“What about the other guy?”
“He was a cop for sure.”
“How do you know?”
“He flashed a badge.”
“From where? New York? New Jersey? There are some cops out there that got a real hard-on for me.”
“I don’t know. He flashed it so fast, you know. And he was too far away from me to get a real, good look at it. But it was the genuine article. I know real badges when I see ’em and I know fake badges when I see ’em. This one was the real thing.”
“Describe him.”
“He was shorter, much shorter than the other guy, maybe just a few inches taller than you. Not that you’re short. That’s not what I mean. He was very well dressed. You know, a suit and tie. Oh, yeah, and he was kinda dark-skinned, black hair, Latino, maybe. He had and accent and he spoke funny.”
“Funny how?”
“Funny like in full sentences. Big words. I think maybe he’s Puerto Rican or Dominican. Wait, I just remembered something. The other guy said something about him being from Guantanamo. Where’s that?”
“Cuba, you idiot.”
“Yeah. Right. He’s the one showed me a badge. Oh, yeah, I already said that. They were both packing. They made sure I saw that. Maybe he wasn’t even a cop, the little one, I mean. The way they acted, I don’t think they were cops. But they coulda been.”
Once you got this idiot talking, there was no way to shut him up. He was like one of those Energizer bunnies that just keeps on going and going and going. The only way to shut him up was to either stick the rest of that cheeseburger in his big, fat mouth or say something.
“I know the second guy. Name’s Manny Perez and he’s a Miami cop. But he’s on suspension. Fuckin’ didn’t think he’d follow me all the way up here.”
“They followed you?”
“Not literally, asshole. I mean he came up here looking for me. He knew where I’d be.”
“I don’t think the other guy was from Miami. Maybe Texas, ’cause of the way he was dressed, only like I said he didn’t have the accent.”
I shook my head. “He’s not from Texas. There’d be no reason for anyone from Texas to be looking for me. He’s either from Florida or he’s from up around here, and he’s private.”
“Wait a minute. I remember something else. I looked at the card real close and I could kinda make out the word, Connecticut. Maybe he’s from there. Look at the card, Francis. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Later. It doesn’t matter anyway. They probably teamed up to bring me down.”
“You mean back to Florida?”
“No, asshole. Not that kind of down. I mean pinching me. Catching me doing something up here.”
“Maybe you oughtta lay low.”
I laughed.
“Yeah, right. I’m going to let two dumb dicks stop me from doing what I do. No way. I’m going to do exactly the opposite. I’m going to make fools out of those clowns. You know something, you just made my day.”
“I did?” he said, his eyes open so wide I thought his eyeballs were going to fall into his plate of half-eaten, ketchup-soaked fries.
“Yes, Tommy, you did. And to show my appreciation, lunch is on me.”
“That’s great of you, Francis. I don’t mean just buying me lunch. That’s nice, very nice, and I appreciate it. But I think this is a step in the right direction in rebuilding our relationship, don’t you?”
The little twerp had no clue. Did he really think I was going to go back to using him as my fence? Did he really think I was going to forgive him for him being reason I did time? But I wasn’t going to let him know that. I needed him on my side. I needed him to keep feeding me information. I needed to make sure he didn’t shoot his mouth off and let anyone else know I was back in town. Not that it would matter. They had no idea where I was going to hit. I also needed him to keep his mouth shut and not let the boys know I was back in town. They tried once and there was nothing to stop them from trying again to jump on the bandwagon. No way that was going to happen.
“It’s possible. Only I need you to do a couple things for me.”
“Sure, Francis, anything. What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to let me know if you hear from those guys again…”
“That goes without saying—”
“I’m not finished.”
“Sorry. I’m just a little excited, that’s all.”
“Well, calm the fuck down. Have another bite of that cheeseburger.”
“What else?”
“I don’t want anyone else to know I’m back up here, Tommy. You understand?”
He nodded his head.
