by L. T. Ryan
“What is it?” she asked.
I’d arrived about that time. Sandusky furrowed his brow at her then glanced at me. He extended his arm over the woman’s shoulder and held out something plastic.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Asthma inhaler. Last name on the prescription label says Holland.”
“That’s the boy,” I said.
“It’s a pretty strong dose from what I understand,” he said.
The affliction was not one I’d ever had to deal with personally. I had been on calls as a young cop where a kid or some old lady had had a horrible attack. If I recalled correctly, one had even died from it. “That doesn’t provide much of a positive outlook for this kid. One more reason for us to work every angle we can. Hopefully that boy has a backup inhaler.”
“How does the weather affect asthma?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I know that this humidity makes it hard for me to breathe. Can’t imagine what it’s like for that kid.”
“Let’s go,” Dinapoli said, turning toward the back of the van. “Nothing left for us here.”
Sam and I watched as she headed back the way we entered. Neither of us had taken kindly to the idea that we had to take orders from her. This was our case, not the FBI’s. I didn’t care what Huff said. The guy was nothing but a kiss-up. I was certain he thought cooperating with the Feds would get him another nice shiny promotion. Enough cases like this one and he’d be running Philly P.D. within a couple years.
Dinapoli looked over her shoulder and stopped. She stared right at me. There was as much hurt as there was anger in her eyes. Despite the fact that I hated her position, I figured she personally didn’t deserve this kind of grief.
“Come on,” I said to Sam. “Let’s get going.” I looked back at Sandusky. “You find anything else, you call me. I want to know when you get confirmation on those tire tracks. I want to know what kind of vehicle.” I already knew, of course. Ford F-250 Super Cab. The confirmation would cement it.
Dinapoli waited by the rear passenger door of the Chevy. I didn’t argue with her requested seating position. I slipped into the seat in front of her and let Sam drive again. He always seemed to enjoy it. We left the lights and the siren off, allowing for a little reflection time.
I was lost in thought when I heard Dinapoli say, “My name’s Bridget.”
I looked back at her. She gave me a smile and raised her eyebrows a bit. She had invited me in, for whatever reason. I wanted to trust her, but couldn’t entirely get past the fact that she was a fire breathing FBI agent.
“I’m Mitch, and my partner here is—”
“Sam,” she interrupted. “I got that.”
I said nothing. Sam whistled along with the radio. An Otis Redding cover by some lady named Sarah. Pretty voice. She did the song justice.
“I’m sorry for coming off like such a bitch back there.” She paused. If she was waiting for one of us to tell her she’s crazy, it wasn’t happening. “It’s just that we get so much push back from local authorities. It’s… I don’t care about the recognition, Mitch. The kids are the only thing that matters. We have protocols and ways of doing things because they work. You see that, right?”
“I do, Bridget,” I said to her. “But we do have people that care about recognition. One person in particular that I can think of.”
“You?” Sam said with a chuckle.
“Shut up,” I said. “Not me. Huff. And he’d be happy to sell us out if it meant him getting his name in the paper and his arm around the Mayor. Anything to propel him up the food chain. Know what I mean?”
Sam shook his head and shot me a look. He thought I’d turned into a conspiracy nut over the last few years.
Bridget Dinapoli nodded, though. I figured she dealt with ten times as much bureaucracy than Sam and I did on a daily basis.
“I’ll support you, Bridget,” I said. “But only on the condition that you work with us like partners. No more hollow talk about teams. I don’t want you withholding anything from me, and I promise the same from us.”
“I can do that,” she said.
I shifted forward in my seat and repositioned the vent so that the air conditioning hit me in the face. The cool air dried the remaining sweat on my forehead.
“Okay,” she said. “You can start with telling me the link with this Farrugio person.”
I stared past the windshield. We rolled to a stop at a traffic light. A man pushing a shopping cart full of cans passed in front of us while businessmen in two-thousand dollar suits strolled past along the sidewalk.
“Farrugio is the registered owner of the van. She kept it for her son. Her son is in prison. Ben McCree, the school’s vice principal and the guy at that house we took into custody, has a brother named Brad. We think Brad might be involved in the kidnapping and shooting, as well as helping our murder suspect escape from the hospital.” I looked back at her and waited for her to confirm she was up to speed. She nodded for me to continue. “We recently learned that Brad’s an ex-con.”
“Same prison?”
“We’re waiting on confirmation of that. But if so, well, I still haven’t made sense of all this yet. I’m sure it’ll fit somewhere.”
She nodded. “It usually does.” She leaned forward and pointed at Gus’s Italian. “Guys want to split a pie? I’m starving.”
We had too much to do and not enough time to do it. At the same time, my stomach felt empty and my head light. At a certain point, it became useless to push forward. Sam could do without. Ranger training made him that way. For me, a Bear Claw at the station would do. But I agreed to stop. I had a phone call to make.
