A Dangerous Game

by Heather Graham

  “A summation here,” Craig said to the others. “Our part of the case began last Friday when this woman, Alexandra Callas, ran into the offices of Drs. Fuller and Miro, found Kieran Finnegan and thrust a baby into her arms. Kieran chased her out into the street—where someone had been following her—only to discover Ms. Callas dying, a knife in her back. Since then, we learned about this poor young woman who bled to death on the streets, just after childbirth. Her child was never found. We suspect a human trafficking ring that also deals in black market adoptions. Then, through Sister Teresa—born Teresa Maria Barilla ninety-six years ago—and the soup kitchen, Riley McDonnough and Tanya Petrofskya found Kieran, as well. Sister Teresa was found deceased at her convent. Cause of death hasn’t been proven conclusively yet. She was one fine feisty lady, so I understand. After that, the young women came to the soup kitchen again. I was there that day, as we all know, and followed them out—and shot and killed the man we know as Paco, as he was threatening Riley. We then brought them in for questioning, and shortly after rushed to the warehouse the young women described for us, only too late. The trafficking operation had made it out completely just minutes before we arrived. It was set with explosives, with the man we know as Jimmy inside, left to die, as punishment for his infraction of the rules, and possibly causing them to have to lift up stakes and move their operation. What we’ve gathered as well is that the organization likens itself to a monarchy—with the two heads actually calling themselves the King and the Queen. Apparently, they have a royal court as well—those who are trusted. And then, they have perhaps dozens of worker bees, drones or pawns in their little realm of use and abuse. We are left with several objectives, including, of course, keeping our witnesses—Tanya and Riley—safe, finding and also keeping safe the family of the man Jimmy, while we pray that he lives. Jacob Wolff’s assignment has been compromised and he can no longer safely work his undercover gig. He is—as we all know and appreciate—still attached to this case. There are two aspects possibly moving in our favor right now; Jimmy—if he survives—and witnesses who might have seen something at the warehouse. It’s almost impossible to make that kind of a move without people noticing. We’ve had officers on the street, and we have a list of people to be reinterviewed, to see if they can help in any way. We’ve also got a sketch artist working with Riley and Tanya. They’re going to do their best to get us images of the King and the Queen. Of course, Tanya says she never saw the Queen, so we’ll have to depend on Riley. Oh, and they both argue over what the King really looks like—our guy may change hats, use disguises at times... I don’t know.’’

  “So we hit the streets again,” Randy Holmes said. “With a vengeance!”

  “And we hope we get a hit from the sketches the women are able to give us. I doubt that these people show the same face to their captives as they do to the world,” Craig said. “And still, there might be something caught in a sketch that gives someone out there an inkling of who we’re looking for.”

  “What if these two never show their faces?” Jacob Wolff asked him. “That’s why I considered my cover so important. We’ve had higher-ups in the Brighton Beach crime world before who never traveled out of their realm. The only people who ever saw them were sunk deep into their worlds. Hell, they never had to go to the drug or grocery store—or even a doctor—because everything came to them.”

  “There is always hiding in plain sight,” David Beard said. “They might be leading double lives—and if so, sketches will definitely help us.”

  “They went somewhere,” Craig said. “They were holding a warehouse owned by a dead man. They have a large operation—they are keeping several immigrants prisoner at any given time. Part of the plan is prostitution, and part of the plan is that the prostitution leads to pregnancy and baby sales. That means they had to move a lot of people. They’re down three now—Alexandra Callas, Paco—the man I shot, and Jimmy—the man in the hospital. But they had to get a lot of things out of there before the explosion. Someone out there saw something. And we’re going to find who saw what and catch these guys.”

  “Thing is,” Wolff said, “we’re going to have to be very careful. They will kill everyone if they’re cornered. Every hostage they have.”

  The room fell silent.

  Because it was most probably true; they were going to have to proceed with extreme care against extreme killers.

