As soon as they had that framework to work with, they’d made real progress. They’d identified an extensive network of lowly foot soldiers and what were probably rather unimportant lower level lieutenants. Sam, from the LAPD, was able to confirm most of what they found, or at least parts of it. They provided batches of names and for those she knew were CMCs and could provide information, what she shared reinforced that their model was working.
Quinn was surprised at how much she was enjoying this work. She got the same thrill working on this data set that she had back in her lab at CLA. It seemed working with data, making sense out of chaos, and finding the hidden meaning in a mass of numbers was something that excited her no matter where the data was coming from.
They were just starting to piece together some of the more interesting and fruitful upper management positions. When new data came in, someone would run the name over to Isabelle, who would add it to her spreadsheet for financial research if necessary. Dubs and Quinn would enter the relevant data points to be added to the model Quinn had built.
“Holy shit,” Quinn said.
“Good or bad?” Isabelle asked. “Can go either way around here.”
“That new phone,” Quinn said. “Max just sent over the data. Take a look.”
Isabelle looked over Quinn’s shoulder, jockeying for position with Dubs.
“Is that?” Dubs asked.
“Holy shit indeed,” Isabelle said. She called to Holt who was by her side in an instant. “It looks like your fishing paid off. You currently have Malcolm on the line. Maybe now we can get some answers about who’s pulling his strings.”
Quinn knew her posture was stiff and she was grinding her teeth. This was the man who had beaten Lola nearly to death. She wished there was a way to exact some form of revenge instead of looking through his contacts like a switchboard peeping tom.
“Holt, can you and Dubs get started on putting Malcolm’s contacts up? I’ve got to ask Quinn something. We’ll be right there.”
Holt looked confused but didn’t ask questions. As soon as they were out of earshot, Isabelle turned to Quinn. Quinn saw Isabelle looked concerned.
“You okay, Quinn?”
“This is the guy who beat Lola.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Isabelle looked at her kindly. She didn’t say anything else. She was clearly waiting for Quinn to explain what had her on edge.
“All I can think about is hurting him. Making him feel what she felt, or what I felt. I’ve never believed in the eye for an eye philosophy, but I want to hurt him. Do you know what it’s like to think the person you love is dead?” Did I just say love?
“Yes, actually,” Isabelle said. “I watched Holt get shot in the chest from point-blank range. Jose saved her life by insisting she wear a bulletproof tuxedo that night, but as the bullet hit her, I was sure she was dead.”
“Bulletproof tuxedo?” Quinn asked. “Who are you people?”
“I’m an accountant, remember?” Isabelle said. “And I keep telling you, you kind of get used to the rest of them.”
“Says the woman on the arm of the founder of the Justice League.”
“Someone has to be,” Isabelle said. “Might as well be me.”
“Right, she really settled. Even a blind man could see how crazy she is for you,” Quinn said.
“Thank you,” Isabelle said. “It would seem you and Lola are pretty solid as well, given that you want to go back to LA to avenge her beating.”
“I think I’m in love with her,” Quinn said. “I know Lola told you she said she’d move anywhere I go for work. I want her to come with me so badly, but I feel like I should be telling her not to. Her whole life is here, with all of you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Isabelle said.
That caught Quinn by surprise. Isabelle was usually so calm, but she sounded a little peeved.
“She’s choosing to make a life with you. The only reason to tell her not to go with you is if you don’t want her with you.”
“I want her there,” Quinn said quietly.
“Then I’ll make a deal with you,” Isabelle said. “You don’t do anything rash, like going after Malcolm or convincing Max to redirect a missile to his general vicinity, and I’ll remind you that none of us, including Lola, think you’re stealing her, as often as you need it.”
“Before I agree,” Quinn said. “Are you angry at the man who tried to kill Holt?”
