by G. K. Parks
“No wonder you shot the guy twice,” he muttered, “but what does any of this have to do with locating our killer.” The words dropped off. “Jeez, it could be anyone if they’ve been jerking around the investigation.”
Blowing out a breath, I wondered how to start at the beginning when everything we knew was tainted. As I stared out the window, I considered the original players that I encountered. Tommy.
“Can you get Claxton moved back to a holding cell in the precinct for additional questioning?”
“I can make a call. He’s been sent through central booking, but the case is still open so probably.” He started the engine. “What are you thinking?”
“Alexandra Riley’s job isn’t over yet. Phone in the request and then swing by my place. I need to change.”
Thirty-three
After applying enough makeup to look believable and finding a ratty shirt I didn’t care to part ways with, we went to the precinct. O’Connell made sure our prisoner was on his way, and then they stuck me in a holding cell. My shirt was torn down the back, so the dark bruises and swollen places were clearly visible. Two things were true about Tommy. First, he was an idiot, and second, he was a softie. Even though things didn’t work out between him and Riley, the thought of someone using her as a punching bag wouldn’t sit well with him. The ploy was to ask enough questions to find out if he heard any rumors about the drug buyer or the contract killer after telling him about how one of Barlow’s guys beat the shit out of me. At least some of it was true.
“Are you sure you can pull this off?” O’Connell asked, making sure the wire I was wearing was invisible and transmitting properly. “You’ve rejected this guy a dozen times. Don’t you think he’ll assume you got what you deserved?”
“I thought you men like to protect your womenfolk,” I retorted.
“True.” He took a seat behind the counter, next to the sergeant on duty, and waited for the newest charge to be transferred.
I sat on the edge of the bunk, my back to the adjacent cell where they intended to place Tommy. Waiting was always difficult, especially when it was hard to stay in character when I could easily kill time by chatting with Nick and the other cops. Fifteen minutes later, a uniformed officer brought Tommy into lockup. He was cuffed. After uncuffing him and securing the cell door, the uniformed officer left, and I turned my head.
“Tommy?”
“Alex,” he rushed across the cell, “who did that to you?” His face contorted. “I swear to god, I’ll smash their face in.”
“It was one of Reggie Barlow’s guys.” I glanced out at the cops, watching Nick bury himself behind a file folder. “The police released me because they didn’t have enough evidence, and this guy just shows up.” I looked away.
“Babe.” He paced the small space in his cell, running his hands through his hair. Clearly, he was more distraught by this news than I imagined. “I never should have brought you in on any of this. This is all my fault.”
“Did you know Barlow was working with guys like that? Did you meet them?”
He checked to see if anyone was paying attention before sliding onto the bunk across the bars from mine. “I heard some stuff around the neighborhood about Barlow’s guys looking for dealers. Crazy shit. Obviously. Since they’re psycho assholes. I swear to god,” he spat, shaking his head, his upper lip twitching. “Was it the guy that helped us move the,” he remembered where we were, “packages?”
“No, it was someone else. The cops say they have a description, but I don’t know if they’ll find him.” I reached for his hand through the bars. “I’m scared what will happen when they let me out of here.” I took an unsteady breath. “I think these guys might be killers.” I exhaled rapidly, wincing and hoping the pain was selling the story. Who didn’t like a good damsel in distress tale? “What do I do, Tommy?” I lowered my voice to barely a whisper. “Maybe I should confess just so Barlow’s guys can’t come back and kill me.”
His eyes looked pitiful and guilty. “It’s gonna be okay, babe. I’ll fix it. I got you into this. It’s time I man up.”
“Tommy?” I wanted information, and this sounded more like an eleventh hour scheme. “What?”
“Officer,” he announced loudly, stepping away from me and going to the front of the cell, “we need to talk. I got some things that have to be said.”
O’Connell stood up, completely confused by this strange turn of events, took Tommy out of lockup, and headed for the interrogation room. Two minutes later, Thompson came down the stairs, opened my cell, and jerked his chin at the stairwell. “You’re free to go.”
