by S. J. Harper
I reinsert the earpiece and head over to meet Zack.
“Brilliant interrogation! You know it’s…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. He lowers his voice a notch. “It’s always a pleasure watching you work.” The admiration in his voice rings true, but there’s a hint of something else conveyed in his tone, in the way he’s looking at me. Understanding.
I can already hear Agent Bradley tapping away on his keyboard. “OCCB officers Chuck Imperiale and Burt Benson have been partners for close to two years,” he says. “While you were interrogating Devlin I called dispatch pretending to be one of Imperiale’s CI’s. They’re both supposedly on vacation this week.”
“Some vacation,” Zack says. “How quickly can you get their home addresses?”
The words are no sooner out of his mouth. Our cell phones both buzz.
“Just sent them via text.”
I catch Torres’ eye and wave her over.
“Gotta hand it to you,” she says. “For getting the confession and for keeping you’re cool.”
Zack holds up his cell. “We’ve got addresses for Imperiale and Benson.”
Torres nods. “I’ll take care of getting Eve processed. You two should head back to the city with O’Neill, find out all you can about these two.”
“Will you be taking the Hostage Rescue Team with you?” asks Bradley.
Zack doesn’t hesitate. “No, we’ll keep this low profile for now. We don’t want to spook them. These guys are cops, they’ll be monitoring police scanners and the local news. HRT will stay here until forensics arrives.”
“I’ll go tell O’Neill.” Torres glances at her watch. “We still have four hours before the ransom call comes in. Do you think we’ll be able to get to Imperiale and Benson first?”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” Zack says. He places his hand at the small of my back and steers me toward the pick up. “I’ll drive, you navigate.”
“Wait!” Torres holds out her car keys. “The sedan has GPS. You can plug in the addresses. ”
Zack and Torres make a quick exchange of keys. She lets her voice drop. “Do you think we can trust Devlin? Do you really believe we’re looking for two cops?”
Zack’s eyes meet mine. He’s told me on more than one occasion that I’m the only lie detector he’s never been able to best.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” he tells her.
We slide into the sedan and buckle up. O’Neill joins us.
“Hit the lights and hold on,” Zack tells me before putting the sedan in gear and stepping on the gas. Then to Bradley, “Do either of these guys live alone?”
It takes a couple minutes for an answer to come back. “Benson is thirty, married and has a Sunnyside address. The guys had two accommodations for Meritorious Police Duty—both for Community Service. Doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be mixed up in something like this. From the looks of his Facebook page, his wife is pregnant and he has two other kids. The oldest, Joey, is five. Madeline is three.”
“What about his financials?” Zack asks.
The question is met with silence.
“What is it?” asks O’Neill.
“The kid, Joey, has cancer. Looks like it’s gotten to the point that conventional treatment just isn’t working anymore. Benson took him down to Mexico a couple weeks ago. There’s a $30,000 charge from a clinic in Tijuana. They flew from La Guardia to San Diego on Southwest and then rented a car to go across the boarder.”
“Could be what triggered this, the potential loss of his firstborn,” I say.
Zack nods. “Alternative treatments are expensive and the insurance probably won’t cover it. What about Imperiale?”
Bradley continues, “Imperiale is almost twenty years older. He lives in the Murray Hill area and is long divorced. His ex-wife got custody of the two kids. He’s been paying child support for ages. Both of his girls are in college. He lives alone. And he’s got a gambling problem. A big gambling problem. I’m seeing lots of weekend trips to Atlantic City. Withdrawals from ATM’s inside casinos. There’s only a few hundred in his checking account, nothing left in savings. He’s drained his 401K.”
“Could be he sees this as a sure bet and an easy payday,” O’Neill says.
“Could be he owes the wrong people,” Zack suggests. “Bradley, keep digging. I want everything you can find on these two.”
“I vote we go to Imperiale’s first,” O’Neill says. “Seems unlikely Benson would stash a kid in his house along with a pregnant wife.”
“Agreed,” Zack replies.
“There’ll be a warrant waiting for you when you get there,” Bradley chimes in.
“How’s Maitlan holding up,” I ask.
“As well as can be expected. He was disappointed, of course, that Robby wasn’t at the farmhouse. But he brightened a little when I told him we’ve got Eve dead to rights and every reason to believe Robby’s alive. He’s feeling confident this time the exchange will go through, that these guys want the money,” says Bradley. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s cracking open a bottle of bourbon as we speak.”
The last bit makes Zack smile. “Tell him he can only have one, and you pour. This is far from over.”
* * * *
Chuck Imperiale lives in an apartment building on a quaint, tree-lined street. Next-door is a cafe, and down the street, a restaurant and bar. Probably one he frequents. Upon arrival we’re met by a middle-aged woman. She introduces herself as Torres’ aunt, Judge Anita Lopez, and she has warrants for both Imperiale’s place and Benson’s. As always, Bradley delivers.
“Not too often a judge delivers a warrant herself,” I say, shaking her hand.
Her smile is warm, but the eyes are steel. “Not too often I hear two cops are involved in a kidnapping conspiracy that local government and law enforcement officials might be tempted to cover up. I want this to go by the book.”
