Forsaken: A Fallen Siren Novella (12 page)

“You okay?” One of the lab boys stops to check on him.

Zack nods.

I turn my attention back toward Eve who looks shaken and more than a little windblown. “Tell us what you know about the kidnapping of Robby Maitlan.”

This time I say it with calm confidence. I know she’s going to cooperate, that the information will be forthcoming. I had no choice. Now, neither does Eve.

Chapter Ten

“This is Special Agent Emma Monroe,” I begin. Don’t want to fuck this up by doing something that a good a defense lawyer could get tossed out. “I’m interviewing Eve Devlin in connection with the kidnapping of Robby Maitlan. This interview is being recorded. She has waived right to counsel and agrees to questioning. Right, Ms. Devlin?”

I see it in her eyes—the sense of simultaneous wonder and confusion. She can’t look away from me. Numbly, she nods.

“You need to say it out loud,” I prod. “Please repeat that you’ve waived your right to counsel for the recording.”

“I’ve waived my right to counsel.”

“Ms. Devlin, who has Robby?”

“Detectives Chuck Imperiale and Burt Benson. They’re OCCB cops,” she says.

“They’re with Organized Crime Control?” I ask. “Why are they involved?”

“Why do you think?” She snaps back. “Money. This was to be a big payout for them, the one they’ve been waiting for.” The words fall from her mouth like coins from a slot machine. She draws a breath and continues. “They’ve been taking bribes from me for years to ensure I keep my licenses and avoid any unwanted attention. They’ve been loyal lapdogs,
protecting
the anonymity of my clients. This was the score Imperiale’s been waiting for, big enough for he and Benson to retire on. I promised them that with Maitlan’s money, they could wave goodbye to the force, leave this cement jungle and move on to another place, another life.”

“But then you double-crossed them. Why?”

“Because for me, it never was about the money.” Her eyes are hard now, her words fired in staccato bursts. “Maitlan killed my daughter. I intended to return the favor. Take his son from him the way he took my daughter. I don’t give a flying fig about Chuck and Burt.”

“Before we started taping, you said you were afraid of them. You asked for protection,” I remind her. I wait a beat and then make what sounds like an observation. “But you don’t seem afraid of them now. We need to know the truth. Who’s had the upper hand here? Were you coerced? Are you in need of protection, Ms. Devlin?”

“Coerced?” Eve snorts, “This was my idea, from start to finish. Those idiots have been eating out of the palm of my hand. What were they going to do? Arrest me? Turn me in? They couldn’t very well do that without implicating themselves, could they? Especially not after they killed the babysitter. They’re looking at life and I reminded them of that. They know what happens to cops in prison. As soon as Chuck killed that girl, they were mine.”

Eve’s satisfied smile gives me a chill. Was that part of her master plan. Did she send them into Maitlan’s home hoping for a casualty? Probably. I resist the temptation to speculate out loud about how a pretentious middle-aged madam might fare in prison. Instead I say, “But then they turned the tables on you. How did you lose control, Eve?”

“Incompetent bastards,” Eve spits. “I should have known Burt wouldn’t have the stomach to kill a kid. And Chuck? All he cared about was the money. My mother always said, you want something done right… I should have driven over here last night and killed the kid myself.”

“I want to remind you, Ms. Devlin, you’ve waived your right to have an attorney present during questioning. This conversation is being recorded. Anything you say will be used against you. You did say you understood your rights.”

Eve lapses into silence. I can tell she’s struggling. She’s answering because she has no choice, because the magic is making it impossible for her to resist. She knows she’s hanging herself. I can see it in her eyes, she’s struggling to reconcile what’s happening and can’t.

“Again, the recording won’t register your nod. I need for you to say out loud that you understand.”

“I understand,” Eve admits through gritted teeth.

“One more question. Is anyone else aware of or involved in this?”

“No. No one else.”

“Stop the recording, Bradley. We’re finished.” I remove my earpiece, hold it in the palm of my hand, then lean in close and whisper into Eve’s ear. “You don’t understand why you’re cooperating. I’ll tell you why. Because you’re hoping it will encourage leniency and because of something else you remember your mother saying: Confession is good for the soul.”

I’ve gotten what we needed. Before she has a chance to say anything further, I rein in my powers, slam the door shut, then smooth down my hair. Do I feel bad that I just manipulated Eve Devlin into a confession that’s likely to put her away for the rest of her life? No. Not one bit.

