Milo lectured Clarissa Maxwell about her rights, but she was obviously elsewhere with her thoughts.
We found something very interesting.
In the wardrobe there was a rope of the same design as we found on the victims.
At both ends there were two woven red markings. But it had no handles.
We bagged the rope. Perhaps the colleagues from the laboratory were still able to recognize things that were invisible to the naked eye.
Clarissa Maxwell watched us with her face motionless and her arms crossed in front of her chest. She seemed very nervous. I suspected she was an addict and desperately needed her dope.
"Three men were shot and then someone draped a rope around their neck exactly as if it were a hangman's rope," I stated.
"Why are you asking me about this? It's just a skipping rope, the way millions of you will probably be made. In every gym you will find the! Take a look at any school! These things can be bought everywhere!"
"Is it yours or Easton's?"
"Probably cheaper for me if I said it was Kenny's rope right now."
"Possession is not punishable - only its use as decoration for murders that are supposed to act like executions!"
She braced her arms in her hips in indignation. "Look, even if it might suit you right now if it were Kenny's rope - it's mine! I bought it at Bishop's Sport three years ago. For a while I was actively training kick boxing and rope jumping is a very effective method to keep the muscles of the thighs in shape"!
"You'll get your rope back when we've examined it," I assured you. "However, after the drug find in your apartment, we'll have to arrest you first. "And if you blame it all on Kenny, I'm gonna have to tell you that you're not gonna get out of that number."
A little later Milo found a piece of paper in one of Clarissa Maxwell's jackets that caught our attention.
It was a handout from HELP, the aid organization for drug addicts for whom James Allison worked.
"Some piece of paper I once got, it doesn't matter," she said.
Something more important was a shoebox we found under the bed.
It contained a 9 mm calibre weapon.
"Exactly the caliber used in the Rope Series murders," Milo stated.
"All that's missing is the silencer, Milo," I said, carefully studying Clarissa Maxwell's reaction. "But I'm sure we won't find him..." Her face turned dark red. The trains hardened into a mask.
"You know what the neighborhood is. You have to be able to defend yourself, Agent Trevellian! Even if it's against New York's gun laws that force you to turn yourself over to some perverted bastards defenselessly!"
"Does that mean it's your gun?"
"Yes. Of course not registered. Kenny got them for me!"
Milo smelled on the barrel. "That thing was shot a short while ago!", he stated.
"Once you've fired, we'll find gunshot marks on you," I realized.
"Of course I shot! I train every day."
"Where are you doing this?"
"Downstairs, in the basement. Mr Marciano was kind enough to set up a room there that can be used as a shooting range, with sandbags and target pushing. Yesterday I trained for the last time."
"Put some clothes on and then please show us this shooting range!", I asked her. "But wait until our colleague gets here to get dressed."
Then I picked up the phone. A little later I had Josy on the phone. I needed a female colleague to watch Clarissa Maxwell get dressed.
28
A few minutes later, Josy and I went down to the basement with Clarissa Maxwell. There we actually found a shooting range with all the chicanes.
The insulation was very professional. The greatest danger was that a bullet bounced off the walls and ricochets whistled through the room. Therefore, the walls and especially the area behind the targets had to be designed so that the projectiles were swallowed.
Sandbags were very helpful.
The targets showed cops in New York police uniforms.
"Bad taste alone is not a crime," said Josy O'Leary.
"A small army seems to have trained here," I exclaimed in astonishment. Judging by the sifted targets, there was always a lot of shooting going on here. I turned to Clarissa Maxwell. "You weren't the only one who shot up down here, were you?"
Clarissa Maxwell refused to say a single word.
The colleagues of the City Police finally took her away and when the officers of the Scientific Research Division had finished investigating the murder of Harry Branson, they took over the apartment and the shooting range.
In the coffee shop we met Josy O'Leary and Fred LaRocca.
"I had a long talk with Mr. Marciano," said Fred about his conversation with the coffee shop owner. "He was quite monosyllabic."
"He's hardly going to stay," I said, stepping up to the counter. Marciano was busy washing some cups. "We just came from your private shooting range."
Edward Marciano stopped in the middle of the movement and looked at me with narrowed eyes. A deep furrow formed in the middle of the forehead.
"This is by no means illegal! "The gun laws of the state of New York state state say you can't carry weapons around in public, but you are allowed to own them and use them to defend your house!" He ticked with his finger on the counter. "And this is my house, if I may remind you!"
"Listen carefully, the forensics team will recover any bullets that are still in those sandbags down there. And if one of the guns that was shot around down there was used in a crime, we'll find out! But it's gonna be a tight squeeze for you! "The legal line to complicity is quickly crossed, I tell you!"
Milo nodded. "Most prosecutors would call your role an accessory to murder!"
"Hey, I'm not involved in any murders!"
"Then give us the names of those who trained shooting downstairs," I demanded.
Marciano laughed hoarsely. "The hell I will!"