“I want you to say it. I want you to say that no one else is going to hear from you that I’m up here.”
“No one else is going to hear from me that you’re up here. I swear.”
“That means the boys, the cops, the fucking guy who serves you your coffee in the morning. No one.”
He put up his hand. “I swear, Francis.”
“Okay, Tommy. I think I get it. And when I tell you to, you’re gonna call this Floyd guy.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re going to be my double-agent. You’re gonna tell them what I want them to know and then you’re gonna report back to me.”
“That’s great. Because I know I have to work myself back into your good graces. But I’m hoping someday, whenever day is, that we can do business together again. That you’ll come to me, not as a favor but because you know I’m the best and I can do the best for you. So, until that happens I’ll do anything you want me to do. Anything. Just so we can patch things up between us. You know, get things back to the way they were.”
Fat chance, I thought. But that’s not what I led him to believe.
Manny Perez
Detective Theodore “Teddy” Sullivan of the Westfield Police Department was well-acquainted with the man we were after. It was Detective Sullivan who attempted to catch Francis Hoyt in the act by saturating one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in his town with police officers.
“It was the damnedest thing,” Detective Sullivan said as Charlie Floyd and I sat in his Westfield, New Jersey office. He sat at his desk behind which was a large map of the area. “I still don’t know how the hell he did it. We thought the plan was foolproof. I mean, he’d hit one of our houses for three straight Thursdays, so we knew that was his day of choice, though we never figured out why. Anyway, we knew which neighborhood he’d most likely hit, it’s the area where the most wealth is situated, and so I had over a dozen officers scattered strategically throughout the neighborhood. It was costing us a pretty penny but we figured it would be worth it if we snagged the sonuvabitch. We had all kinds of surveillance, electronic and human. But we didn’t even pick up a hint of him.”
Detective Sullivan shook his head in disbelief.
“We were out there all night and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, so as soon as it got light we just packed it in and came back home. We figured we’d missed the boat, that he’d moved on to another town, another state even. Or maybe he just took the night off. But we were wrong. The first call came in at eight o’clock in the morning—”
I looked over at Charlie Floyd. He was focusing on every word that came out of the mouth of Detective Theodore Sullivan. It was easy to see why he was such a good investigator. His eyes were like lasers. He never took them off Detective Sullivan. I felt like I could see the inside the brain of Charlie Floyd. It was working, working, working. Taking in everything Detective Sullivan was saying without taking a single note. Later, I asked Charlie Floyd why he did not find it necessary to take notes and he replied, “Manny, I’ve been blessed with a photographic memory for the spoken word. You ask me what I had for dinner last night I might not remember. But if you ask me about a conversation we had three years ago I can give it to you pretty much word for word. My wife and kid hated that because they could never get anything by me. You know, like ‘you said.�
�� Or, ‘you never said.’ They couldn’t win an argument with me. I’m not saying that’s necessarily a good thing you want to have in your personal life, but in our line of work it sure comes in handy.”
As for me, I had a notebook and I took copious notes, copying down everything Detective Sullivan said. I also had a small tape recorder that I had switched on when the interview began. You never know what small detail, something you might never have thought was important, might lead you to solving the case. Many investigators prefer to rely on an audio or videotape tape, but over the years I have found that if I rely solely on that I will not focus on what is being said. Writing things down forces me to concentrate. And watching the subject for a tic, or an expression, can often tell me if he or she is telling the truth. Later, I will use the tape to see if there is something I missed.
“—from the owner of a house on Lambert’s Mill Road,” Detective Sullivan continued. “The house had been entered that night and all the good silver had been taken. And that’s all that was taken. They had some plated stuff, but he left that untouched. No jewelry was taken and he didn’t even take some cash that was lying around. That’s how we knew it was Hoyt. Then, ten minutes later, we get another call from a homeowner on Westfield Road. Same deal. The good silver. Nothing else. We couldn’t believe it.”
“Jesus,” said Charlie Floyd.
