Should he tell Mitch?
No, leave it. Things are finally progressing.
This case is your focus now.
Besides, maybe he just found a girl or something? Decided to take a few days to himself.
Mitchell sipped at his coffee and said, “So, fill me in. What have you been up to?”
Berlin brought him up to speed, starting with Officer Needham and Kassell. Mitchell asked if things got heated between them and Berlin reiterated that he had kept his cool. The information they had given him had led him to Simmons, which got an intrigued response from Mitchell.
Mitchell then apologized for not questioning Simmons when he met with the rest of the Narcotics group. He told Berlin that Simmons wasn’t there at the time. That Richardson had told him that he was out running errands. Since Mitchell was so shook up about the whole ordeal, doing the questioning on his own, he forgot all about Simmons. Berlin could tell that his partner was embarrassed.
Berlin then told him about paying another visit to Richardson’s group, cornering Simmons, and demanding answers. Mitchell was surprised to hear that Richardson went to bat for him. Berlin laughed and said that it was interesting how things played out. There was definitely some tension within the group.
Mitchell asked about Simmons’ alibi for the night of the murder which led to Berlin to explain about Raquel Willis and that he had spent most of the afternoon by trying to track her down.
“Still nuthin’?” Mitchell asked.
“No one’s seen her or heard from her since this morning. Not a big deal right now, just inconvenient. We’ll find her.”
“Word,” Mitchell replied.
“Any word on Lexi Scott?” Berlin asked.
Mitchell shook his head. “I was just gonna ask you the same thing.”
Berlin scratched at the stubble that was beginning to form on his chin. “What are we thinking, Mitch?”
Mitchell looked at him and said, “You first.”
Berlin spoke in a hushed voice. “I don’t like what I’m hearing about Simmons.”
“Yeah?”
Berlin gave a nod. “There’s something not right there. Something dark. You should have seen the looks on those girl’s faces, Mitch. It was like I was asking about the Grim Reaper himself. And now with this flimsy alibi about a girl that I can’t seem to find…I don’t know. Lots of questions there.”
Now Mitchell gave a nod, considering the information. “And don’t forget what the patrolmen said about Simmons being at the house.”
“That, too.”
“What about Mrs. Scott?” Mitchell asked.
“What about her?”
“She’s MIA, man.”
Berlin shook his head. “Come on, Mitch. You can’t be still considering—”
“Look, man. You met her what, once? Twice? You can’t make that call on her yet and you know it. Everyone’s got skeletons in the closet. Normal people do bad things, too.”
Including me, Berlin thought. “Why?”
Mitchell raised an eyebrow. “Why, what?”
“What’s her motive, Mitch?”
Mitchell sat back in his chair, squirming to get comfortable. Berlin was putting him on the spot and his partner knew it. If he was going to say something like that, now it was time to back it up. Explain his case. “I dunno,” Mitchell said. “We know that she was meeting with a divorce lawyer, right? Maybe Tim Scott wasn’t having any of it? Maybe he didn’t want the divorce.”
“So…what? She kills him? Puts a hit out on her husband? Mitch…”
Mitchell leaned over, closer to Berlin. “People kill people over stupid things every day, man. What about those two high school students that killed their friend because they wanted the approval of that weird guy in the woods? We live in strange and scary times, man.”
“You got me there,” Berlin said in agreement.
“All I’m sayin’ is that, until we find Lexi Scott or hear otherwise, we need to at least consider her a suspect. That there’s a possibility.”
“What about Clay?” Berlin asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Clay? Shoot, I dunno. Did we see anything that says Clay? Why would he go after her? Why now?”
‘Why now?’ The question echoed throughout Berlin’s head. He had a point. Why now? Why go after Lexi Scott now and not earlier? Hell, why not kill two birds with one stone, if that’s what you were really after? He had been so caught up in the here and now. He was trying to find out who was responsible and since he was worrying about Lexi Scott, and now Sully, he hadn’t given it a second thought to ask why. He had forgotten all about it.
“What about the files?” Mitchell asked.
“Yeah. We should take another look.”
“It’s really all we have at this point, partner. How about this, why don’t we head to some of those addresses and see if we can decipher Scott’s codes.”
Berlin knew what he was talking about. The black notebook featured a listing of dates, times, and addresses, followed by a unique set of letters. If he had to guess, they probably referred to people. But he couldn’t understand why that was important to Scott. Who was he tracking? Dealers? To what end?
“You know, it’s kinda like he was running his own Black-Op,” Mitchell said.
“What?” Berlin asked.
“Scott. It’s like he was running an unsanctioned Black-Op,” Mitchell said. “Follow me here. No one was able to tell us what Scott was working on, right? I remember that I asked who his handler was and nobody could tell me. How does a guy work undercover and have no handler? There’s always someone that’s gotta know, someone he reports to, that sort of thing. But Scott, it’s like he was a ghost. Operating on his own set of rules, charting his own course, operating in the underground without anyone’s knowledge. How does he do that? Plus, he had all these charts, lists, tracking systems, and for what? What was he doing?”
