He shrugs and smirks in my direction. “Working the corner is considered old-school.”
“Are you calling me old?” I quip back, with a dangerous, steaming, hot cup of coffee in my hand, menacing him with a scalding crotch
He smiles wide. “Only you can turn anything into a weapon.” He bows his head toward the cup and continues to drive. “Dangerous woman.”
The stretching of my facial muscles hurts again. Not literally, but it hurts my heart, so I swallow and shut off, nodding every once in a while when Kace says something funny. I can’t have Kace, and happiness, and vengeance.
His phone, which is still on my lap, vibrates with a message from Frank, so I hold it up for him to see.
“What does it say?” he asks.
I unlock the phone and click on the notification. “Grover is driving me insane. Let’s switch partners. I take you, and Ellie can have Grover.”
I raise my brows at his smirk. “What’s so funny?”
“Frank tracked down the courier who delivered the last bullet. He works at this motel after school.”
“How old is he?”
“Seventeen.”
“What age range are the couriers?”
“Depends on the app used, but anywhere from sixteen to fifty. One of them was a father of five who needed to make extra cash for his son’s birthday.”
Both of us fall silent again. Neither of us will ever have a birthday with our son.
About twenty minutes later, we arrive at the motel. According to Frank, the kid’s shift starts at ten on Saturdays and ends at two. I’m not exactly sure what a young kid like this is doing working at a shit, rundown place like the Histon Bell, but I plan on asking.
We shut the door and cross the broken-up asphalt of the parking lot toward the entrance.
Kace stops right outside the door. “You ready?”
“I’m out of practice,” I warn him. My mind is distracted.
“Focus, and don’t worry. I’m here with you.”
Until you find out why I want to find the Bullet Man, I think as we enter the disgusting lobby.
Behind plexiglass, a scrawny teenager sits with a math book open on the desk and a notebook on the side. His over-stuffed backpack is on the counter behind him, along with a packed lunch with the kid’s name on it. His clothes are perfectly ironed, which has me looking down at my dryer-ironed T-shirt and slim jeans.
Someone obviously cares for this kid, so what is he doing sitting behind plexiglass, in a place whose entrance carpet probably has more bodily fluids than the bathroom? I take a long whiff of the area; the stench of must, mildew, and bleach crawls up my nostrils and summons my breakfast from the pits of my stomach. One look at the cracked bathroom door, with what looks like bullet holes, tells me I’d be better off puking where I stand.
Kace’s nose wrinkles in disgust before he knocks on the glass, startling the poor kid half to death. His mouth hangs agape as he clutches his pencil.
“Are you Anthony?”
The boy nods and bites on his bottom lip. “Yes.”
Kace reaches into this pocket and pulls out his badge. Muscle by muscle, the kid loosens up and drops his pencil in the middle of the book before standing up. “Can I help you, Detective?”
“How do you know he’s a detective?” I ask, to gauge a baseline reaction.
The boy turns to me and says, “Officers who come in here are usually uniformed.” Anthony’s eyes flicker over to Kace with slanted brows, followed by a quick flinch of his lips. “Not many officers come in here unless we call them.”
Anger and contempt. Something happened here.
“Was a call made?” I ask, taking the lead.
“No, ma’am.” He dips his head toward me, focusing on me instead of Kace as he speaks. “Not today, at least.”
“Then why were you scared when we came in?” Kace asks.
Still focused on me, Anthony explains, “Because you never know what’s going to be waiting for you when you lift your head up.”
My heart pangs inside my chest. The infliction of Anthony’s tone, a direct line to my heart. “What kind of things?”
“Guns usually.”
“Isn’t this bullet-proof glass?” Kace wraps his knuckles on it.
“No, sir. Just plastic made to look like it.”
Kace smashes his lips together. “We’re here to ask you about an application you use. BlackBoard?”
Only after the name hits the air does the kid look over at Kace with confusion contorting the center of his face. “What about it?”
Anthony motions to the door for us to come inside.
With a quick shake of his head, Kace wiggles his fingers, calling him out into the lobby. On his way toward us, Anthony peeks over his shoulder at the desk before shutting the door.
“How often do you use the app?” Kace asks.
“As often as I can.” Anthony hangs his hand on his neck and glances at me.
Me again.
“Someone’s got to help my mom out. My father skipped town on us; she can’t do everything by herself.”
I tilt my head to glance at this boy. “How many jobs do you work part-time?”
“Here on Saturday mornings and Friday nights, at the diner off Hash and Maine on Saturday nights and Sundays.”
“During the week?” I continue.
“A couple hours at the arts and crafts store, pharmacy, and the movie theaters. Whenever they need some help. But a lot of my cash comes from the apps. They pay right away.”
“How do they pay?” Kace intervenes.
The kid winces at Kace’s tone, so I inconspicuously nudge Kace in his side, telling him to stop being so aggressive.
Kace cuts his gaze at me and relents.
Rephrasing the question, I ask, “Why do you need the money so quickly?”
