Avenged

by Janice Cantore

  “I’d like to go over the job description with Nick, and we haven’t had the time,” Carly said, anxiety rising because she feared the more she read, the more she’d want the job badly and Nick would advise against.

  Joe’s advice was the opposite. “Maybe you should take it,” he said. “Christy wants me to look into a detective position. She worries about me in the car. And, well, I’ve been in one for over five years. Maybe this injury is telling me I need a change. I guess I might be deserting you. But she worries about me, and she has a point—if I work days, I’ll be home with her and A.J. every night. And you have options. I’d hate to think of you turning down a plum job offer because of me.”

  The conversation had left her with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’d worked her last night in a patrol car with Joe. Though taking the task force offer would have meant the same thing, somehow it hit harder when it was Joe leaving first.

  Was this a sign that she should accept Wiley’s offer? Or maybe it was time to move to detectives like Nick suggested. What he and Joe both said was true—she had options. She’d hated juvenile because it had been a forced transfer. If she were able to go to a detail she chose, maybe it would be different.

  The idea of detectives, while not as attractive as the task force, didn’t tweak her so much now. She wouldn’t have to deal with pukes like Dean Barton in a detective detail. Or stand in skirmish lines. But then, she wouldn’t have to do that on a task force either. And the task force would be more challenging in a good way. But with a detective slot, she’d still be here in Las Playas.

  Her mind was a jumble, filled with pros, cons, and all the changes available to her and the adjustments she would have to make. A new wardrobe. A new daytime schedule. A new partner. But maybe it was time. Time to think about a new career direction, maybe starting a family . . .

  “Ah.” She gave an involuntary shudder and sat up straight. The officer next to her raised an eyebrow, but she just shook her head.

  I cannot wrap my mind around having a kid.

  “Okay, everyone listen up.” Sergeant Barrett brought the squad meeting to order and Carly’s thoughts shifted.

  “The Oceans First people have been quiet today, which is good because things are tense in the field right now over the shooting. There was a no-hit drive-by on Ninth Street earlier with the suspects still outstanding. We’ve had an upsurge in fight calls with one beating of a Playboy that resulted in a broken arm. There’s also been a boatload of tagging going on. Marshall from gangs is here to update everyone on the situation.”

  Fernando Marshall traded places with Barrett. He was a slim black man who’d been on the gang detail almost as long as Mickey T. Nick had told Carly that Nando, as he was called, had a lot of street smarts and a great rapport with most of the known gang members in the city.

  The gang detail normally worked afternoon shift, 4 p.m. to 2 a.m. Gangs were creatures of the darkness. But in order to have coverage twenty-four hours a day, Nick had flexed everyone into three shifts. While Nick was home sleeping, Nando was in charge. Only one sergeant and six officers staffed the gang squad, so Nick’s new schedule ensured there were at least two officers on at all times.

  “Okay, here’s the update,” Nando said. Carly knew the update because her husband had told her, but she gave Nick’s colleague her undivided attention.

  “We contacted ATF about the guns recovered in the Victor last night. They are more than happy to try to raise the serial numbers. If they can, we’ll be one step closer to getting to the bottom of this gang war.”

  “At least all that firepower is off the streets,” someone chimed in from the back of the room, and there was a lot of murmured agreement.

  Nando agreed and continued. “We need to get these kids off the street if possible, give passions a chance to cool off. If you find bangers with warrants, pick ’em up. If the banger is a minor and curfew applies, go for it. And they keep trying to set up a memorial. The crime scene has been cleared, but they can’t get through the gate to set up there. They’ve picked the Marina Access Way bridge into the Catalina Shores for the flowers and candles. We want to nip that in the bud. Stop them and send them home. If stuff is left, dispose of it. All we need is a spot where people can gather and become targets.”

  Muffled conversations sprouted when Nando finished and the meeting ended. Everyone was on edge.