Zack takes the warrants. “So do we. Right now Imperiale and Benson think they have a big payoff coming. They’ll anticipate Maitlan will want proof of life before delivering the ransom. Right now, they’re motivated to keep Robby alive. We don’t want to do anything to complicate the equation for them. If they feel the heat, they might decide to run.”
“And Maitlan’s son would only be extra baggage. I get it. Bradley said as much when I asked him why a BOLO hadn’t been put out.” She purses her lips together and waits a beat before continuing. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, Agent Armstrong. I understand this is your call.”
Zack shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yes, ma’am. It is. But…”
The judge smiles. “This is my city. You’ve got a couple bad cops out there. But we have thousands of good ones.”
“Trouble is, we don’t know who the good ones are.”
She nods, shakes our hands, then climbs into the car waiting at the curb.
“Best not fuck this up,” O’Neill mutters.
Zack extends his arm in the direction of the steps that lead to an imposing security door. “After you.”
O’Neill rings every bell and within a few seconds some well-meaning resident has let us in.
“That was easy,” he says.
I pull out my Glock. “This next part might be a little harder.”
Zack leads the way to apartment number two. He goes through the motion of knocking and announces us before deftly picking the lock.
It doesn’t matter that we believe the apartment is empty; we go in, guns leading. After a quick sweep, our weapons are holstered.
“Looks like he uses the second bedroom as an office. I’ll look through the desk, see if I can find anything,” O’Neill offers.
“Robby hasn’t been here,” Zack announces with confidence.
We’re alone in the living room. I take a moment to look around. Imperiale seems to live a simple but orderly life. The two-bedroom apartment is clean and uncluttered. “How can you be sure?”
He points to his nose.
Of course
. Werewolf.
Zack disappears into the bedroom.
There’s a stack of newspapers on the end table next to the couch. I leaf through them. “Looks like he reads the Times daily. But hasn’t bought one since the day Robby was taken.”
“He has an old desktop in here with the login and password pre-loaded. Doesn’t look like he’s logged into email since then either,” O’Neill calls out.
Zack emerges, an evidence bag in one hand, a T-shirt of Imperiale’s in the other.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Never can tell when it might come in handy.” He slips the T-shirt into the bag and tosses it at me. “I’m going to ask O’Neill to wait here, keep the scene secure until forensics gets here to process it.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “We’re heading to Benson’s?”
“Yup. And we’ll be leaving with his wife.”
* * * *
Detective Benson lives with his wife in the Queens neighborhood of Sunnyside. Brick homes and small apartment buildings share quiet streets with tree-lined pathways. We pass a couple of big box stores and a slew of ethnic restaurants. Sprinkled between there are delis, bakeries, and trendy bars. It looks like an ideal neighborhood close to the city. As I step out of the car and look west, I can see the New York skyline.
“How long since you’ve been to the top of the Empire State building?” Zack asks.
I gaze at the iconic tower in the distance and flash back to a time when snow was falling and the winds were of gale force. Ethel and I had shut down the Onyx. Despite the lateness of the hour, we were able to gain access to the observation deck. It helps when your family owns the place. Ethel had just left her husband and we were living the good life, celebrating with cold champagne and Charlie Parker’s red hot Jazz.
“Emma?”
I’m pulled back to the present. “Nineteen forty-nine. We’re running out of time. They should be calling about the ransom drop in about an hour.”
Zack is texting.
“Updating Torres?” I ask.
“Asking a favor of someone I trust. We need to keep this place secure until forensics can get here. The chances of Benson showing up to remove evidence are slim. But I’ll feel better if someone’s watching the house.”
“How do you want to play this?”
“Mrs. Benson is eight months pregnant with their third. I don’t want to upset her further.”
“She’s got one on the way, another she’s about to lose.” We walk in tandem up the sidewalk. “That’s going to be impossible to avoid. Unless…”
“What are you thinking?”
Before I have a chance to answer, the front door opens. “Can I help you?”
Benson’s wife is a pretty woman with red hair and rosy cheeks. She’s dressed casually in an embroidered smock and leggings, her hands rest atop a very pregnant belly.
“Follow my lead,” I whisper to Zack. Then I pull out my badge and approach with confidence. “Olivia Benson?”
“Yes,” her response is hesitant.
“I’m special agent Emma Monroe. This is my partner, Zack Armstrong.”
Olivia glances at my badge. “FBI?”
“Is Burt home?”
She shakes her head. “He’s working a case. He couldn’t come home last night. Are you working with him? Is something wrong?”
“May we come in?” I ask.
She steps back. “Of course.”
“When did you and Burt last talk?” Zack asks.
“Yesterday afternoon. He called from a payphone to tell me he lost his cell phone and wouldn’t be home until late tonight.”
We follow Olivia to a parlor off the entryway. Polished wood floors and period furniture make the room both attractive and comfortable, a fire lends warmth. All together, it’s a picture of domestic tranquility.
I take a seat next to Zack on the sofa. “Are your children home?”
Olivia’s yet to sit down. Her anxiety is rising. “Madeline’s at daycare. Joey’s with my folks. I started having some contractions this morning. My doctor says I need to rest. Has something happened to Burt?”
