Relentless

by Shawn Wilson

  Even though he’d only spent about fifteen minutes on the Orange Line, he felt like a tourist. The business conducted within the county buildings was equivalent to that of the District’s Judiciary Square, but that’s where the similarities ended. This was a neighborhood with high-end condos and luxury apartment buildings. Inviting ethnic restaurants and cafés lined the intersecting boulevards. And on Saturdays, the courthouse parking lot was home to a farmers market. As Brick headed toward Wilson Boulevard, he heard what sounded like a basketball game in progress. He realized the noise wasn’t coming from a school playground; it was coming from the jail located in the high-rise across the street.

  Brick crossed Wilson Boulevard, walked half a block, then turned onto Franklin Road. He easily spotted Detective Tracy Collins at a small corner table on the patio in front of The Java Shack. They had met two years ago at the FBI Academy in Quantico when both attended a class in hostage negotiation. So far, neither had been called upon to put to use what they had learned.

  “Brick, good to see you.” Slowly, Tracy got to her feet. She and Brick exchanged a quick hug before she eased herself back into her chair. “Hope you still drink your tea unsweetened. I ordered you a large.”

  “Good memory. Are you okay?” Brick asked.

  “Yeah, I pulled a muscle a couple of days ago. I’m training for another triathlon.”

  “Well, thanks for making me feel like a total slacker.”

  Tracy laughed. “I doubt that; more like you’re working too much.”

  “It’s hard not to, given our caseload.” Brick was about to continue when the barista announced their drinks were ready. “Stay where you are, I’ll get them.” Brick went up to the counter, got the drinks and a couple of napkins and returned to the table. He handed Tracy a large cappuccino.

  “Are you working the brother/sister murder?” Tracy asked.

  “Yes, my partner and I are privileged to be part of the task force.”

  “From the way you said that, sounds to me like it’s anything but a privilege.”

  Brick nodded. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’ve got a bad feeling about the way it’s being handled.”

  Tracy took a sip of her drink. “It’s gang-related, right?”

  “That’s the general consensus but I’m not convinced.” He went on to tell her about the physical similarities between Maria Delgado and the missing person’s case in Arlington.

  “Oh, jeez, I see where this may be going.”

  “The body at Four Mile Run—where was it actually found?” Brick asked.

  “Just north of Columbia Pike. The jogger spotted her floating where the creek is at its deepest point.”

  “Does the jogger check out?”

  “Yeah, a law student at Georgetown, jogging with his girlfriend.”

  “Any sus—excuse me, persons of interest?” Brick asked.

  Tracy laughed. “Oh yes, gotta be politically correct. God forbid we offend some asshole who just killed an innocent woman.” She lowered her voice even though the other tables were empty. “We’ve got nothing.”

  Brick nodded. “Have they positively identified her?”

  “Officially, no, but I can tell you the missing girl had some major ink—angel wings across her back, butterflies up and down one arm, something else on the other arm, I don’t remember what it was. Anyway, our homicide victim’s tattoos match up. What are the odds?”

  “Slim and none?” Brick guessed.

  For a minute, neither Brick nor Tracy said anything. Then they both spoke at the same time before each deferred to the other. Brick motioned for her to go ahead.

  “It’s early and I shouldn’t be impatient, but let’s face it, on this side of the River, we don’t have a lot of homicides. I’d like to say I’m confident the Major Crimes guys assigned to the case are up to the challenge, but—” She stopped and brushed a strand of blond hair off her forehead and out of her eye. “I didn’t mean to criticize my colleagues, but it’s frustrating because the stakes are so high. If you’re right, my guess is—this guy’s not going to stop at two.”

  There was nothing else to say, but as far as Brick was concerned, the meeting had been productive. Plus, it was good seeing Tracy. He liked her and was glad he had a chance to hear about what was happening in her life outside of work. Before leaving, he marked his calendar for the second Saturday in October. Tracy assured him he would get a formal invitation, but she wanted to be sure he saved the date for her wedding. Now that Virginia had passed same-sex marriage, she and her partner planned to make it official.