  “So Kendall and I will report to Major Crimes. We’re expecting reports from our people on the streets. We’ll inform you about anyone we’re re-questioning,” McBride said.

  “And we’ll get on it from Brooklyn,” Beard said.

  Craig’s, Mike’s and Egan’s cells went off at the same time.

  “Medical examiner,” Egan said.

  “Andrews,” Craig said, answering his phone.

  “I’ve got you all, right?” Andrews asked over Craig’s cell.

  “Egan, Mike and I are here—and we’re in the middle of a task force meeting, so this is perfect,” Craig said. “I’m going to put you on speakerphone. What do you have for us?”

  “Succinylcholine,” Andrews said.

  There was silence. They all looked at one another; Wolff arched a brow.

  Egan was the one to speak.

  “Thanks, doctor, but simple language for those of us without medical degrees,” he said.

  “It’s a drug. It was in Sister Teresa’s system. We can’t actually find a needle mark, so we’re not sure how it was administered—hard to say exactly when or how. We’ll keep looking. It causes the same symptoms of a heart attack. It was easy—she was an old woman. It didn’t take much. Even in autopsy, it appeared she had a heart attack, but due to the circumstances, we did a lot more testing, and...well, I found traces of succinylcholine.”

  “How did someone get close enough to her to do such a thing?” Craig asked.

  “Easy enough, I assume,” Andrews said. “She was a nun. Nuns—even cool, smart-mouthed nuns, as I’ve heard her described—are out to serve God, and therefore, to serve His people. She might have been hit while handing out food, while walking down the street...someone needed just a moment to get close enough to hit her with a needle. And she might have said, ‘Ouch!’ and thought that she’d been bitten by some bug or even that she passed by some kind of sharp corner too closely. But, as far as the toxicology report goes, I’d say we have something. So, yes, your nun was helped into the grave.”

  “Damn it,” Mike said, shaking his head.

  “Let’s pray that there is a hell, and that they rot there,” Randy Holmes muttered. “And if not...well, we have some great prisons where we can hope they rot—if they last long enough.” He looked at the others. “Hey, I happen to know that even convicted men have a hierarchy. People who hurt kids and—I’m sure—nun killers have a very, very bad time.”

  * * *

  A police escort saw that Kieran reached the offices of Fuller and Miro without incident. They drove her to her office, and brought her right into the building. Ralph Miller was on duty at the front desk, as usual. His eyes widened.

  “Kieran, hey!” He looked at the cops.

  “Hi, Ralph,” she said, and told him, “Meet my new friends, Officer Abel Harding and his partner, Officer June Chopra.”

  “Um, hi,” Ralph said, and frowned. “I think you still have to sign in,” he told the police officers.

  “Hi, back at ya—and not a problem,” Chopra assured him. She smiled. Kieran already liked her very much. June Chopra had been an NYC police officer for two decades. Her parents were from India, but she had a broad Brooklyn accent herself. She was in her thirties, but had premature gray hair that came in taut curls cut close to her head and huge, beautiful dark eyes. Harding was twice her size, a big man, most probably about the same age, with a blond crew cut and bright hazel eyes. They were both fine—personable, and easy. Though she liked them both, she wasn’t really comfortable with un
iformed officers following her everywhere she went.

  The alternative—being on her own with someone trying to kill her—wasn’t so great, either. As soon as she was certain that Craig had finished with his meeting and was back out in the field, she intended to call Egan.

  She really wanted to see the baby.

  Upstairs, the two police officers made themselves comfortable in the waiting room.

  Kieran went into her office and looked through the files of clients with whom she was currently working.

  Declan was right: being a bartender was often like being a therapist. A lot of what she did was simply listen when people needed to talk. Most of the time, people knew what was right and what was wrong. Sometimes, they needed right and wrong reinforced. Sometimes, they knew what they had to do, but didn’t want to do it.

  The hardest cases often involved abuse—the problem being that often people couldn’t admit that they were being abused, or that the abuse was escalating—and that they were in danger. It was often incredibly difficult to show a spouse—even beaten within an inch of life—that love didn’t always conquer all, and death could be the final blow.

