Needs, Wants and Other Weaknesses (The New Pioneers Book 6)

by Nam-Krane,Deborah

  "It does and it doesn't. He was still shouting about it after his lawyer got here, and his lawyer was telling him to shut up."

  "Oh, so he's a stupid perp. That happens too."

  "Captain, come on. Something's not right."

  "Then go talk to him," Baptiste said as he walked away. "You're not a rookie."

  ~~~

  Robert was in an interrogation room with Ramon half an hour later. "I wasn't anywhere near her house. I am telling you the truth!"

  Robert shrugged. "Okay. Where were you?"

  "I was at home!" Alberto said, thumping the table. "I had just gotten out of bed when I was supposed to have been at her house."

  "You don't have a job?" Robert asked.

  Alberto gulped. "Not right now, no."

  Didn't think so. "I see. And was your mother home then?"

  "No. She was at the grocery store. But she can tell you—I was sleeping when she left."

  "It doesn't sound like you have an alibi."

  Alberto threw himself back in his chair and shook his head. "Man, why would I go back there? She ain't got nothing I want."

  "I bet she'll be really pleased to hear that. You did a number on her."

  Alberto sneered. "Yeah, well, I did my bit."

  Robert stood up. "Here's a tip: at the arraignment, pretend you're remorseful if you want the judge to believe you, especially if you don't have an alibi."

  Alberto stood up. "Yo, how stupid do I look?"

  "About as stupid as most pimps I've come across."

  Alberto clenched his jaw. "Whatever, man. That was all about math, and anyone who can add up those sums also knew that if I went near—" He paused. "—my ex, I'd end up right back here. You think I don't have anything better to do?"

  There was something about this guy... Maybe he was as reptilian as any other boyfriend-pimp, but not as stupid. Something wasn't right.

  But what could he do? "You're here now, though. Make yourself comfortable until your bail comes through." Robert walked out before Alberto could say anything, but he did hear the crash of the chair against the floor before he left.

  ~~~

  Something wasn't right.

  Robert spent the rest of the day going over every piece of the Ramon case he could find on the department computers. Fun fact: Maria Gomez had been seventeen when Alberto had started pimping her out. Technically a minor, so why had he gotten such a good deal?

  Robert pulled up the name of the lawyer who had handled his first arrest. Not the same guy as today, but both were from Hope and White, one of the most prestigious firms in Boston. "Guess they're doing pro bono for nickel and dime pimps now," Robert muttered. But there was enough on Alberto for any good ADA to get him sent away for a hell of a lot longer than he’d gotten.

  Robert looked at the name of the ADA who handled the case and winced. Heather Mitchell was being groomed to take over as DA in a few years. Someone like that should know how to take care of a case like this.

  Something wasn't right.

  Robert was in ADA Mitchell's office at six-thirty the next morning. An unusual time to meet, but Mitchell had a busy day ahead of her and that was the only time she could fit him in.

  She came out at six-forty-five. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said as she shook his hand. "I had a few urgent calls on my desk."

  "No problem," Robert said as he followed her into her office. "Hopefully this won't take too long anyway."

  Heather looked at the notes on her desk and Robert could have sworn her back stiffened just a little bit. "Alberto Ramon." She scoffed as she sat down. "What's going on?"

  "A witness complained yesterday that he violated his restraining order and went to his victim's house."

  Heather smirked. "Really? Huh. What a shame," she said dryly.

  "Beg your pardon?"

  "He got one of the best deals I've ever seen negotiated for someone with those charges."

  "Why?"

  Heather looked at him for a moment, then got up and closed the door. "Human trafficking," she said as soon as she sat down. "He's just a cog in the wheel."

  Robert clicked his tongue. "How do you know?"

  Heather looked away, then looked back and raised an eyebrow. "His client list, for one thing. Most first-time opportunist pimps stay local and pimp their girlfriends out to their friends. Within the first month, he was sending his girlfriend to Back Bay, Beacon Hill, and Brookline. And not to people he'd interacted with before, and not to people his age. These were people with money." She smiled wryly. "That client list alone was worth a deal."