“Hilarious.” I stood and went to the stairs, stopping by the tech department to return the wire before going to the women’s locker room to change into something decent.
By the time I made it to the observation room connected to the interrogation room, Thompson had joined O’Connell. This time, Tommy didn’t ask for his lawyer. He wanted to confess, turn over all the information he knew, and all he asked in return was that the asshats that beat up his girl were arrested. Like I thought, the guy was a sentimental idiot, but luckily, it paid off.
Tommy Claxton heard rumors about a few new guys in town looking to score. Their drug of choice wasn’t the usual. It was a combination of different psychotropic, paralytic, and prescription grade sedatives. No one in that neighborhood dealt with items of that nature. Typically, they sold the much more common crack, weed, and oxy. To top it off, Claxton positively identified the buyer as Virgil Mallick. At this news, Nick turned to the glass, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
“It was just one guy?” O’Connell asked. Maybe Tommy had information to further inculcate Chase Devereaux.
“As far as I know. I’m not a dealer. I don’t use, buy, or sell,” he glared at the detectives. “I got better things to do with my time. I thought you were supposed to protect people.” Tommy was getting angry and annoyed. “You bust a bunch of us on some car shit but can’t protect a chick from some psychos.” He poked at the tabletop with his pointer finger. “I want a guarantee you’ll keep my girl safe.”
“You’re the only one who can protect her, man,” Thompson added. “We need a name, description, and any other kind of information you can give us. The only way we can take people off the street is with evidence.”
“Right, because the way her fucking back looks doesn’t count for shit.” He glared.
“C’mon, get back on track,” I hissed. Tommy knew something. He had to.
Sighing dramatically, he crossed his arms across his chest. They didn’t think he posed a risk and didn’t bother to cuff him for the trip upstairs. “Look, here’s everything I know and everything I heard.” He shook his head and shut his eyes, struggling with his decision. “Robert Gregson and I have a side business. We boost some cars sometimes, and Rob chops them. It ain’t much, but bills add up, y’know. Anyway, Reggie calls Rob one day and gives him a list. I’ve never seen it, but it had like a dozen or something cars on it. Whatever.” He blew out a breath, annoyed with the police, himself, and the situation.
“Reggie?” Thompson added, wanting everything to be official.
“Barlow.” Tommy scoffed. “Anyway, he’s got this other guy to boost the cars, Hoyt. I don’t got a first name for him, but we called him Hoyt. Anyway, that’s all we knew.”
“We?” Nick asked, wondering who he would implicate.
“Me and Rob. So as I was saying, that’s all we were told. The thing is I got family and friends in the neighborhood. Lived there all my life, and this is just how we are. Tight. So maybe I hear some stuff about that guy,” he pointed to Mallick’s picture, “asking for those drugs I told you about. People don’t ask for drugs like that just out of the blue, y’know what I mean?”
“Not exactly,” O’Connell responded.
“I got to spell everything out, don’t I? Some people start asking around, and there’s some hushed words exchanged that this is some hardcore date rape shit. Like lose your memory, out f
or days, hallucinate pink elephants kinda shit. Then when the guy comes to pick it up, everyone’s keeping an eye out. Maybe we’re not the greatest spot in town, but we try to keep our kids safe. And there’s another guy waiting on him, and he was driving Reggie’s car.”
“When did the pick-up happen?” Thompson asked, pen poised to record the information.
“I don’t know.” His eyes darted between the two detectives. “Seriously. I got no idea.” He grimaced. “But one of those two assholes came looking for revenge because their boss got pinched when we were stealing some cars on his pretty little wish list, and they came for my girlfriend, who had nothing to do with any of this. So get off your asses and do something about it.”
“Only you could get a confession without even being in the room.” Heathcliff startled me from the doorway, and I jumped at the sound of his voice. “Sorry.” He smiled. “I thought you heard the door open. How’d you get him to confess to the cars and implicate everyone except you?”