I reinsert the earpiece and head over to meet Zack.

“Brilliant interrogation! You know it’s…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. He lowers his voice a notch. “It’s always a pleasure watching you work.” The admiration in his voice rings true, but there’s a hint of something else conveyed in his tone, in the way he’s looking at me. Understanding.

I can already hear Agent Bradley tapping away on his keyboard. “OCCB officers Chuck Imperiale and Burt Benson have been partners for close to two years,” he says. “While you were interrogating Devlin I called dispatch pretending to be one of Imperiale’s CI’s. They’re both supposedly on vacation this week.”

“Some vacation,” Zack says. “How quickly can you get their home addresses?”

The words are no sooner out of his mouth. Our cell phones both buzz.

“Just sent them via text.”

I catch Torres’ eye and wave her over.

“Gotta hand it to you,” she says. “For getting the confession
and
for keeping you’re cool.”

Zack holds up his cell. “We’ve got addresses for Imperiale and Benson.”

Torres nods. “I’ll take care of getting Eve processed. You two should head back to the city with O’Neill, find out all you can about these two.”

“Will you be taking the Hostage Rescue Team with you?” asks Bradley.

Zack doesn’t hesitate. “No, we’ll keep this low profile for now. We don’t want to spook them. These guys are cops, they’ll be monitoring police scanners and the local news. HRT will stay here until forensics arrives.”

“I’ll go tell O’Neill.” Torres glances at her watch. “We still have four hours before the ransom call comes in. Do you think we’ll be able to get to Imperiale and Benson first?”

“That’s what I’m counting on.” Zack says. He places his hand at the small of my back and steers me toward the pick up. “I’ll drive, you navigate.”

“Wait!” Torres holds out her car keys. “The sedan has GPS. You can plug in the addresses. ”

Zack and Torres make a quick exchange of keys. She lets her voice drop. “Do you think we can trust Devlin? Do you really believe we’re looking for two cops?”

Zack’s eyes meet mine. He’s told me on more than one occasion that I’m the only lie detector he’s never been able to best.

“There’s no doubt in my mind,” he tells her.

We slide into the sedan and buckle up. O’Neill joins us.

“Hit the lights and hold on,” Zack tells me before putting the sedan in gear and stepping on the gas. Then to Bradley, “Do either of these guys live alone?”

It takes a couple minutes for an answer to come back. “Benson is thirty, married and has a Sunnyside address. The guys had two accommodations for Meritorious Police Duty—both for Community Service. Doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be mixed up in something like this. From the looks of his Facebook page, his wife is pregnant and he has two other kids. The oldest, Joey, is five. Madeline is three.”

“What about his financials?” Zack asks.

The question is met with silence.

“What is it?” asks O’Neill.

“The kid, Joey, has cancer. Looks like it’s gotten to the point that conventional treatment just isn’t working anymore. Benson took him down to Mexico a couple weeks ago. There’s a $30,000 charge from a clinic in Tijuana. They flew from La Guardia to San Diego on Southwest and then rented a car to go across the boarder.”

“Could be what triggered this, the potential loss of his firstborn,” I say.

Zack nods. “Alternative treatments are expensive and the insurance probably won’t cover it. What about Imperiale?”

Bradley continues, “Imperiale is almost twenty years older. He lives in the Murray Hill area and is long divorced. His ex-wife got custody of the two kids. He’s been paying child support for ages. Both of his girls are in college. He lives alone. And he’s got a gambling problem. A big gambling problem. I’m seeing lots of weekend trips to Atlantic City. Withdrawals from ATM’s inside casinos. There’s only a few hundred in his checking account, nothing left in savings. He’s drained his 401K.”

“Could be he sees this as a sure bet and an easy payday,” O’Neill says.

“Could be he owes the wrong people,” Zack suggests. “Bradley, keep digging. I want everything you can find on these two.”

“I vote we go to Imperiale’s first,” O’Neill says. “Seems unlikely Benson would stash a kid in his house along with a pregnant wife.”

“Agreed,” Zack replies.

“There’ll be a warrant waiting for you when you get there,” Bradley chimes in.

“How’s Maitlan holding up,” I ask.