  Carly found a car and began the preshift inspection. Working alone meant she wouldn’t be too aggressive unless she was working in conjunction with another unit. Graveyard shift typically fielded eight to ten officers in a mixture of one- and two-officer cars for the whole city. Tonight, because of the situation, there were five two-officer cars, Carly, and the gang unit. She decided she didn’t mind being alone on this particular night. There was a lot on her mind and she wanted to think. She planned to listen to the radio and pick a pair of officers to follow around.

  Right out of the gate, she heard Flanagan and Lopez on the radio requesting a female officer to assist with a search. This was the overlap time, and the afternoon units were still busy. Flanagan and Lopez were stopped on the Marina Access Way ramp, so Carly figured they had interrupted a memorial builder. She answered and made her way to the access ramp to help.

  She pulled in behind the flashing ambers and activated her lights as she got out of the car. They’d stopped a beat-up Chevy, currently illuminated with their spotlights. Lopez was talking to an adult male with his hands on the hood of the black-and-white while Flanagan stood watching three individuals seated on the curb behind the unit. He nodded as Carly approached.

  She looked over the threesome—two girls, probably late teens, and a boy Carly doubted was a teen yet. She almost laughed when she saw the scowl on his face. He was trying so hard to look mean, it was comical. All the individuals were dressed in Ninja gang attire, which was black everything.

  “Officer Edwards, do you mind checking these young ladies for weapons?” Flanagan asked.

  “Not at all.” As she stepped onto the curb, she saw the flowers, candles, and makeshift memorials on the sidewalk.

  She motioned for the first girl to stand.

  “I don’t got nothing,” she said in a petulant, irritated tone.

  “I’d like to check that for myself. Turn around and put your hands on your head and interlace your fingers.”

  The girl complied reluctantly, and Carly reached out to grip the interlaced fingers with her right hand. “Do you have anything on you that’s sharp, that might poke me?” she asked as she began the pat down.

  “No.”

  “No guns, knives, or hand grenades?”

  That got a derisive snort, but the girl relaxed and Carly completed the pat down, finding nothing. She repeated the process with the second girl, who was a little less angry.

  By the time she finished, Lopez was cuffing the adult male. After he put him in the backseat, he stepped back to confer with Flanagan and Carly. “The driver is unlicensed, and he has a couple of warrants. The rest are all curfew violations.”

  Duncan Potter appeared on the other side of the bridge, snapping photos. Carly did her best to keep her back to him. He lived on a boat in the marina, and anytime she was anywhere near the marina, he appeared quickly.

  Flanagan cocked his eyebrow and looked at her.

  “Just ignore him,” she said.

  He grinned. “We can’t mix adult bookings with juvies.”

  Carly chuckled. “I don’t feel like booking all three of them. I’ll just take them home unless you think they need to be booked.”

  Both officers shook their heads. “That’s fine with us,” Lopez said. “All they were doing was making themselves targets.”

  “Okay. I’ll need to borrow a set of cuffs.”

  Policy said handcuffs were needed for anyone transported in the black-and-white. Most officers, like Carly, carried two sets. Flanagan offered one of his sets. She probably could have justified not handcuffing the three juveniles,
but since there was only one of her and they were all wannabe gangsters, handcuffs it would be. She would file RNB paperwork on them and release them to the custody of their parents.

  Flanagan gave Carly the field interview cards he’d written on the trio. The girls were sisters, so that was easy enough. But the name on the card for the boy gave her a start.

  Victor Macias. He was Crusher’s little brother.

  •••

  After releasing the girls to a mother who couldn’t care less, Carly headed for Victor’s house. “Sorry about your brother Hector.”

  Victor mumbled something she didn’t quite hear.

  “What?”

  “Where were the cops when he got capped? You don’t care.”

  She clicked her teeth. “I know your brother, Victor, and I care. He’s a good kid caught up with bad people. We’ll catch who did this.”

  The boy cursed. “Ain’t counting on you. Only his homeys care, and I’m gonna help with payback.”