“Riley made a recent reappearance in holding while wearing a crop top.” I snorted. “O’Connell accidentally gave me the idea.”
“So you seduced him?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No, I make a damn good damsel in distress, which frankly, scares the shit out of me.” The interview was over. Claxton spouted out all he knew, solidifying the GTA case against him, Gregson, and Barlow. Hell, he even implicated Mallick as an accessory, and there might be enough evidence to toss more accusations at Devereaux, even though that was going to happen anyway. “Ryan should be in on this. He might have additional information to add or some questions no one has thought to pose. Can we get clearance to pick him up?”
“Later, you can make the call, and I’ll give you a ride. It looks like O’Connell and Thompson have some paperwork to file. In the meantime, Moretti has a few questions to ask concerning the shootings at the hotel and the parking garage. It seems your federal agency doesn’t believe in sharing intel.”
“It’s not my fault. The rivalry was going on long before I ever signed up. Plus, I’m very progressive in my thinking. Sharing information can only help an investigation, not hinder it.”
He gave me a ‘yeah, right’ look, but didn’t comment as he ushered me out of the room and to Moretti’s office. The lieutenant gestured to the seat in front of his desk, dismissing Heathcliff with a wave of his hand.
“What are we gonna do with you, Parker?” he asked.
“Sir?”
“You bring down an auto theft ring that no one was investigating, then you turn my city into the playground for some international hitman, and if all that wasn’t bad enough, you throw in a sniper for good measure.” Before I could voice a protest, he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. It was apparent no one was getting much sleep with the current situation. “My department’s been granted limited access. The suits don’t want us mucking about in their territory, but you’re my consultant.”
“I’m starting to feel like a whore,” I quipped. “What do you need?”
“Answers. Has the shooter been identified?”
“No. They’re working under the assumption it’s the Camel seeking a personal vendetta against Chase Devereaux, one of Barlow’s guys.” I didn’t believe it, and neither did Moretti. “Tommy Claxton just admitted that he heard some of his friends spotted two guys buying the Camel’s cocktail in his neighborhood a few weeks ago, and the only two guys we know about are Virgil Mallick and Chase Devereaux.”
“Let me guess, you think one of them is the Camel.” He flipped through a few pages on his desk. “Devereaux, right?” I nodded, and he studied my expression. “Your pals don’t agree?”
“Can I speak off the record? I don’t want any of this repeated.” He leaned back, waiting. “Interpol’s fucked up this investigation since the beginning. Once the ICC handed it over to them, they haven’t had a clue what to do or how to do it. They missed major details at the crime scenes, like the car parts, and they should have pulled Donough out as soon as Grenauldo’s body was discovered. But they left him in and tried to paint him as a turncoat. It’s been one screwup after another, and instead of taking the blame, they’re pointing fingers and spinning in circles. Most of the evidence they have is bogus. Devereaux practically admitted they knew Ryan was a mole ever since Grenauldo broke cover, so everything they’ve collected or overheard was probably staged.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m not sure why a contract killer would be traveling with Barlow, but Mallick’s out because he was incarcerated during a few of the murders. My gut says it’s Devereaux. His passport says he was in Canada, but documents are easy enough to forge, particularly since one of those GPS locations led straight to a place that could print them in a jiff. Maybe he was in Europe the entire time. Hell, I’m to the point where past crimes don’t even matter. Truthfully, the GPS tracker in his car brought me to the house where they were keeping Donough. Mallick bought the drugs, and based on my encounters with him, Deveraux’s been calling the shots. Either we need Barlow to substantiate this, or we need to trace the funds. Some bank accounts were recently uncovered.”
“Interesting, but what does this have to do with the shooter?”
