Intended Target

by G. K. Parks

  “He left early.” Thompson frowned, his eyes darting back and forth as if he were watching a ping-pong tournament. “Did he see anything strange on his way out? Perhaps a bunch of guys waiting to pound Santos into the ground?”

  “Not that I’m aware, but I didn’t necessarily think to ask. That would change everything though. A new motive might tie the blackmail to the double homicide.”

  While I contemplated the possibilities that Fletcher might be an unaware witness to some other crime, I dialed the ABC law firm and left a message for Jack to call me back. Since I was no longer working on his case, it seemed unlikely he would comply, but it was worth a shot. Worst case, O’Connell could question him about it this afternoon.

  Harper opened the door to interrogation and glanced at the two of us. It was obvious he didn’t relish the idea that I was hanging around, but he kept his mouth shut. Thompson disappeared to get O’Connell, and I remained outside, offering a friendly smile to the officer on duty.

  “Are you ready to continue?” O’Connell asked. Harper nodded, and we returned to the interrogation room. “Mr. Facini, were you at the unsanctioned boxing match between Hector Santos and Gavin Levere?”

  Facini looked at his attorney, who nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why were you there? Were you on the ticket that night?” O’Connell continued.

  “No, but our coach thought it’d be a good way to improve our techniques and analyze our competition.”

  “Was the match filmed?” I asked, earning a glare from every man in the room.

  “My client wouldn’t be privy to that kind of information,” Harper icily replied.

  “Did you film the match for later study, Mr. Facini?” O’Connell asked.

  “No.”

  “Were you friends with Hector Santos?” O’Connell asked.

  “I knew him,” Facini replied. “It’s not a large circuit. We all know one another.”

  “Is that why Hector’s mother has a photobook containing a group shot of you, Hector, and numerous other fighters and coaches?” O’Connell asked. Harper nudged Facini, and neither man spoke. “Y’see, it appears that you knew Hector rather well. You also know Gavin Levere. After all, the two of you have the same coach and attend the same gym. You were at the fight that resulted in Hector’s death. You didn’t do anything to stop it, and then you knocked around some guy that showed up at the gym who was also at the fight. It looks like you know something, and you’re afraid that your secret is out. Things will go much easier for you if you tell me what happened.”

  “You wanted to be a cop,” I interjected. “You went through the training. You wanted to protect innocent people, but what you’re doing right now flies in the face of that. Do the right thing, Elias.” I shot a pointed look at Harper. “You are aware that you can ask for a different attorney, or you can decide you don’t want to be represented. You don’t have to let the party pulling the purse strings control your future.”

  “Agent, that is completely uncalled for. I want the name of your supervisor, so I can launch a formal complaint,” Harper squawked. He turned his focus on O’Connell. “I should file a complaint against you and this department too.”

  “Be my guest. It isn’t against the law to remind your client of his legal rights,” O’Connell replied.

  Facini looked torn. My statement triggered something in his brain. “Can I have a minute?”

  “Take as much time as you need,” O’Connell said, moving toward the door. “An officer will be outside when you’re ready to continue.”

  This was turning into a ridiculous version of musical chairs, but I stood, placing my card on the table in front of the attorney. He could phone in a complaint any time he wanted. It wouldn’t go over too well at the office, but Jablonsky should be used to that by now.

  “You too,” Facini said to Harper when the attorney failed to leave. “I want a moment alone. I don’t need you here to threaten me with what will happen if I don’t do what you say.”

  My eyes shot to O’Connell. The rabbit hole was getting deeper. Soon, we’d end up burrowing our way to China. Harper waited for us to leave the room before whispering something to Facini. When he joined us in the hallway, he stalked past without even looking in our direction.

  “You really know how to clear a room,” O’Connell said. “What the hell do you think that’s about?”

  “Facini’s the closest physical match to our suspect, but based on his reaction, I’m having doubts that he’s a killer.”