A couple minutes later Sam grabbed a table on the patio while we waited for our pizza to bake. We planned on taking it with us instead of eating at the restaurant. A warm breeze blew by, carrying with it the smell of melted cheese and fresh baked dough. I walked over to the corner of the patio and pulled out my cell phone. I had to call my mother. She’d picked up Ella from school and brought her back to her house. I figured that was the safest option in the event that the guys behind the kidnapping and murder had seen my picture on TV, or if Ben McCree really was a part of all this and his involvement not a coincidence, and somehow they knew we busted him. In any event, Roy Miller a.k.a. Michael Lipsky knew me, and I had serious questions in regards to what the guy was capable of.
Plus, there was the lingering question, how far did this reach?
“How’s Ella doing?” I asked my mother after she answered.
“She’s fine. A little scared. Wants to know when you’ll be home.”
“Can’t say for sure, Momma. This case is a mess, and now we’ve got the FBI involved.”
“They brought in the big guns, eh? What, they don’t think you and Sam can handle this?”
“Technically, we aren’t supposed to be working the kidnapping side of this, but those were Lana’s students.”
“Oh, God. How is she taking this?”
“Not well, I’d imagine. She’s in the hospital.”
“She wasn’t shot was she?”
“No, Momma. She broke her leg, though. I’m gonna stop by and check on her before I come home.”
“Okay. You want me and Ella to go over and see her?”
“No,” I said, looking back at the table to see if lunch had arrived. It hadn’t. “I want you to stay at your place. Got it? Don’t go out, not to the hospital, and especially not to my house.”
“Mitch, you’re scaring me.”
“You don’t sound scared.”
“Keeping an even voice for Ms. Ella. No point getting her worked up.”
“You’re right.” I waited a beat, then added, “Just hang tight, and I’ll be there before you know it. Any problems, you call me or nine-one-one.”
She said goodbye and hung up, and I climbed back over the wrought iron fence and took a seat at the table. Sam slid an iced mug across to me.
“Everything all right?” Sam asked.
I nodded and grabbed the mug. “What kind?” I took a sip and then pulled the mug away from my mouth. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Might ruin it for me by telling me the name.”
Bridget walked onto the patio carrying a cardboard box. “Drinking on the job?”
“Just a little refreshment.”
She shook her head. “Finish up and let’s go.”
Right before we got inside the car, Sam’s phone rang. He answered and nodded and said yeah a couple times. Then he hung up and looked at me.
“What?” I said.
“That was Huff,” he said. “Said we need to drop whatever we’re doing and get to the station at once.”
“Any reason why?”
“No. He sounded serious, though.”
Chapter 27
The ride back to the precinct took less than five minutes. The lights and siren helped. Sam pulled the car around back and pulled into a spot near the rear entrance. We walked to the building at a pace close to a jog. I grabbed the door and waited for Sam to go in. Bridget stopped short.
“It’s okay that I come in?” she asked. The wind whipped loose strands of hair across her face. She reached up and tucked them behind her right ear.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I extended my free hand and gestured for her to go in.
She nodded, smiled and stepped inside. I followed close behind while Sam led the way to Homicide. The halls were buzzing with activity. Pretty normal for the station. We entered Homicide through the door closest to Huff’s glass walled office. The sight within those walls gave reason for concern.
“What’s he doing here?” Sam asked.
“Who is it?” Bridget asked, craning her neck to get a better look.
“That’s Chief Warren,” I said.
“Mitch and Warren don’t get along too well,” Sam said. “No good can come from him being here.”
I took a few steps back and took a seat on top of my desk, allowing me to keep an eye on Huff’s office. Along with Warren, Huff was meeting with the Lieutenant in charge of Major Crimes. Townsend was his name. I had a sinking feeling that we were about to get the proverbial rug pulled out from under our feet.
“Let’s go talk to McCree,” I said.
“You sure?” Sam asked. “Huff sounded serious.”
“When did you become the type to follow orders so easily?”
Sam shrugged and waved me off. He looked like a debutante swatting away a fly.
“He’s busy. If he thinks he can keep us waiting, he can wait, too.”
We left through the exit at the other end of the room. It was a short walk to interrogation. The long hallway had doors on one side and a solid cinder block wall on the other. We entered from the high end. Half of the twelve rooms were occupied. A mixture of faces stared blankly at the mirrored glass or at the cop in the room with them. I knew one thing for sure. They all proclaimed their innocence.
I spotted Laura Weaver, the student teacher, in room four. Room three was empty. Ben McCree waited inside room two. Fairchild leaned back against the glass partition, arms folded across his chest.
“What the hell is he doing in there?” I said. “We should’ve had first crack at this guy.”
“Want to question the girl?” Sam asked.
“No,” I said. “I want to talk to McCree, but that jerk snaked him from us.”
Sam maneuvered in front of me. His wide frame blocked my view of the room. “Listen, Mitch. No matter what you think of those guys, we’re all on the same team. You go making waves and you’re going to get traded. Busted down. Is that what you want?”
I knew his words made sense, but I didn’t care. “What I want is to interview our suspect, Sam. Are you with me or not?”
Sam took a deep breath, reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Mitch—”
“Let’s kick him out.” It came from Bridget.
I looked back at her with my left eyebrow arched. Perhaps I could get away with removing Fairchild from the room if Bridget took responsibility for it. After all, she was in charge now. This was the FBI’s case, not ours. I started forward. Sam slid over to block my path. Then he muttered something under his breath and stepped aside. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen.