“As well as can be expected. He was disappointed, of course, that Robby wasn’t at the farmhouse. But he brightened a little when I told him we’ve got Eve dead to rights and every reason to believe Robby’s alive. He’s feeling confident this time the exchange will go through, that these guys want the money,” says Bradley. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s cracking open a bottle of bourbon as we speak.”

The last bit makes Zack smile. “Tell him he can only have one, and you pour. This is far from over.”

* * * *

Chuck Imperiale lives in an apartment building on a quaint, tree-lined street. Next-door is a cafe, and down the street, a restaurant and bar. Probably one he frequents. Upon arrival we’re met by a middle-aged woman. She introduces herself as Torres’ aunt, Judge Anita Lopez, and she has warrants for both Imperiale’s place and Benson’s. As always, Bradley delivers.

“Not too often a judge delivers a warrant herself,” I say, shaking her hand.

Her smile is warm, but the eyes are steel. “Not too often I hear two cops are involved in a kidnapping conspiracy that local government and law enforcement officials might be tempted to cover up. I want this to go by the book.”

Zack takes the warrants. “So do we. Right now Imperiale and Benson think they have a big payoff coming. They’ll anticipate Maitlan will want proof of life before delivering the ransom. Right now, they’re motivated to keep Robby alive. We don’t want to do anything to complicate the equation for them. If they feel the heat, they might decide to run.”

“And Maitlan’s son would only be extra baggage. I get it. Bradley said as much when I asked him why a BOLO hadn’t been put out.” She purses her lips together and waits a beat before continuing. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, Agent Armstrong. I understand this is your call.”

Zack shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yes, ma’am. It is. But…”

The judge smiles. “This is my city. You’ve got a couple bad cops out there. But we have thousands of good ones.”

“Trouble is, we don’t know who the good ones are.”

She nods, shakes our hands, then climbs into the car waiting at the curb.

“Best not fuck this up,” O’Neill mutters.

Zack extends his arm in the direction of the steps that lead to an imposing security door. “After you.”

O’Neill rings every bell and within a few seconds some well-meaning resident has let us in.

“That was easy,” he says.

I pull out my Glock. “This next part might be a little harder.”

Zack leads the way to apartment number two. He goes through the motion of knocking and announces us before deftly picking the lock.

It doesn’t matter that we believe the apartment is empty; we go in, guns leading. After a quick sweep, our weapons are holstered.

“Looks like he uses the second bedroom as an office. I’ll look through the desk, see if I can find anything,” O’Neill offers.

“Robby hasn’t been here,” Zack announces with confidence.

We’re alone in the living room. I take a moment to look around. Imperiale seems to live a simple but orderly life. The two-bedroom apartment is clean and uncluttered. “How can you be sure?”

He points to his nose.

Of course. Werewolf.

Zack disappears into the bedroom.

There’s a stack of newspapers on the end table next to the couch. I leaf through them. “Looks like he reads the
Times
daily. But hasn’t bought one since the day Robby was taken.”

“He has an old desktop in here with the login and password pre-loaded. Doesn’t look like he’s logged into email since then either,” O’Neill calls out.

Zack emerges, an evidence bag in one hand, a T-shirt of Imperiale’s in the other.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Never can tell when it might come in handy.” He slips the T-shirt into the bag and tosses it at me. “I’m going to ask O’Neill to wait here, keep the scene secure until forensics gets here to process it.”

“Let me guess,” I say. “We’re heading to Benson’s?”

“Yup. And we’ll be leaving with his wife.”

* * * *

Detective Benson lives with his wife in the Queens neighborhood of Sunnyside. Brick homes and small apartment buildings share quiet streets with tree-lined pathways. We pass a couple of big box stores and a slew of ethnic restaurants. Sprinkled between there are delis, bakeries, and trendy bars. It looks like an ideal neighborhood close to the city. As I step out of the car and look west, I can see the New York skyline.

“How long since you’ve been to the top of the Empire State building?” Zack asks.

I gaze at the iconic tower in the distance and flash back to a time when snow was falling and the winds were of gale force. Ethel and I had shut down the Onyx. Despite the lateness of the hour, we were able to gain access to the observation deck. It helps when your family owns the place. Ethel had just left her husband and we were living the good life, celebrating with cold champagne and Charlie Parker’s red hot Jazz.