  She looked at her calendar and knew that her day was open. She needed to wrap up the report on Besa Goga, but she had a good beginning on it and she could finish it later. She was free to try to see the baby—just to make sure that she was okay.

  Kieran realized that she had learned the mother’s name—Yulia Decebel—but she didn’t know the baby’s name. She made a mental note to ask Riley if she or Tanya knew. The baby was certainly old enough to have been given a name, even if she didn’t have a proper birth certificate.

  Kieran glanced at her watch; she could probably call Egan now, but then again, she might need to wait a few minutes.

  She read over the beginning of her report on Besa Goga, and then she paused.

  Besa Goga. The woman had come to the country only to be met with very hard times. In Kieran’s last conversation with her, she’d asked about the murdered woman, asked if she had suffered. Was that because...she had wanted her to suffer?

  And the baby—she had specifically asked about the baby. Had she been too interested?

  Could she be...the Queen?

  No. Besa liked to laugh too much. She liked to joke—and she had bitten a cable guy, for God’s sake!

  But, surely... Even criminal kingpins had cable!

  She had come from Eastern Europe. She had never really known her parents. She hadn’t had it easy; she’d been taken and used and abused and...

  Learned where to go from there?

  No...she had a husband, and a home in the city.

  Unless Besa’s husband, Jose Sanchez, was the King?

  No—the King was American. They had been told that several times. And Jose had a very strong Hispanic accent when speaking English.

  Could he fake that kind of accent?

  Kieran hesitated and then picked up her phone. Jose worked for a trading company. His contact information was in Besa’s file. She put through a call and didn’t ask to speak with him, but with the personnel office. She didn’t exactly lie; she fudged a bit. She said that she was with the courts, just verifying that Jose was employed by the company and that he was a good employee.

  A Miss Bertram there assured her that Jose had been working for the company for years and other than a bout with the flu two years back, he had nearly perfect attendance. He was a favorite employee, never late, always helping out when a little extra time or assistance was needed.

  In fact, Miss Bertram raved about Jose; he was one of their finest, most dependable employees.

  Kieran hung up, frustrated, but also relieved. A moment later, her cell phone rang. She’d had her smashed one repaired overnight at a little shop down the street from her apartment.

  In the office, she usually used the landline. Her cell phone ringing indicated that it was a personal call.

  Mary Kathleen was on the line. “Sorry to bother you at work,” she said to Kieran.

  “Not a bother at all. What can I do for you?” Kieran asked her.

  Mary Kathleen was quiet for a minute. Then she asked, “Um... Sister Teresa. Have you found out anything new?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I can ask Craig later, but I haven’t heard anything more.”

  “Ah,” Mary Kathleen murmured. Then she added, “I may be a terrible person.”

  That surprised Kieran. “Mary Kathleen, I’m almost positive you aren’t a terrible person. But why would you say so?”

  “I must have a suspicious nature.”

  “In NYC, that’s not always a bad thing. Tell me. What’s going on?”

  “Okay. It’s probably silly, but—it’s Riley. I’m curious about Riley. I was taken by her, of course, and I want the best for her...”

  “But?”

  Kieran could hear the rush of air that left Mary Kathleen. “I can’t help but be curious. Ireland is not—at this moment—a war-torn nation, thankfully. Leaving Ireland isn’t a desperate act, as it may be from other countries.”

  “You’re suspicious of Riley?”

  “I can’t help but wonder.”

  “She and Tanya have given us so much information. Every lead we’ve gotten.”

  “But just what have we gotten?” Mary Kathleen asked. “Always, there are clues, but it seems you’ve been a step behind.”

  “I’m afraid that’s the case in many instances. The law has to work...lawfully. Crooks don’t care about laws, life or limb, or anything but their own goals.”

