Code Rojo

by Ray Flynt

  Nick nodded as the two detectives continued toward their unmarked car at the intersection with 7th Street.

  Brad pulled out his phone.

  Nick crushed his unfinished cheroot in the neighboring planter. “What are you doing?”

  “Texting Sharon. I think the homicide they’re headed for is where she’s doing Tulverson’s undercover work.”

  Brad’s phone dinged. He rotated the screen so Nick could see Sharon’s response: All hell just broke loose.

  25

  I’d never been known for my punctuality, but Carmen caused me to obsess about it. Well, not so much her, as the prospect that losing my job with Councilman Parson might jeopardize my assignment with the Attorney General’s office.

  When Oliver awoke frisky on Wednesday morning, I cooled his jets and urged our early departure. This allowed time for a visit to the bagel shop on the ground floor of our office building, and I still made it to Parson’s suite with minutes to spare before our 9 a.m. start.

  Finding the lights off and doors closed to the adjacent offices brought a sigh of relief. A digital clock on the credenza blinked 1:32, signaling an overnight power outage. After resetting the time, I filled the Keurig with water and fixed a cup. I sipped the hearty brew, bracing myself for Carmen’s arrival and another day of walking on eggshells.

  Tulverson had shared no details of what the video revealed from Carmen’s meeting with real estate developer Scott McQuillen. Like too many aspects of this undercover assignment, information sharing was a one-way street. I appreciated even more my collegial relationship with Brad.

  At a quarter past nine, the sound of a distant explosion prompted me to investigate. I flung open Parson’s office door and headed for the window. An unusual odor slowed my stride, which I attributed to an annoying burp of poppy-seed bagel blended with hazelnut coffee. Outside, a plume of smoke and dust rose from what looked like the controlled demolition of a warehouse two blocks away. Fire equipment stood at the site, spraying water on the debris to contain dust.

  I turned to head back to my workstation and noticed the framed photo of the councilman’s victory celebration propped against the mahogany wainscoting. It had previously hidden the wall safe, the steel door of which now hung open, totally empty.

  I glanced to my left and shuddered at the sight of bare legs protruding from behind Parson’s desk. Further inspection revealed Carmen Castillo lying face down in a pool of congealed blood—long past time when checking for a pulse would’ve made sense. I froze in place, taking in details. The handle of a knife jutted from the middle of her back. Its black color and metal rivets suggested a steak knife of fairly common design. I wanted a closer examination but dared not.

  Carmen wore a long-sleeved beige blouse, and her burgundy skirt bunched on her thighs. These were different than the two outfits she’d worn the previous day. Her hands were tied behind her back with what appeared to be a strip of cloth torn from her skirt. Lacey pink panties drooped below her knees, indicative of sexual assault—or perhaps the killer’s desire to misdirect.

  The blade stuck fully in her back with very little blood evident at the insertion point. Most of the blood pooled under her, onto the heavy plastic carpet protector. This stab in the back could hardly be the fatal blow, more likely a message. A profiler would deem this crime personal.

  I backed out of the room and called 9-1-1 before opening the connecting door to Carmen’s office. Her matching burgundy jacket hung over the back of her desk chair. Nordstrom’s shopping bags and the clothing she’d worn the previous day were nowhere to be seen. I didn’t know what time Carmen wrapped up her Tuesday meeting with ex-hubby Scott McQuillen. They were still secreted in Parson’s office when I left shortly after five. Given her different wardrobe, it looked like she’d gone home, changed, and returned later.

  Wait a minute. Tulverson’s video feed. He has evidence of the crime.

  Nothing remained on Parson’s round conference table of the cheesesteak and Greek salad Carmen and Scott had consumed for lunch the day before. With no food wrappers in office trash cans, knowing the time janitorial services cleaned the suite would be crucial to investigators.

  I’d just finished tapping out a text message alerting Warren Tulverson to the latest developments when a chipper Howard Parson strode through the door.

