. I’m hoping Caine gets to Justine and gets the information I have. Unfortunately, I can’t give it to him because I can’t chance Justine sending up a flare to warn Playboy. I need Playboy on the street, where he’s easier to get to. Also Justine might disappear for good if that happens. Then again, she still might.
Even though I don’t have anything I want to share yet, I feel obligated to check in with the Gregorys. I get out of my suit first and slip on some jeans and a casual shirt. After that, I plop on the sofa and light a cigarette.
Ian Gregory answers the home phone, having just walked in the door after his commute from the Pentagon.
I fill him in on what very little I can tell him and add, “I do have a couple of leads, and I’ll be following through on those first thing in the morning.”
“Detective Caine called me the other day. Have you been in touch with him?”
“Yes, I have.”
“So are these leads something he should also know about?”
“Let me work it through my way, Mr. Gregory. I still stand with what I said before. Give it through the end of the week. If I don’t have anything solid then, I never will.”
“But you said you have leads? That’s good, then.”
“A lead is simply something that needs to be worked. If I develop something solid from it, then I’ll call you right away.”
“Thank you for keeping me informed.”
I’m such a bullshit artist, but Ian Gregory is either clueless or won’t tell me how much trouble his daughter really got into. I don’t think he’s clueless.
After I get off the phone with him I snuff out my cigarette and light another one. My house has always been a comfort zone, but since this mess I made with Leslie, I find that it’s less comforting. It’s true what they say. You never know until someone’s gone. But she’s not dead, and I’m not dead, so there’s hope.
Cell phone rings.
“Frank Marr,” I answer.
“Hey, Frank, this is Davidson.”
“What’s up, Scott? You got good news for me?”
“Afraid not, and that’s what we have to talk about. You have time to stop by the office here?”
Oh shit. I can tell by his tone that something’s up. I’m hoping Edgar didn’t get stupid brave and give me up.
“Talk to me now. What’s going on?”
“Need to talk in person. It’s sensitive. If you haven’t had supper, I’ll order a couple of sandwiches from Jack’s.”
“No, I’m good. I can be there in about an hour. Why don’t we meet at the FOP Lodge, though? I could use a beer.”
“Like I said, it’s sensitive. You know how it is there. I’ll owe you a dinner some other time, though. So I’ll see you at about six o’clock?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
I’m thinking supper may not come for a while.
Forty-seven
I’ll admit it. I think about running, getting the fuck outta Dodge. I’ve got the stash. I’ve got the cash, and I certainly know where to get the good fake identification. But then I figure that although Edgar might be a little stupid, he’s not that brave. He’s gotta know that if he turns me in, I’ll give up everything I know about him. And he knows I got a lot to give up. Even without that, it’d be his word against mine, and he’s a piece-of-shit coconspirator in a juvenile abduction and rape case.
Yeah, I’m not gonna run.
But I still walk into the Nickel clean. No backpack and no pill container. Just in case.
Scott answers the door of the unit’s third-floor office after I buzz it a couple of times.
He’s wearing tan BDUs and a navy blue polo shirt with a gold embroidered MPDC badge on the left chest. He looks tired.
“Thanks for coming in.” He smiles.
“No problem, brother.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not wearing a suit.” Davidson smiles again.
“That’s because you’ve never seen me at home before, and that’s where you dragged me out of.”
“Well, I appreciate you taking the time.”
I follow him to his desk.
Davidson’s partner, whose name I forget, is sitting at his desk, and a man and a woman wearing pricey tan tactical pants with several zippered pockets and open vests with even more pockets are sitting at the desks that were unoccupied the last time I was here. Everything about them is fresh. It’s how I know they’re Feds.
A large man with short spiky hair and a black suit is leaning against a wall. He shoots me a nod like he knows me. He has a visitor sticker like mine. I notice part of the silver badge secured to the left side of his belt. It looks like Fairfax County.
“Frank, this is Special Agent Donna Hernandez and her partner, Agent Chad Hawkins.”
She offers her hand and a “Good to meet you,” and we shake, and then Chad offers his, but with only a slight smile.
They seem relaxed, sitting on their chairs on wheels and leaning against the wall. Scott’s partner is relaxed too, but with his feet propped up on his desk.
“And I think you know Detective Caine over there,” Davidson says with a motion of his head toward the large man against the wall.