  "He gave you his client list?"

  "Some of it," Heather said after a pause.

  "How did you get the rest of it?"

  Heather sighed. "A tip."

  "A tip?" Robert repeated. "Someone was following Maria around?"

  "I don't think so," Heather said quietly. "I think someone is keeping tabs on something else, and Alberto Ramon was the easiest thing to serve up."

  "Someone?" Robert asked pointedly.

  Heather shook her head. "Someone. And I have no idea who it is. All I know is that he or she practically served Ramon's head on a platter."

  "And you gave him a deal to get something bigger?"

  "Ramon isn't stupid, but he's not smart enough to pull this off on his own. I wanted names." She strummed her fingers on the table. "And I got names, just not the ones I was hoping for."

  "Let me guess… You got a handful of other small-time pimps?"

  "Oh, I got a little more than a handful. Ten, and he even threw in a dealer and a gun runner. But they were all small-time, and none of them would help me go up their ladder."

  "How many of them were represented by Hope and White?"

  Heather smiled. "Four. And the rest of them were repped by Horan and Dale."

  "Pro bono, I'm sure."

  "Yeah, right," Heather said bitterly. "Just one more tip off that this is something big." She crossed her arms. "Ramon violated his TRO? That's an amateur move for someone who managed to squirm out of doing any serious time. Nice to know his lawyer can't always keep him on his leash."

