Bishop took the envelope. Picking up a table knife, he slit it along one edge, blew on it to spread the front and back, and withdrew a piece of tinted paper. He read it without saying a word, thought for a few seconds, returned it to its envelope, and put it in his pocket.
“How did you learn Katlyn Lundquist’s real name, Lou?”
“It took a little digging, believe me. The key to the puzzle was this photograph, which Michael Antonetti, our deputy coroner, took.” Martelli again reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph, showing the tattoo on Lundquist’s back. He handed the photo to Bishop.
The agent appeared startled. “I never saw this. I knew she frequented a tattoo parlor on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. But never in my wildest imagination did it occur to me she’d have something like this done, much less over her entire back.”
Bishop shook his head. “Unbelievable. But then, in a way, I shouldn’t be surprised. You probably weren’t either, if you dug into her past, which I now suspect you did.”
“Oh yes, I had a long talk with Chief Packard in Columbia. This woman was something of a problem child, to be sure.”
“Then I also suspect you have a pretty good idea what her relationship was to the Bureau.”
“Well, O’Keeffe and my people were able to piece most of it together, though it’s still conjecture on our part. Our take is she was providing information on the Lupinaccis to you, based on her relationship with Tommie Lupinacci.”
“And you’re correct as usual,” said Bishop, putting some French fries into his mouth. “Are you sure you won’t consider coming to work for me?”
Both men laughed. “But seriously, my hope was—and I discussed this with Lundquist on the day we secured her services as an informant—we’d bring her into the federal WITSEC program when we finally shut the Lupinaccis down.”
“Lots of luck with that, Ron. How the hell were you going to hide someone as beautiful as Lundquist, especially given how defiant and unmanageable she was, not to mention her tattoos?”
“You’re right. Beautiful but flawed beyond belief . . . lied to your face without blinking an eye. It was difficult separating truth from fiction when you talked with her. You can’t have that when lives are at stake. Which is why I kept my distance, dealing with her almost entirely through an intermediary, an agent who would make contact with her in the woman’s restroom of a diner near her tattoo parlor. For intelligence, we relied almost entirely on a tap we’d placed on her phone.
“Now, Tommie Lupinacci was careful about the business calls he made. But when he was at her place and she could get him liquored up—on our nickel, of course—he occasionally got careless. As a result of some of his mistakes, we took down several truckloads of contraband cigarettes coming out of North Carolina.”
Martelli nodded. “And the calls he made to Lancaster and York? I take it those were directly associated with the work of your task force.”
Bishop’s eyes grew as big as the two silver dollars in Martelli’s left-hand pants pocket. “How the hell do you know about those? My god, Lou, am I gonna to have to arrest you for violations of the Telecommunications Act of 1934? How the hell do you get away grabbing that shit from the phone company without a court order?”
“Shucks, Ron, twarn’t nothin’, really. All in a day’s work.”
“Jesus, Lou. I don’t want to know the details.”
“See? Plausible deniability, just like I said.”
“I’m almost afraid to be sitting at the same table with you. Any minute now, I expect we’ll both get hit by lightning.”
Martelli laughed. “Are you still sure you want me working for you?”
Bishop shook his head side to side. “I’m surprised you’re not sitting in Leavenworth.”
Martelli, mumbling through a mouthful of grilled chicken, said something that sounded like ‘You’re not the only one.’
“I have to ask you, Lou—”
“What’s that?”
“Why didn’t you put something out to the media on Lundquist, you know, asking for information that might lead to the identification of her killer? If I were your captain, I’d be on your ass to do that.”
“And believe me, Hanlon was. But I stalled him.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew the FBI was involved. More importantly, because I knew you were involved. And knowing what I knew about Lundquist and her involvement with Tommie Lupinacci—plus where her body was found—I figured this was personal.”
Bishop nodded. “I’m sure it was.”