“It’s Huff,” he said.
“Guess we should start back,” I said.
Sam hung up and confirmed that Huff wanted us in his office now. We walked back the way we came. The halls still buzzed with energy. I still fumed over the fact that I hadn’t gotten the chance to question McCree. I hoped the opportunity would arise after meeting with Huff. If Bridget wouldn’t make the argument, I would.
We turned the final corner and nearly collided with Chief Warren.
“Chief,” I said.
“Detectives,” he said, stepping around us. The look on his face could be classified as disdain. He didn’t stop and make small talk. Fine by me.
Huff was waiting for us outside his office. The entire room was empty otherwise. Even Old Man Flores, who typically remained perched behind a desk answering the phone all day, was out.
“Come on in, guys,” he said.
Sam stepped into the office first and sat down. I took the seat next to him. The door closed behind me. I glanced back and saw Bridget standing. I rose and offered her my chair.
“No thanks,” she said. “I’ll stand.”
I nodded and sat back down. “What is it, Huff?”
He refused to make eye contact with us. Instead, he stared at his desk calendar. He held a number two pencil in his hand and doodled in the space underneath September twenty-eighth.
“Huff?” I said.
“Warren wants Major Crimes to take over the case since it involves homicide and kidnapping.”
“Shit,” I said.
Sam agreed.
Huff continued, “They think that they can push back on the Feds by doing so.”
“Who’s they?” Bridget asked. Her movement created a breeze that blew past me carrying a lavender scent. She placed one hand on my shoulder and aimed the other one at Huff.
“Mayor Piolazzi and the Chief.”
“Like hell,” Bridget fumed. “You tell them they can—”
Huff held up his hands. “Not my battle, Agent Dinapoli. You’ll need to take it up with your chain of command. I’m sure they can pull the right strings, if those strings exist. It’s all posturing. I’m aware of that. But no matter what happens here on out, it doesn’t change this next fact.” He leaned back in his chair, interlaced his fingers behind his head and stared at a spot in between me and Sam.
“Which is?” I asked after a prolonged moment of silence.
He snapped forward and placed both elbows on his desk. His gaze flicked between both of us. “You two are off the case.”
“Who ordered this?” I demanded.
“It comes from Warren.” He sounded subdued.
“Yeah, but who told him to do this?”
Huff shrugged. “No telling. Could be the Mayor, could be that prick Townsend.”
I had no reason to believe that Lieutenant Townsend was behind this. I’d never had any run-ins with him and couldn’t think of any reason why he’d want me off the case. That only left two people. Either of them could have been behind it. Huff or the Mayor. For all his misgivings, Huff wasn’t that bad of a guy. We disagreed at times, but things worked out. The Mayor on the other hand, let’s just say words had been spoken in the past and there’d been no kiss and make up session.
“This is garbage, Huff,” Sam said. “We’re the two best detectives you’ve got. We’re better than any of those jackasses in Major Crimes. We’re already vested in this, too.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Huff rose out of his chair and slapped his desk with an open palm. His face was red and veins stuck out of his neck and on the side of his forehead. His voice had risen by a couple decibels. “Dammit, I fought them tooth and nail just now to keep you guys on.” After several seconds of heavy
panting, he returned to his chair. His head drifted to the right. The window there gave him a view of the rear parking lot. I noticed five pigeons sitting on top of my car.
I had a feeling he wasn’t through. In as gentle a tone as I could muster, I asked, “What else, Huff?”
His head turned toward us, moving slower than before. He glanced at me, then Sam, then Bridget. He stopped on her. I would have too.
“I know there’s something else,” I said.
“They’re keeping Horace and Fairchild on board.” His gaze remained fixed on Bridget.
That must’ve been why Fairchild was in there with McCree. This had been determined some time ago, otherwise they would have waited until after the Chief had left. I wondered if the Chief in Huff’s office had been a show for our sake. Something to make us feel a little better.
Or perhaps to redirect our anger.
I thought about raising the point, but bit my tongue. The truth would come out in time.
“I expect you guys to have a report turned in by the end of the day detailing the investigation up to this point,” Huff said.
I stood and leaned over his desk, stopping when my face was mere inches from his. “You smell, Huff.” With that, I turned and left the office. I heard someone come after me. The delicate touch on my shoulder told me that someone was not Sam. I didn’t look back.
“Mitch,” Bridget said. “I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on board.”
“They might negotiate you out of this, too,” I said, staring down at the floor.
“They’ve got no reason to do that.”
I looked over my shoulder, at her, then at Huff’s office. “You’re giving them one right now.”
She smiled and turned around. A moment later she was on the other side of the bureaucratic barrier. Sam rose and left the room as she took a seat. He walked toward me, shaking his head.
“This is ridiculous, man,” he said.
“Don’t have to tell me.”
Escalated voices erupted from inside Huff’s office. His face turned red again. He rose, sat, then rose again. Fingers pointed in all directions. Knocked down and dragged out. I hoped that I’d have both of them on my side when the time came. I sure as hell didn’t plan to give this case up without a fight.