Green Light (Sam Archer 7) (12 page)

That
call rang through too, no-one picking up.

‘
Looks like you could be right,’ Shepherd said to
Karen.

She
nodded, taking another drag.

‘
I’ve got one more number,’ Palmer said. ‘April
Evans.’

While
she searched for it, Shepherd flicked through the file of Leann’s
known associates and pulled out a driving licence photo of a girl
who according to the DMV had just turned twenty. She had long thick
red hair and green eyes, and like Leann was extremely
attractive.

‘
Cece and Zoe told me April and Leann were good friends,’
Palmer said.

Karen
nodded. ‘They were.’

‘
I spoke with her a few weeks ago,’ Palmer said. ‘She didn’t
tell me anything but she seemed like a nice girl.
Smart.’

‘
Give her a try,’ Shepherd said.

Palmer nodded and pushed
Call
, the sound of ringing filled the
living space for a third time, echoing around the room.

However,
just like Cece and Zoe, after ten rings it went through to answer
machine.

April
didn’t pick up.

TWELVE

In the
heart of Brooklyn, Hendricks pulled the black Ford to a halt on a
street corner in Cypress Hills, the tinted windows concealing the
identity of the occupants. Beside him, Archer looked out at the
darkening streets, ignoring the hot pain radiating from the cuts on
his chest and arm as his attention shifted to his immediate
surroundings.

He’d
thought he was clear of danger once he’d been buzzed out of Rikers,
but the night was still young and he was Sam Archer. This place was
consistently rated the most dangerous neighbourhood in New York; on
average, someone was shot every day around here and right then, he
couldn’t have been more aware of the lack of an NYPD badge and
sidearm on his hip.

Various
doors were boarded up, walls covered in graffiti and fences topped
off with barbed wire, the whole area run-down, quiet and menacing,
only a few people in sight. One of them was a solitary African
American girl standing on the street, only wearing a pink dress and
heels despite the cold.

Studying
her for a moment, Archer glanced at Hendricks. She seemed to be
attracting the Sergeant’s attention too.

‘
What’s the plan?’ Archer asked.

‘
There’s a kid down here I use to sweat for information,’
Hendricks said, his eyes not leaving the woman. ‘I arrested him for
assault a few years back and busted him later for running girls.
He’s two strikes in the hole and knows I’ll be there to push a
third if he doesn’t co-operate.’

He
nodded at the girl down the street.

‘
She’s one of his. And if he’s here, he’ll more than likely be
able to tell us who shot Leann, you and Detective
Vargas.’

‘
We’re a long way from that part of town. Will he
know?’

‘
He’ll know something. Word spreads fast around here;
especially if someone shoots a cop.’

Archer
nodded as Hendricks put his foot down and moved forward two blocks,
pulling to a smooth halt beside the girl.

The
sidewalk and road were lit by the occasional street-light but the
place was pretty dark, which helped to conceal the rectangular
boxes under the fender on the Ford that immediately gave it away as
a police car. The black girl on the sidewalk was none the wiser,
more interested in the occupants than the vehicle, and right on cue
she flicked away a cigarette, stepping forward as Hendricks slid
his window down. Despite all her exposed skin, she wasn’t
shivering; Archer guessed there was a strong chance something out
of a bottle or needle was keeping her warm.

‘
Hey there baby,’ she said in a practiced tone to Hendricks,
smiling as she reached the car and chewed on some gum seductively.
‘Looking for some fun?’

She bent
down to emphasise her cleavage, smiling even more broadly as she
noticed Archer in the other seat.

‘
Or is this going to be a party? I charge double
rate.’

‘
We’re looking for your boss,’ Hendricks said.

‘
Who?’

‘
You know who I mean.’

She
stopped chewing the gum. Her face hardened, her expression
instantly turning hostile.

‘
Why?’

Reaching
to his hip, Hendricks showed her his badge. ‘That’s
why.’

She
stepped back warily, realising she’d just been stung. ‘Hey man. I
didn’t do anything.’

‘
Go get him and I might agree with you.’

As she
stood there, looking wary, a young Latino man suddenly materialised
from a doorway the other side of the street and headed over towards
the car. His baggy jeans were slung low around his backside, a
white and green NY Jets jersey over a thick black hooded sweatshirt
keeping his body warm and also concealing whatever weapon he most
likely had tucked into his belt.

With the
sidewalk adding height the guy swaggered over, pushed past the
hooker and leaned in close to the window, his right hand lingering
near his waistband.