“We believe he’s safe,” I assure her. “But he’s mixed up in something dangerous. We think he’s over his head. Things have gotten out of hand. We’d like you to take you into protective custody until we know for sure. He’s going to be calling us, and we want you to help convince him to come in.”
“What about the children?”
Zack answers, “Can your mother pick Madeline up from daycare?”
Tears start to well up in her eyes. “Probably. Yes. I’m sure she can. Is Burt going to be all right?”
“We hope so,” Zack says. “Will you help us help Burt?”
“Of course.” She wipes at the wetness on her cheeks. “Let me get my purse.”
Zack rises. “We’d also like to a piece of clothing. Something he’s recently worn. A T-shirt maybe.”
She looks at us, a puzzled frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Why would you need that?”
“If we need to track him, it will help the dogs.”
“Track him?” Alarm sends color into her cheeks. She clutches her belly.
I take her hand. “We don’t expect to have to use it. It’s just a precaution. I promise.”
She doesn’t look relieved, but does rise. “I’ll get one from the hamper.”
Once we’re alone, I ask Zack, “Do you think she’ll be able to convince Benson to turn himself in?”
He looks at me. “I do. But the real question is whether Benson will be able to convince Imperiale.”
Chapter Eleven
It’s a quarter to three when we pull into Maitlan’s garage.
“Is this a safe house of some kind?” Olivia asks.
Zack is driving, I’m in the passenger seat. It’s time to lay it on the line. “Have you heard anything on the news about the kidnapping of Roger Maitlan’s son?”
“Of course, it was on the front page of the paper today and all of the stations are covering it.” She stops abruptly, turns and looks back toward the entrance to the garage. “This is the building. The one Maitlan lives in.”
“That’s right,” I say.
“Why would Burt be working a kidnapping case?” she asks.
Zack jumps in and answers. “We said we were worried Burt was mixed up with something dangerous. Olivia, he’s been identified as an accomplice in the crime. He and his partner Chuck. They’re demanding twenty million dollars ransom.”
The color drains from her face. “That’s impossible. Burt would never do that. Not ever.”
“Not even for Joey? We’ve seen this before,” I say. “A good guy in a desperate situation is presented an opportunity and—”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No.”
Zack unbuckles and gets out of the car. I do too. By the time I walk around to their side, he’s opened the back door and is offering her a hand. “For your sake, I hope we’re wrong. I really do.”
She accepts Zack’s assistance and clumsily climbs out. “The person who identified him?”
“Also an accomplice, “ he replies. “She’s in custody and hoping her cooperation will result in some kind of a deal.”
“Will it?”
We head for the elevator. “I doubt it. She was the instigator. There’s something important that I’d like you to remember, Olivia. According to our information, Burt was not the one who pulled the trigger that night. If we can get him to come in, to return Robby and testify against his co-conspirators, it could go a long way toward getting him a shorter sentence.”
“Look, I don’t know who did this, but I do know my husband. It’s not Burt!”
We’re inside the elevator now and it’s climbing. In a couple minutes, Olivia is going to be in the conference room. A few minutes after that, she’s going to hear her husband’s voice, and her world is going to come crashing down.
“As you said earlier,” Zack reminds her. “Your husband hasn’t been himself
for quite some time. He hasn’t been sleeping. He’s been anxious, depressed, stressed out of his mind. In a few minutes a call’s going to be coming in, and we want you to listen in on it. Agent Monroe and I will be there, along with a couple other agents and Mr. Maitlan. We believe the call will be either from Chuck Imperiale or your husband.”
The elevator door opens into the Penthouse. When we emerge, Roger is waiting for us.
His eyes dart from Olivia Benson’s face, to her belly, and back again. His expression softens and he extends his hand. “Roger Maitlan.”
“Olivia Benson.” She winces. Her hands move to her stomach. “I’m afraid I need to sit down.”
Roger and Zack exchange worried looks.
I place my hand on Olivia’s back and wave her in the direction of the staircase. “There’s a conference room downstairs. Maybe a cup of tea will help?”
She nods and moves in the direction of the stairs. “What is it, exactly, you want me to do?”
“When the call comes in, we just want you to listen. If you hear anything you recognize, we want you to tell us. If you identify the caller as your husband, we may want to put you on the line. At that point, you’ll just need to talk from your heart. Ask him to give up his location, to let Robby go and turn himself in. Assure him we all understand what he’s been going through. That he’s not himself,” I tell her.
Olivia’s head is bobbing up and down.
When we enter the conference room, Bradley stands up. “Torres is pulling into the garage. She’ll be here any minute.” He extends his hand to Olivia. “Agent Bradley. We appreciate your help, Mrs. Benson.”
I pull out a chair. “Why don’t you take this one, Mrs. Benson?”
Zack moves to the console table that has the coffee and tea and begins to fill a cup with hot water. He holds up two tea bags. “Chamomile or Jasmine?”
“Chamomile, please.”
“One minute to go.” Bradley passes out headphones. “You’ll be able to hear through these. Mr. Maitlan, pick up the handset on that landline when I tell you. Insist on speaking with Robby. As always, we’ll coach you through.”
