“How do we know that?”
“Jorge’s statement. And Dan Murphy confirmed that Jorge called him at home and told him about the call. This happened a little after ten o’clock the night of the murder. Bigs and I confirmed the call with phone records. Jorge told me the caller had been frightened and would only meet him in secret and only if he came alone.”
“Sounds like a setup.”
Kelly nodded. “Jorge and Dan thought the same thing. So Dan followed Jorge to the meet and parked around the corner in case he needed backup.”
“So what happened?”
The Latina detective shrugged. “The caller never showed. Jorge hung around the meeting place for an hour then they gave up and went home.” She closed the binder. “While they waited for the no-show witness, Franco was gunned down four blocks away.”
“Did either one hear the shots?”
Kelly sighed. “No such luck. Industrial area with three-story, concrete block and stucco buildings that make great soundproofing.”
“Yeah,” Chuck agreed, “that’s why they make freeway sound barriers out of concrete. Dan Murphy should be his alibi for the time of the shooting.”
“Nope. Murphy waited a block away around a corner. He listened to Jorge’s open cellphone line. He couldn’t see Jorge.”
“Could Murphy have sneaked off and killed Franco himself?”
“Bigs and I checked the GPS recorders in both unmarked cars. Neither one left the spots the guys reported in their incident report.”
“So if Jorge or Murphy did it, he left his car on foot. Any security cameras in the neighborhood?”
“There were two logical streets that either Jorge or Dan could use to get to the site: 85th and 86th. We canvassed every business on both streets. We found three security cameras at two businesses. No sign of anyone walking on the street.”
The elevator dinged and Kelly looked up to see her partner come out carrying two brown paper bags in his massive hands. He maneuvered his six-and-half-feet of bulk carefully between the desks.
Arnie “Bigs” Bigelow had retired as a defensive lineman for the Port City Pelicans when he was in his early thirties. He had been such a dominating force for the Pelican defense that sports journalists dubbed the entire defensive line The Bigs Brigade. Kelly first met Bigs when he trained at the police academy between football seasons. He became a ride-along, unpaid volunteer in the off-season.
When the Pelicans retired his jersey, he decided to do something meaningful with the rest of his life, so he joined the Port City Police Department. He worked his way up to detective and Kelly grabbed him as a partner.
“Got your lunch, Kelly. Hey, Chuck. You had lunch?” He set the bags on Kelly’s desk and shook hands. His giant hand swallowed the young PI’s.
“Thanks, I’m good. Y’all go ahead.” Chuck picked up his binder. “I won’t interrupt your lunch. I’ll take this binder to that empty desk and study it while you eat. I’ll come back in a bit.”
#
Kelly and Bigs stuffed their Chinese take-out dishes into the bags Bigs had brought them in. Kelly dropped the trash into a waste can beside her desk and waved Chuck over. “Okay, back to work. Whaddya want to know?”
“Walk me through this.”
“Lieutenant Weiner said to treat this like the victim was a solid citizen instead of a drug dealer. ‘By the book,’ she said.”
Bigs smiled. “Mother Weiner always tells us, ‘Scumbags deserve justice too.’”
All the cops who worked for Lieutenant Joyce Weiner called her “Mother” because she was a Jewish mother to them as well as in real life. Kelly knew that Chuck was one of the lucky ones who had worked for her back in the day.
“We checked Franco’s car and gun for prints,” said Kelly. “Dug out one spent shell from the wall behind the car. We reviewed the autopsy. The kill shot was right to the head after Franco fell from the first ones. Franco got off three rounds before he fell. We found bullet holes in a building across the street from the dead guy. After that, we didn’t have much to go on. We put the case on hold until the ballistics came back.”
She tapped the murder book. “That’s when we found out that Jorge’s gun was the murder weapon.”
Chuck nodded. “It must’ve been pretty cut and dried from there.”
“What did we miss, Chuck?” Bigs asked.
“I’ll study the murder book again tonight. So far it looks like solid work, guys.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” Kelly said. “Bigs and I both wear pants, so don’t try to blow smoke up my dress. What’d you find?”
“You’re right, Kelly: There’s no such thing as a perfect case. Something’s tickling at the back of my mind. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
“You two did the investigation the right way. I’m going to do it the Army way—out of the box.”
Chapter 5
The gray plastic plaque on the door read Darcy V. Yankton, JD, Assistant Public Defender in machine-cut letters. Chuck knocked twice and walked in.
Inside, a thirty-something woman in a dark blue pantsuit with a patterned silk scarf worked at a metal desk with a chipped plastic laminated top. Chuck thought of a young Hillary Clinton. Behind her, a matching credenza overflowed with three stacks of file folders that reached slightly above the windowsills. She took off her reading glasses and looked up.
“Ms. Yankton?”
She closed the file she was working on and smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to help you defend Jorge Castellano.” He handed her a business card. “I’m Chuck McCrary.”
She glanced at the card and dropped it on her desk without reading it. “What’s your interest in Mr. Castellano?”
“Jorge and I worked together for three years out of the North Shore Precinct. I’m now a private investigator. Didn’t he tell you I’d call?”