  “He’s been trained in the basics. Granted, the shit we learn in the academy does little to prepare us for most situations, but basic investigation techniques and weapons training and tactics go a long way. They’re the most useful things we get out of the academy, and from what I’ve heard, your killer is well-versed on both of those fronts.”

  “Still,” I bit my lip, “we’re only breaching the surface. Until you found that photograph, I couldn’t connect Facini with Briscoe.” My mind raced. “Will Briscoe Jr., the son of one of the vics, freaked at the sight of Gavin Levere’s photo. It’s why he wanted to take a dive off the roof. I need to determine how tight Facini and Levere are. They train together. Coker coaches them, and now I find out they have the same sleazebag attorney. What the hell is going on?”

  “Not that some lowly detective knows much of anything,” O’Connell eyed me, “but I’d start with the common denominator.”

  “Yeah, the only problem with that plan is you no longer have Coker in custody.”

  “I’m not getting paid to do your job for you.”

  Before I could dial my colleagues and ask if they could have a chat with Tim Coker, Facini beckoned. He didn’t ask for Harper, and we weren’t about to suggest it. He took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair, and said with a straight face, “I assaulted that man at the gym.”

  “Okay,” O’Connell slid a legal pad across the table with a pen, “do you mind telling me why?”

  “Honestly, I have no clue.” Facini picked up the pen, twirling it between his fingers. “I wasn’t the only one. Gavin Levere did too. We…,” he blinked a few times, “didn’t hit him that hard. The lawyer guy,” he looked at me, “what did you say his name was?”

  “Jack Fletcher,” I replied, wondering if Facini was playing us now.

  “We were supposed to scare him away. Neither of us had any intention of causing severe or permanent damage, and we definitely had no way of knowing that our attack would kill him.” O’Connell nudged my leg under the table. There was no reason to correct Facini’s assumptions when they might prove useful. “So I want to confess.”

  “Who decided that you should assault Mr. Fletcher?” O’Connell asked. “Was it your pal, Gavin?”

  “He’s the one who grabbed a hold of me. He said that the lawyer was asking questions about the match, and he planned to shut the gym down.” He inhaled deeply, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “It was so stupid. So stupid. But boxing is my life, and I couldn’t imagine someone shutting us down. If what happened at the match came to light, especially after Hector’s death, my career would be over before it even started.”

  “Did Coker want you to scare off Mr. Fletcher too?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Facini replied.

  “Think about it,” O’Connell insisted. “Coker owns the gym. He gets paid to train you guys, and some asshat attorney comes in and wants to cause problems. Wouldn’t he want to protect himself, his livelihood, and his fighters?” Facini blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes again. “Take a moment and think about that night. Do you remember Coach Coker speaking to Levere or anyone else before the two of you went outside to rough up Mr. Fletcher?”

  Facini sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I wasn’t paying attention to what happened before. I was sparring with Coach Greenwood, running through some combos. My mind was focused more on my footwork than what was going on around me.”

  “Did Gavin Levere kill Hector Santos?” I asked.

 
; “No, I don’t think so. They fought hard during the match, but Hector seemed okay. We do have referees at these bouts. No one called it. When it was over, Hector was fine. A little bruised, but he was up and talking. The next day, I heard what happened. Hector was a good guy and a good fighter. He would have made it big. Accidents happen, even with the big-ticket fights. It was probably just a fluke, which is why I couldn’t understand why that attorney wanted to shut down the gym.”

  “So you were scared, pissed, and the testosterone levels were already through the roof,” O’Connell chimed in, “which made it that much easier for you and your buddy, Levere, to take matters into your own hands.”

  “I never meant to hurt him.” Facini was panicked and remorseful. “I just wanted to scare him away.”

  “Well, good news,” O’Connell said, “the man you assaulted is alive and well.”

  “What?” Facini’s mouth dropped open. “You said he was dead.” He looked straight in my eyes.