  “Payback won’t help your brother.”

  He cursed again, this time more colorfully. “Sure it will. When he wakes up, the first thing I’ll tell him is the dudes who shot him are dead. Make him smile.”

  Carly bit her tongue, surprised at the venom in the ten-year-old’s voice but not really knowing why she was surprised. He was a kid of the streets, living in the middle of a gang neighborhood. For the remainder of the ride to his house, she prayed for Victor and his brother.

  10

  CARLY HAD BARELY PULLED AWAY from the curb at Victor’s house when she got a call.

  “1-Adam-2, copy a 925 auto, observed out on Seaside Point. CP was a passerby.”

  Carly acknowledged the call and turned her vehicle toward the coast. A suspicious vehicle on Seaside Point was not all that unusual. Seaside Avenue ran along a jetty and ended at a turnaround on the point that jutted out between the mouth of the marina and the beach. There was a bathroom out there, spots for people to fish, and three boat slips for visiting boats. This time of night on the weekends it often became a parking spot for couples.

  Marina patrol officers used to patrol the point and the marina 24-7. But the most recent city budget had slashed the marina patrol in half. As a result, they policed the marina only until dusk and then the area became the responsibility of the police department. With the imminent opening of the new marina and increased commerce and crowds, the city council wanted a reinforced police presence in the marina.

  The drive down to the point was pleasant, especially since there was no fog tonight. And she chose to ignore the protestors. While she passed the camp at Sandy Park, it sounded as if they were having a concert of drums. The sound followed her the entire drive.

  Off to her left were the lights of the Hacienda, and to the right, the harbor lights. Far in the distance, buoy lights blinked at the mouth of the harbor. It was no surprise to Carly that couples liked to park out here. It was dark, beautiful, and quiet, and the sound of surf breaking on the rocks gave the illusion of being out in the middle of the ocean.

  When she reached the turnaround, her headlights illuminated the taillights of a boxy Land Rover. Stopping behind the SUV, she put her car in park, turned on her spotlight, and pointed it to shine directly into the other vehicle. For a minute she waited to see if someone climbed out. The bright spot would definitely destroy any romantic interlude.

  She couldn’t see any movement or reaction to the light, so she punched the license plate number into the computer to find out who owned the vehicle and whether or not it was stolen. DMV records told her the car belonged to Keith Sailor. There were no reports that it had been stolen. Carly frowned as she pondered the name. If she remembered correctly, he owned a catering company that was catering the bridge dedication. Picking up the mike, she told dispatch she’d be out of the car to check on the vehicle.

  Carly grabbed her flashlight and stood for a minute behind her open car door to survey the rest of the point. There were no other vehicles, no boats in the visitor slips, and she didn’t hear any voices. Sometimes people rode bikes along the jetty road, so there could be someone fishing, but she didn’t hear anything except the rhythmic drumming coming from Oceans First. She glanced behind her and noted that not even Duncan Potter was stalking her out here.

  Clicking on her flashlight, she illuminated the parking area and what she could see of the bathrooms. Satisfied she was alone, she closed the car door and approached the Land Rover.

  Habit had her unsnapping her gun as a precaution. With the beam of her flashlight adding to the bright light of the spot, Carly slowly moved toward the vehicle. The rear windows were tinted and the light simply reflected back at her.

  The front driver’s window was cracked open about two inches. Carly shone her light directly in.

  Between the bright spotlight reflecting in the rearview mirror and the powerful beam of the Streamlight flashlight, Carly saw the body slumped over from the driver’s seat across the center console and onto the passenger seat. She called out but knew the person couldn’t hear her.

  Stepping close on her tiptoes, she also saw that there was no rise and fall of the chest. The waxy cast to the skin and the dried blood told her the person was dead and had been for at least a few hours.

  •••

  “The ID here says that this is Keith Sailor,” Georgia, the coroner’s investigator, said as she looked through the victim’s wallet. “But the damage to his face from the gunshot means you’ll have to wait for a positive ID through prints.”