  * * *

  Once again, the weather forecast was wrong, not that Brick minded. Instead of overcast and threatening, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. Still, he wondered how meteorologists could be wrong so often and not get fired. A pretty good gig—maybe he should have paid a little more attention to science when he was in school.

  Already the temperature was in the high sixties and would probably climb several more degrees. It was a perfect day for baseball and today’s game was Brick’s personal rain check for having to miss the Nationals’ Opening Day. He checked his watch. Good, it was still early. The park wouldn’t open for at least an hour. He considered his options and decided to grab some lunch at the Hawk and Dove on Pennsylvania Avenue. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a cheeseburger and fries. While he waited, he flipped through the latest edition of The City Paper. The annual reader poll named winners in several categories, most of which didn’t interest him. But Food and Drink caught his eye. He made a mental note to check out the Lebanese Taverna, which had won for best Middle Eastern restaurant.

  Brick tried not to obsess about checking email on his days off, but when his phone vibrated, he couldn’t ignore it. He recognized Blancato’s number and let it go to voicemail. For all of Blancato’s faults, he was respectful of a guy’s days off, and Brick could count on one hand the times he had been disturbed. Still, he didn’t want to get in a conversation. Instead, he checked his voicemail as soon as the icon indicated he had a message. He felt his pulse quickening as he listened to Blancato’s voice.

  “This morning, ICE rounded up several illegals during a raid. One indicated he had knowledge about a recent homicide. Not sure it’s ours, but they’re bringing him in for questioning. I know it’s your day off, but figured you and Ron would want to know.”

  So much for spending the afternoon watching the Nats. Brick signaled to the bartender. “Make that order to go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE DOOR TO the observation room was ajar. Before entering, Brick stopped and listened. He heard Blancato’s and Allen’s voices. He knocked once then stepped inside. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. Once they did, he saw Blancato leaning against the wall opposite the two-way mirror. Paul Adkins stood next to him. Allen straddled a wooden chair missing a couple of slats.

  “Lieutenant.” Brick nodded in Blancato’s direction. “Thanks for letting me know. Ron texted me; he’s on his way.”

  “All right. I’ll wait ’til he’s here then we’ll fill both of you in on the latest developments.”

  Brick walked past Adkins and grabbed a chair. He pulled it up to the table and sat facing the mirror so he could get a good look into the interrogation room while he ate his lunch. At about ten-by-twelve feet, the room was only slightly larger than a prison cell. With its drab gray walls, floor, and ceiling, the nondescript room looked like every other interrogation room Brick had ever observed. The only distinguishing feature was an overhead fluorescent light that emitted a low hum. The sound was annoying, but the room wasn’t designed with comfort in mind. At the moment, a Hispanic male who looked to be in his mid-twenties was seated in an armless metal chair. His elbows rested on the table in front of him. Brick wondered if the subject was aware of the microphone hidden under the table or the camera secreted in the fake thermostat.

  “Is he under arrest?” Brick asked.

  “No, but he belongs to ICE”
/>   “Civil detention?”

  “Oh yeah, they’ve got him as long as they want him. And there’s nothing he can do about that.” Allen turned away from the mirror. The chair creaked ominously as he shifted his weight. “Hey, are you going to share what’s in the bag?”

  “Have some fries.” Brick shoved the bag within Allen’s reach.

  Allen shook his head. “Nah … the old ball-and-chain’s been complaining lately about my love handles.” With his thumb and forefinger, he pinched an ample amount of flesh beneath his shirt. “On second thought, the way she’s packed on the pounds, she’s got no room to bitch.” He reached across the table and grabbed a couple of fries.

  Brick guessed the reference was to Allen’s wife, not one of his girlfriends. “If I had known, I would have brought you a salad or a stir fry with tofu.” Brick unwrapped his cheeseburger and took a bite.