"As I said, if you want to convince us that you had nothing to do with the murders, you should start now," I advised him. "Otherwise, no one will believe you're not involved in this anymore!"
"It's easy for you to say, Agent..."
"Trevellian. Jesse Trevellian."
"I want to run my coffee shop here longer. That means I have to get along with the people around here. "And some of those who've been shooting here would certainly find it uncomfortable if you asked them questions afterwards!"
"Then you'll have to accompany us to the field office," I told him. "And what your friends think, how much you've told us, you have no control over anyway."
"I want a lawyer to represent me," Marciano shouted.
"Maybe it's better that way, too!" I hocked it.
29
It was late afternoon when we finally got out of the crime scene.
We got in the sports car and I started the engine.
"Whether our approach here has really been a success will only be determined by the laboratory tests," said Milo.
"Your words give rise to doubt," I said.
"Do you trust Clarissa Maxwell to commit the Rope murders?"
"Not really."
"Kenneth Easton would rather be our guy, wouldn't he?"
"Yes. But somehow I have the feeling that we still haven't found the decisive turning point in this case."
"Monty Gordon gave the order and some of his gang warriors carried it out. Easton would be a good candidate for this. Tomorrow morning we will have answered the decisive questions as soon as the laboratory report is in front of us! Believe me!"
"Optimist." I looked at my watch for a moment. "What do you say we talk to this Allison again?"
"The guy from that charity?"
"Yes."
"I don't mind, Jesse, but honestly, I don't know what this could get us right now!"
"I had the impression that Allison knew the area quite well. Maybe better than we think... Above all, he knows a lot of people."
Milo shrugged his shoulders. "It's closing time when we arrive in Manhattan anyway. "I do
n't mind if we talk to Allison for a few more minutes."
"Then please call him and see if Mr. Allison can see us now."
"All right."
A few moments later, we had James Allison on the phone. According to the background noises, which were amplified by our hands-free car kit, he was on the phone with a mobile phone and was on the road with the car.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"We'd like to meet you again to go over some unanswered questions," Milo said. "Since you know the area pretty well, we thought it might be a good idea to hear your opinion."
"Maybe we can visit you at your therapy centre one day," I threw in.
"You're welcome to do that another time," fended off James Allison. "Right now, it would probably be easiest if we met somewhere around here."
He suggested a snack bar, just a few blocks away, as he would be hungry anyway.
"Agreed," Milo said. "We'll be right there."
It took us about five minutes to find the indicated restaurant. Its interior was based on a diner from the 1950s.
James Allison was waiting for us. Since we hadn't eaten anything yet, we each ordered a hot dog and sat down at Allison's table.
"What can I do for you?"
"For example, you could tell us everything you know about Clarissa Maxwell and Kenneth Easton."
James Allison smiled and sipped his steaming coffee. "What makes you think I know anything about these people?" he asked.
"Clarissa Maxwell had a handout from your organization in a jacket pocket."
"You ran a search on her?"
"Yes."
"Do you think they're involved in the murders?"
I smiled. "You're doing fine, Mr. Allison. Usually our role is to ask the questions."
"You'll have to excuse me, but this is kind of an occupational disease. My wife always complained about it as long as..." He hesitated briefly and then swallowed. "While we were still together," he added. "I used to be a cop."
"Here, in a police station in the Bronx?", I checked.
"No, at the DEA."
"Then you'll be fighting the same drug war by other means."
"Yes, you could say that, Agent Trevellian." He took a deep breath. "I was a good narc in the DEA. But I realized at some point that what we were doing was pointless. We only cared about those who tried to make money with drugs - but the addicts got completely out of perspective. A dealer is arrested, returned to the street on parole or bail and, after a few years at the latest, continues exactly where he was previously taken out of circulation. In prison he was able to make the right contacts and afterwards he is only more savvy than before - but hasn't changed."
"That sounds depressing what you're saying," Milo said.
A dull smile slipped over Allison's face. "It is by no means my intention to take the drive out of your job," he asserted. "But for me personally, it just wasn't the right way anymore. "I thought that if I did something for the victims, it would be more important than trying to get dealers off the street with an inappropriate law."
"I could imagine that even in your current job some disappointment is inevitable," I said.
"Of course! For many we can do nothing more! They're like living dead! Zombies that are only human if they get their stuff and can only think about how to get enough stuff in between. The younger someone we work with, the better the prognosis. That is why HELP has made it its main goal to reach young people who have landed in the drug scene. After the physical detoxification, the really difficult step begins, which is to release the mental bonds that connect the person with the drug. But our organization follows a well thought-out concept. "We are not always successful, but our recurrence rate is not as high as that of prisons!"
"What's the concept?" I asked.
"Let them learn discipline."
"Do you have to imagine it like one of those boat camps where juvenile offenders are reintegrated into society?"
He shook his head. "No, military drill is not our priority. But sport is very important. We pay attention to physical fitness and self-control, which is why we mainly focus on martial arts. This also strengthens the self-confidence of those affected and those who are self-confident do not need drugs".