  The look on my face must’ve alerted him. He stopped in his tracks and his smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ca…carmen,” I stammered, pointing toward his office. “She’s been murdered.”

  Parson rushed past me.

  “You probably shouldn’t touch anything in….” My voice petered out since he seemed determined to ignore my advice.

  The councilman rocked on his heels as he stood near the same spot where I’d witnessed the full horror of what had happened to her.

  The blood drained from his face. He returned to where I stood and took out his phone.

  “I already called 9-1-1,” I muttered, while he held the smartphone to his ear.

  “Hey, it’s Howard. Ms. Castillo, my associate, has been murdered here at my office. Alert the police chief. I want his best detectives on this case. Won’t be long before this hits the media.”

  Typical of a politician to worry more about press coverage.

  Parson provided the address.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “The Mayor.” His gaze darted around the reception area like a bird deciding where to roost.

  “Sir.”

  “Yes?”

  I pointed toward his office. “Did you notice…looks like someone broke into the safe?”

  Parson looked grim, ducked back inside his private domain, and shot a glance at the wall safe. “Fuck” sounded like a primal scream, and he clenched his fists. Anger gathered in his eyes.

  I was determined to keep him focused and not further contaminate the crime scene. “Is there anyone we should notify in the firm? Mr. Bignell, perhaps?”

  “Huh?”

  He appeared not to hear me and began pacing in front of my desk. I repeated my question.

  Parson gestured at me. “Uh, yeah, give him a call.”

  I sat at my desk and called Isaac Bignell’s extension. I’d never dealt with his administrative assistant, but my news wasn’t for her ears. When she answered, I mimicked every officious receptionist I’d ever heard. “Councilman Parson’s office for Mr. Bignell.”

  When she responded, “Please hold,” I held my breath.

  Sixteen floors below, multiple sirens sounded outside.

  While waiting, my phone dinged with a message from Tulverson. I replied, “Not now,” and hoped Parson wouldn’t wonder what I was up to. It dawned on me that when the police arrived, we would be treated as suspects; even more so when my fingerprints are discovered on the door of the now-empty safe in Parson’s office

  Bignell’s gregarious tone interrupted my thoughts. “Howard, it’s Isaac, what can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Bignell, this is Sharon Por…ah, Rojo, Mr. Parson’s secretary. Carmen Castillo, his assistant, was found in the office this morning. She appears to be a homicide victim. The police have been called.”

  Isaac laughed. “That’s a good one. But tell Howard I’m not gonna bite…besides April Fools’ Day isn’t for a couple more weeks.”

  I rolled my eyes and maintained a serious tone. “Mr. Bignell. I assure you this is no joke. The police will arrive any minute. Howard called the Mayor’s office directly. You might want to alert the other partners.”

  Following a momentary silence, he blurted, “I’ll be right there.”

  My phone dinged with a text from Brad, “Are you dealing with a homicide?”

  Jesus. How does he know?

  I had time to type, “All hell just broke loose,” before Isaac Bignell, whose office was at the opposite end of our floor, entered the suite.

  Bignell shot a glance at me then clamped his hand on Parson’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this. What happened?”
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  Just like a man, the councilman minimized my role. “We got here shortly after nine to discover Carmen’s body on the floor behind my desk. It’s a mess. Lots of blood. She’s been knifed in the back.”

  Bignell’s jaw dropped.

  “Looks like there might have been a robbery,” Parson continued. “My safe’s been emptied.”

  “Anything valuable?” Bignell asked.

  Parson rubbed the side of his forehead.

  He probably needed a moment to concoct his story of exactly what the safe held. I was all ears.

  “Nothing of monetary value, if that’s what you mean. Important papers.”

  Papers related to his real estate schemes?

  Parson teetered on his feet, which prompted Bignell to act. “Come and sit over here. You’ve had a terrible shock.” He guided Parson toward the same chair where I’d waited for my initial interview with Carmen.