“Under the circumstances, I had to hold Hanlon off as long as possible until I was able to think this whole thing through and figure out what the hell was going on. I knew you were chasing him for reasons related to the work of your task force. And I wanted to talk to Lupinacci as a person of interest in the murder of Lundquist. But I had no legally obtained evidence that I could use to bring him in for questioning. To my mind, you and I had a common goal, but I hadn’t quite figured out how to pursue it. You solved my dilemma in part by proposing today’s meeting. Now I think I have an idea how to proceed.”
“And that is?”
“We join forces.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing NYPD Detective-Investigator Louis Martelli actually propose to team up with the US Federal Bureau of Investigation. Wow, and they say miracles can’t happen.” Bishop took the last bite of his hamburger and washed it down with several sips of Coke.
“Yes, I know. I am totally without shame,” said Martelli. “What can I say? I will forever be the laughingstock of the Force.” Imaging the thought, he laughed.
“So, what are you proposing, Lou?”
“It’s quite straightforward in principle, Ron, but it’ll take some groundwork on your part.”
“I’m all ears.”
“The first thing you’ll need to do,” said Martelli, “is clear this with your people. It won’t go anywhere without that, and frankly, I’m taking a big risk here because it could set off another pissing contest between NYPD and the FBI. But I’m hoping your boss and the Bureau’s director in Washington see the wisdom in our working together.”
“Okay, I’m with you so far. Go ahead.”
“Then—or anytime, really—I’m sure you’ll probably want to pay your respects to Lundquist. I’ll make the arrangements with Antonetti for a private viewing.”
“I was going to ask you about that. I very much want to spend a moment with her.”
“After that, we’ll have to figure out how to keep her on ice . . . literally. I don’t want Lupinacci to know where her body is. In fact, the fewer people who know who she is, where she is, and the fact that she’s dead, the better.”
“Agreed. That can be arranged.”
“Good. Then, you and your boss go to my captain.”
“Hanlon.”
“Right. Tell him you found one of your informants—he doesn’t have to know her name—in the city morgue. Show him her picture. He’ll recognize her immediately as the vic in the case O’Keeffe and I are working. He’ll explode, pound his desk, call Sean and me every name in the book. The usual horseshit. Let him make an ass of himself. Then, tell him how the Bureau can’t thank him enough and how much they appreciate what O’Keeffe and I have done. Tell him keeping the vic’s death under wraps was a stroke of genius and that how, if word had gotten out to the media, it would have compromised one of your task force’s major initiatives, setting you back at least two years.”
“Got it.”
“At this point, Hanlon will puff up his chest and take credit for keeping things quiet. That’s okay, because now we have him hooked. Here’s where you tell him NYPD’s person of interest in this case is the same person your task force is investigating. That being the case, you say that having Martelli and O’Keeffe detailed to your task force could significantly increase the chances of closing both cases within the next month or so.
“Before you go in, of course, you will have gott
en approval of your director, so really lay it on. Tell Hanlon how this will make him and his people look like heroes. Paint a picture of him and Commissioner Fields being lauded in the newspapers and on TV, perhaps even standing next to the director of the FBI. After he gets done congratulating himself, he’ll say words to the effect he has to clear it with the commissioner, at which time your boss will offer to go with him and meet with Fields. If I were a betting man, I’d say it was almost a done deal by then.”
Calling for the check, Bishop agreed. “Martelli, knowing your ability to manipulate a deck of cards, I’m not even going to bet against you.”
Thirty-four
‘That’s Martelli’s vic, all right, Agents. I told him to send a picture of her to the media, thinking it could help identity her . . . you know, speed our investigation, bring in leads regarding her killer, and so forth. But oh no, Mr. Know-It-All has all the answers. Says we can’t do that for any number of crappy reasons he pulled outta his ass. He’s a real piece of work, this guy Martelli. Has all the answers.” From all appearances, Captain Timothy Hanlon was just getting started, though his cheeks were already a bright red.