And there it was. In one fell swoop Mitchell had laid out everything that was wrong with this case from the very beginning, everything that he should have seen, and it all came back to the why. How could he have been so careless? He felt like a fool. He knew better.
The answer came to him faster than he thought.
Berlin pulled the notebook out of his pocket and began to rifle through the pages. He moved quickly. Flipping, flipping, and even more flipping, until he came to the sets of pages with the codes.
“I’ll be damned,” Berlin said, gaping down at the pages.
“What? What is it?” Mitchell said, jolting from his seat. “What did I say?”
“Oh, you’re good, Mitch. You’re gonna make a fine Detective. As Ol’ Downtown Brown would say…yessir.”
“What?”
Berlin looked at him, staring deep into those dark brown eyes. “It was never about the drugs, Mitch. Not directly.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was looking for someone.”
“Who was?”
“Scott. He wasn’t really trying to take down the drug network. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m sure the higher-ups would appreciate that as well, but he wasn’t after them. He was after one person.”
“Spit it out, man.”
“He was after the dealer,” Berlin said. “The dealer who sold his drugs to his younger brother.”
“His brother?” Mitchell asked, his mouth agape.
Berlin looked back down at the letters in the notebook. It made a weird sort of sense if you knew what you were looking for. There were small little ticks beside some of the locations and names, whereas others had been left untouched. He was crossing them off his list. Was this why Scott was such an outcast in his group? Had he ever truly been one of them, or was he in it only for revenge?
“I guess he found him.”
CHAPTER 37
You’re ready now. Not a drop since last night. Keep your head clear.
Keep everything in focus.
Don’t lose it.
‘You will find a way.’ That’s
what Kate had told him, and she was right.
The raging battle went on inside Berlin’s head while they drove down into Port. He wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to do it, but he knew that he was left with no choice now. He couldn’t dwell on the past anymore. He had to think of Kate. She’d want him to go, want him to return. Even if it did bring back painful memories of torment and heartache.
Control it. Harness the pain so you can use it, he told himself.
Berlin eased on the brake pedal as he navigated the curve of the road. He glanced out of his window at the large pond. It was home to numerous rowing clubs. The empty seats in the grandstand were cast in shadow against the warm sunny day.
They came to a red light. Berlin looked up the hill at the plaza, thinking solemn thoughts. On one hand, progress was being made in Port. But, on the other, it was at a standstill.
“It’s green,” Mitchell said.
Berlin plowed ahead, aiming to his right, rolling into a spot off the shoulder of Lakeshore. (A much larger parking lot resided in the back, down close to the waterfront and beach area.)
“You don’t wanna get any closer?” Mitchell asked.
“Nah, this’ll do. Stealth approach.”
“All right,” Mitchell said, opening his door and getting out. “Where do you wanna start?”
“Let’s head down into the park first. Maybe stroll the waterfront.”
Port was a beautiful place, a small little oasis tucked in the north end, away from the big city. This time of year, when the weather was good, it was packed with people headed to the beach, the park, or one of the local pubs to grab a bite. Today was one of those days as crowds of families passed them by, wearing shorts and sandals, or t-shirts and tank tops. Some carried folding chairs, whereas others were happy with a bottle of water and a beach blanket. They preferred to keep things simple, much like life near the waterfront.
Underneath the surface, though, there was an air of wistfulness. A longing for days past. The Port condo project had seen to that. There was a lingering feeling of despair that was hanging in the balance, teetering just on the edge. You could read it in their body language as they walked by you. You could see it on the shop owner’s faces. That sense of disappointment. That question of uncertainty for what the future may bring.
Berlin got out of the car and looked across the road at Harborside Restaurant. He had an unease settling in the pit of his stomach. It was only last year that he and Kate had shared a surprise dinner engagement here. He was happy to see that it hadn’t changed much, unlike its counterparts around the block where the condos were deemed to be breaking ground.
The trademark deep blue awning still stuck out off the warm rust-colored brick building. The Harborside logo was cast in white lettering against a black backdrop high above the awning and five double hung windows. It had changed since the last time that he was here. Gone was the emblazoned old style lettering on the awning, in its place was solid crisp blue lettering. It felt less inviting. It was missing that richness, that character. He would miss that, just like everything else.
Berlin touched the blue-colored railing that ran the perimeter of the front patio and peered into the windows, even though it was much too dark to see inside.
“You okay?” Mitchell asked.
“Yeah,” Berlin said.
“Lotta memories down here, I suppose?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe we should try to make this quick.”
Berlin pushed the ghosts away, the discomfort dissipating in his stomach. “No, I’ll be fine.”
“All right.”
Berlin pulled his hand away and, for a second, he thought he felt warmth on the top of his hand. It was small, barely noticeable, but he couldn’t deny it.
She was with him. He was sure of it.
“Where to?” Mitchell asked him, looking over at the boats in the dock.
“Let’s walk down the hill to the carousel,” Berlin said.
They moved to the sidewalk and passed the General Store (closed), the Old Port Dairy Bar, and underneath the large wooden awning of Za Pizza Joint. Its storefront was decorated in white with red trim. It was closed as well, with a large piece of wood boarded over a broken window. Then, the block they were walking on abruptly ended.
