Chapter 37 – A Matter of Trust
Wednesday, April 17
MIKE AND JASON SPENT TWO HOURS touring the Brooklyn neighborhood where they planned to send Steph, then circled back to Manhattan and stopped in at the Internal Affairs office to see Agent Gomez. After several visits to the office, their appearance was becoming routine and did not arouse any special interest. The staff there knew that Stoneman and Dickson were working with Gomez on an investigation that was peripheral to a murder case. Mike picked up a box of donuts and three coffees on the walk from the car into the building and Lucas met them at their usual conference table.
“Thanks for the snack,” Lucas said as he hovered his fingers over the assortment, trying to decide which to select.
“It’s really our pleasure,” Jason replied. “We can’t have them up at the precinct, so this is an opportunity for us to indulge.”
“Still have the rat issue up there?”
Stoneman nodded. “They pulled a dozen of the suckers out of the traps this week. They say it’s good news that they’re still catching them, but I’m starting to wonder whether the supply is infinite.”
Lucas chuckled, but Mike and Jason did not laugh with him. After he chose a chocolate frosted and took a healthy bite, he asked, between chews, “So, why did you want to talk today?”
Jason took the lead on the explanation. He and Mike had decided that since Mike and Michelle were seeing each other, they didn’t want it to seem like Mike’s idea and they wanted to keep Michelle’s involvement mostly out of it. Making Jason the spokesman seemed to be the best way to accomplish those goals. “We’re staging a mock undercover operation in the vicinity of the activity that we think is associated with Christine Barker’s murder.”
“Mock?”
“Yes. It’s not real, but it will have some of the characteristics of a real operation. Since we think we have a mole somewhere in the department, we want to keep it very hush-hush so that nothing makes our potential suspects think that it’s a real sting. We’re telling you so that you know in advance, just in case things end up leaking or the facts come out later. We don’t want you to think we were acting behind your back. As far as we’re concerned, you’re part of our team on this. Are we right?”
Lucas finished a bite of donut and took a sip of coffee very slowly, obviously pondering the situation and stalling for time. Jason and Mike indulged him gladly. “How much can you tell me?”
“We’d like to tell you as little as possible. The less you know, the less you have to tell your bosses. We don’t know where the leak is. It could be inside IA.”
“It’s not here,” Lucas shot back indignantly. “I can promise you that.”
“Well, you’re probably right, but it’s best if we keep the whole thing very low-profile. It’s not going to amount to anything.”
“Then why are you doing it?” Lucas raised one eyebrow, which curled into the shape of a fish hook against his forehead.
“It’s a long story that we’d best not get into, Lucas. It’s only going to be a day – maybe two. Call it a training exercise.”
“How many people are involved?”
“Just Mike, me, and the trainee.”
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me who the trainee is.”
“No, that’s probably not a good idea. But when this is behind us, we’re thinking that we should make it known that we’re planning a real undercover gig and see if anyone jumps. It might be a good way to put dye in the water and see where it leads.”
Lucas pondered this idea, which Jason hoped would distract him from their “mock” operation. “It’s an interesting idea. Plant a false lead and see if it pops up somewhere that might give us a clue where the leak is. I like the concept. Let me think about how we could do that.”
“Great,” Mike broke in. “That sounds like a plan.” Both Mike and Jason grabbed donuts and ate them without fear of crumbs as the three of them talked about possible controlled leaks. A half-hour and half a box of donuts later, Mike and Jason walked out of the building, retrieved their car, and headed back to the precinct. Mike reported that they had spent the day making observations about the suspected crime scene area in Brooklyn and meeting with their colleague at Internal Affairs, which was essentially true.
When Mike was ready to leave, he stopped by Jason’s desk. “Any second thoughts?”
“Many,” Jason responded without emotion. “But no better ideas.”
“OK. We’re go for tomorrow. I’ll meet you at 10:00 at Michelle’s place.”
“We could use another member of the team,” Jason suggested.
“Yeah, I know. Just the two of us may be a little short, especially since we can’t really call in backup.”
“Any ideas?” Jason asked.
“The only one I can think of is Darren.”
“Can we trust him?”
Mike paused a moment, then responded forcefully. “He was my partner. He has my back. I can trust him.”
“But can I trust him?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“OK, Mike. I trust you, so if you’re good with the guy, then I’m good.”
“I’ll give him a call.” Mike turned to his phone and Jason walked away. Mike wondered whether it was wise to pull his disabled ex-partner into the operation, but it wasn’t a real operation, so what was the harm? Darren would probably enjoy a little fake action. What could go wrong?
Chapter 38 – Operation Undercover
Thursday, April 18
WHEN MIKE ARRIVED AT MICHELLE’S APARTMENT the next morning, he scanned the rooms looking for Steph. He knew that the girl was supposed to be sleeping on Michelle’s couch, but there was no bedding or pillow in sight. “Where’s Steph?” Mike asked, hoping that she had changed her mind about the undercover operation and was in the shower.
