“She was arrested in four different precincts, so the file was sent to central booking,” Jason responded.
“Alright, so we have a person who either is a cop, or is impersonating a cop. He identifies young women from out of town who have multiple arrests. They are vulnerable and are not likely to have much of a support network in New York. They also may not be excited about running back home. Do we think they’re all on drugs of some kind?”
“Yes, all of them,” Jason replied.
“OK, young women who are already on drugs. Maybe that’s what he has to offer them – a supply.”
“And maybe a warm bed,” Mike said.
Lucas nodded his affirmation. “He meets with them in the lock-up and they drop off the map – no additional arrests. Then they turn up dead months later from heroin overdoses. Why? He’s not raping them and then killing them, so what’s happening?”
“Could be sex trade,” Mike suggested.
“That would make sense,” Lucas agreed, “but why kill them? And why use a drug overdose as the method?”
Neither Mike nor Jason had an answer.
Jason frowned and looked at Lucas. “Miss Barker had a long stretch in lock-up after her last arrest, but there’s no record of any sign-out. How does that match up?”
“Maybe our guy, when he can get away with it, talks to his targets without leaving a record of the sign-out,” Lucas suggested. “Lots of precincts get a little sloppy with the sign-out process.”
“So, he might have had even more contacts than we have records of,” Mike observed. “Is there any way to check video or other security records at the lock-ups to see if we can figure out who this guy is?”
“I’m on it,” Lucas replied. “I’m hoping we can pin him down, but it will not be easy. In the meantime, you probably need to talk to Darren just to make sure that it wasn’t him.”
“I know,” Mike replied without any enthusiasm. The last thing he wanted to do was interrogate his former partner. But he knew it was necessary.
Chapter 29 – Anticipation
Thursday, March 28
WHEN MIKE AND JASON LEFT THE IA OFFICES, still puzzling over what they had learned, Mike called Michelle’s cell phone. He motioned for Jason to go ahead without him and then diverted to Canal street to pick up some Chinese food. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at Michelle’s apartment building. He input the code to open the front door and quickly found himself knocking on the door of apartment 7-H. Michelle greeted Mike with a warm smile and a quick kiss.
“May I come in?”
“You’d better.”
After consuming their sesame chicken and bean curd Szechuan style over pleasant small talk, Michelle asked, “When is your next rehab session?”
“Tomorrow,” Mike said as he swallowed his last dumpling. “That will be fifteen weeks, which means seven to go.”
“You’re going to lose your bet to Dolores, so you’ll owe her fifty bucks, right?”
“It’s only twenty, but yeah. I got that covered.” Mike slid down off his chair and dumped the empty food containers into the trash bin. “I am looking forward to being done with the PT, though.”
“You’ll still need to do your exercises, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Terry keeps telling me. Even the doctor told me the same thing. After my last session I go back to the doc so he can sign off that I’ve completed the rehab, and sign my card so I can get my gun back.”
“What is it with you cops and your guns?”
“It’s a security blanket, like Linus from Charlie Brown. I sleep better when I have my Glock under my pillow.”
“Then you’re not sleeping in my bed!”
“I’ll make an exception where you’re concerned,” Mike said with a suggestive raising of his eyebrows.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree there, Mister. Your big gun does not turn me on in the slightest.”
“My gun isn’t that big.”
“I’ll restrain myself from the obvious response,” Michelle said with a laugh. “If you play your cards right, you might convince me to help you service that weapon of yours later, but right now I want you to tell me about developments in the case.”
“Which one?” Mike asked innocently.
After Michelle punched Mike lightly in his uninjured shoulder, he explained that they had connected one of the three other dead women to Christine Barker through her interview with “Darren Curran.”
“Isn’t that your old partner?”
“Yeah. Well, it is, but we’re pretty sure that it wasn’t Darren who interrogated Yvonne Calderone.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well, he hasn’t been on active duty, so it couldn’t have been him.”