“What the hell?” Berlin muttered.
“What?”
“Where’s Port Mansion?”
“Looks like they tore it down, man.”
“I didn’t realize the condo thing stretched this far.”
Port Mansion was no more. There was nothing left. It might as well have been dust. A green, six-foot high fence worked its way around the lot, preventing people from accessing the rubble and dirt.
Port Mansion had been a restaurant and theater built into one. It sat approximately ninety- some-odd people, with the front row seats only fifteen feet away from the small stage. Berlin thought about last Halloween when he took Kate to see The Rocky Horror Show. Kate had demanded that she wear her black fishnets and garters and even attempted to persuade Berlin into wearing eyeliner. Over his dead body, he’d said.
He would make up for it, though, throwing plastic hot dogs and toilet paper at the leads on stage. The audience was asked to get involved in the shenanigans, cheering and yelling obscenities at the actors. As they came out from the play, she would tell him that it was amazing, a once in a lifetime experience. He didn’t disagree.
Now it was all gone.
No one would be able to experience such an event ever again.
Not here, anyway.
“So what are we lookin’ for exactly?” Mitchell asked.
“You’ll know it. Trust me.”
They crossed the walkway and headed to the carousel that had stood in the same place since the 1920s. To this day it still only charged five cents for a ride.
“I’m just seein’ a bunch of moms and the kids here, man. You sure about this?”
“Just wait,” Berlin told him.
Berlin watched the carousel go round and round in a wide, encompassing circle. The images of horses, lions, and giraffes, with the gold beam running through their bodies, ran in circles and blended together as one. The familiar organ-based music danced in his eardrums. Up, down, he stomped his foot with each beat of the song.
“There,” Berlin said, spotting a tall dark-skinned man in his early 20s. He wore a Boston Red Sox cap turned off to the side, a green-striped tank top, and baggy beige pants. The pants hung loose, his underwear poking out near his waistline.
“Where?” Mitchell asked.
“By the exit.”
Mitchell turned, searching him out. He spotted him quickly. “Jeez, right out in the open with all these kids around? He’s crazy.”
“Think he cares?” Berlin said. “They never do.”
Three teenagers stood huddled around him, attempting to block the view of any suspicious onlookers, but Berlin knew better. There was no playing around.
“Move,” Berlin whispered. “You go right, I’ll take left, and we’ll flank him.”
“Got it,” Mitchell said in a low voice.
Both men exited the carousel and moved to the outside perimeter, following along the edge of the building. The carousel building was unique in that it had several entrances and exits. As long as they could move undetected and the pusher stayed inside the building, they would be able to surprise him on the other side.
Berlin stepped cautiously through the grass, trying to anticipate what would come next. The teens made their deal and began to move away. Berlin watched Mitchell from the other side, his head low, and his eyes on their target. Berlin clenched his jaw; Mitchell was being much too obvious. He had no finesse.
Need to move quickly, Berlin thought.
He reached the backside just as the target caught a whiff of Mitchell’s presence and was getting ready to bolt.
“Don’t even think about it,” Berlin said, standing directly behind him.
The pusher turned and rolled hi
s eyes, realizing the jig was up. “What you want?”
Now, Mitchell met up with them. “Empty your pockets, young man,” he said, coming around the corner.
“What for? I didn’t do nothin’.”
“Just do it,” Berlin told him.
The pusher shook his head. “This is crazy.”
“Fine,” Berlin said calmly, “but you can’t say that we didn’t give you the opportunity.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Just then Berlin grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him up against the brick wall, the baseball cap falling to the ground.
“Damn! That’s a 59Fifty, yo. You’re gonna—”
Berlin grabbed his arm and slapped it up on the wall above his head. “Hug the wall. I’m not playing.”
“Man, you’re trippin’. This is harassment,” the pusher said, grunting and grimacing with discomfort. “This ain’t right.”
Mitchell watched Berlin with morbid curiosity. “Mitch, check his pockets. Pant leg, too. We don’t need any surprises.”
“You don’t have the right!” the pusher continued to shout, struggling against Berlin’s pressure.
“We do,” Berlin hissed into his ear. “We saw you. We saw you, selling your junk right in front of these kids. What were you thinking? You can’t be that stupid, can you?”
“Man…” He tried to shake his head, but Berlin applied pressure into the nape of his neck.
“Who do you work for? Clay?” Berlin said. “Who told you to come down here?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Yeah,” Berlin smiled. “You know who I’m talking about. You don’t sling your junk in Port and not know who Exodus Clay is, am I right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You guys are all mixed up.”
Mitchell was down at the pusher’s ankles, feeling around his pant leg and shoes. The dealer looked down at him. “Brutha, get this cracker off me.”
Berlin knocked him again. “Don’t you talk to him. You’re talking to me right now.”
The pusher’s face crushed against the wall, his skin bent out of shape. “Nuh-uh. I’m not sayin’ anything. I say, lawyer.”
“What’s that?” Berlin asked.
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