Hanlon was on a roll. “Damn him! This really pisses me off. I asked Martelli why he was keeping her death such a big secret, and all I got from him was bullshit. Believe you me, Agents, before I get done with him, I’ll demote his ass to detective-specialist and force him to work for his partner, Detective-Investigator Sean O’Keeffe.”
Bishop and his boss, Bill Landau, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s New York City field office, watched the theatrics with the apparent interest of two men who’d already seen the play—which, in a manner of speaking, they had. In fact, The Taming of Hanlon, Act 1, Scene 1 was proceeding as if Martelli the Bard had written the entire script, word for word.
Wait for it, Bishop thought.
Now, in his office in the First Precinct, and holding the photo of Nicole Davis in his left hand to better capture the light from the fluorescent fixtures on the ceiling, Hanlon suddenly exploded, slamming his right fist on his desk.
“Of all the stupid, fuc—”
“Ah, Captain, if I may?” It was Landau speaking. “Actually, it worked to our advantage to keep her death a secret.”
Hanlon appeared stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered. “Well, that possibility—that it could be advantageous—did occur to me, I must say, Agent Landau. I did tell Martelli I would take a day or two and weigh the options.”
“Oh yes, Captain,” Landau continued, “it’s our opinion, given where the body was found, the killer had a personal vendetta against Agent Bishop. However, with nothing published in the local newspapers or put out on the airwaves regarding her death, the murderer’s got to be wondering what’s going on. Maybe he’s even concerned he botched the job and she’s still alive. This could work to our advantage at a later date.”
“Well, it certainly was a good thing I kept a lid on her death and didn’t allow word to leak out to the media, that’s for sure,” boasted Hanlon. “You can’t be too careful in these situations, you know. Erring on the side of caution really paid off in this instance.”
“Oh, yes, Captain, and for that, you have the Bureau’s eternal gratitude,” continued Landau. “If the media had caught wind of her death and started looking into her background, it could have compromised more than two years’ worth of work by Agent Bishop’s task force on the Mafia-controlled waste-hauling industry in New York City. We are truly indebted to you, Martelli, and O’Keeffe for your good work. Believe me, your commissioner will hear about this from our director.”
Hanlon beamed. Unfuckingbelievable, thought Bishop. It will be fun working with Martelli if, IF, we can pull it off.
“So, Agent Landau, how do you propose we move forward from here?” asked Hanlon.
“Well, Captain, what I’d like to propose—and of course, it would require your and the commissioner’s approval, something I’m prepared to discuss with both of you in private chambers—is a joint FBI-NYPD sting operation to be conducted in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The effort will focus on a person of interest in your murder investigation, who just happens to be one of the key people at the center of our waste-hauling investigation down there. If we’re successful, you and your people will be heroes! Frankly, once the case is solved, I don’t know why the director himself wouldn’t come up here to make formal presentations to you and the commissioner on behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation for the assistance provided to us. And that’s on top of the accolades you’ll receive for solving the murder of that beautiful young woman.”
Hanlon’s already picturing himself standing next to Commissioner Fields and the director of the FBI, chuckled Bishop to himself. I can see it in his eyes.
“Let me call Commissioner Field’s office and see if I can’t set something up. I’ll get back to you with an answer, one way or another.”
Thirty-five
Itwas the following Monday morning before Captain Hanlon called Special Agent in Charge Rick Landau with Commissioner Eugene Fields’s answer. “It’s a ‘go’, Agent Landau. The commissioner will meet with you this afternoon at 2 PM in his office.”
“Please convey to the commissioner I’ll be there to give him a full briefing, at which time I’ll leave several documents with him, including an outline of the sting operation we plan to execute using Agent Ron Bishop’s task force. I also want to discuss with him the special procedures we’re going to use to deputize Detectives Martelli and O’Keeffe so they can operate outside their jurisdictions. This way, you won’t have to notify the authorities in Lancaster and the surrounding communities of NYPD’s presence.”