“Mom only makes so much on tips. Her full-time job pays her twice a week, but there are six of us, and my mom’s job only provided for little things, like getting the girls some clothes or helping me pay for prom.” He chokes on his words and looks back over his shoulder again. “My sister watches the little kids after school. I help with money and mortgage payments.”
“So, the gigs pay you cash?”
“Usually, through wire transfers at pay shops or from an account balance, you can load by buying gift cards. The money is only liberated once the delivery is checked.”
“How is the delivery checked?”
“It depends. Some people okay it, others require a snapped photo. Some, the recipient has to sign a paper.”
Kace interferes again, “You delivered a small packet to an older man the other day.”
“I’ve delivered about twenty packages in the last week. What did he look like?”
“He had a tattoo on his neck. The name of a woman right here,” Kace demonstrates the location by swiping his hand horizontally at his Adam’s apple.
“Yeah,” the kid says hesitantly. “How did you know it was me?”
“CCTV cameras caught you exiting his house and heading down the road to a pharmacy.”
“It was before my shift there. Why?”
“The man killed someone.”
“Holy shit!” The kid steps back and covers his mouth.
“We need to know everything you can remember about that delivery. Where did you pick it up? When was it posted? Did you talk to anyone? How much did it pay?”
Anthony shakes his head. “It paid well. Forty bucks, and I picked the package up at a dry cleaner on Lehigh Ave. As the instructions said, I went in, asked if they had found a package in a black suit, and the cleaning lady shook her head and rgot it for me.”
“Just like that?” I ask.
“She said she had been waiting for someone to come by.” He shrugs and breathes deeply. “It was already addressed to the person it was supposed to go to, so I dropped it off.”
“How was the job closed? Did you take a picture?”
“I always do, but I didn’t have to se
nd it in. As soon as I dropped it off, about five minutes later, my phone pinged. I had money I could use in the account. I figured the guy had been waiting for the package and must have called to confirm the delivery.”
“Can we see the picture?”
“Sure.” Anthony digs into his back pocket and pulls up the photograph. Bitten Senior, holding the package standing on the cement steps.
“Was there anything unusual when you walked to the pharmacy?” I hand the phone back to him. “Did you notice anyone follow you or was there any car?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. Lehigh is one of those main streets everyone takes to get out of the city. Lots of cars and a lot of people walking around. One of them could have been watching me, but that’s not usually how these things work.”
Kace nods. “Thank you.”
“I’m not in trouble?” The kid’s voice thins at the end, alerting Kace.
Kace’s brows jolt up, and he widens his stance. “Have you done something I should be arresting you for?”
“I’m a good kid. I swear I am. It’s been rough trying to help Mom. If we don’t pay, we’ll be out on our butts, and if Mom can’t take care of us, we’ll go into the system. I’m seventeen, but my sisters aren’t. I don’t want them to have to go through all of that—”
“Don’t worry,” I tell him softly. “Do you have a number we can reach you at in case we have any more questions for you? And can you send us the photo you took?”
Kace digs into his shirt pocket and pulls out a business card. “Any information you can think of.”
“No problem,” he says and sends the photo right in front of us. “I should get back to my math homework.”
“Good idea,” Kace growls, pretending to be a hard-ass.
Anthony returns behind the plastic window as Kace escorts me off the premises. The whole time, I think, Something about him seems off, but I don’t know what.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Kace pulls out of the parking lot and heads in the opposite direction of our home. “To the cleaners on Lehigh. It’s a long strip of road, but I know which one he’s talking about. There’s only two: one on the north side and the one on the south side.”
“Which are we going to first?”
“The only one who would return packages. The north side. If the one on the south side found stuff, no doubt they’d keep it. Drugs used to be delivered on the south via dry cleaners. A lot of ones of Lehigh have shut down, but some still operate legitimately.”
“You think the Bullet Man is wealthy?”
Kace nods. “It’s a hunch.”
The short drive to the cleaners takes about fifteen minutes. Kace double parks on the busy road while I check for CCTVs. No doubt, we had our guy on camera. My hunch is he was there, watching the delivery go down. Either that, or there was a tracker on the package as often done with drugs, and he confirms the location that way.
Inside, the waiting area had recently been redecorated. A small, expensive espresso machine sits in the corner next to some expensive-looking couches. The black wallpaper with ornate gold outlines contrasts nicely with the white leather of the seats. Above the door, a golden bell sounds once we step foot on the immaculate white banner of the black entrance rug.
An older woman with a European accent greets us. Kace flashes his badge, and she lifts the small partition. She waddles her way toward us, gesturing for us to sit. “Can I get you both some coffee?”
“That would be great. Thanks.” Kace takes a seat on the longer couch, and I sit down beside him.
The coffee is served in little black espresso mugs personalized with the shop’s logo on them. To give us some privacy, she flips over the ‘open’ sign to say ‘be back in twenty.’ Though, I assume many people work in the back.
“Do you know this man?” Kace shows the woman a picture of Elijah Bitten Senior.
“Yes, sir. He’s been on the news.” She hands Kace back his phone.