  Robert raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, there's something."

  ~~~

  Anne Brewster worked at a store in Field's Corner. When Robert walked in, he was surprised to see loose produce, bags of basmati rice, and Indian spices. The South Asian man behind the counter stood up straight when he saw Robert. Robert did a quick scan and saw a group of young men talking and laughing in a corner. They looked well-dressed—students?—and some of them were drinking from Styrofoam cups. There was an older woman sitting at a makeshift desk talking on a cellphone.

  Robert walked up to the counter. "Good morning," the man behind the counter said pleasantly. "Anything I can help you with?"

  Funny, he didn't usually get made so quickly. "Morning," he replied. "I'm looking for an employee of yours, Anne Brewster."

  The man smiled and nodded. "Of course. She stepped out for a minute; I'll just let her know you're here." The man picked up his cellphone and sent a quick text. His phone beeped a second later. "She'll be here in a few minutes. Can I get you some tea while you wait?"

  "Oh, no, that's okay," Robert said. "Business is slow today?"

  The man shrugged and kept smiling. "It's like most days. Most of our customers come in at night and on the weekends, like any other grocery store."

  Robert nodded. "But you were busier yesterday? Ms. Brewster seemed to think you needed her to get back to work quickly."

  "She had said she'd be here to help with the shipment of goods," he said evenly. Still smiling. "Once she explained to me why she was late, of course, everything was fine."

  Anne appeared in the doorway, breathless. Her hair was disheveled, and her face was flushed. "Sorry, Asif," she said quickly. "There was a line at the bodega, and someone threw a fit about not having enough habaneros in their burrito. I didn't think it was going to be a big deal because we weren't busy, but then I ran over here as soon as I c
ould."

  Asif nodded. "It's fine, Anna. Don't worry. Everything's fine. I think this gentleman has some questions for you."

  Anne looked at Robert nervously. "Hello, Detective Teague. Is everything okay?"

  "Would it be alright if we talked for a few minutes?"

  Anne looked pleadingly at Asif. "Of course," he said pleasantly. "There's no one downstairs if you want to talk there."

  "Thank you," Anne said. She looked at Robert. "Right this way."

  They walked to the back of the store, past the young men and the older woman on the phone, and went down a set of stairs. The basement was well-organized and clean; much nicer than most of the other store basements he'd seen.

  "Your work?" Robert asked, gesturing at the rows of boxes.

  Anne nodded vigorously. "Chumi told me she wanted the basement cleaned up, and when she asks for something, you do not say no," she said with a nervous laugh.

  "How long have you been working here?"

  "About three months," Anne replied, taking a deep breath. "What's going on, Detective? Is Maria okay? I checked on her last night, but I haven't had a chance to call her this morning—"

  "She's fine," Robert interjected. "This is about Alberto."

  Anne's eyes hardened. "What about him?" she snapped. "Is he complaining about food in the jail?"

  "Actually," Robert said slowly, "he made bail last night."

  "Son of a bitch!" Anne exclaimed. "Are you sure Maria's okay?"

  "Yes," Robert said. "I drove by her house this morning and checked in on her myself." That seemed to calm Anne slightly. "Look, Ms. Brewster, Alberto insists that he was at his mother's yesterday when you say you saw him in front of Maria's house."

  Anne put her hands on her hips. "What did his mother say?"

  "She was out of the house," Robert answered. "She couldn't say either way." He left out that Ramon's mother had said she didn't doubt Anne for a second.

  "Well, I can," Anne said. "He was there."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Am I sure?" Anne repeated incredulously. "He got this close to me." She took a step toward Robert that brought her four inches from his face. "I'm not going to forget how gross that was any time soon."

  Robert looked down at her unusual brownish-gold eyes again. "Not trying to offend you," he said finally. "I just need to be sure."

  She stepped back. "Do I need a lawyer?"

  "Of course not," Robert said.

  "He made bail," Anne said. "Wasn't he also on probation?"

  "Yes, but that's being revoked."

  "So he'll be back in prison where he belongs soon?"

  "Can't promise 'soon,' but sooner rather than later."

  "Okay, good."

  Robert stared at her. "Ms. Brewster, I have to ask. Is there something you're not telling me? About you and Alberto?"

  Her eyes widened. "Pimping my friend out isn't enough?"

  "Of course it is," Robert said. "I'll let you get back to work. I can see myself out."

  "Thanks for stopping by," Anne said sarcastically as he walked up the stairs.

  Robert walked by the woman and the young men, some of whom were looking at him by now. He lifted a hand as he passed Asif. "Have a good day."

  "You too, Detective."

  Chapter Two

  Robert drove up to Anne's residence at four-thirty the next morning, armed with a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich. It was a hunch and he prayed he was right so Baptiste wouldn't ream him out. But he also hoped he was wrong.

  She came out at five-thirty. He smiled. He’d had a hunch she'd be an early riser. He thought he'd follow her to a train station, but no. Anne got into a small greenish-grey car that he wouldn't have taken any notice of before. He waited thirty seconds after she left before following her.

  Twenty minutes later, she parked on Lincoln Street, in or right out of Chinatown, depending on how you looked at it. He parked four parking spaces behind her, then grabbed his baseball cap and sunglasses. He had on jeans and a polo shirt. If you didn't look too closely, you'd say he was another tourist who didn't know how to dress for Boston weather.

  He hung back half a block, but saw that she entered the South Street Diner. He waited one minute before following her in. He asked the hostess to seat him at the empty table near the window at the front. When she balked, he quietly showed her his badge. She sighed, then told him to grab the table.

  He looked at the menu, then looked out the corner of his eye. Anne Brewster was sitting four tables over on the left with Alberto Ramon, and she didn’t look nervous at all.

  He ordered toast and juice and watched the two quietly for the next twenty minutes. It was too loud in the diner to hear what they were saying, but it didn't matter. He could see Alberto gesturing and Anne completely unmoved, unless you counted the smirking.

  She put food in her mouth, chewed, smiled, and then leaned in. "I mean it," Robert could make out her saying. Alberto pushed away from the table, stood up, then stomped out of the diner. Anne watched him as he walked away, smiling and waving to him through the window.

  Anne finished her food, then called the waitress over for her check. The waitress said something that made Anne laugh, then she left cash on the table and walked out.

  Robert paid in cash thirty seconds later and left. He walked to his car from the other side of the block, praying he'd be to his car before she'd get to hers. He had just sat down low in his seat when he saw her turn the corner and walk to her car.

  There was something different about the way she held herself. Less nervous, but not smug. Her steps were determined, and anyone walking down the street would know that she was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

  And now, so did he.