  Bignell pivoted in my direction. “Miss, you can leave for the day. Howard will advise if it’ll be necessary for you to come in tomorrow.”

  I didn’t budge, staring first at Parson and then Bignell. “I’m pretty sure the police will want to talk with me.”

  “Oh, right.” The managing partner bobbed his head. He turned to Parson. “When did you last see Carmen?”

  “Uh…yesterday…no, wait…I wasn’t here. It must’ve been Monday.” Parson looked at me. “Ellie, what time did I leave on Monday?”

  “It’s Sharon,” I reminded him.

  He winced.

  “I believe you left around 1 p.m.”

  The door to our suite opened. Beyond, I spotted a uniformed Philly police officer standing in the hallway. A man wearing a gray suit and navy tie entered and flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Norcross. You reported a homicide?” His gaze shifted between the two men.

  Bignell extended his hand. “I’m Isaac Bignell, managing partner for the firm, and this is Howard…City Councilman Howard Parson, one of our law partners.”

  The detective stared at Parson. “You called the Mayor?”

  Parson nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Where’s the body? And which of you found it?”

  “In there.” Parson pointed toward the partially opened door of his inner sanctum.

  I gingerly raised my hand. “I found her.”

  “I’m gonna want you all out of here. Mr. Bignell, is there a convenient place for my partner and I to conduct interviews?”

  “There’s a conference room just down the hall. I can show you.”

  The detective followed Bignell in that direction, while Parson perched on the edge of his chair looking vulnerable and clueless. I almost felt pity until I recalled the scheme he, Carmen, and Scott McQuillen were perpetrating on the taxpayers of Philadelphia. Parson hunched over, holding a clenched fist in front of his mouth, wheels turning north of his eyebrows no doubt.

  I regarded him with an I-know-what-you’re-up-to stare. He avoided my gaze.

  Bignell and the detective returned, and Norcross announced, “The medical examiner’s office will be here shortly.”

  My cellphone rang. Caller ID identified Tulverson’s number. He usually communicated via text, and I debated letting it go into voice mail, when Detective Norcross gestured toward me. “You can answer it.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to jeopardize my undercover identity should those in the room overhear tidbits that would enable them to put two and two together. Finally, I accepted the call and croaked, “Hello.”

  Tulverson whispered. I had to strain to hear. “Are the police there yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hand your phone to the officer in charge. I’d like to speak with him.”

  It wasn’t hard to get the officer’s attention since all eyes had drifted to me when I took the call. “Detective Norcross.” I held up my phone. “It’s for you.”

  The officer placed the phone to his ear and snarled, “This is Norcross.”

  He listened for a bit then wandered into the hallway with my phone.

  Bignell inquired, “Who was that?”

  I shrugged with my most befuddled look. “I guess somebody from the police.”

  Thankfully, the two lawyers in the room didn’t follow-up as to why the police would have my number. If so, I figured I’d blame it on me making the initial 9-1-1 call.

  Minutes later, the door opened, and Norcross roared, “Rojo.” His index finger beckoned me into the hallway.

  26

  Norcross had handed me back my phone, which now dinged with a text from Oliver. “I just heard. You okay?”

  News travels fast.

  I leaned against the wood paneling of the hallway waiting for the detective to finish conferring with his associate.

  Although bald, the man, who wore khakis and a sport jacket, looked younger and less weathered than Norcross. A uniformed officer continued to stand sentinel outside the door to Parson’s suite.

  Each time the elevator doors glided open, more people arrived to assist with the crime scene: a photographer, evidence techs, and finally guys from the medical examiner’s office rolling a gurney onto the floor.

  Doors swung open from the adjacent suites as curious staffers gawked at the commotion.

  Carmen wouldn’t be missed. Too many people had alerted me to her unpleasantness during my brief tenure for me to think otherwise. She engendered fear and loathing.