“Did he ever come in here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t believe this man has, but I see over one-hundred customers a day, on a slow day. It’s hard to memorize every face.”
“But you have regulars?” I ask and point to Bitten. “I assume he’s not one of them?”
“No, he’s not,” she confirms.
“Do you remember who left the suit?” Kace follows up.
She smiles softly. “I’ve checked-in many suits just this morning. I assume you mean the one with the package in it?”
“Do you normally get packages in your suits?” The Botox injections reduce the spontaneity of her facial muscles, so it’s hard to read her micro-expressions. I’m off my game and not being of much help.
“No,” she answers firmly, but glances toward the camera.
Is someone watching? “Ma’am, what kind of security system do you work with?”
“I don’t understand.” The slightest twitch of her brow means absolutely nothing without more. She’s stiff, her posture perfectly poised, and both feet planted on the floor, pointing toward us.
“I mean, do you employ security on the premises, or is the camera recording and storing on a computer.”
She smiles. “We don’t need security here. That’s just a precaution.”
Kace takes the opportunity to slide a picture of Anthony in her direction. “Did he pick it up?”
“His face is familiar, but I don’t remember.”
“Do you remember who left the suit?”
“No, Detective, but I do recall it was navy blue and in some places looked almost red. It’s an expensive suit, but dated and unworn. I noted the significant discoloration on the check-in slip.” She gets up and points toward the lifted-up partition. “If you excuse me, I can find it.”
She leaves us alone while she goes through her slips. Kace leans back, extending his back over the spine of the sofa.
“They treat this place like a hotel for clothes.” Kace finds it amusing. “Guess that’s what happens when someone’s wardrobe costs more than an average person’s car.”
The Upper Lehigh Area reminds me of the Upper East Side, but less expensive to live in and a little more withdrawn from the population. The long street lasts for over seventy blocks, separated by the Lehigh Station. Danger increases the further south one travels, and wealth increases the further north. Cross-over between opposite sides is rare, except in mid-Lehigh—the central area, or the ten blocks on either side of the station.
“He sent a few more.” Kace shows me the images.
“I thought he only had one?” I swipe my finger over the screen and find two additional shots that appear to be taken consecutively: one using the front camera and one using the back. The one using the front caught some of the road. “Can Frank run these plates?”
“Cap texted me and said they were going to go through the CCTV footage, but it would make sense to start with the six or seven on here.” He takes the phone and sends off the message for them to get a head start. “I don’t think we’re going to get anything here.”
“Me neither.” I glance over my shoulder toward the partition. The small woman is going through each slip one by one. “He wouldn’t have dropped the suit off himself, risking someone who could ID him directly and getting caught on surveillance.”
“Maybe he slipped up.”
“No. Why use couriers if you’re going to show your face?”
“It could have been another job on BlackBoard.”
I agree, “It could have been a lot of jobs on BlackBoard or on another application. If I were him, I’d split them up.”
Kace smirks. “Thinking like a criminal?”
“Sometimes, it’s easier to think like them than to think my own thoughts.”
Kace reaches for my knee and squeezes softly. “I’m glad this is helping. I haven’t forgotten how much I missed talking about things with you.”
Luckily, we’re interrupted. “Here it is!” she squeals and excitedly rushes toward us. “This is
the one.”
“Have they picked it up?” Kace memorizes the date on the upper right-hand corner. The pick-up date is today. I highly doubt someone is coming for the suit.
“No, sir.”
“Do you recognize this person?”
“No, this was a first-time client, I think. I didn’t recognize her face.” She points to the time and date on the slip, then up at the ceiling above the partition. “I can get a video for you.”
Kace nods. “That would be much appreciated.” Once the woman disappears again, Kace leans forward and whispers, “She said her.”
“Yes, I heard that too. More than likely, it’s another courier, but you have the time and date. Maybe we can trace backward and create a timeline or establish a pattern.”
“If he’s using more than one for every delivery, this is going to be hard to pin, unless at some point they see his face.”
“Hopefully, the videos will help us narrow something down."
6
Session Two
Eleanor Devero
Monday afternoon, Kace dropped me off at Nolan’s office before he went back to the precinct to do reports on everything and debrief with Frank. Nolan’s receptionist escorted me in to wait for the doctor. After thanking her, I headed over to the large window to look out at the world below. We were pretty high up, and the people looked like small figurines placed randomly on a monopoly board.
All of them roll the dice on life, taking chances and trying to survive, like the kid at the hotel. The police caught him yesterday, delivering a paper bag full of drugs to a homeless man on the street. Kace had ordered surveillance on both Anthony and the cleaner’s while they figured out courier number three. A false name had been given for the check-in slip, but the number remains active, so they’re chasing it down and comparing it to the footage.
Anthony’s situation irks me. Not only did I know something was off with him and the paper bag, he kept checking out, but I can’t stop thinking of his family. I’m sympathizing with criminals, which makes me a horrible cop. If he told me the truth the other day, then his siblings are going into foster care. I admit, adoption crossed my mind, but it would be unethical.
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 137