She put her reading glasses back on and read the card this time. Her smile disappeared. “I recognize your name. The newspaper and TV reporters called you Carlos, not Chuck.”
“That’s my legal name. I guess Carlos is more politically correct for a Mexican-American. My friends call me Chuck.”
“You were involved in that Simonetti thing, weren’t you, McCrary? Those murdered heiresses I read about in the newspaper. You killed a half dozen people yourself, didn’t you?” She slid the card back across the desk toward him.
“I killed five. And they shot at me first.”
She frowned. “I don’t approve of vigilantes, McCrary.”
“Me neither. If you’d read the rest of the newspaper stories, you’d know that the Port City DA called all five shootings self-defense. Or hadn’t you read that part?”
“You took the law into your own hands.”
“You ever been shot at, counselor?”
She scoffed. “Of course not.”
“What would you have me do when someone is shooting at me? Reason with them? Look, Ms. Yankton, I didn’t come here to argue with you; I came here to help Jorge. You and I are on the same side. I want to be your investigator for his defense.”
“The Public Defender’s office has our own investigators. We don’t hire outsiders.”
“But you can hire them when necessary. Jorge thinks it’s necessary.”
“I don’t. And it’s my case and my call.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “The investigation’s done, McCrary. The police have motive, method, and opportunity.”
“May I sit down?”
“You’re not staying.”
“The motive and the method are wrong.”
“I’ve read the file. It all fits.”
Chuck couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “My God. You think he’s guilty, don’t you? How can you defend him if you don’t believe him?”
She stood and leaned over her desk, waving a finger in Chuck’s face. “How can you possibly be so naïve, McCrary? I don’t have to believe him to represent
him. Guilty or not guilty, he still gets a fair trial. Even if he is a cop.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She plopped into her desk chair. “Everyone knows that cops take the law into their own hands when they can get away with it.” She shrugged. “May I speak frankly?”
“Please do.”
“Look at my workload.” She gestured at the credenza behind her. “This office plays catch-up as a perpetual operating condition. We’re always behind. The Castellano case—” She grabbed a file off the stack and dropped it on her desk with a thud. “It’s not complicated. It’s a textbook example of when a rogue cop should take whatever plea deal he can get.”
“One problem counselor…Jorge is not a rogue cop. He didn’t do it.”
“Every defendant says that.”
“I believe him.”
“You and Castellano have a history, I believe.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“You’re a former cop too. I prefer my investigators to be unbiased and objective.”
With an effort, Chuck smiled. “I’m neither unbiased nor objective when it comes to Jorge Castellano. He saved my life when I was a police detective.”
“While I admire your loyalty, McCrary, that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”
“You’re right, of course. Nevertheless, he is innocent. And I’ll help you prove it when I find out who shot Garrison Franco. Didn’t Jorge tell you I’d call?”
“I don’t need outside help, especially yours, and especially for a rogue cop.”
“Counselor, whether or not you believe Jorge is guilty, your professional ethics require that you give him the best defense possible.”
“So?”
“The best defense includes a quality investigation by independent experts.” Chuck spread his arms and bowed. “And here I am.”
“And you’re modest too.”
“It’s a curse.”
She didn’t smile. “The public defender’s office doesn’t have a budget to hire private investigators.”
“Not a problem. I’ve made separate arrangements with Jorge.”
“What arrangements?”
“As I said, he saved my life. I can never repay that debt.”
“I don’t want a vigilante, a…a…cowboy as my investigator.”
“Then it’s good that I’m neither a vigilante nor a cowboy. Although, I was raised on a farm. If your in-house investigators are as swamped as you are, they’ll never be able to do the job that Jorge deserves. That’s why you need me. And besides,” he smiled, “I’m free.”
She sighed. “McCrary, I don’t like you, and I don’t like the shoot-first attitude that people like you have. That said, you are correct that I have an obligation to provide any client, guilty or innocent, the best defense I can. Therefore, I will engage you as my investigator on one condition.”
“And that is…?”
“You operate by the book. You don’t take the law into your own hands. You run everything by me.”
“Agreed.”
“Okay. Sit down. The PD office will pay you a dollar to make it legal.”
“Shall I send you an invoice?”
“Let’s keep it simple.” She pulled a dollar from her purse and handed it across the desk. “I’ll put this on my expense report, in case anyone asks.” She waited for him to stuff the bill in his pocket. “Have you seen the case against him?”
“Yes. Kelly Contreras gave me a copy of the murder book.”
“Where will you begin?”
“At the beginning.”
Chapter 6
Chuck parked his white minivan in the used furniture store parking lot on 84th Street. Kelly said that 85th and 86th were the logical routes for Jorge or Dan to take if either of them were the shooter. Maybe the shooter wasn’t logical. Or maybe he knew about the security cameras on 85th and 86th.
An electronic door dinged when Chuck walked into the Second Time Around store.
An old man looked up from behind the counter where he was talking on the phone. He had long white hair and a face so wrinkled that he resembled a Chinese Shar Pei. “Just a sec’, somebody’s come in.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Can I help you?”