“Well, this might sound crazy, but I think Devereaux hired him to throw us off the scent.” I knew how insane that was, but the angles were wrong for a professional sniper. “There was no clear shot from across the roof, and on the garage roof, Devereaux was at an angle. Sure, he was shot, but it seemed more accidental than intentional. Like the guy was trying to take out the back window and not shoot the driver.”
“You don’t have proof.”
“No. Not yet.”
“All right,” he still didn’t seem convinced, “we’ve pulled footage from a few cameras. With any luck, we’ll identify the shooter and bring him in. Maybe he’ll have something that corroborates that insanity you call a theory.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What does Jablonsky think of this?”
“I haven’t shared it with him yet. Frankly, I’ve been afraid to say too much. Either Interpol will claim I’m the Camel next, or someone’s bound to order a fifty-one fifty since I’ve lost my damn mind.”
He chuckled. “Get outta here. And if anything new surfaces, bring it to me.”
Thirty-four
As promised, Heathcliff picked up Donough. The three of us were at the precinct, scanning through the security cam footage from the hotel. Ryan looked bored out of his mind, but that probably had more to do with his lack of sleep. He didn’t want to be benched, and since Interpol was busy working its own leads, I thought he’d be more comfortable cooperating with fellow police officers.
While I was explaining in detail everything that happened in the hotel room, including my observations about Devereaux, I started reconsidering my earlier conviction. Inside the hotel room, he was scared. The layer of perspiration on his upper lip and the frantic need to escape were indicative that something definitely spooked him.
“Maybe he thought he would get caught,” Heathcliff suggested.
“No,” Ryan’s eyes narrowed, “did anyone identify what automotive part was in the box?”
“Hang on. I’ll see if we have copies of those files. That is, if the other agencies bothered to share.”
After Heathcliff left, I paused the monitors. “Fill me in. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t bloody know.” He scowled. “Every step forward is six backward, mostly because Interpol is making me go in circles. When will this ride end?”
“Soon.”
“Chase was afraid of what was inside the box before he even opened it. Either he’s afraid someone’s on to him, or he’s been receiving threats. At that point, Virgil wasn’t there, but as far as we know, Chase didn’t know he was incarcerated.”
“Correct. Isn’t it strange they didn’t have some kind of monitoring system set up at the safe house? How safe can it be if anyone can just break in the back door?”
“
Did anyone identify the woman in the photo?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been here. Who knows what Farrell and Jablonsky found.”
Heathcliff returned, empty-handed. “We don’t have those records. Hell, we’re lucky to have copies of the surveillance.” He slumped into the chair. “Look,” he pointed to the frozen monitor, “that’s when you left the parking garage.”
“Yeah, so?” I asked, seeing Chase beside me made my blood boil.
“For someone who was just shot at, he doesn’t look scared anymore. He looks smug,” Heathcliff offered.
“Maybe the reason he was nervous upstairs was because someone was about to take a couple of shots at him,” Ryan offered. “It was obvious you couldn’t stand the guy, Alex. He probably figured he’d actually have to take a bullet.”
I tapped my fingers against the arm of the chair. It seemed plausible. My memory of that evening was off because I was too busy reacting instead of monitoring. The hazards of taking fire and setting up a sting simultaneously. “So, he was scared but not because the Camel was going to kill him?”
“No, he doesn’t strike me as suicidal,” Ryan retorted, and I realized we both believed he was the contract killer. “Let’s figure out a way to prove this. I’d like to go home.”
“Well, I would offer the two of you a crack at Barlow’s guys, except we don’t have access to them,” Heathcliff snarled. “But maybe if we ask really nice, we can get a manifest of what was discovered in the house.”
Ryan looked torn. “It’s gonna be bullshit. Assuming our assumptions are accurate, this is all part of the contingency plan. The only way we’ll be able to nail Devereaux is with evidence we gather that he hasn’t led us to.”
“All right. We need to find the woman, possibly check into the overseas accounts again, and talk to Mallick,” I surmised. Focusing on Heathcliff, everything we needed was beyond the precinct’s jurisdiction.