“Wait. You haven’t heard everything. Fifteen, twenty minutes later we get another call. This time from a homeowner on Martine Avenue. Same deal. He’d never hit more than one home in our area before and now, suddenly, with us on the lookout he’d hit three! It was like he was taunting us. Letting us know he was smarter than we are.”
“I believe, Detective Sullivan, that that is precisely what Francis Hoyt was doing,” I said.
“This guy’s some piece of work, all right,” said Charlie Floyd. “And you’re sure it was him and him alone?”
“It was him, all right. Couldn’t have been anyone else,” said Detective Sullivan, who had the same tone of awe in his voice as everyone does who comes across Francis Hoyt. “Can’t imagine he had any help. That would have been way too risky. The spooky thing is not only did he do it right in front of our eyes, but there wasn’t a sign of his ever having been there. We dusted those houses like we were Felix Unger’s housekeepers. I mean everywhere. Outside, inside, all around the town and absolutely nothing. Not a fingerprint. Not a footprint. Not even a stray hair. It was downright uncanny. Like the homes were burgled by a ghost.”
“I believe he covers himself remarkably well, Detective Sullivan,” I said. “I would not be surprised if he shaves his body and wears a hairnet.”
“Sonuvabitch thinks of everything,” Charlie Floyd said.
“Well, he is human and he’s got to screw up some time,” said Detective Sullivan. “Just not that time.”
“I am afraid that is a hope more than it is a prediction,” I said. “But one way or another Charlie Floyd and I will catch Francis Hoyt. Of that you can be sure.”
Detective Sullivan shook his head. “I admire your confidence, Detective Perez. But I gotta tell ya, I don’t think anyone’s ever going to catch that sonuvabitch in the act. I get the feeling that even if we knew the precise home he was going to break into and the precise time he was going to do it, he’d still figure out some way to get it done without getting pinched. He’s like Houdini or who’s that other guy? The one who makes the Statue of Liberty disappear…”
“David Copperfield,” Charlie Floyd said.
“That’s the guy. And remember, these houses had top of the line alarm systems. One of them even had a motion sensor. Somehow, this guy’s figured out how to disarm them or get around them. One of the houses even had a dog and they didn’t hear a peep out of it. It’s really kind of spooky. And that’s exactly what some of my officers were calling him: a ghost. And you know, I understand what they mean.”
“What we need to do is figure out where he’s going to work next,” said Charlie Floyd. “If we figure that out then we’ll figure out how to nail him. Maybe we can even pinpoint the exact house or houses he plans to rob.”
“How’re you gonna do that, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“He studies magazines very carefully,” I explained. “That is how he finds his target. If we can learn which magazines he has studied recently, that will point us in the right direction.”
“You gonna find out what magazines he subscribes to?” said Sullivan.
“We don’t need to. Manny here found the library he used and from that we’re hoping to figure out what magazines he likely used for research.”
“Smart. But finding him ain’t enough. You need to find proof you can use to send him away. I wish I could help you guys more other than to tell you I’m sure it was Francis Hoyt. But we’re yesterday’s news. It’s unlikely he’ll hit here again.”
“We believe that for Francis Hoyt it is not just about the money. He requires a challenge.”
“He’s trying to prove something to himself,” said Charlie Floyd.
“What’s that?” asked Detective Sullivan.
“That he keeps getting better,” said Charlie Floyd. “He’s got to constantly push that envelope because that’s how he stokes his ego. He’s a narcissist. Not only does he need to impress us, but he needs to impress himself. He ups the ante whenever he can. The bigger the hit, the bigger the splash he makes. The more impossible it appears to be, the more important he is. He believes he’s the best and when you’re the best you have to keep proving it not so much to others but to yourself. He has to prove to himself that he’s not a fraud. I don’t care what anybody says, this guy is never going to stop until we stop him.”
