Tough Justice Box Set

by Carla Cassidy

  He braced his elbows on the table, his expression intent. “The wounds were all narrow and deep. The bullets punched right through to the brain instead of mushrooming out. That indicates that he’s been using some sort of sniper round. But they’re lighter and longer than the normal NATO rounds, with the center of gravity a little to the rear. That stabilizes them in flight and helps them resist any crosswinds. They’re VLD, very low-drag, like they use for ultra-long range precision shooting. And they aren’t commercially produced. They’re wildcats, custom made. There aren’t any press marks on the casings like they’d have if they were mass-produced.”

  “So he reloads his own ammunition. That’s not unusual,” Lara said. Lots of gun enthusiasts did the same, either to save money or to customize the shot. Changing the weight and type of powder could affect its accuracy and speed.

  “No, but he’s using depleted uranium cores.”

  “Where the hell is he getting those?” Nick asked.

  “The black market,” Lara murmured. No one else employed them. Even the military now limited their use.

  Ty gave her a nod. “Exactly.”

  “You think we can track him through his black market source?” Victoria asked.

  “I’ve already done it. There aren’t many smugglers who can get hold of depleted uranium rounds, and only one who lives around here. One of my informants knows him. I rolled on him pretty hard, and he finally gave me a name. Darryl Coleman.”

  “What do we know about him?” Victoria asked.

  “I ran his record. He stole a car as a juvenile, then served a few years for armed robbery later on. But he’s been clean for quite a while.”

  A requisite for a successful arms dealer, Lara knew. No one would trust a dealer who was constantly in and out of jail. It could draw the law’s attention to them.

  “He owns a club on Bruckner Boulevard in the South Bronx,” Ty added. “That’s probably how he’s laundering his profits. And his mother lives nearby, for what that’s worth. That’s all I know right now.”

  “Perfect. I want you and Nick to check him out. See if you can get his client’s name.” Victoria picked up her notepad and rose. “I want everyone to stay flexible and be available to pitch in wherever we need you. I have a feeling this could move fast.”

  It had better, Lara decided as the meeting broke up and she stole another glance at Cass. Because as gruesome as her stabbing was, at least Cass had survived. They might not be that lucky again if they failed to stop the next attack.

  * * *

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Darryl Coleman told Nick and Ty a short time later. They’d found him in his apartment behind the Club Marrakesh on Bruckner Boulevard, a seedy-looking place that saw its share of violence, according to the police report Nick pulled up. “I don’t do that kind of shit.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” Ty asked, leaning against the door frame, his foot propping open the door. “Maybe it’s because everyone we talk to keeps mentioning your name. Or maybe it’s because the word on the street says you’re the only one on the entire East Coast who can get depleted uranium rounds.”

  “I can’t help what they say,” Coleman said. “I just run a nightclub. I got nothing to do with guns.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Nick said, unfazed. He’d expected Coleman to deny it. There wasn’t a weapons dealer around who’d talk to a stranger without the backing of a trusted source. And he especially wouldn’t give up a client and risk the retaliation that could cause.

  But Nick wasn’t about to let Coleman jerk him around. “The thing is, we’ve got several victims with your name all over them. We know you sold the shooter the rounds. And in case you didn’t know it, that’s a major federal offense.”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “The hell we can’t. We’ll get a search warrant. We’ll bring in a dosimeter and check everything—your car, your club, your house. No matter how careful you’ve been, we’ll find some residue somewhere. And we’ll get warrants on everyone you know. Your mother. Your clients. They’re not going to be happy about that. And when we get that proof, we’re going to haul you in. We’ll lock you up for so long and so damned deep that even your mother will forget you exist.”

  Coleman scowled and crossed his arms. And Nick knew he wasn’t convinced.

  “I’ve also got a list of building and fire code violations on your club,” he added. “We’ll shut it down for months, maybe permanently. That’s going to put a crimp in your operations for quite a while, probably drive all your business away.”

  Doubt flickered in Coleman’s eyes. He didn’t look quite so certain now.

  “Look,” Nick said, spreading his hands. “We aren’t after you. We want the guy who bought those rounds. You give us a name, an address, anything we can use, and we’ll leave you alone. That’s all we want. Give us a name, and we’ll go away.”

  “It’s a good deal,” Ty told him. “Give us a name, and you can go back about your business and forget we ever came by.”

  Coleman gave them a grudging nod. “All right. Let’s suppose I know a guy.”

  “What’s his name?” Ty asked.

  “I don’t know it.”

  “Right,” Nick scoffed. “You really expect us to believe that? I doubt you’d sell your own mother a gun without proof of who she was.”

  “It’s the truth. I never asked because I know his girlfriend. I used to date her, and she vouched for him. Her name is Estela Ramirez. She lives in Spanish Harlem by the river. East 120th Street, I think. Honestly, man, that’s all I know.”

  “All right,” Nick said. “We’ll buy that for now. But if you’re fucking with us, we’ll be back.”