“Yes,” Isabelle said. “But at the time I was also angry at Holt. The man, Decker, was after me, but she goaded him into coming after her instead. To protect me. I know now that she’ll do anything to protect me, but at the time, her job and that single-minded focus were sticking points for us.”
“Somehow I get the sense it’s not Holt who captains the ship around here.” Quinn knew everyone called Isabelle “Queen.” It didn’t take her long to observe why.
“I let her handle the icky things and the things that require doors to be kicked in. But I’d kick in a door to save her ass if I had to,” Isabelle said. “That’s the beautiful thing about true love and trust. Every once in a while, when you really need it, you can ask the person you love to step outside their comfort zone, to trust you, and they will, because you’ve never let them down.”
“I’d pay good money to see you wielding an automatic rifle to save Holt’s buns,” Quinn said.
“She should be so lucky,” Isabelle said. “But no guns. Holt hates them.”
“Seriously? What if you were under siege? Not even in self- defense?”
“I honestly have no idea what would happen if a small army descended on us. My plan would be the same whether Holt was shooting back or not. Duck and cover, let them handle the superhero stuff. So, do you agree to my deal? Trust Lola?”
“Yes,” Quinn said. “And thank you.”
Isabelle reached out and squeezed Quinn’s hand. “Excellent. Let’s get back to work.”
They made their way to the conference room where Holt and Dubs were staring at Max’s fancy touch screen. It was filled with names and numbers. Quinn assumed they were Malcolm’s contacts.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Dubs said.
“Get Lola in here,” Holt said. “See if she recognizes anyone on this list. Maybe she can make sense of it.”
“What’s the problem?” Isabelle asked.
“Malcolm’s contacts. There’s only a single connection to the CMCs, but Lola said he was in charge when she encountered them,” Holt said.
Quinn thought she looked frustrated.
“Second phone?”
“Always a possibility,” Holt said.
Dubs returned to the conference room with Lola, who had been working with Moose in the other room. Lola looked over the list of contacts carefully.
“What’s wrong?” Isabelle asked Holt.
“Something isn’t right here. I just can’t put my finger on it. And it’s driving me nuts.”
“Just with Malcolm?”
“Nah. There’s something more. I’m missing something, like it’s just there, in my peripheral.”
“Anything jumping out at you, Lola?” Holt asked.
“Kind of. I mean, I wouldn’t believe this was Malcolm’s phone data if I hadn’t met him or we hadn’t extracted the information ourselves. What I know of him means this list doesn’t make sense.”
“Explain,” Holt said.
“The people I recognize from my research in LA are city councilmen and women and a few prominent local business owners. That one,” Lola pointed to one of the contacts, “is the superintendent of the Los Angeles School District.”
“How do you know all this? I’ve lived in LA most of my life and have no idea who any of these people are,” Quinn said. Lola had talked about how much she liked watching Quinn work, but she was enjoying watching Lola work too. She totally got why people found cops attractive. Lola didn’t have a uniform, but it turned out the crime fighting thing worked for her. If she could extricate herself from direc
t involvement, all the better.
“Research when I first arrived,” Lola said. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to be thorough, that it might come in handy.”
“Impressive, my love,” Quinn said. Lola didn’t seem to notice her affectionate term, but Dubs certainly did. Dubs looked liked a golden retriever puppy who was trying her hardest to contain her excited wiggle, but mostly failing. That was kind of how Lola made Quinn feel on the inside too.
“So, gumshoe,” Dubs said. “What does it all mean?”
“I have to do all the work around here?” Lola asked.
“Obviously,” Dubs said.
“Fine,” Lola said. “Then make yourself useful as my lackey.” Lola shooed Dubs toward the screen.
“Oh, I didn’t sign up for that,” Dubs said. “Why don’t you get Quinn to do whatever you’re about to ask of me?”
“For your own good, we’re all ignoring that. Now get up to the screen.” Lola studied the list of names again. “We’re going to sort everyone I recognize into groups. Quinn, can you do a basic Google search on the rest and see if anything useful comes up?”