“Have you asked him?”
“I’m going to talk to Darren tomorrow, after PT. We have a date to celebrate me getting to fifteen weeks.”
“A man-date?”
“Sure. A man-date. Why not? We’re going to meet at the gym and then go out for a beer.”
“How is that different from any other day you two have spent together?” Michelle asked seriously.
“It’s not. But since it’s a special occasion, maybe we’ll order imported beer.”
“Nice. And speaking of dates, did you get the tickets to the Hero’s Ball?”
Mike nodded. He had been hoping that Michelle might forget about the upcoming event, although he knew it was not likely.
“I’m so excited about that,” Michelle said, bouncing up and down slightly. “I’ve been shopping for a new dress and Rachel already has hers.”
“Rachel?” Mike tried to access his memory of prior conversations with Michelle to identify Rachel.
“You remember. We met her at the outdoor concert downtown last month? She’s an EMT – really tall?”
“Oh, sure,” Mike said, only vaguely recalling the concert, let alone a person he had been introduced to after several beers.
“I would have expected you to remember her. Her name is Rachel Robinson, and you’re such a baseball fan. Plus, she has a little thing for Jason, so I arranged for them to come together, since Jason didn’t have a date.”
“Aren’t you the match-maker.”
“Well, why shouldn’t everyone be happy? Anyway, I have great dress and I’m looking forward to you seeing me in it.”
“You always look good,” Mike said.
“That’s why I like you, Mike. You make me feel beautiful.”
Chapter 30 – The Needle Has A Name
Friday, March 29
ON FRIDAY, MIKE ARRIVED at the rehabilitation center ten minutes early for his appointment. He sat in an uncomfortable chair in the waiting area and watched through the glass doors while Terry finished working with another patient – a female officer who was rehabbing a knee injury. While he was watching, Dolores arrived.
“How you doin’, Mike?” she said with her usual cheer.
“I’m pretty good. I’ve been doing my rubber bands at home every day and I think I’m going to show a lot of improvement today.”
“We’ll see,” Dolores smirked.
Once inside, Terry ran Mike through his exercises and manipulations. When Mike couldn’t take the pain anymore and begged for mercy, Terry congratulated him on getting to 78 degrees. Mike beamed and went to work on the bands while Terry put Dolores on the table. She was at 83 degrees and wasn’t even uncomfortable, or so it seemed.
After dressing, Mike walked out to the general gym area and looked for Darren. His old partner was sitting at a leg exercise machine, straining to lift his left leg from a bent position up into a straight-leg posture. Mike watched as he grunted and strained through five reps. When Darren allowed the machine to slam back into its resting position, Mike called out. “Hey, Curran, is that all you got?”
Darren flipped Mike a good-natured middle finger as he leaned down to pick up a small blue-and-orange workout towel and wiped the sweat off his face. “Did Dolores kick your ass again today?
”
“I’ll meet you in the front lobby,” Mike said, ignoring the question. “It’s freaking cold out today, so I’ll stay inside. How much time do you need?”
“I’ll meet you there in fifteen,” Darren called as he walked toward the locker rooms.
Later, the two cops sat in a booth back at the One-Ten Pub. Darren insisted on shots of Jameson’s to go with their beers, and they both ordered sandwiches and lingered over their food. When he ran out of small talk and speculation about the prospects for the Mets, Mike had to deal with the difficult part of the meeting.
“You remember I told you about the woman we fished out of the river last month? Well, we’ve had a pretty interesting development that I need to talk with you about.”
“Yeah?” Darren said, interested. “How can I help?”
“Well, you see, Darren, we identified another girl named Yvonne Calderone. The medical examiner thinks Ms. Calderone may have died under similar circumstances. There’s a strange thing about her file. She was in the lock-up in Brooklyn after she was picked up for solicitation. But instead of being processed and released, she was kept for several hours. During that time, she was signed out and interrogated for nearly an hour, but there is no report in the file about that interrogation.” As Mike recounted this history, he watched Darren’s facial expressions carefully for any sign of recognition, or a guilty conscience. He saw nothing.