  “I’ll call it in,” Ty said as they walked back through the trash-strewn alley to where they’d parked the car. But he grimaced a few minutes later when he got the reply. “Well, hell. Turns out there’s a reason Coleman gave up her name. Estela Ramirez is deceased.”

  * * *

  Although Estela Ramirez had died earlier that year, her mother still lived in Spanish Harlem. Deciding she might respond better to another woman, Victoria sent Lara and Mei to look her up. They parked a block from her apartment on East 120th Street, then entered the turn-of-the-century building and climbed the steps to the third floor.

  Salsa music rumbled from the neighboring apartment. The smell of pasteles permeated the air. Lara rapped on Mrs. Ramirez’s door.

  The blare of a Spanish-language telenovela drowned out the knock. Lara waited a beat, then pounded on the door again, her muscles tensing as the television cut off. She didn’t anticipate any trouble from Estela’s mother, but anything to do with this case had the potential to go wrong.

  The door opened a crack a second later. A middle-aged woman peeked out, keeping the chain engaged. She was short and overweight, dressed in a burgundy velour sweat suit and tennis shoes. Her hair was brown and shoulder-length, the gray roots revealing her age. Her gaze went from Lara to Mei. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Ramirez?”

  “That’s me.”

  Mei held out her shield. “FBI. We’d like to talk to you if you have a minute.”

  She didn’t budge. “What about?”

  “Your daughter, Estela.”

  Her face paled. Pain flitted through her brown eyes, followed by an angry flash. She unlatched the chain and opened the door. “It’s about time someone showed up.”

  Lara exchanged a glance with Mei. “What do you mean?”

  The woman bent down and scooped up a calico cat who was twining around her feet. “I told the cops she disappeared, but no one believed me at first. Then they said they were looking into it, but they still didn’t do anything. Even after they found her body, I kept telling them who did it, but no one listened to me.”

  Lara doubted that, but knew arguing would do no good. “We’d like to hear about it. If you don’t mind talking about it, that is. Maybe there’s something we can do.”

  Mrs. Ramir
ez studied them for a minute, then gave them a nod. “All right. Come on in.”

  They trailed her into the small apartment. Built before the First World War, it had scuffed wooden floors and old-fashioned radiators covered with drying clothes. The ceilings were high, the furnishings mismatched and worn. The fireplace had been boarded up, but the original mantel remained and was crowded with dozens of photographs. Posters of Puerto Rico covered the walls.

  Mrs. Ramirez motioned toward a threadbare sofa. “Have a seat.”

  Trying to ignore the dusting of cat fur, Lara perched on the edge of the couch. As Mei settled beside her, she glanced at a photograph propped on the end table and picked it up. It showed an attractive young woman in her twenties with typical Latin features. She was smiling into the camera, her thick brown hair blowing in the wind. “Is this Estela?”

  “Yes. She was only twenty-three.”

  “She was beautiful.”

  The woman held on to her cat like a lifeline. “She was getting her act together, you know? She’d had some rough years. She dropped out of high school and got in with the wrong people. But she’d changed. She went into rehab and got her GED. She’d just started taking a photography course.”

  Still holding the cat, she rose, went to the mantel, and picked up a framed photo. “She was always artistic, even as a kid. And she loved photography. She won a prize for this.” She handed the photo to Mei, and Lara leaned closer to see. It was a black-and-white shot, a self-portrait the young woman had taken in front of a three-way mirror. In the background were other mirrors, creating reflections upon reflections to dizzying effect.

  “That’s amazing,” Mei said, sounding impressed.

  “She liked doing things with mirrors. I’m not sure why. It had something to do with perceptions, she said. But I don’t really understand art.”

  “Well, she was good at it.” Her eyes thoughtful, Mei handed the photo back. Mrs. Ramirez propped it on the mantel in a position of prominence.

  “Could you tell us what happened?” Lara asked, needing to lead her around to The Ghost. “I know it’s painful to talk about.”

  She gave them a nod and sat. “She went missing right after Christmas. I reported it to the police and gave them her photo, and they promised me they’d look. But they never found her. Not until April.” Her face blanched. “They found her body in the river a couple miles from here.”

  A floater. It was an unfortunate rite of spring. Dead bodies warmed with the weather, releasing gases that caused them to rise to the surface after being submerged for months. And it wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “Are they sure it was her?” It wasn’t always easy to identify a body that had been in the water that long.

  She managed a nod, her eyes bright with tears. “They used her dental records.”

  “I’m sorry to ask, but could they determine the cause of death?”

  Mrs. Ramirez shook her head. “They said it might have been accidental, that maybe she fell in the water, but I don’t believe it. It was that boyfriend of hers.”

  Lara’s pulse sped up. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he was bad news. There was something creepy about him. He scared me, you know?”

  Lara’s heart skipped. This woman had seen The Ghost? “You met him?”

  “Only a couple of times.” Her mouth pursed in distaste. “He didn’t like to come here. I told Estela that was a bad sign. What kind of boyfriend doesn’t want to meet your family?”

  “And you think he killed her?”

  “I know he did.”