  “I said a lawyer was dead. I didn’t specify which one.” I stared at him. “William Briscoe trained Hector Santos. Do you know anything about what happened to him?”

  “Goddammit,” Facini swore, glowering at me, “this is bullshit. What we just discussed was entrapment. I want my attorney back.”

  “Which one?” O’Connell asked. “The one that was hired to save the skin on your coach’s ass or a different one that will work to get your felony charges reduced to a misdemeanor?” Facini remained silent, contemplating his options. “A double homicide did occur, along with a lot of other horrible things. If you cooperate and tell us what you know, Agent Parker will try to have the assault charges dropped. What do you say?”

  Twenty-three

  “Maybe you should have been a prosecutor,” I whispered as O’Connell and I left the interrogation room. The officer that had been stationed outside was escorting Mr. Facini back to a holding cell, and I had to convince Jack to drop his complaint against one of the men that roughed him up. “I’ll need Facini transferred to the federal building as soon as you’re finished with him.”

  “Do you really think he has anything valuable left to give you?” O’Connell asked.

  “I don’t know, but he seems willing to talk about the fight scene. It might lead to a few individuals we haven’t investigated. Hell, perhaps one of them will even be our shooter.”

  “Since when did you become so optimistic? Are extreme mood swings what being back on the job does to you?”

  “Apparently.”

  Facini provided Detective O’Connell with information on the fight that resulted in Santos’ death. He named the parties involved, the coaches, the sponsors, the promoters, where the event was held, the cleanup crews and medical staff, and pretty much everything else he knew. However, he claimed to be unaware of most of the high profile spectators, except for those looking to sign fighters, and the illegal betting. I didn’t necessarily believe him, but until I had proof to contradict his story, there was nothing I could do.

  “Since I’m already here, can I take a crack at Gavin Levere too? I’ll even throw in a pretty please,” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

  “God, now I’m thinking those mood swings are a result of moving in with Martin.”

  “I always said they were catching. So Levere, yea or nay?”

  “He’s downstairs in holding. If I have to formally question him, I have to drag Harper back here, and frankly, I don’t want to.”

  Reading between the lines, I thanked Nick for his help and went down to holding. Questioning a suspect in this fashion wasn’t exactly legal, so I’d have to get creative. Thankfully, Lucca wasn’t around to berate or report me.

  I flashed my credentials at the officer manning the desk and followed with a killer smile. “Do you have Gavin Levere in custody?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Agent,” I corrected, adding more dazzle to my smile. “I just need a quick minute. I need to eyeball him to make sure it’s the same guy and ensure that he has the information I need.”

  “Do you have paperwork on this?” the officer asked, reaching for his desk phone.

  “My partner’s bringing it. Seriously, it won’t take any time at all. I just need to verify it’s the guy that matches our profile, and I’ll be done.”

  He nodded down the corridor, distracting himself with filling out a form. Hopefully, neither of us would get in trouble for this. After all, speaking to suspects in police custody was one of my many talents, right next to being placed in lockup.

  “Mr. Levere, I’m Agent Parker with the Office of International Operations.”

  “The what?” He scrunched his face together, creasing his forehead.

  “A division of the FBI.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you just say that instead?” He shook his head. “Fancy jackholes.”

  “Yeah, anyway, Will Briscoe mentioned you by name, and I thought it was only fair to hear your side of things.”

  He sucked in his top lip and glared, rising to stand. “What did that worthless punk say?”

  “How close were you with his father?” I was toeing the line of impropriety. The information could potentially become inadmissible, and I wanted to gather just enough to warrant a court order without compromising the investigation.

  “Closer than the idiot kid was to his pops.” His eyes narrowed. “FBI? Are you asking what happened to Willie?”

  “Not yet, but we’ll get to that.” Without elaborating further, I marched back to the desk, smiled at the officer, and left the precinct. By this afternoon, we’d be requesting two prisoner transfers. With any luck, the killer would be under arrest by dinnertime.