“Sounds to me like you should talk to that detective and find out what he talked to her about,” Darren suggested.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“What do you mean?” Darren asked, looking genuinely confused. “Do you think I know the guy?”
“The guy is you, Darren. According to the records, it was your ID that was used to sign her out, and your badge number is on the log-out sheet.” Once again, Mike watched carefully as Darren’s face went through stages of confusion. Mike saw no sign of recognition, but also saw no sign of Darren being angry about somebody using his identity without his knowledge.
“Mike, I don’t understand. Are you telling me that somebody used my ID and my badge number?”
“That’s what it looks like.” Mike paused and cleared his throat. “I have to ask, Darren. Did you speak to that girl on September seventh?”
Now Darren looked upset. “Hell no, Mike. I haven’t been in a lock-up since – well, since the shooting. I haven’t interviewed anyone. I haven’t had any cases. You know that.”
Mike nodded. “I didn’t think so, Buddy, but you know I had to ask. Do you have any idea how somebody got your ID?”
Now Darren’s face changed to a look of deep thought. “When I was in the hospital, after that day, somebody from the department came in to see me and asked me if the hospital staff had returned all my personal effects, including my badge and ID. I didn’t know, so the woman looked through the drawers in my hospital room and we found my uniform shirt, my belt, and my holster. You took my gun back to the precinct house, I remember. I guess they had to cut off my pants, so they were gone, along with my shoes. We didn’t find my badge or ID card, which would have been in my shirt pocket, so she ordered new ones for me. I got the replacement ID maybe a week later.”
“Do you have it now?” Mike asked.
“Sure. I need it to check in and out of the rehab center.” Darren reached into his pants pocket and withdrew his badge and ID card, which were both encased in plastic in a small, flip-open leather case. He passed the identification case to Mike, who opened it and glanced at the contents. They looked like just about every other officer’s credentials. Mike handed it back.
“So, is it possible that somebody has your missing ID and is using it to impersonate you?”
Darren’s face went blank. Then he said, “No. No, I don’t see why anyone would want to do that. Besides, wouldn’t our IT folks have canceled my lost ID card?”
“Well, it seems that somebody is using it, so I guess it’s not deactivated. We need to figure out who it is.”
“I have no idea who would do that,” Darren said.
“Well, I understand. Think about it, and if you think of anything, please let me know.”
“Sure,” Darren responded blankly. “No problem. Do you have any other leads on the identity of the guy?”
“Not much. We’re trying to look for video from the locations of the ID swipes, but so far no luck.”
“You think there’s video inside the lock-up that would show him?”
“Maybe. We’re looking for it.” Mike did not mention the involvement of Internal Affairs. Darren went silent for a minute, but didn’t say anything else about the case. Mike figured that he was a little insulted about being implicated.
They didn’t talk about the case anymore that afternoon. After another round, Mike gave Darren a slap on the back and headed off South toward his apartment, while Darren headed the opposite direction, toward the garage where his car was parked. On his walk, Mike thought about how he was going to report his conversation to Jason and Lucas.
Ж Ж Ж
When he got to his desk, thoughts of his conversation with Darren were driven from Mike’s mind by the message slip on his desk from “John Woods.” This was the fairly obvious pseudonym Agent Forrest said he would use to contact Mike if he had to leave a message. Since their communications were off the record, they didn’t want to use Mike’s cell phone, which would leave an electronic trail. Mike moved to the conference room, picked up the handset on the old desktop phone, and returned the call.
“You in a good spot?” Forrest said as soon as Mike said hello.
“Yeah. I’m in a conference room.”
