A Bullet for Carlos (46 page)

At the mention of charity Tip immediately thought of Jeff Maxwell. “I’m listening.”

“I pulled up the photos from the paper and standing with the winner of the run, posing like an eighth grader who just won a bike or something, is Carlos Cortes.”

“Get to the point, Julie.”

“I happen to notice in the picture that the person who came in third is none other than our Patti Green.”

“Are you telling me you have a picture of Carlos with Patti Green?”

“He knew her, Tip. Or at least he met her. He’s the one who presented the awards.”

Tip pounded the counter. “Goddamn, you’re the best. Get me that file. Scan that photo and email it to me.”

“I’ll do it right away.”

Tip dialed Connie’s number, pacing until she answered.

“Gianelli.”

“Connie, it’s Tip.”

“What’s up, any news?”

“What, no, no, Flash is okay. This is about the case. You will not believe what Julie told me.”

“Guess you better tell me then.”

“Carlos Cortes knew Patti Green.”

“How?”

Tip related the story to her and when he was done there was silence. “You’re not thinking Carlos could have actually done this?”

“All we’ve got to do is connect him to the other two, but if we can…” Tip paused. “I’m putting Julie on it now. Where are you? You coming over?”

“I can’t. I told Maxwell I’d go out with him.”

“You know he’s married, right?”

“That’s low. You know that bothers me.”

“You’re right, that
was
low. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mr. Perfect parked a
few blocks from Brownie’s apartment, in a remote spot underneath some shade trees. He jogged, keeping a close watch for nosy neighbors or cars going too slow. When he got to the address, he turned up the walk and found himself in front of her door in a few seconds. It didn’t take long to open the door, although he had to use his own methods. “Hello,” he called as he stepped inside, but he knew no one would answer.

He closed the door, locking it again, then made his way to the bedroom. After a cursory inspection, he parked himself behind the door and waited. She would be home before long, but no matter how long it took, Brownie would be worth the wait.

Tip dug into the
files with a new fervor, intent on finding something to pin these on Carlos. He took the files apart one by one, looking at every piece of evidence and every note. Half an hour after he started he got to Mason, the New York case. As he leafed through the notes, refreshing his memory, he re-examined everything meticulously. Mason was from Houston. Did she have any ties to charity? He looked, but didn’t see anything. She
was
in good shape but he didn’t see any mention of a gym membership, but she was so rich she probably had her own gym. He forced himself to look at the pictures again, in case something new jumped out; it didn’t. Then he picked through the bills, phone logs (cell and home), and emails and address-book records. He cross-checked them with the records from the other women but nothing matched.

As he leafed through the rest of the papers he saw the charge receipt for the airline ticket from New York to Houston—first class of course—and there was a listing for car service to and from the airport. Tip almost passed it by, but something stuck out at him.
Different amounts
. One was $95, and the other was $70. At first he thought it might be that she tipped one more, but then realized the difference was too much. These weren’t the actual receipts; they were in an envelope. He opened the envelope and looked inside, pulling out the receipts. One was a car service from her house in New York to the airport. The other was from the Houston airport to her hotel downtown.
Where the hell is the other?

He dialed Connie’s number. “Gianelli.”

“I hate to bother you, but do you know anything about these receipts from the Mason case.” He explained what he had and what was missing.

“Never noticed it before. I looked at what was written on the envelope and left it at that.”

“All right, I’ll check it out.”

“No problem, I’m just getting home. Traffic was terrible.” She turned the key in the lock and entered the apartment. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay. See ya’.”

He called Julie next, explaining to her what he found and asking her to check on it. “See if there’s anything left in the files. I’ll hold.”

***

I went to the
kitchen, got a bottle of water from the fridge, then went to the table where my computer sat. I opened it, clicked on the browser, and searched the local theaters for movies. If I had to go out with Maxwell, I was going to at least get dinner and a movie out of it. There wasn’t much playing at the Cineplex 24, and that in itself brought a laugh. How could you have twenty-four theaters with not a good movie in any of them. I remembered the little theater a few miles away where they played old black-and-whites, and even had tables where people could sit and drink coffee and eat. The Maltese Falcon. I hadn’t seen that in years.

A pad of paper lay next to the computer, put there for times like this. I jotted down the times, then prayed that Maxwell liked old movies. I downed the bottle of water, threw it in the trash, looked at the dishes in the sink and pondered on whether to clean them now or later. I had time, so I grabbed a dishcloth and started cleaning. No sense in using the dishwasher for just a few things.

***

Tip waited patiently, but
after about two minutes he hung up and called back. Maybe he wasn’t as patient as he thought. Someone he didn’t recognize answered. “Get me Julie,” he said.

“May I ask—”

“This is Tip Denton. Get me Julie or I’ll kick your ass.”

A few seconds later she came on. “I was going as fast as I could.”

Patience was
not
a virtue, he decided. “Yeah, I know. What did you get?”

“I went through everything. There’s nothing else here. In—”

“You sure?”

“Let me finish, will you. I was trying to tell you. Something strange. She never got on the plane.”

“What?”

“Sheila Mason
never
got on that plane to New York. That’s why there wasn’t any receipt for her car service.”

“How did she get home? Did she miss the flight, take—”

“I checked. She didn’t take any other Continental flight. I’ll check the other airlines later.” She paused. “The only thing I don’t know about, and sorry, I didn’t ask, but I don’t know if it would show up if she took a free flight. You know, like if she was flying on a Continental employee’s pass or something.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Mason wasn’t that kind of woman. She flew first class.”