“She’s on the balcony,” Michelle replied, gesturing toward the sliding glass door that Mike knew was behind the white lace curtains in the living room. The door led to a small outdoor space with a view up Third Avenue, where Michelle and Mike sometimes sat in the two small plastic chairs that mostly filled up the area. Mike estimated that the balcony was no more than ten feet wide and four feet deep, surrounded by a four-foot-high metal railing. It was barely above freezing outside.
“What’s she doing there?”
“Sleeping,” Michelle responded, again gesturing toward the sliding door as if to invite Mike to take a look.
Mike opened the curtains and peered out. The two chairs had been turned to face each other. In between the seats, Mike saw a bundle of blankets without any clear explanation for what was keeping them suspended above the concrete balcony floor. Steph was somewhere under those blankets, still asleep at ten in the morning. “Your idea?” he asked Michelle.
“Nope. Hers. She said that if she was going to have to sleep on the street tonight, she might as well get used to it. Plus, she thought it would help get her into character as a homeless person.”
Mike whistled softly and nodded his head slightly. “I have to agree with her. Damn! I was hoping she would change her mind. You think sleeping outside last night might nudge her toward abandoning this thing?”
“Doubtful,” was all Michelle could say.
Mike opened the sliding door and called out to Steph, who stirred under her mountain of blankets and then eventually emerged, shivering slightly. She was wearing gray sweatpants and a bright red sweatshirt with a cartoon image of a fox on the front. She looked a good twenty pounds heavier than Mike remembered, which he guessed was a byproduct of wearing two or three layers of clothing. Her feet were covered by large hiking boots, which were not laced up, revealing black-and-white checkered stockings. Her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, but it lacked its normal sheen and instead looked dull and sticky. She rubbed her eyes and said, “Morning!” with a forced smile.
“OK,” Mike said, clapping his hands loudly together, “let’s get this show on the road.”
Ж Ж Ж
A few hours later, Steph struggled up the stairs from the C train at Clinton Avenue in Brooklyn, pulling a wire basket with oversized wheels one step at a time. The basket was stuffed with spare clothes purchased from the Goodwill shop, two reusable plastic bottles filled with tap water, and a heavy wool blanket that was already stained with her sweat from the night spent on Michelle’s balcony. She looked the part of a street dweller, with her clunky hiking boots, two pairs of sweatpants, mis-matched sweatshirt, bulky scarf, and a man’s overcoat draped over her shoulders. She squinted into the morning sun, trying to get her bearings on the unfamiliar street. She pulled the bill of her dirty black baseball cap low over her eyes and wished that Michelle had let her bring along her sunglasses. She looked left and right, then began walking slowly east on Fulton Street. The early spring sun was out, taking the bitter edge off the air, but it was still in the low 40s and the perpetual breeze off the water in Brooklyn chilled her down to the clean white panties she had allowed herself to wear despite the otherwise grungy clothes.
After two hours of walking the neighborhood, dragging her little cart up and down curbs, she ducked into an alley behind a diner and opened the top of a dumpster, searching for something that would serve as breakfast, or lunch. She had intentionally not eaten before she boarded the subway in Manhattan. At Mike’s suggestion, they had decided that Steph should assume a different name for her assignment, so she left her wallet at Michelle’s apartment. With no ID, she could claim to be anyone, and since she had never been arrested or in the military, even her fingerprints would not yield her true identity. Mike had provided a burner cell phone with no identifying information – and the special FBI app – with her new name along with a fake home number with a Denver area code. Michelle had uploaded a selfie that Steph had taken at the beach a few years earlier to be the wallpaper for the burner phone. As far as anyone in Brooklyn was concerned, her name was Dani LaBlonde, which was the actual name of one of Steph’s high school classmates. Steph would be able to remember her new name easily, along with a backstory if she needed one.
She knew that there wasn’t likely to be much action for her until the late afternoon at the earliest, but she wanted to establish herself in the neighborhood. She smiled at any men who made eye contact and said “hello” to any women who looked like they could possibly be hookers. Most importantly, she kept her eyes out for anyone who looked like a user or a dealer.
After a nap in a bus shelter and two hours nursing one cup of coffee at Starbucks, Steph was being ushered outside by a burly barista when she saw three women walking in together. They were dressed like they were on their way to a nightclub on a Saturday night rather than to a Starbucks at 5:30 p.m. on a Thursday. They all had their hair down and were wearing thick makeup. She could smell the mixture of their various perfumes as they passed her. One of the women was Black, one looked vaguely Asian, and one was white with blonde hair. Steph made eye contact with the blonde and tried to give a pathetic, pleading kind of look, as if asking for help. The blonde gave her a puzzled expression.
Steph lingered outside the Starbucks, waiting for the group to come back out, and then followed them up the street, keeping her distance. The three hot women in tight dresses under puffy jackets were not hard to follow even through the crowded rush-hour sidewalk. They stopped on a side street near the Barclays Center, the arena where the Brooklyn Nets played basketball and the New York Islanders played some of their home games. Tonight, there was a rap concert on tap. The three women balanced on their heels as they drank their coffee and watched the pedestrians go by. Steph crossed the street and sat down on a pile of empty boxes that had been set out with the trash next to a liquor store. She tried hard not to look around to see where Mike and Jason were hiding. It was not difficult for her to look rather pathetic.