  “Right. Like I said, I feel terrible for thinking it. And I don’t understand why it bothers me. I don’t know. Perhaps I’m upset because of Sister Teresa. I was wondering how a young Irish woman of today came to be in her situation. I’m just talking to myself, maybe, using you as a sounding board. Still...”

  “It’s true, Mary Kathleen. You may be right to be suspicious. It is something to think about. The Republic of Ireland isn’t having any troubles at the moment. Why would she be desperate?” Kieran mused.

  “Who knows what kind of situation she left, so this is probably absolutely crazy. I started worrying, and I felt that I had to talk to you. Please see that you’re careful. If I were to have brought anything horrible into your life, I’d feel so bloody rotten. You’re Declan’s only sister...my only hope for a sister! And then there’s Finnegan’s. If I put the pub into any danger, I’d be so horrified. These people might have murdered a nun! And—Irish or not—anyone who has had anything to do with this should definitely face the worst possible punishment!”

  Kieran smiled. Mary Kathleen was a very modern woman—independent, fiery, passionate. She was still also a product of her upbringing: she was a church girl, through and through.

  And Kieran recognized she herself was horrified, too. So afraid, so knotted up inside, furious and heartsick over the very idea that Sister Teresa might have been a victim of foul play. Because no matter what her background or religion, Sister Teresa had truly been one kick-ass and admirable woman.

  “Mary Kathleen, I’m sure everything will be all right,” Kieran said. “Trust me—Riley has been watched from the get-go. She’s with federal marshals right now. There are always police around her.”

  “I know. And I keep telling myself that. But I’m so afraid that I want to like her and believe in her because she’s Irish, but... Kieran, why does she speak Russian?”

  Kieran didn’t really have a satisfactory answer for that. “She’s been helping Tanya out. We know that,” she said.

  “Right. I guess it was easier for her to learn Russian than it was for Tanya to get a grasp of English.”

  “Some people are just good with languages, naturally able to pick them up easily. Like Kevin—he didn’t take anything in school, but he’s decent in Spanish, French and Creole, and has a good ear for accents.”


  “Aye,” Mary Kathleen agreed. “Again, I pray that I am way off the mark.”

  “I understand how you’re feeling, absolutely. It’s always important to bounce these ideas off someone. Thank you,” Kieran told her. “I’ll make sure—discreetly—that all the officers and agents involved are aware of your concern.”

  “Thank you, Kieran. And take care of yourself, right?”

  “I promise I will be very careful.”

  After they said goodbye, Kieran thought about it all for a minute. It seemed a stretch. Riley had sought out Kieran; she had been surrounded by law enforcement and was helping them. She couldn’t be the head of anything criminal.

  But she hadn’t been with them when Sister Teresa had died.

  She had been with them when the building had exploded—with Jimmy in it.

  She took a deep breath and tried Craig’s number. She hadn’t wanted to talk to him quite yet.

  She’d wanted to see the baby first.

  For a moment, she hoped that he wouldn’t answer.

  But he did. “Everything’s all right with you?” he asked.

  “Fine. But I just had an interesting conversation with Mary Kathleen.”

  She told him about their speculations; he promised to look into anything he could find that involved Riley McDonnough. “Witness protection was already checking into Riley, but not with any real focus. I’ll see that we ask the right questions.”

  “It would be crazy if she were in on it, right?” she asked hopefully.

  “This whole thing is crazy,” Craig said, “so what’s something that’s a little crazier?” She heard him take a breath. There was something that he didn’t want to tell her.

  “What’s happening there?” she asked him.

  “Dr. Andrews, the medical examiner, called. Sister Teresa was struck with a poison. Apparently, just a little. But, at her age, it was enough.”

  Kieran was silent. Something inside her felt dark and empty. Logically, it shouldn’t have felt quite as bad as some of the other events that had taken place recently. Sister Teresa had led a long life, and in that life, she had actually lived—she had gotten out in the world and made a difference. But knowing for certain that someone had taken her sooner than her natural time... It hurt.