Chuck pointed at the phone. “Go ahead. I can wait.”
“Let me call you back.” Shar Pei man hung up. “How can I help you?”
“Are those security cameras out front?”
The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes. “Why d’you ask?”
“I’m a private investigator. I’m trying to find security footage from a night about three weeks ago.”
The old man nodded. “Yeah, they’re real, but the hard drive stores the last seven days’ worth of footage.”
“Any offsite backups with video from three weeks ago?”
“Sorry.”
#
Two hours and two blocks farther east on 84th street, Chuck spotted an ATM in front of a convenience store. Banks always use offsite storage for their security footage and so do convenience stores. He photographed the ATM and the storefront as a reminder to follow up with them later.
He moved on to the next business. Two more blocks to go, then he’d do the south side.
An hour later, he’d canvassed all the way to Second Avenue. He crossed the street and worked his way along the south side. He’d covered two blocks when he came to the Day and Night Diner.
His stomach growled; he was hungry. He glanced at his cellphone—six thirty. Some of the stores would close soon. I’ll finish the canvass tomorrow.
Chuck pushed open the door to the diner, and a brass bell tinkled. A middle-aged black woman in a server’s uniform looked up from behind the counter where she was stacking cups.
He picked a stool at the counter and grabbed a menu.
The server smiled. “Be right with you, hon.” She finished stacking the cups, grabbed an order pad, and walked over. “Good evenin’. What can I get you?”
Chuck noticed a glass case at the end of the counter. “Is that pecan pie over there?”
“Sure is. Baked fresh daily. It’s my favorite. If there’s any left over at the end of my shift, I always have a piece.” She patted her stomach. “As you can see. We make all our pies fresh every day.”
He stuck the menu back in its stainless steel rack. “I’ll have the meatloaf special and pecan pie for dessert—” He glanced at the name sewn on her uniform. “Veraleesa.”
“What would you like to drink?”
“Unsweetened iced tea.”
“Coming up.” Five minutes later, she set the meatloaf plate and a glass of iced tea in front of him. “You new around here?”
“How did you know?”
“Worked here thirteen years. I know all the regulars. You haven’t eaten here before—at least not during my shift.”
“You have the evening shift?”
“Six p.m. to two a.m. Been working it thirteen years.”
“You like the late hours?”
“I’m not a morning person. Never was. This way I can sleep ’til noon every day, not just on weekends. You’re not asking what time I get off, are you? I’m old enough to be your mother. Not to mention you being white and all.”
He laughed with her. “No, no. Although if I were a few years older…” He winked.
“You scamp.” A lady in a booth raised her iced tea glass and Veraleesa waved at her. “Be right back.”
Chuck had finished half his meatloaf when she returned. “You’re not here for the food, are you?”
“You’re very perceptive, Veraleesa.”
“You a cop?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You look like a detective. Not too many people wear suits in here. Lots of my regulars are cops, both uniformed and plainclothes.”
“I used to be a detective.”
“Also, I saw the lump from your gun beneath the jacket when I walked behind you to refill those customers.”
“Good eye
. You would’ve made a good detective. I’m a private investigator. My name is Chuck McCrary.”
He handed her a business card. She glanced at it and stuck it in her apron pocket.
“I’m Veraleesa Kotanay. What you investigating?”
“A murder in the neighborhood three weeks ago.”
“That the Garrison Franco thing?”
“How’d you know?”
“I serve cops in here all the time; they talk to me. They love our banana cream and lemon meringue pie. Try one of those next time. But they usually investigate street crimes. Muggings, car thefts, burglaries. Murder is pretty rare.”
“Do you remember a pretty Latina detective named Kelly Contreras?”
“No, can’t say as I do.”
“Her partner is a big black man, six foot six and maybe three hundred pounds. Name of Arnie Bigelow.”
“Didn’t there used to be a football player by that name? Yeah, Bigs Bigelow.”
“That’s Arnie. He played defensive lineman for the Port City Pelicans for a few years.”
“I remember him now. All-Pro. Bigs Brigade they called it. But I’ve never seen either one of them in here—I would’ve remembered him. Are they investigating the murder too?”
“They’ve finished their investigation. They arrested a friend of mine. But my friend didn’t do it, so I’m going to find the real killer.”
“Good for you, big guy.”
“You have security cameras here?”
“In this neighborhood? Is the Pope Catholic?”
“How would I go about seeing your footage from three weeks ago?”
Chapter 7
Chuck paused the playback and ran it backwards for a few seconds, then played it again. “Right there, Snoop,” he said as he paused the video. “Watch this.”
Raymond “Snoop” Snopolski sat beside Chuck at the computer monitor in Chuck’s office. Snoop had been a detective for the Port City PD for over thirty years. After he retired, Snoop got his PI license more for something to do than for the money. He did trial prep work for a few lawyers, and Chuck used him for surveillance and backup.
Double Fake, Double Murder (A Carlos McCrary, Private Investigator, Mystery Thriller Series Book 2) Page 2