  * * *

  “How’d your day go?” I asked, resembling a Cheshire cat.

  Lucca rolled his eyes. “You mean after I spent an hour talking Laura Briscoe out of filing a complaint against you? Or how she claims she doesn’t know any of the men her father knew from the rec center? She even went so far to say that she didn’t know he was coaching boxers.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “No, but we don’t have anything compelling to use to encourage her to open up. She’s rightfully pissed. Every time she talks to us, something in her life gets exponentially worse.”

  “What about her brother?”

  Lucca pulled a piece of paper out of his breast pocket. “I was just about to run some backgrounds. His ex-girlfriend would probably be the best place to start. They broke up a month ago, right around the time Santos died.”

  “Does he have a history of mental illness or depression?”

  “Laura wasn’t very forthcoming. It’s up for debate whether Will ever thought to take a flying leap or if this was a reaction to the sudden stress and guilt.”

  “You don’t honestly believe he’s our shooter.”

  “We need to find out if he has an alibi. He was probably aware of his dad’s jury duty. Hell, he might have even known which courtroom they were using for the trial.” He studied my face for a moment. “You don’t think it’s him, even though he basically told you he killed his dad.”

  “He didn’t pull the trigger. He didn’t make the connection until he looked through the photos. If he had, it wouldn’t have come as such a shock.”

  After informing Lucca of the few facts I had uncovered, I waited patiently for Levere and Facini to be brought to the federal building. In the meantime, Lucca ran background checks and made a couple of calls. The last thing I wanted to do was return to the gym tonight. I was tired of getting knocked around, particularly when it wasn’t serving any real purpose.

  “I’m gonna speak to the girlfriend. Do you want to come?” Lucca asked, patting his pockets for a set of car keys.

  “No, I want to see what Humpty and Dumpty have to say whenever they get here,” I retorted, wondering why the transfer was taking so long. Facini’s assault charges were being dropped, and while Levere might be facing manslaughter, the PD ought to realize we didn’t plan to keep him indefinitel
y unless we had him on two counts of murder.

  “Good,” Lucca smirked, “I didn’t want to ask the fire department to remain on standby.”

  “Bite me.” My eyes flicked to him, and he chuckled before heading down to the garage.

  Jablonsky watched Lucca leave and then approached my desk. Folding his arms across his chest, he towered over me. “It looks like the two of you worked out your differences.”

  “We’re coexisting. It probably won’t last.” I checked the time again. “What’s the holdup? I thought the PD was transferring our suspects.”

  “They did.” Mark let out a lengthy exhale. “Why’d you have to piss off the attorney?”

  “He isn’t acting in either man’s best interest. O’Connell thinks Tim Coker is paying him, which means Harper’s protecting Coker and allowing the other two to become sacrificial lambs.” I leaned back in my chair. “Levere has valuable information for us. I need to talk to him.”

  “No, you need to learn to color inside the lines. Director Kendall is pissed. Harper’s claiming harassment and mistreatment, so you’re out. I will conduct the interviews. You don’t need any black marks in your file, especially when you’re still on probation.” Before I could voice a protest, Mark grabbed Lucca’s chair and dragged it to my desk. He sat, snatching a pen from atop my desk and flipping to a clean page in his notebook. “I need a rundown of this morning’s interviews that took place at the police station.” He looked up. “No conjecture. Just solid facts.” Once he was up to speed, he tore off the sheet of notes and tucked it inside his pocket. “I’ll let you know what I learn. In the meantime, go see what you can get out of Coker. It’s normal gym hours so mingle.”

  “Should I also let him try to knock some sense into me?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Seriously, be careful, Alex. Any one of those steroid-addled bodybuilders could be our killer, or they might know who is. Don’t screw around. The next time one of them puts a hand on you, show them you’re not to be messed with. They’ll respect it, and it could lead to some answers.”