by Sal Bianchi
A chill ran down my spine as an unnerving thought occurred to me.
“That sounds a lot like--” I cut myself off before I could finish my sentence and glanced at Nick. His jaw was set, and he seemed to be staring off at something in the distance.
“Like the mafia?” He finished my sentence with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, it does.”
We fell into an uncomfortable silence then. The notion of “blood in, blood out” wasn’t a myth when it came to the mafia. Part of one’s initiation in joining the Family meant shedding blood, both to prove you were loyal to the organization and because doing so would make you as guilty as the rest of the group, thereby preventing you from going to the police. Conversely, the only way to leave the mafia was through the shedding of blood as well, only in this case it would be yours. Of course, Nick was the one rare exception to that rule, thanks in large part to his older brother’s influence.
“Do you think they have a hand in this?” I asked tentatively. It was a touchy subject, for obvious reasons. Though mafia activity did fall under the purview of the SDCT, so far, Nick hadn’t been involved in any of the cases that directly dealt with them. It honestly wouldn’t be safe for him to do so. The fact that he’d left the mafia with his life was nothing short of a miracle. To aggravate them further by actively working against them would be akin to having a death wish.
“I don’t know,” Nick answered after a long moment of pensive hesitation. “It has all the benchmarks of the mafia, but it seems too sloppy and risky.”
“It could be some off-shoot, amateur group,” I suggested, “or a new family trying to establish territory.”
Really, there were a lot of possibilities when it came to the mafia. The most powerful and influential Italian crime families were all a part of the Cosa Nostra, but there were also smaller, scattered Italian crime families that operated independently of the main force. Of course, they were always fighting to gain more power and control. That was to say nothing of the non-Italian families, like the Irish and Chinese mobs. Though neither was as powerful in the United States as the Italian mafia, both had a sizable following.
“Agent Park, Nick, I’ve got something for you,” Stein’s voice suddenly jostled me out of my reverie.
“What is it?” I asked eagerly. Sitting around and waiting had always made me antsy, so I really hoped he had something for us to follow up on.
“Turns out Brooks was telling the truth,” he replied as he set a laptop down on my desk between Nick and me. There was a picture on the screen, and I recoiled when I realized it was of a partially decomposed body lying on a filthy mattress.
“What is that?” I gasped, startled by the unexpectedly morbid imagery.
“That,” Stein began, “is the body of Carl Johannson. Police discovered the body after a passerby noticed a rancid smell coming from the inside of a motorhome that hadn’t moved from the same spot in more than two weeks. By the time the police entered the RV and found him, he was already so badly decomposed that it was difficult to tell what he’d died from. However, police found marijuana and heroin in the RV and assumed it must have been an overdose.”
“That does match Ian’s statement,” Nick responded as he calmly scrolled through the photos of the crime scene. It was a little unnerving how composed he was looking at pictures of a dead body. I’d seen death too, of course, but it wasn’t something I ever thought I’d really get used to.
“Ian said he smothered him with a pillow, right?” I asked. “That wouldn’t leave any visible trace, and after baking for two weeks in Miami heat, there’s no way even a coroner could determine that as the cause of death.”
“There’s more,” Stein sighed grimly as he leaned down to scroll to a different part of the police file. “Over the past year, Carl has had multiple police reports filed against him, all by a woman named Angela Martin. Mostly for stalking, though in the most recent ones, she claimed that he attempted to physically abduct her.”
“Was he ever arrested?” Nick glowered.
“A few times,” Stein replied. “He never served any jail time, though. Apparently, Angela tried to get a restraining order on him, but it was denied.”
“Why?” Nick demanded angrily. I understood his consternation. It was frustrating to think that this man might have harassed someone for a year with basically no consequences.
“He was careful to never cross the line into what could actually be considered harassment,” Stein replied bitterly. “In most states, including Florida, unless you’re physically threatened, there’s not a lot that can be done in these cases.”
“What about trying to abduct her?” Nick scoffed incredulously. “How is that not physically threatening?”
“It doesn’t say why it was denied,” Stein shrugged. “If I had to guess, there probably wasn’t sufficient proof, or she was just unlucky enough to get an unsympathetic judge. As sad as it is, most of the time, the police won’t do much until after the victim has already been physically harmed.”
“That's such a load of crap,” Nick sneered.
“Yeah, it is.” I agreed. “It also sounds like a pretty solid motive for wanting someone dead.”
“But Ian was the one who killed him,” Nick muttered. “So who did Angela kill?”
I pursed my lips as I let his words sink in. If we assumed the pattern was the same, it meant that Angela had killed someone in order to prove her loyalty before Ian was instructed to kill her stalker.
“We need to talk to Director Flint,” I declared as I realized what else that meant. “Someone else is in danger.”
“What do you mean?” Agent Stein furrowed his eyebrows at me.
“The woman that killed Senator Rothschild,” I explained. “If she killed Rothschild, then that means she wanted someone dead too, right?”