By a quarter to seven, the sun was low in the sky, the temperature had dropped a few more degrees, and the commuters were mostly gone for the day. The crowd of concert-goers, however, had started to gather. The bars and restaurants were hopping with pre-concert diners and drinkers. The liquor store where Steph had squatted was also busy. Laughing groups emerged with small bottles, which they were probably going to try to get past security. The women across the street had discarded their Starbucks cups and were working the crowd, getting the attention of the men walking by toward the arena. As Steph watched, the Black woman, who was wearing a red dress and a leather-colored jacket, took the arm of a large Black man and escorted him around the corner. The other two kept up their discourse with the passing men until the Asian one also made a contact. After several minutes of talking, she also walked away in the same direction.
With only the white hooker left, wearing a black leather skirt that was cut mid-thigh, Steph decided to make an approach. She waited until she was not engaged with any passing men, then walked up to her. “Hey, you got any ice?” she said in a hushed voice.
“Fuck off!” the girl said dismissively, turning away from Steph and trying to make eye contact with two passing guys wearing Jay-Z hats.
“Hey, c’mon. Gimme a break. Where can I get some product?” Steph hunched over slightly and spoke roughly into the woman’s waist.
“I said, fuck off!” she said, louder than before.
“Sure, I’ll go. I don’t want to get in your way. Hey, I know about working. That’s cool. But, where should I go? Gimme a clue, you know? I’m not from here. I need some.” Steph was breathing in shallow gasps. She licked her lips repeatedly and shifted her gaze from the ground up to the woman and back again. She looked up and pleaded with her eyes.
She looked down at Steph with suspicious eyes. “You a cop?”
“Fuck no,” Steph replied with as much indignity as she could muster. “Are you?”
“Shut up. Get the Hell out of here. I’m workin’ and got no time for you.”
“C’mon. Give a sister a break. I can help you out. I can work, too. I just need a source.” Steph scratched at her arm, a typical behavior for meth users.
The blonde still looked skeptical, and annoyed that this homeless girl was interrupting her efforts to score some business. “Look, Bitch, you stay out of my way until after the show starts. Then we’ll get some down time until it lets out later. You got a watch?”
“I got a phone.”
“Whatever. Just get the fuck out of here. Come back at 8:30 and I’ll think about it.”
Steph took a step back and smiled. “OK, OK, that’s OK. Hey, well, where can I go around here to stay warm and maybe get some food?”
“You figure it out, fool.”
“OK, OK, I’m goin’ and – hey – what’s your name?” Steph had backed up a few more steps.
“It’s Tina, now go!”
“Cool, Tina. Yah, cool. I’m Dani. So – I’ll see you later.” Steph turned and walked back toward the liquor store, pulling her cart.
The pile of boxes she had been sitting on was actually a pretty comfortable spot, and she could keep an eye on Tina from there in case she tried to run off without her. She reclaimed her perch and started panhandling the guys coming out of the store, asking for a drink and some food. To her surprise, several guys stopped and gave her hits from their bottles, she collected twelve dollars in singles, and one guy offered her twenty bucks to give his buddy a blow job. She laughed and asked for a hundred, which generated a barrage of insults and laughter. Steph did not look very attractive, and she knew it.
The volume of people rushing into and back out of the liquor store increased as concert time approached. The show started at 8:00, but the acts everyone wanted to see would not be on stage until 9:15. Still, as soon as the official show time came and went, people started hurrying toward the Barclays Center. The crowd right outside the arena got thick, while the sidewalk in front of the liquor store thinned out. In between begging to the men coming out of the store – she avoided talking to the women who were with them – she kept an eye on Tina and two other women who had rejoined her. They were still workin
g the crowd across the street.
Chapter 39 – Working Girls
JASON PLUNGED HIS LARGE HANDS DEEPER into the pockets of his cashmere trench coat and hunched his shoulders, trying to force his collar up higher onto his neck. He realized after the first hour that he should have worn a scarf, but the relatively mild afternoon had lulled him into complacency. From his location in the plaza outside the Barclays Center, he could see Steph sitting on a pile of garbage outside a liquor store, where she had been for the past forty-five minutes. As the patrons of the hip-hop concert siphoned themselves into the arena, Jason’s position became more and more exposed, but there were still plenty of folks wandering about and he blended in.
“Excuse me, Sir, is this the Barclays Center?” The voice coming from behind him was high-pitched and sounded shy and embarrassed, but it didn’t fool Jason.
“Yes, Mike. It’s the Barclays Center. Do you know the name of the artist performing here tonight?”
“No clue,” Mike said in his normal voice as he took up a position next to Jason, but not looking directly at him. “Where’s our little birdie?”
“Two o’clock, across the street next to the liquor store.”
“Got it,” Mike responded without appearing to look. He turned to the side and stared up at the huge electronic sign that flashed advertisements for upcoming events at the arena. “Any activity?”
“Not much. She made contact with three ladies working the crowd on the back side of the arena. You can’t see them from here, but they seem to be pretty standard-issue hookers. She hasn’t turned on the surveillance app yet.”
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