  “I’d rather eat cardboard.” Allen stuffed a few more fries into his mouth. “What do you think, Paul, have we let him sweat long enough?”

  Adkins checked his watch. “I don’t think he’s sweating.”

  “He’s gotta be, he’s still wearing that hoodie and it’s over eighty degrees in there.”

  “Give it a few more minutes.”

  Brick knew the drill and sometimes it worked. Leave a suspect or witness alone for a while and there’s no telling what you might see, including some things you’d rather not. But it wasn’t always effective and it appeared that might be the case this time. From what he could see, the subject didn’t look nervous or agitated. If anything, he just looked bored, which diminished the effectiveness of focusing on body language. At least for Brick, he was more interested in what the subject said rather than how many times he licked his lips or crossed his arms.

  “Lieutenant, guys.” Ron Hayes closed the door behind him. “Would have been here sooner, but I was at the gym when I got the message and I needed to take a shower.”

  “Glad you did,” Allen said. “’Cause I don’t have any Vicks to shove up my nose.”

  Blancato turned toward Adkins. “Paul, go ahead and bring Brick and Ron up to speed.”

  Adkins nodded. “We got the call early this morning. ICE raided a house on Georgia Avenue. Our boy in there—Guadalupe Cruz, goes by the name Lupe—”

  “They’re all fucking loopy, if you ask me,” Allen added.

  Adkins laughed at his partner’s observation before continuing. “At first, it looked like a typical raid—a bunch of illegals living together, but it turned out Cruz was the only one with an expired visa. Before ICE slapped the cuffs on him, they patted him down. Seems he had another visa in his pocket—one that didn’t belong to him. That got the agent’s attention. He alerted his supervisor who called the task force and we …” Adkins stopped mid-sentence as he approached the mirror. “Hey, check this out.” The subject had finally removed his hoodie. He was wearing a short-sleeved black t-shirt, which left his forearms exposed. Adkins pointed to Cruz’s left arm.

  The tattoo looked home grown as though it had been done by an amateur or even by the subject himself. Nevertheless, the symbol was familiar. The last time Brick had seen it, it was drawn in blood on the edge of Jose’s bathtub. More and more, Brick had to consider the possibility that Jose’s murder had a gang connection.

  “It’s time,” Adkins said. “He’s all yours, Travis.”

  Allen picked up a file folder marked “Confidential.” He wrote Guadalupe’s name across the top.

  “What’s in the file?” Ron asked.

  “Nothing having anything to do with him. Just some old case notes I was going to shred but numb nuts doesn’t know that.” He smiled smugly as he headed for the door. “Showtime.”

  Adkins laughed as did Blancato. Brick failed to see the humor.

  Allen entered the interrogation room and closed the door behind him. He pulled up a chair opposite the subject and introduced himself. The audio transmitted to the observation room crackled with static like a cheap transistor radio from the 1960s. While still standing, Allen dropped the file on the table out of Cruz’s reach but close enough for him to see his name printed in bold letters.

  “You speak English, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ve been reading this file—some interesting stuff in there.” Allen sat down and stared in Cruz’s direction. Cruz looked away. “So, I understand from the ICE agent who brought you in here that you know something about a double homicide—the murders of Maria and Jose Delgado.”

  Cruz didn’t respond.

  “Okay, well, I’m anxious to hear what it is and I’d appreciate it if you don’t screw around, wasting my time. How about if you just cut to the chase.” Allen glanced toward the mirror then back toward Cruz. “You understand what I mean by ‘cut to the chase’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s hear it.”

  Cruz leaned forward and locked eyes with Allen. “I want a lawyer. You understand what I mean by that?”

  Travis Allen reentered the observation room and slammed the door. “Son of a bitch!” He paced back and forth in front of the mirror then kicked the chair he had sat in earlier. “He’s just fucking with me.”