  “How?” Mei pressed.

  “You could see it in his eyes. They were mean. Dead-looking. My blood ran cold just looking at him, you know? Some of the boys around here, they get into trouble, but they aren’t bad kids. Not really. They respect their families. This guy, though...” She visibly shuddered and hugged her cat.

  “So he wasn’t Puerto Rican?”

  “No. He was muy pálido. Really white. With black hair. I don’t know his name. I called him El Vampiro. The Vampire. And that’s exactly what he was. He sucked the life right out of her.”

  “Do you have a picture of him?” Lara asked.

  “No. He wouldn’t let Estela take one. She tried once, and he got real mad.” She shook her head. “A man with that kind of temper... I warned her to get away, but she wouldn’t listen. She was too headstrong, just like her father.”

  “But you say he had black hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell us anything else about him? His eye color? Height?”

  “His eyes were blue. A really pale blue. Dead-looking, like I said. He was tall.” She lifted one arm above her head. “And flaco, thin.”

  “Anything else?” Mei asked. “Any moles or features that made him stand out?”

  “Not really, no. It was just those eyes...” She gave them a pleading look. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Of course we do,” Lara assured her. “And I promise we’ll check into this.” She paused. “Can you tell us anything else about him, though, like where he hangs out or where he lives?”

  Suddenly looking guilty, she bit her lip. “I followed them once. I know it was wrong. But I wanted to see what they were up to. I wanted to protect her. She’s all I have. All I had.” Blinking furiously, she looked away.

  Lara nodded, her own throat suddenly tight at the anguish this poor woman had gone through. This was what Victoria had dreaded. It was every mother’s worst nightmare to lose a child, no matter what her age.

  After a minute, she spoke again. “They went to Soho. To a fancy apartment on Houston Street.”

  Mei leaned forward, her face intent. “Do you remember the number, by any chance?”

  She shook her head. “Only that it was near Sullivan. Next to a psychic place. One of those spiritual advisors, you know? I remember because I thought about going in to ask for help. But I went to St. Anthony’s instead. The church was across the street. I lit a candle and prayed. And my prayers worked. She changed after that. She would have been fine if it hadn’t been for him.”

  “I understand,” Lara said. And maybe she was right. But love drove people to make poor decisions, as she well knew.

  “Do you have any idea what he did for a living?” she asked. “Did he sell weapons, for example, or drugs?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was he ever in the military?”

  She shook her head again. “Estela wouldn’t talk about him. Every time I brought him up, she got mad. I just couldn’t understand what she saw in him. He had money, sure. And he lived in a nice place, better than here. But he was so cold. She said she loved him.” Her eyes looked lost. “How could she love a man like that? Even I could see how evil he was. But I guess maybe you can’t control your heart.”

  Lara crossed her arms, the woman’s comments hitting too close to home. She could hardly fault Estela. She’d fallen in love with Moretti, a man a hundred times more despicable than The Ghost.

  “What kind of work do you do?” she asked, returning to the problem at hand.

  “I used to clean office buildings, but my back went out. I’m on disability now.”

  “Then we’d like you to do us a favor,” she said as Mei pulled out her phone and rose. “We’d like to put you in protective custody for a little while, just until we can arrest this man.”

  Her eyes widened. “You think he’ll hurt me?”

  “I don’t know, but we don’t want to take any chances. If he’s the same guy we’re looking for, he really is bad news. We think he’s responsible for killing several other people besides your daughter. We’d like to put you someplace safe, just to be sure.”

  She motioned to her cat. “Can I bring Lola?”

  Lara glanced at Mei, who shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Why don’t you pack a bag? We’ll wait here until the federal agents come to pick you up.”

  “All right.” Still holding the cat, she rose.

  “And Mrs. R
amirez?” She waited until the woman turned to face her again. “We really appreciate this. I know it won’t bring your daughter back, but thanks to you, we’re one step closer to catching this guy. You’ve given us the biggest lead we have so far.”

  They had a description and a location. They could be mere hours from ending his reign of terror.

  Assuming nothing else went wrong.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Victoria refused to let her team hunt for The Ghost’s apartment. She didn’t want them questioning the neighbors, didn’t want them going door to door like they normally did. In fact, she didn’t want them setting foot anywhere even close to Houston Street in case they inadvertently spooked the man. Instead, she brought in agents she knew he wouldn’t recognize to do the surveillance work. Once they had a visual, she’d bring in the SWAT team to pick him up.

  In the meantime, she sent Lara and Mei to talk to a potential witness across the street from Cass’s apartment. “Nice place,” Mei said as they walked up the one-way street to a historic, cast-iron building with fire escapes zigzagging across the façade.

  “It isn’t the kind of area you’d expect to get stabbed,” Lara agreed. This area of Soho had undergone various transformations over the years, changing from industrial buildings and artists’ lofts to nightclubs and pricey boutiques. And while every neighborhood experienced its share of crime, Soho was generally safe these days.

  Lara pushed the call button for apartment 2B.

  “Yes?” came a tinny voice.