I nodded in agreement. Charlie Floyd was absolutely correct in his analysis. We were looking for a man who like so many of us is defined by what he does, not who he is, and a man like that, a man as good as Francis Hoyt is, rarely makes mistakes. But he will make one. That, I believe, is inevitable.
There was little else Detective Sullivan could tell us and so we thanked him and asked if he could suggest a motel where we might stay the night.
“There’s the Best Western Inn over on North Avenue. I’ll give ’em a call and let ’em know you’re checking in. That way you’ll get the best room. And I’ll be happy to get one of my guys to drive you over there.”
While we waited in Detective Sullivan’s office as he went to find someone who could give us a ride Charlie Floyd turned to me and said, “What do you think, Manny?”
“I think precisely what you think, Charlie Floyd. That we will have to concentrate on trying to find out where Francis Hoyt intends to next ply his trade. And then I am afraid that we will have to find some other way to ensnare him as opposed to catching him in the act. That, I think, as history has shown us, is an impossibility. And I believe you are correct about another thing, Charlie Floyd.”
“What’s that?”
“That Francis Hoyt knows we are on his trail. We must make him think of us as his audience and that he is performing only for us. If he does that, he is bound to fail. You said it before. From now on we are not going to go after him as much as he is going to come after us.”
Charlie Floyd
I dropped Manny off at the local library where he was planning to spend a few hours going over the list of magazines he’d received from the Society Library librarian. I knew it was a longshot, like finding that proverbial needle and that it wouldn’t be fun poring through all those magazines. But police work isn’t glamorous. It’s not fun. It can be mind-numbing, but it is necessary. And the best investigators, and in my experience Manny was in that category, approach tasks like this eagerly. If successful, it would add one more piece to the puzzle and bring us that much closer to Hoyt.
Meanwhile, I was on my way back to Hartford to try to find the pimp, Ricky B who, according to what Porgie told me, had had some dealings with Hoyt in the not-too distant past.
I put in a call to Joe Stagione, a Hartford co
p I’d known for years, and asked him if he’d ever heard of Ricky B and, if so, where I might get a bead on him.
“Unfortunately, the answer’s yes, Charlie. Real piece of work, that one is.”
“Is he still working Hartford?”
“Far as I know. But roaches like him move around and they don’t leave forwarding addresses. He could be in Stamford, he could be in Norwalk, he could be in Fairfield, he could be in Timbuktu. Guys like him go where the action is and the heat isn’t. What’s up with him, Charlie? Didn’t I hear you retired a ways back?”
“That I did.”
“You working private now?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Meaning you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Now’s not the time, Joe. But we’ll grab dinner some night and all will be revealed.”
“So why are you looking for Ricky?”
“He might have some information about someone I’m looking for.”
“Who’s that?”
“Francis Hoyt.”
He whistled into the phone.
“You’re kidding. You’re on the hunt for Hoyt. Well, good luck to you, man, because you’re going to need it.”
“Why the hell does everyone in the world know who Hoyt is when I didn’t?”
“Not everyone, Charlie. Just anyone who’s ever worked robbery in this state or in the vicinity. He’s a goddamn legend. What makes you think Ricky B knows anything about him?”
“I got a tip.”
“Tell you what, why don’t you come on down and you and me will hook up and go snark hunting for this asshole.”
“How about this afternoon?”
“You don’t let grass grow, do you? Okay. How’s two p.m. I’ll meet you at Dino’s.”
I got to Dino’s a little early. I took my old table in the back, the same one where Georgie and I had eaten a few days earlier, and opened up the folder on Hoyt Manny had so painstakingly put together. Most of it was a series of police reports about various burglaries around the country, all of which seemed to be the work of Hoyt. He did have a particular footprint, but that didn’t seem to make any difference in terms of catching him in the act. There were reports from New York, Florida, Connecticut, New Jersey, and Massachusetts, but there were also similar reports Manny had culled from Illinois, a couple of suburban towns outside Chicago, and even a few break-ins in the Dallas and Houston suburbs.
Second Story Man Page 12