  “That’s the caterer, right?” Carly asked with a yawn. She was standing a safe distance away from the SUV. She’d had to wait three hours for Georgia’s arrival and was groggy after sitting in her car with only the police radio for company during that time.

  Unlike the triple shooting of a couple nights ago, it was obvious this one was self-inflicted. As to the second shooting this week, it never ceased to amaze Carly how things seemed to run in packs—shootings, stolen cars, domestic disputes, drunk drivers . . . It seemed like when they got one, several more of the same would follow.

  “Yep, he owned Sailor’s Catering. You know, where everything is smooth sailing? They were in the news last month because he beat out the Hacienda for the contract to cater the bridge dedication.” Georgia was the only county coroner’s investigator that Carly knew who lived in Las Playas.

  “That’s what I thought.” She’d read the newspaper article, not because she cared about the catering, but because the pedestrian bridge dedication ceremony seemed to be getting bigger all the time and all the hoopla made her more nervous about the award presentation. And it reminded her how close the Burke trial was.

  Georgia slid the wallet into a possessions envelope. “Strange that after the biggest coup of his catering career he’d commit suicide.”

  “I ran the scenario by Sergeant Barrett and he called homicide. They declined to respond. Do I need to call them back?”

  Georgia shrugged. “No, this is self-inflicted. Gun still in his hand—that happens sometimes—and the car was locked, keys in the ignition. Once we remove the body, we may find a note.” She rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist. “There might have been other stuff going on in his life. I don’t see anything here that would make me think this was staged or anything other than a suicide.”

  Carly agreed. She’d had to use a slim jim to open the door, and she’d looked carefully for any indication that the man had had help ending his life. She found nothing. The absence of a note was not in and of itself suspicious. He might have left a note at his home.

  She left Georgia and her assistant to remove the body from the vehicle. This single call would consume Carly’s entire shift by the time she filed all the needed paperwork. After Georgia left with the body, she would have to wait again for a tow truck to remove the SUV.

  On her way back to the station, the radio began to get busy. Nick had sent her a text at five thirty saying he was on his way to work and would not be able to meet her that
morning. Now, it was seven thirty and she heard his voice asking for the watch commander.

  In the station parking lot she used the computer to pull up his designator, Gang-Sam-1, and find out what was going on. He and Mickey were following a tip about more guns, and they wanted a search warrant deep in Ninja territory.

  Carly said a prayer that they’d be careful and move closer to learning what was behind the shooting and to arresting a suspect.

  11

  CARLY SLEPT FITFULLY, waking up several times, hoping to find Nick next to her. But he didn’t come home, and when she woke up to get ready for work, she was still in an empty house except for Maddie. After a lot of scratching and a hug, she fed the dog and wondered about Nick. Since he hadn’t been home all day, she guessed that meant he’d found some leads to follow.

  She grabbed her police radio from the charger and took it into the kitchen to listen to what was going on in the city while she munched. There was a fresh loaf of bread on the counter and apples in the fruit bowl. Carly took an apple and then smiled when she opened the refrigerator. She didn’t know when he’d found the time, but Nick had obviously been to the market. Deciding on a ham and cheese sandwich, she bit into the apple and began to pull out the necessary items and put them on the counter.

  When her phone rang, she saw it was Andrea and punched the speakerphone.

  “Hey, Andi, what’s up?” she asked, mouth full of apple.

  “Glad you are. I talked to Alex earlier, and he told me something disturbing.”

  “So you called to disturb me with it?” She set the apple down and started putting her sandwich together.

  “Well, it concerns you, so I thought you should know. It seems the reporter who is covering for him doesn’t like you.”

  Carly finished making the sandwich and sat at the table. “I don’t even know him.” She bit into the sandwich.

  “It’s not a him; it’s a her. Does the name Ginny Masters ring a bell?”