“We’ve spoken on the phone,” I say.
He straightens up and reaches out to offer his hand. We shake. He returns to his wall.
“Have a seat, Frank,” Scott says, offering me the chair in front of his desk.
He sits down, and then I do, too.
I notice three boxes that contain bagged and tagged evidence.
“Looks like you just execu
ted a search warrant,” I say.
“Yeah, Edgar Soto’s home.”
“So you got the punk. Good job. He talk?”
“No. That’s why we appreciate you getting down here.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I say reluctantly.
“Did you ever find Edgar Soto and talk to him?” Davidson asks.
“Whether I did or didn’t is privileged information. You know that.”
“C’mon, Frank, we need your help with a couple of things here.”
“Talk to me, then.”
“If you interviewed him, he might have given you some information we can use.”
“You mean information that’ll help you with the Amanda Meyer case?”
“Yes, and anything else you may have talked to him about.”
I sense that he’s digging for something more.
“What, you need something to use before you interrogate him? You got Edgar in the box, right?”
“Well, no, but we do have him in a bag.”
Forty-eight
What the fuck happened?” I ask, trying not to sound too thrilled. As bad as it is, I like this scenario better than the other.
“We hit his home at a little after six hundred hours. His mother actually answered the door for the knock-and-announce. She was surprised as hell we were there and didn’t have a clue. While I was trying to calm her down because of the search warrant we had, the entry team made their way in to clear the house. It’s a big house, real big, but it didn’t take long for them to find him.”
“How was he killed?”
“Can’t say yet,” Scott tells me, and now I know he’s fishing. He won’t give up the crime scene.
“Mother didn’t hear anything?” I ask.
“Slept soundly.”
“What about his father?”
“They’re divorced,” Hernandez says.
I forgot they were there.
“Was there any sign of forced entry?”
“We have guys there still looking into everything.”
That’s a load of bullshit, I think. They know. They’re just keeping it from me. I’m not a brother in blue anymore, so I can’t expect them to share everything.
“So you think this has anything to do with Amanda? Maybe one of Angelo’s boys got to him?”
“We don’t know what to think.”
“So I’m sure you got a detail on Amanda’s house, then?”
“We have agents there,” Hernandez says.
I look her way again. She’s cute. Petite. The sidearm tucked into her fancy tactical thigh holster is almost the size of one of her shapely forearms.
“That’s good to hear,” I reply.
Damn stupid kid, Edgar. I’m sure the first thing he did after I left him was to mouth off to the wrong person about our little encounter at the river, and that’s what got him killed. Because they got scared.
I think about Justine. She might be in danger, too, or already dead.
“Well shit, that’s too bad; but what do you need me for?”
“Frankie, we’re going to need everything you have.”
“What is it you think I have?”
“Everything you got with respect to Miriam Gregory,” Davidson says. “And anything else you might have, especially if you interviewed the decedent.”
“Detective Caine has been working that case much longer than I have, but then I’m sure that’s why he’s here, right?”
“I know how you guys work,” Caine advises me, with a bit of authority. “Your rules aren’t our rules, so I’m thinking maybe you got better results than I did.”
He’s starting to piss me off, so I don’t acknowledge him.
“I hear you used to work this kinda shit when you were on the job,” Hernandez says. “I heard you were really good at it.”
I’m starting to like her, but I know she’s just working me, like Davidson is. They’re holding back on something real.
“I was okay,” I tell her, and then to Davidson I say, “You got McGuire and Luna on this?”
“Definitely; they’re on it.”
“All due respect there, Scott, whatever it is I have, which is probably less than what your new friend Caine has, is confidential. I have clients to protect. You and I go back and we’re talking a murder investigation, so I’ll do what I can to help, but I have to call my client first.”
“Understood.”
I notice Caine shaking his head. It wouldn’t be too hard to knock that sly smile off his face, but I don’t want to have to deal with the repercussions. I might have some more serious repercussions to deal with here later on.
“Mind if I go into the other room to make a call?”
“It’s all yours, but use the open room over there.”
I walk a few steps into the adjacent room. It’s separated by a small archway. It’s close, but still far enough that they won’t hear my conversation unless the room is bugged, which I seriously doubt.
I’m not about to call the Gregorys and scare the hell outta them with this. It’s Justine I’m worried about, and it’s her mother I call.
She answers. “Hello?”