Nick’s eyes went wide as he realized what I was getting at. We’d been so focused on tracing this line of murders back to the start, we had completely overlooked the fact that there were still potential victims next in line to be killed. Now that Rothschild was dead, it was only a matter of time before the next hit was carried out.
25
Nick
The atmosphere in Flint’s office was tense. Jase and I had rushed over as soon as he’d realized the clock was still ticking on a potential victim. After we’d explained the situation to him, he’d called Bette and Agent Duncan in to go over the details of the case with them as well.
“We still don’t know the identity of the person or organization orchestrating all of this,” Flint explained. “But we do know that there is, in fact, some organization behind all of this. As it stands, we know that each perpetrator was required to carry out another client’s hit in exchange for having their target eliminated. Angela Martin likely killed someone in exchange for having Carl Johannson killed. Ian Brooks killed Carl Johannson in exchange for having Josie Keller killed. Shane Rutherford likely killed Josie Keller in exchange for having his father, Carlisle Rutherford, killed. Ryan Rothschild likely killed Carlisle Rutherford in exchange for having his ex-wife, Alexis Rothschild, killed.”
“It’s a chain,” Bette muttered. It was a grisly notion, especially when I considered we still had no idea just how far back the chain went. How many people had been murdered in cold blood this way?
“That’s right.” Flint nodded. “Police are on their way to arrest Shane Rutherford now. With Ian’s confession, as well as the information we were able to obtain from an anonymous tip, they should have no problem bringing him in. As for the SDCT, we currently have three primary objectives. The first and most important one is to find out the identity of the woman who killed Alexis Rothschild. We need to prioritize stopping her hit. The second is to follow the chain down the line as far as we can. Agents Owens and Duncan, I’ll leave that to you. Begin by speaking with Angela Martin and find out who it was she killed, if anyone.”
“Of course, sir,” Bette replied seriously. I could tell how concerned she was about the case by the fact that she had
n’t said a single disparaging thing to me since she’d arrived.
“Good,” Flint replied. “Our third objective is to figure out who exactly is running the show here. I have Agent Stein looking into the website Ian Brooks mentioned as we speak. Agent Owens and Agent Duncan, focus on tracing this as far back as you can, as quickly as you can. The more information we can get, the better. Agent Park and Nick, go back to Ryan Rothschild’s hotel room and do a thorough search. The police cordoned it off as part of Ryan’s murder investigation. I’ll call and let them know to be expecting you. Focus on finding anything you can about that woman’s identity.”
“Okay,” I replied quietly. My heart was pounding painfully inside my chest. The idea that some innocent person was walking around out there completely unaware that someone had a placed a target on their back was nerve-wracking.
“You’re all dismissed,” Flint declared with finality.
I turned on my heel and left the office immediately. It seemed like every nerve in my body was ablaze with anxiety. We needed to move fast. Every second that passed was another moment closer to death for whoever the next unlucky victim was.
“What a disaster,” Jase muttered despondently as he fell into step beside me.
I chuckled bitterly in spite of the grave situation.
“What an understatement,” I muttered back as we made our way toward the elevator.
It was cloudy today, but the heat still hit me like a wall as we walked out of the building and toward Jase’s work car. The thing about Miami heat was that it was unbearably humid. Somehow though, I couldn’t blame the suffocating feeling I felt pressing down on me entirely on the heat.
The drive back to Ryan’s hotel went by in a blur. Traffic was mild this time of day, and I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that it seemed like barely any time had passed before we were pulling up to the hotel parking lot.
Jase and I got out of the car and walked quickly up the stone steps that lead to the main entrance. It seemed like so long ago that Jase and I had run down the same steps after I’d planted that bug on Ryan, completely unaware of how complex this case would turn out to be.
Jase pushed the door open without breaking his steady stride. Clearly, he felt as harried about this as I did.
“Hello, how can I help you?” The young woman at the counter greeted us as we approached her. Even before we said anything, her smile fell as she took in our serious expressions.
“I’m Agent Park with the SDCT,” Jase replied. “We need to get into room nine-one-four. We have reason to believe a crime may have taken place in that room. It should be under the name ‘Ryan Rothschild.’”
“Of course,” she replied as she rummaged through her desk before producing an electronic key card. “We got a call you’d be by. I think the other police officer is still up there.”
“What other police officer?” Jase asked.
“He came by just a few hours ago.” She explained. “I didn’t see him leave, so I assume he’s still up there.”
Jase tossed me a concerned glance. It was possible that what she was describing was just a normal shift rotation, but something about this just felt off.
She led us down the hall and toward the elevators.
“Right this way,” she informed us as she gestured to the right before leading us in the direction of Ryan’s hotel room. “The guest paid for a month in advance and requested not to have room service at any time, so we didn’t notice at all that he hadn’t been by. It’s so tragic to think that something that a crime might have been committed right here on the premises.”
She said it was tragic, but she didn’t sound very sad about it. Rather, she sounded nervous, as though she was worried about how this might affect her or the hotel.
“That’s strange,” she murmured as we came to a stop in front of Ryan’s hotel door. “I wonder where the officer went.”