“Great. Here’s the quick scoop. First off, my guys say that they had never seen that sketch before, so it looks like the NYPD boys never sent it over. Second, I was able to get an ID for you. Your boy is on the bottom of the pyramid, but he’s on the chart. He’s known as ‘Ricky the Runner’.”
“Because he’s a bag man?”
“Well, yes, but also because he’s apparently an actual runner. Some kind of track star in high school. Claims to be able to outrun any cop.”
“Well, he outran Jason, so I’ll give him that.”
“Whatever. His real name is Richard Spezio. He’s a local boy from Coney Island. We don’t have an address for him, but he’s a pretty regular visitor to Fat Albert’s headquarters.”
“Where’s that?”
“I can’t tell you that, Mike. And you can’t go busting in there anyway or it would fuck up the Bureau’s operation. But if you can track the guy down on your own and bust him for the Rosario murder, my boys say they won’t care and that Fat Albert will hardly miss him. Of course, the fat man will ice him without batting an eye if he thinks Ricky is a potential liability, so keep that in mind.”
“OK,” Mike said as he scribbled down the name, asking Forrest to spell it for him. “Thanks. I owe you, buddy.”
“No problem, Mike. Just don’t tell anyone you got it from me.”
“Roger that,” Mike said, hanging up the phone and scuttling back to his desk. He would tell Jason the news the next time they were alone.
Chapter 31 – Human Resources
T. WARREN MAGNAN WAS ANNOYED when he heard the knock at his door. It was close to one in the morning and he was wrapping up the accounts for the night. As had been the case in the past three months, the cash revenue from drug sales exceeded the flesh fees. This did not make him happy. He never intended to be a drug dealer. The drugs, mostly crystal meth, had been used to entice and control the girls. They had a ready supply from their Gallata contact, who was happy to provide. When some of the girls wanted cocaine, his source was eager to fill the order.
Tina, the first woman he and Eddie had recruited, handled most of the distribution. Eddie knew her from several prior busts and liked how business-like and practical she was about her trade. He had offered her immunity from additional arrests and a bigger cut of the fees if she would help him recruit other girls and serve as the
madame of the house. She was happy to apply for the job. She brought in young women who wanted protection, and most of them were induced to be cooperative with a little product. Tina was smart.
With such an ample supply of a variety of pharmaceuticals, Eddie had suggested that they diversify a little and start selling the drugs to the local population. They cleared the idea with their Gallata. Magnan knew that the Gallatas normally never let anybody siphon off their profit margin, but this was a special case. Before long, there was a stream of regulars coming in to pick up their daily fix. The johns also kept coming at a steady pace, both those referred by the few officers who were aware of the arrangement and took their cut, and those the ladies brought in on their own. Everyone was happy, and the cash flow was ample. But Magnan grumbled. Somehow the sex trade didn't bother him, but selling drugs made his skin crawl.
But here he was, tallying up the daily receipts and calculating how long it would be until he and Eddie could retire from the sordid enterprise and turn in their badges. Soon, he thought. Maybe another six months.
The knock on the door worsened his already dour mood. He reluctantly got up from the spartan chair and crossed the dimly lit room to the door. Through the peep hole he saw the face of His Honor, Judge Malcom Snell. The judge's presence puzzled, but did not alarm him. The judge was a regular customer, but this was the first time he had come to visit since the first time he had arrived seeking some female companionship. The jurist being at his door was unlikely to be a good development.
"Good evening, Your Honor," Magnan said as he opened the door. "What can I do for you at this late hour?"
"May I come in?" the judge replied. Magnan was hoping this would be quick, but he graciously stepped aside and allowed Snell inside.
"I'm sorry to say that I don't have comfortable accommodations here, Malcom," Magnan apologized as he motioned for the judge to sit on the crisply made bed and rolled the desk chair away from the closed laptop computer. All the day's cash had been packaged up and sent off to the night deposit bin at the local Citi Bank, so Magnan was not worried about any incriminating evidence being in plain view.
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