I speak low so they can’t hear me in the other room. “This is Frank Marr, Mrs. Durrell.”
“What can I do for you, Frank?” she asks like she’s known me for a long time, but I think it’s just that she’s had one too many. I guess that’s how some of those suburban wives work it off—chase down a nice healthy run with a coupla drinks.
“I have a follow-up question for Justine. You mind if I talk to her for a second?”
“Not at all, Frank. Hold on.”
I hear the phone set down and then, “Justine! You have a call!”
Shortly thereafter, a click as a phone is picked up in another room. “Hello?”
“This is Frank Marr, Justine. Mrs. Durrell, are you still on the line?”
I hear a click from the other phone.
“She hung up,” Justine says.
“I think I made it clear when I was there, but I want to make sure you understand that the boys you’re playing with are dangerous.”
“You made that clear. And I’m not playing with them.”
“That boy you’re rollin’ with is bad news, Justine. You need to stay clear of him, especially now, or you might get yourself caught up in the police investigation. I need you to really understand that, all right?”
“You don’t have to keep telling me.”
“Don’t get smart.”
“I’m not getting smart. I couldn’t text or call him even if I wanted to. His number’s on my cell phone that my parents took, and I don’t have it memorized, okay?”
“Good. Also, like I said, the police are probably going to get in touch with you soon. You need to tell them what you know. Everything.”
“You said I could trust you, and now you call me back like two hours after you were here and tell me this.”
“You can trust me, so you need to trust me when I say these boys are dangerous, so stay away from them.”
“Okay, okay. I have to go.”
“You call me if you need anything.”
“I will,” she says, and hangs up.
She’s a smart girl made stupid by addiction. I hope she’ll listen. I don’t even know if Playboy is involved with all this shit, but I got a bad feeling anyway.
Forty-nine
I walk back to the other room but don’t sit down. It appears that I’ll always have to keep a few steps ahead of these guys when it comes to this case. I can’t hold on to the information Justine gave me today. I may not be responsible most of the time, but sometimes I have good sense. Luckily, these boys here move at a much slower pace than I do. They set things up differently. They have to get everything cleared with their supervisors. Then they have to brief, debrief, and map everything out. That can take them anywhere from several hours to several days. All I have to do is pack my backpack with a few essentials, get in my car, and go. Despite all that, I gotta
be careful. They’re not giving me details related to Edgar’s murder for some reason, and I’m beginning to think it’s not because I’m no longer a sworn member and a part of the fraternity.
“I didn’t call my client.”
“I heard you talking to somebody,” Davidson says.
“I was. It’s a source I have.”
“So why didn’t you call the Gregorys?” Caine asks.
I look at Davidson and ask, “Did Detective Caine give you a call after I said he should, or was he already in on the search warrant?”
“He called, but after we discovered the decedent, we asked if he could stop by.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were still in charge.”
I hear a chuckle from the other side of the room, but don’t know from who. It wasn’t Caine, though.
“You guys got some bad blood together or something?” Whatshisname asks.
“Not me; maybe he just doesn’t like retired cops who have to work to supplement their pension.”
“It ain’t nothin’ but a thing,” Caine says, as if it’s a song lyric.
“Let’s get back on track, guys,” Davidson says.
“Well, Caine, despite what you might think of me, I’m glad Davidson called you in. That means Miriam Gregory will be on your mind while you’re working this.”
“Yes, she will be.”
“It’s not a competition. We all want the same thing,” Hernandez adds, and I think I’m falling in love now.
“You know you still have a couple of Angelo’s boys out there, right? Or did you pick them up?” I ask.
“They’re in the wind,” the silent one, Hawkins, says.
Well, they’re not keeping that from me, so maybe things aren’t so bad.
“I’d say they’re good suspects, then, right?”
“We’re on it,” Hawkins replies.
“You might want to get an undercover or someone like Luna in Columbia Village in Adams Morgan. My source said they used to hang out there.”
“Appreciate that. We will,” Hawkins says.
“That’s a start,” Davidson says.
“There’s another girl, Caine has her information, Justine Durrell. She was a friend of Edgar’s. You’ll want to talk to her. Just do me a favor and make it look like it comes from you, Caine, not me. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anybody about her friendship with Edgar. And she’s more afraid of her mother than she is of you guys, so use it.”
The Second Girl Page 16