"Sounds plausible. I'd like to take a look for myself."
"You're welcome! "But better not until next week, then we'll be back to normal occupation and someone will have time for you."
"We'll come back to this," I promised.
And Milo added: "Maybe we'll do it if we can do it in time or if there are any questions."
"The important thing is to continue to accompany the former addicts afterwards. That's why I'm in this area more often."
"Wouldn't it be better for former addicts to settle somewhere else than where they know every dealer?
"Of course! But we're not a court and we don't even have police powers. So we can't tell those affected where they live. And despite the risks, many prefer to settle back where they came from. It's like a curse. The old dealer calls them again and the first time they say no. But when a crisis situation comes along in their personal environment, they get on the drug dealers' nerves again and the whole game starts all over again."
"Like Montys ex-girlfriend Linda Curtiz..."
James Allison's face became gloomy, hard lines wrapped around the corners of his mouth. "Unfortunately, no one could help her anymore..."
"We found one of your handbills at George Rizzo's, too."
He shrugged his shoulders. "They are distributed in many places. If he ever took part in one of our programs, it was before my time. I only knew him as a dealer. "If he was an addict himself, you'd know better than me from the autopsy report."
"How well did you know him?" I followed up.
"We were on different sides, if you know what I mean. "After all, it is my job to prevent his ex-customers from contacting him again."
"Then he wasn't very fond of you."
Allison laughed up hoarse. "On the contrary," he said with a clear portion of resignation in tone. "He knew very well that he was sitting at the longer lever. Sooner or later, no one who comes back here to stay off the drugs. As a rule, only those who really make a radical cut and move five hundred miles away can get that right. Best of all in a rural area, where they get a job... But that's like a six in the lottery. Most just aren't so lucky."
"Like Carla McGray. Does the name mean anything to you?"
"Yes. Rizzo literally killed her. She was also a participant in our program."
"We've got three dead dealers who've had a rope around their necks so far. Our hypothesis so far is that the'spiders' have them on their conscience because they want to eliminate their competition. After all, they were all dealers associated with Paco Moreno."
"You don't believe in it, Agent Trevellian?"
"I just want to be able to rule out all other possibilities."
"What's that?"
"For example, revenge. The unsub could have been close to someone like Carla McGray. The rope suggests a personal motive."
"Well, then you'd have a lot of suspects," Allison said. He shook his head vigorously. "That was more of a gangster scoring, I'd say."
"I ask you now as a former cop, Mr. Allison: George Rizzo was demonstrably shot inside the Spiders' territory before fleeing. What was he looking for? He figured he wasn't welcome there!"
"Rizzo's life is a ride on a razor blade. He didn't shy away from risk, otherwise he wouldn't have taken the extra tours."
"What extra tours?", I checked.
James Allison raised his eyebrows and looked at me in surprise. "You don't know anything about that? "Cheap stuff is flooding the market right now."
"Yes, we think the Moreno syndicate is responsible," Milo interjected.
Allison nodded. "I heard the ringing so loud that there was quite a lot of trouble because some of the Moreno dealers tried to keep the prices up anyway and simply withhold the larger profit margin. A couple of dealers got kicked out."
>
"Even Rizzo?"
"I heard that, yeah."
"If this also applies to the other two victims of the rope series, then Moreno and his organisation would also have a motive for murder," Milo threw in. "At least if those concerned have continued to deal - on their own account without the blessing of the syndicate."
"Who gave you this information?" I asked.
"If I tell you, they won't speak to me again. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that."
30
The next morning we had the ballistic test for the 9 mm calibre weapon that we had secured at Clarissa Maxwell. It was a make identical to the murder weapon, but it was definitely not the weapon used to kill the three victims of the Rope series.
Kenneth Easton refused to testify. He was brought before the magistrate and was awaiting trial for drug trafficking, as was Clarissa. The quantity seized was so large that neither of them could seriously claim to have used it only for their own needs or to have known nothing of the existence of the drug. Easton also had to answer for the murder of our DEA colleague Harry Branson.
"Nevertheless, I find it unsatisfactory," Mr McKee confessed to us at our meeting in the morning. "Monty Gordon is still at large!"
"What about checking the bullets that got shot at the shooting range under Edward Marciano's coffee shop?" I asked.
"Ballistics is still working on it, Jesse. "Half the Bronx seems to have shot cardboard buddies there."
One of the phones on Mr McKee's desk rang.
Mr McKee took the call. He said "Yes!" twice in quick succession and then once: "Thank you."
Then he hung up again.
"This was Lieutenant Alexander of the City Police," our chief reported. "There's a fourth victim in the rope series."
"Who is it?" Milo asked.
"Cole Davis."
"Well, a member of the Spiders," I said in surprise.
Mr McKee raised his eyebrows. "I don't know if this really exonerates Monty Gordon and his gang, but it actually gives the case a new aspect. "SRD and forensics are already at the scene, and I suggest you get there as soon as you can."
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