“Maybe she took a private jet?” Julie laughed.

Tip sat silent.
Private jet?
“Julie, check and see if there were any private jets leaving Houston for New York that night or the next.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a goddamn heart attack.”

“You know I’ve got to go home sometime.”

“Hurry up, I’ll be waiting.” Tip hung up, grabbed another beer and went back to work. He finished looking through the Mason folder, then opened the computer to check his email and get that picture of Carlos. While the mail downloaded, his phone rang. “Tip Denton.”

“Mr. Denton, this is the veterinary clinic.”

Tip’s body tensed. “Is Flash okay?”

“She’s fine. I’m sorry if I upset you. I was calling to tell you she’s doing great. I can hardly believe the recovery. I called to let you know that you can take her home in two to three days.”

“Doctor, you don’t know how good that sounds. I—”

“I know, Detective. I saw the damage. She’s a lucky dog.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad we could help her. Good night, Detective.”

Tip sat in the chair and put his hands behind his head. Life could be good after all.

Chapter 58

Someone is Waiting

I
finished the dishes, threw the towel into the basket for laundry, then headed for the bedroom, kicking my shoes off by the front door first. A hot bath was in order before I went out. An old Four Seasons song popped into my mind as I walked down the hall, and I started humming, then singing it. The cell rang, beckoning me from where I’d left it on the kitchen table. I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but then turned back and grabbed it.

“Hey, Gianelli.”

I didn’t recognize the voice. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Donovan.”

“Sorry, Frankie.”

“I hope your day has gone good, because I’m going to make it better.”

“I could use that.”

“I got the drugs,” Frankie said. “Twenty-five keys.”

“Are you
shitting
me.” I pulled out a chair and sat. “Where? How?”

“You sitting down?”

“Actually, I am.”

“Chambers was behind it all.”

There was silence on both ends. I could hear my own breathing. “Chambers?” I almost whispered it, as if saying it louder would make it worse. “Lieutenant Chambers?”

“Dirty as they come. We caught him selling it to the Colombians with two other cops. Guess who?”

“Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Randall and Green.”

“Holy shit,” I said, then, “Holy shit!”

“Yeah, Chambers had a sweetheart deal set up with several of the drug gangs, and IA managed to clear any of his men who looked dirty. They were taking down big money until you came along.”

“So Chambers was behind the whole deal with Sean?”

“Sean was dirty too. That deal was supposed to get rid of
you
, not Sean. The Mexicans either screwed up or had other ideas, or both.”

“Where were the drugs?”

“They gave the drugs to Chambers before the deal even went down. The money you took to the buy was only part of it; the rest he already gave to them. And from what it looks like, the Mexicans were screwing their boss, too, looking to place the blame on the cops.”

“Son-of-a-bitch.” I sat forward in the chair as I said it, not even believing it myself. I stayed quiet for a moment, then stood and walked. “At least Chambers is gone,” I said. “What about me, Frankie?”

“You’re already cleared. I think our good captain is waiting to get the balls to call and invite you back. You know it’s going to hurt him to do that.”

“Sure will.” I didn’t say anything for a second or two, then, “Frankie, thanks for everything. You’re top shit in my book.”

“My life is now complete. But Mazzetti and Morreau and a rookie named Booker were in on this too.”

“Tell you what, you thank them all for me and when I get back I’ll treat you all to something special.”

“You mean…”

“No, not that, asshole. I mean a nice dinner and a bottle of wine. Maybe a kiss on the cheek.”

“I won’t be able to sleep. Never had a kiss before,” Frankie said, then, “Not to dampen your spirits, but even though we cleared your name, we might not have gotten all of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Chambers couldn’t have put all that pressure on us by himself. Somebody higher up than him was in on this.”

“I hate hearing that, but you can’t get me down today. I’ll work on that when I get home.”

“Come home soon. We need good cops up here.”

I sat silent for a moment, the phone almost slipping from my hand. All I could think of was what Uncle Dominic always told me about family, how they were the only ones I could trust. Now I could add Frankie to that list. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“I always knew you were a good cop, just had to prove it. So when you coming back to Brooklyn? Can’t let one hero cop run the whole damn city. Besides, Mazzetti will be retiring soon.”

“Won’t be long. I promise.”

Tears flowed as I hung up.
Now I can go home.

I dried my eyes with a dish towel, then headed down the hall to get that bath. It would feel much better now. As I passed the bathroom in the hall I tossed the towel on the floor. Near the end of the hall I peeled my top off and reached for the doorknob, tossing the blouse onto the bed as I stepped inside.

I saw Maxwell as I turned my head, but it was too late. His fist slammed into my jaw, knocking me toward the far wall. Searing pain shot through my face and head. I stumbled and tried to regain footing. He came at me with a vengeance, and when I tried to scream, nothing but frantic sounds escaped. I raised my hands as he got closer, wishing to God I hadn’t left the gun on the dining room table. He grabbed one hand, yanking me toward him, then punched my face with the other. My nose cracked, blood squirting all over. Before I could do anything, he slammed my head onto the top of the dresser, then yanked me back by the hair and tossed me onto the bed.

“Hello, Brownie. Guess you weren’t expecting to see
me
were you?”

I cocked a leg to strike but he easily sidestepped it and pounded blows into my thigh. Each one felt as if he were using a hammer. I was a tough, trained cop, but this guy was beating the shit out of me. I tried thinking of things to do, but all that came to mind was…

Jesus Christ, I’m going to die.

***