  ~~~

  "Not my fault you wanted me to take the complaint of someone who was yanking our chain."

  Baptiste groaned. "Are you telling me that in your professional opinion our complaining witness was threatening the suspect?"

  "It wasn't exactly a threat, but I think Ramon is inclined to do something for Ms. Brewster, whether he wants to or not."

  "Blackmail?"

  "I don't know."

  "You know you don't have any cause to pick her up, right?"

  "Yep."

  "And since Ramon doesn't have an alibi, we don't have a reason to dismiss the complaint."

  "Yep."

  "So what do you want to do?"

  "I want to find out more about Anne Brewster."

  "And?" Baptiste asked impatiently.

  "She doesn't have a record of any kind. In fact, I'd say before three months ago, it would be hard to prove that she existed."

  Baptiste looked at Robert and sighed. "Teague, you look tired. You need a few days off."

  Robert smiled. "At least three."

  "No, two days. Starting tomorrow. But first you need to do a little research; in other words, whatever you can do on the department computers."

  "Yes, Captain."

  "And if you suddenly feel more energized before that, you're going to come back to work and do everything through official channels. You get me?"

  "Loud and clear."

  "Good. Now go put in a formal request for time off. And don't screw up."

  ~~~

  There was indeed an Anne Brewster born in 1990 in Somerville, Massachusetts; it was just that Robert didn't believe that was the woman he'd been dealing with for three days.

  Before he left, Robert pulled up as much information as he could on Asif Choudhury and his store. He had been in the country for two years, but had only owned the store for three months. He and his mother had bought the store for almost nothing, at least given the current real estate prices in Dorchester.

  He looked at the former owner, Joseph Magnusin. As far as anyone was concerned, he might have dropped off the face of the planet since the sale. Before that, he had more than a few charges, ultimately dismissed, for labor irregularities, some with Bengali employees.

  Robert sighed. Not
Indian or Pakistani, as he'd thought. Asif was Bengali.

  He frowned at the next part of his self-appointed assignment, but it had to be done. Sighing, he typed in his password to Facebook.

  He had about thirty Facebook friends, and almost all of them were people from his Criminal Justice program, posting pictures of their spouses and kids and, of course, how they felt about the latest sports news. Wasn't there supposed to be more to the internet?

  He typed "Anne Brewster" into the search engine, then groaned. There were eight, and the one that looked like it could be hers was locked down. No way to even send her a friend request. What a surprise. He smiled as he thought of her reading through the Facebook Terms of Service on a regular basis, then shook his head.

  He leaned back. "Okay," he muttered. "But she has one. And she must have some friends on this thing." He snapped his fingers, then typed in "Maria Gomez," then "Boston."

  Jackpot. It was definitely the young woman he had checked in on yesterday. He sighed as he looked at pictures from two years ago. She looked happy, not pale and afraid. She was laughing in three months’ worth of pictures with Alberto, and then it stopped. There was another where Alberto was pointing and snapping at the camera with one hand while he laughed. His other arm was just below Maria's neck, and she looked like she was trying not to look terrified. Son of a bitch.

  Anne had started working at the convenience store three months ago. He looked through Maria's newer pictures. No joy until one month ago. It looked like a party at Maria's house—birthday?—and Anne Brewster, smiling and winking, was tagged in one. There was something different about her. The hair? He enlarged the photo. It was definitely lighter. Had she dyed her hair before the photo? He looked at the date again. It was only a month ago. Hair didn't grow that fast. She must have made it darker since then. "Interesting."

  Great, now he knew she dyed her hair. But what did that buy him? He scrolled through the pictures from the same day and stopped. There was one of Anne, Maria, and a young man who stood between them. He scrolled over the picture and saw it was tagged: Josh Bruges. He looked at the picture. He was staring intently at the camera, but had his arm protectively around Anne's shoulders. Boyfriend? He looked more closely at the picture. Same hair, same eyes. Brother, older brother. "Hello, Ms. Bruges."