“This is good,” Holt said. “Lola, how far along were you and Moose in your compilation of background on LA during the CMC’s rise?”
“We were almost done,” Lola said. “He’s probably just finishing up our report.”
“You guys keep working here. I’m going to help Moose. Everyone gives a report in an hour.”
Quinn marveled at the speed at which things happened here. She figured when there were life-or-death consequences, speed mattered, but even with a few days of relative calm, everyone had been working quickly and efficiently. It was so different from her research lab which was dependent on participant recruitment and whatever pace those at the top of the hierarchy felt like working.
“We’ve got it covered, H.”
Lola, Quinn, and Dubs searched and sorted through Malcolm’s entire contact list until they’d divided everyone into three categories: business, CMC, and “other,” probably friends and family. As they’d suspected earlier, there was only one name they’d thus far been able to connect to the CMCs listed in Malcolm’s phone. Even that guy was a high-ranking member who also ran a legitimate business. To an outsider, Malcolm would look like an up-and-coming mover and shaker in the LA political and business world, not the leader of a violent street gang.
“This still doesn’t make any sense,” Dubs said. “What is up with this guy?”
“I think I might have the answer,” Holt said. She poked her head back in the conference room. “Give me a minute to get the rest of the group.”
Quinn watched as everyone jostled for chairs and fought over the best seats. Quinn didn’t care where she sat. Lola pulled out a chair for her and took the seat to her right. Quinn saw Isabelle didn’t join the scrum. She took the chair no one else had attempted to claim.
“Lola, can you get us up to speed on what you guys found?” Holt asked. She stood at the front of the room.
“Sure. Malcolm appears, on the surface, like an aspiring businessman or politician. His phone is a who’s who of movers and shakers in LA city happenings. The only CMC contact is also a big business guy. If I didn’t have personal experience with the guy, I would say he’s trying to build something other than a name for the CMCs.”
“I think that’s because he is,” Holt said. “I remembered reading an article about how small businesses are starting to grow in unlikely neighborhoods in LA. It’s gotten national attention as a model to replicate. Max, can you pull up the maps from the article?”
Max tapped her tablet and wiped the large screen of the lists Lola and her small team had been working on.
“You better have hit save before you did that, Pretty Girl,” Dubs said.
Max rolled her eyes. “This is a map of the areas from Holt’s article,” she said. “And this,” she layered a second map on top, “is data we got from Sam about areas the CMCs have taken control of since they came into existence.”
The two maps overlaid almost identically.
“Those crime statistics that were so low were for those areas too,” Dubs said.
“What does this mean? Do we like this guy now, if a gang is actually making things better?” Moose asked.
“I don’t,” Quinn said. “I don’t care what his neighborhood maps look like.” She put her hand protectively on Lola’s leg. The image of Lola being dumped on the sidewalk would always stay with her.
“As with most things,” Holt said, “I think it’s probably quite complicated. We clearly don’t have all the facts, but if I had to speculate, it looks like he’s performing hostile takeovers of other gangs’ territories, and then trying to bring in businesses and opportunity to previously neglected neighborhoods. It’s an interesting model for revitalization. I would be curious how he’s viewed by the residents of these neighborhoods.”
“So the CMCs aren’t a violent street gang after all?” Dubs asked. She threw her hands up in defeat.
“They’re incredibly violent,” Max said. “They crush their rivals. Especially early in their expansion, they annihilated the competition. Sam said things are starting to settle in terms of the violence. Maybe other gangs are seeing the writing on the wall and choosing to assimilate.” Max shrugged.
“And I’m sure the narrative that the CMCs are a vicious and brutal gang willing to do anything to defend their territory is helpful for fending off rivals and border skirmishes,” Lola said. “Are we sure that everyone they assimilate stays on as a soldier? Gangsters join up for all kinds of reasons, but having a place to belong, people you can count on, and opportunities in your community are usually high on the list. If these neighborhoods are stabilizing, the appeal of the gangs might lessen.” She moved to the front of the room and looked at the map more closely.