“Has there been a guard on duty since yesterday?” Jase asked suspiciously.
“That’s right,” the receptionist confirmed as she slid the keycard into the electronic reader. “The officer who came by earlier said he was here to take over. Oh, it’s not locked…”
She gasped as she pushed the door open and peered into the room, and I nearly did as well.
The entire suite had been ransacked. The mattress on the bed had been overturned, and there were clothes scattered all over the room as well. The drawers below the TV stand had been pulled out and emptied of their contents, and a small desk in the corner of the main room was lying on its side with papers and pens strewn around it.
“Oh my word,” the young woman gasped as she took in the state of the room. “I--I need to call my manager or the police.”
“Yeah, you should,” I muttered bitterly.
She nodded shakily before running from the room. As she did, I took another long look at the disaster in front of me. Someone had beaten us here.
Still, I couldn’t just give up. I stepped into the room and took a quick survey. It was a mess, but it didn’t seem like anything had been specifically destroyed or taken, though it was difficult to tell since we didn’t know what Ryan had in here to begin with.
“There’s no laptop anywhere,” I sighed in disappointment. I distinctly recalled seeing one the last time we were here, sitting on the same desk that was now overturned and broken on the floor.
“I don’t see anything useful either,” Jase replied. “Whoever did this must have been after the same thing we were.”
“Damn,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “I’m calling Flint. Ryan had his phone on him when we arrested him, right? The police should still have custody of it.”
I tapped my foot impatiently as I put the phone up to my ear and waited for Flint to pick up.
“Hello?” He answered on the fourth ring.
“Someone beat us to the hotel,” I explained without preamble. “They turned it upside down and took whatever was here. According to the receptionist, someone claiming to be a cop suddenly showed by to take over guard duties.”
“Someone really screwed up if that’s the case,” Flint grumbled. “I’ll call the station and figure out how the hell this happened.”
“On that thought,” I continued, “Do you know if the cops still have Ryan’s phone? That’ll be our best bet now.”
“They should,” Flint replied. “I can call to confirm, but it might be faster for you to head straight there and ask for yourselves.”
“We’ll do that then,” I replied before ending the call and turning to look at Jase. “We need to get to the police station ASAP.”
“We need to wait for the police first,” Jase replied. “We can’t exactly just leave after finding the crime scene like this.
“Damn,” I growled. “We don’t have time. Whoever was here beat us by just a few hours, according to the receptionist. We don’t have time to waste.”
“I know,” Jase sighed. “But we can’t just leave. At least I can’t. And it’s not like the police are going to hand over evidence to an independent private eye.”
I gritted my teeth as I realized that Jase was right. The clock was ticking, but we had no choice but to wait for the police to get here.
It felt like an eternity as we waited for the police to arrive, though it really wasn’t more than about ten minutes. Once they were here, I left Jase to handle the talking and trudged back down to the lobby of the hotel. It was infuriating to think that someone had swooped in and stolen our evidence from us at the last moment. I only hoped the same wouldn’t happen with the phone.
“Okay,” Jase declared as he joined me in the hotel lobby. “I’ve brought the police up to speed with everything that’s happened. I also talked to Flint. Apparently, he’s really mad about what happened and working with the police chief to figure out how this could have happened. He also said the cops confirmed they have the phone.”
“Good,” I replied with relief. At least we still had one piece of useful evidence. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t waste another moment before rushing through the entrance of the hotel and toward the car.
I had hardly closed the door before Jase took off at a fast speed away from the hotel. I hopped out of the car as soon as we made it to the station. The station was one of the biggest in Miami, and the inside was bustling with activity. A sleepy-looking police officer was sitting behind a desk in the lobby of the station, separated from the rest of the room by a thick pane of bullet-proof glass.
“Hello,” Jase greeted him. “I’m Agent Park with the SDCT. Our director just called a few minutes ago. We’re here to pick up a phone that belongs to a suspect in an ongoing case, Ryan Rothschild.”
“Just a minute,” the sleepy-looking officer replied before speaking into his radio and relaying Jase’s message.
“I’ll be right there,” a staticky voice on the radio replied. Someone about the response gave me pause, and I exchanged a concerned glance with Jase. A few minutes later, a frazzled-looking officer stepped through a door on the other end of the room and approached us.
“Agent Park?” he asked nervously. He looked tense, and I noticed he wasn’t carrying anything with him.
“Yes,” Jase replied. “What’s going on?”
“I’m Officer Warren,” the man introduced himself. “I’m afraid we have a bit of an issue. We can’t locate the piece of evidence you asked for.”
“What?” I exclaimed as I stepped toward the officer.
He fidgeted nervously as I glared at him.
“I’m not sure how it happened,” he explained. “It’s definitely recorded in our systems, so we had possession of it at one point. What most likely happened is that it was misplaced somewhere while it was being transported here. Ryan Rothschild was never actually here since he was taken straight to the hospital after being arrested. It’s unlikely, but it was probably improperly handled at some point between the hospital and the police station.”