  “Take it easy, Travis. I’ve never seen anyone want to lawyer-up that fast who wasn’t guilty.” Blancato looked pleased. “I think we’ve got our man, and he’s not going anywhere, thanks to ICE. And civil detention means he won’t be getting a lawyer anytime soon. That buys us time to build our case.” Blancato glared at Brick. “That’s exactly why this needed to be a task force, even though not everyone saw it that way.”

  Brick got the message, loud and clear. He stood up, nodded to Blancato and the A-Team, and headed for the door. It was still his day off and he wasn’t about to stick around any longer. Apparently, Ron felt the same way. Together, they left.

  “Well, that’s forty-five minutes of my life I’ll never get back.” Brick stopped in front of the elevator bank. “Elevator or stairs?”

  Ron didn’t hesitate. “Stairs. The way things are going we’d probably get stuck and waste what’s left of our weekend. Still going to the game?”

  Brick checked his watch. “No, it’d be like walking into a movie after it’s already started. I want to be there for the first pitch and the last out or not at all. What do you have planned?”

  “Tomorrow is Jasmine’s birthday so we’re celebrating tonight.”

  “Nice. Going someplace special?”

  “No, she’s really uncomfortable right now so we’re staying in and I’m cooking dinner. Shrimp and grits, one of her favorites.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you in about sixteen hours.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  BRICK EXITED THE Metro at Judiciary Square and made a beeline for Starbucks. He wanted to get in and out before the morning crush of caffeine junkies overran the place. He made it with little time to spare. He checked to see the lid on his tall green tea was secure, grabbed a couple of napkins, and headed across the street. His morning was going well until he heard Travis Allen call his name. Brick stopped short of the entrance to Headquarters. When he turned around, he saw Allen was smiling broadly.

  “Too bad you and Ron didn’t stick around yesterday.”

  “Why?”

  “You missed the best part. ICE executed a search warrant on the place where Cruz was living and guess what they found?” Allen seemed to be enjoying the suspense but Brick wasn’t.

  “Better yet, just tell me.”

  “Jose’s cellphone and your girl … what was her name?”

  “Maria.”

  “Oh yeah, Maria. Found her passport. Both of them were in Cruz’s underwear drawer.” Allen was beaming like someone holding a winning lottery ticket. “Paul and I got the honor of arresting the bottom feeder.”

  “Congratulations.” Brick didn’t offer a handshake or high five but he meant what he said.

  “Yeah, that’s one more the A-Team can add to the win column. The lieutenant is real
ly pleased.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Brick didn’t even attempt to sound sincere, but he doubted Allen noticed.

  “In fact, he wants us all to attend the arraignment this morning.” Allen started to walk away but turned back in Brick’s direction. “I got to go get something to eat. Be sure to tell your partner, it’s at nine thirty.”

  Cruz’s arrest really wasn’t a surprise. Brick just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. He took a sip of tea then headed up the stairs to the revolving door. Once inside, Brick took the stairs to the third floor and stopped at Ron’s cubicle before going to his own.

  “So the A-Team is getting the credit for the arrest?” Ron asked.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “But we’re all part of the task force—that doesn’t seem fair.”

  Brick laughed. Ron’s short tenure in the squad was showing. “Welcome to Homicide. Oh, and Blancato wants us all to attend the arraignment.”

  “Because we were such good props at the press conference?”

  “Now you’re catching on. Nine thirty, Courtroom C-10.” Brick headed across the room to his own cubicle. As he drank his tea, he could hear Allen. Wherever he went to get breakfast, he was back and letting everyone know about the latest notch on his belt.

  * * *

  Brick and Ron arrived at C-10 shortly before nine thirty. They took a seat on a bench in the back. Lieutenant Blancato was in the front row. Next to him were Travis Allen and Paul Adkins.

  Ron leaned over and whispered to Brick. “I see the butt boys are present and accounted for.”

  Brick managed to keep from laughing as he pointed to an older woman sitting toward the front of the courtroom on the opposite side of the aisle. “She’s from the Washington Post, been covering the courthouse forever.”