“How difficult is it for the FBI to get around the problem of using state and local law enforcement personnel who are working outside their jurisdictions?”
“It’s not easy, but there are special provisions in the US Code,5 as interpreted by our general counsel,6 that give the FBI deputation authority in cases such as this. They do require that a direct request be sent from the Bureau to the Attorney General after consultation with the Marshals Service. But I’ve already begun to implement the process in anticipation of obtaining Commissioner Fields’s approval for bringing Detectives Martelli and O’Keeffe under Bishop’s leadership.”
“Well, I think we need to avoid notifying the local authorities if at all possible. It only complicates matters and—”
“And raises the possibility someone will talk out of class and screw things up royally!”
“Amen to that. I’ll call the commissioner now and confirm your meeting. Please let me know the outcome of your meeting, and pending final instructions from the commissioner, we’ll proceed accordingly.”
Thirty-six
‘Martelli, O’Keeffe, I just got calls from both Commissioner Field’s office and Agent Landau. The joint FBI-NYPD effort is ‘on’.” The two detectives, sitting in Hanlon’s office, were elated. “You’ll both be detailed on temporary assignment to Bishop’s task force starting this Wednesday. A meeting has been scheduled on that day at 10 AM in the federal building at 26 Federal Plaza to brief you into the program and process your paperwork in preparation for your being deputized as federal officers. I suggest you get there early—around 9:30 or so—because it’s going to take some time just getting you through the front door.”
“It’s been a while since we were in the field, Captain,” said Martelli. “The work will be challenging, but at the same time, interesting, given it’s with the feds.”
“Just be careful, you two. You’re dealing with the mob. Their guns are just as lethal in Pennsylvania as they are in New York. Bishop tells me the local authorities have yet to solve the murder of that independent trash hauler, some guy named Belmont. The FBI’s convinced Tommie Lupinacci was behind the killing, though he may not have been the one who pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, evidence in the case is circumstantial at best. Bishop’s hoping this new sting will flush Lupinacci out and give him what he needs
to take the man down.”
“If things go according to plan, Captain,” said O’Keeffe, “taking Lupinacci down should also close our case. He’s our Number One suspect in Lundquist’s death.”
Thirty-seven
Itwas shortly before 9:30 AM when Martelli and O’Keeffe alighted from a cab in front of 26 Federal Plaza, home to the FBI’s New York City field office and other federal agencies. A long line of people extended from the door along the right side of the building. They shuffled slowly toward the entrance while those before them endured a rigorous security screening before being allowed into the building. “If we have to go through that door, we’ll never make our meeting, Lou,” said O’Keeffe.
“Let’s talk to that guard over there,” said Martelli, pointing to the left of the entrance.
“Sir,” said Martelli, flashing his badge, “we have an appointment with Special Agent Ron Bishop at 10 AM. Is there any way you can expedite our entry?”
“Not a problem, Detective. Just go down that ramp and through the glass doors. They’ll take you immediately.”
“Thanks.”
With that, the Detectives hustled into the building. True to the guard’s word, they were ushered to a special security lane, where their credentials and briefcases where checked without delay. The entire process took less than a minute, and after being directed to the FBI’s reception window, which was down a corridor to the left off the great hall, they found themselves talking through a large glassed-in panel to the intake agent.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
“Yes, sir, we have a 10 AM appointment with Special Agent Ron Bishop. I’m Detective Lou Martelli, NYPD, and this is my partner, Detective Sean O’Keeffe.” The men presented their credentials.
“Thank you, Detectives. If you’ll stand back and wait a few minutes, I’ll notify Agent Bishop you’ve arrived.”
Ten minutes passed while Martelli and O’Keeffe cooled their heels in the hall. Finally, Martelli went to the window and inquired as to where Agent Bishop might be.
Wheel of Fortune (Detective Louis Martelli, NYPD, Mystery/Thriller Series Book 6) Page 10