  Who dreaded her enough to kill her?

  Norcross approached. I straightened up. He signaled for me to continue to wait, then stepped inside Parson’s office and escorted the councilman and Isaac Bignell out. The detective asked them where they could wait until he was ready to interview them. Bignell suggested his office at the far end of the hall and guided Parson in that direction.

  Norcross once again disappeared into the Councilman’s suite. Several minutes passed before he returned and led me into the conference room. We sat adjacent to each other at the burled walnut table with the Greek key inlay.

  He asked to see my photo ID.

  I produced the fake one Tulverson had supplied.

  He glanced between me and the picture. “Rojo, huh?”

  I bobbed my head, but figured he knew that wasn’t my real name. It sucked not knowing how much Tulverson had revealed about my assignment.

  He handed back the ID and opened a notebook. “How long have you worked in Mr. Parson’s office?”

  “Started a week ago yesterday.”

  “Tell me what you saw this morning.”

  I took a deep breath. “Well, I arrived at the Councilman’s suite just before nine. The lights were off and the connecting doors to his personal office and the adjoining one used by Carmen were closed. I filled the reservoir in the coffee maker and sat at my desk to await the arrival of the others.”

  The detective raised his hand. “By others, you mean?”

  “Carmen and Councilman Parson. They expect me to be here by nine but usually drift in on their own schedule.”

  He made notes, while I continued. “A few minutes later, I heard an explosion outside and entered Mr. Parson’s office to investigate. From the window, I saw workers had imploded a warehouse a couple of blocks north. When I pivoted to return to my office, I noticed a framed photograph propped against the wall and the door open to an empty wall safe.”

  “Do you know what was kept in the safe?”

  “Not directly. I heard Parson tell Mr. Bignell that there’d been important papers there.”

  “Who had the combination?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “What happened next?”

  “As I headed back to my office, I glanced to the left and saw Carmen’s legs sticking out from behind Mr. Parson’s desk.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You immediately knew they were her legs?”

  “Well, no. I could tell they were a woman’s from the bare legs and thought I recognized her shoes. A few steps closer confirmed it was her.”

  “She’s face down. Did you mov
e her?”

  “No. No.”

  “How did you know it was…” he consulted his notes, “Ms. Castillo?”

  “Yesterday, she showed up with a silver streak in her hair. That was a clue.” I regretted my sarcasm the moment I said it.

  “Did you check for a pulse?”

  “No. I knew she was dead.”

  Norcross leaned back in his chair looking smug. “The knife in her back might have been a clue.”

  He’s baiting me.

  I shook my head. “That didn’t kill her. More like delivering a final message. There’s hardly any blood at the knife’s entry. Tons of blood oozing from under her though. I expect you’ll find several wounds when you turn her over.”

  He smiled. “Captain Argostino told me you know your stuff.”

  “You called him?” My mouth gaped.

  He shrugged an apology. “Tulverson said the Cap’n could vouch for you, so yeah, I called him.”

  “What else did Tulverson say?”

  “He tells me you’re cooperating with an ongoing investigation by the AG’s office; that you’re one of the good guys. He said you might have useful information for our murder investigation.”

  I kneaded my hands in front of me, disadvantaged at not having instructions regarding how much I could reveal.

  Norcross held open his palms. “Tulverson assured me we’d have your full cooperation. I’ll be honest with you, in my experience, communication with the Attorney General’s office is often a one-way street. I’ve got a homicide to solve. Hope you can help me.”

  Fuck it. Murder trumps political corruption no matter what Howard Parson and his colleagues are doing.

  “I’ll try.”

  A rap sounded at the door. The other detective entered and took Norcross’s attention away from our interview. “What’s up?”

  “Sorry to interrupt. The ME would like to speak with you.”

  Norcross stood. “Kevin, this is Sharon Rojo. I worked with her dad when I first joined the department.” His conversation with Nick Argostino about me had been more extensive than I imagined.