“The question becomes, is that a consequence or the desired outcome?” Holt said. “Former soldiers who are getting a second chance in their own neighborhood would be powerful protectors.”
“But how does Malcolm convince the power players in the political and business world to invest in his neighborhoods when they’re controlled by the CMCs?” Isabelle asked. “If I’m a small business owner and I can open a shop anywhere in the city, a place under the control of a street gang with a violent reputation, no matter the decrease in crime statistics, isn’t going to be particularly attractive to me.”
“He’s got to have help,” Holt said. “Someone more powerful who can funnel the types of opportunities he wants for his community in his direction.”
“The election,” Lola said. She smacked Holt’s shoulder in her excitement.
Everyone looked at her. Quinn knew that look on Lola’s face. She’d seen it when Lola had figured out a neuroscience concept she’d been explaining to her, or when she found one of Quinn’s classes particularly interesting.
“The mayoral election in LA had more money in the campaigns of the candidates than any other before. It was a two-way race for most of the spring, but a dark horse candidate entered in the early summer. He hit hard on law and order and lowering crime in high risk neighborhoods.”
“I read some of those articles,” Moose said. “LA was pretty desensitized to gang violence, so his message wasn’t resonating, but then the CMCs sprang onto the scene a couple months after he entered the race and they really started taking off that fall.”
Quinn remembered that campaign. She hadn’t bought into the hysteria, but plenty of others had.
“His message was effective,” Quinn said.
“But he didn’t just promise to crack down on crime,” Lola said. “He campaigned on rebuilding the gang-ravaged communities. He harped on it. I watched footage. Over and over, he talked about how he would bring in new businesses, make the streets safe for kids to play in their front yards or walk home from school.”
Quinn couldn’t believe the mayor could be involved with the CMCs. That he would have anything to do with almost getting her killed.
/> “Lots of people campaign on those kinds of messages though,” Quinn said.
“Sure, of course,” Lola said. “This is all speculation for now. But it’s rather coincidental. It makes sense, in a twisted way. Tell people there’s a major gang problem, and when they ignore you, put a violent gang in place to show them it’s true. Then promise to clean up the city and help businesses, and use the gang you’ve got in place to make it happen. You win your election, neighborhoods get better, and you’re in control of the biggest and most violent gang in the city. Perfect political concoction if you’re into cynical, horrible, immoral things. He was also accused of misappropriating massive amounts of campaign funds, although he was never charged and there was no formal investigation. The allegations just quietly disappeared.”
“Was there ever a number attached to the allegations?” Holt asked. She looked like she was buying Lola’s theory.
“About ten million dollars,” Lola said.
Moose let out a low whistle. “Well, that can’t be a coincidence.”
“Is the mayor on Malcolm’s contact list?” Holt asked.
“Yes,” Dubs said. She looked like the cat who ate the canary, but Dubs, Quinn was learning, often looked that way.
“So is his top aide. And Malcolm calls him a lot.”
“I want a secure video chat with Sam, right now,” Holt said. “Not another officer on her entire force. Understood?”
Max got up to set up the call. Quinn still had a hard time believing the mayor of LA was responsible, but the data was convincing. The fact that Holt and her crew were pulling on these loose strings was likely what made them such a threat to the CMCs in the first place. They were tenacious investigators, but also smart and resourceful.
Quinn’s cell phone rang. Everyone jumped. “Not Malcolm,” Quinn said. “But I do need to take it.”
UPVD was calling. Quinn’s stomach was in knots. Here we go.
Chapter Twenty-five
Quinn waited until she was out of the conference room before answering the call. It was from a Rhode Island number, and aside from the people in this building, there was only one other place in Rhode Island that would be calling her. Her hand shook as she answered the call.
Data Capture Page 26