‘
There a problem?’ he said, looking into the car.

The
moment he saw Hendricks’ face, his eyes widened and his arrogant
manner immediately evaporated.

‘
Oh shit!’

Before
the guy could step back Hendricks’ arm shot out, grabbed the pimp
by his collar, and pulled the man’s head into the car as he pushed
the button for his window with his other hand. It slid up three
quarters of the way, trapping the man’s neck; he started
struggling, his mask of arrogant hostility replaced by panic as he
fought to pull his head free from the window, like a cat who’d got
his neck stuck through a hole in a fence. It was useless; he wasn’t
going anywhere.

‘
Long time, no see,’ Hendricks said, letting go of the pimp’s
NFL jersey, the window keeping him in place. ‘I’ve missed our
little talks.’

The guy
didn’t respond, too busy fighting to free himself, the window
jammed tight under his throat. In the passenger seat, Archer
watched impassively, observing Hendricks’ well-known style of
police work.

‘
Hand it over,’ Hendricks said.

‘
Hand what over?’
the guy
gargled.

Hendricks went to tighten the window a hair.

‘
OK, OK!’

The pimp
reached into the back of his waistband and withdrew a pistol. He
lifted it carefully, sliding it through the small gap at the top of
the window beside his head. Hendricks took it grip first and passed
it to Archer, who raised his brows when he saw it. The gun was an
Ingram MAC-10, a machine pistol; it was an erratic weapon, one
click draining the clip, and was a junk gun, a drug dealer’s
delight. Archer pulled the top-slide back and removed the magazine
on the low-rate weapon, a gleaming copper round slotted on top of
thirty one others.

‘
What do you think?’ he said to Hendricks, playing along. ‘A
year per bullet?’

‘
Sounds about right,’ he replied, turning back to the man in
his window. He jerked his head towards the hooker watching from the
street. ‘I said no more girls. You know what happens now if you get
one more charge?’

‘
I thought you left,’
the man managed
to get out.

‘
I decided to stop by and see how you were doing. Now listen to
me because I’m not repeating myself. You lie to me or I think
you’re lying to me, I’ll drive back to Queens and we’ll book you
for carrying a deadly weapon. And you won’t be riding in the back.
Clear?’

The pimp
didn’t reply, still struggling to breathe.

Hendricks reached for the keys in the ignition.

‘
Yeah, yeah, I got it!’
the guy
rasped.

‘
Two cops and an escort got shot last month in Queens. You hear
about it?

‘
Yeah man,’
the man got out.
‘I heard. We all did.’

‘
We’re looking for the shooter and the driver.’

‘
I don’t know them.’

‘
Don’t lie to me.’

‘
I swear!’

Hendricks reached forward and started the engine.

‘
I swear!
’ the man said.

‘
What were their names?’ Archer asked, leaning across. ‘The two
guys?’

The pimp didn’t reply. Hendricks put the transmission
into
Drive
.

‘
Now might be a good time to talk,’ Archer suggested, as
Hendricks released the handbrake.

‘
Goya and Santiago!’
he spat
out.

‘
Why’d they kill the girl?’ Hendricks asked.

‘
She was one of their bitches. I heard she was stepping out,
leaving the game. They put a green light on her.’

‘
You’re saying her own pimps took her out?’ Archer
said.

‘
Yeah!’

‘
Goya and Santiago. Not Valdez and Carvalho?’

‘
They sound similar?’

As he
tried to make sense of this new information, Archer saw they’d
attracted the attention of a group of guys standing further down
the street. As he watched, a few of them peeled off and started
heading towards the police car. Hendricks saw them approaching but
didn’t seem concerned.

‘
I find out you’re lying to me, I’m coming straight back,’
Hendricks said to the man in his window. ‘And it’ll be your balls
in the gap next time.’

‘
It’s the truth, bro, I swear!’

Hendricks looked at the pimp for a moment longer. Then he
pressed the window button and the man fell to the sidewalk,
coughing.

Turning
the wheel, Hendricks put his foot down and pulled a quick U-turn,
heading off down the street just as the approaching gang members
reached the pimp still lying on the ground.

‘
So Goya and Santiago were the killers,’ Archer said, looking
across at Hendricks. ‘Not Valdez and Carvalho.’

Hendricks didn’t reply and Archer swore, kicking the first
aid kit in the foot-well.

‘
Son of a bitch, I knew it; Homicide got the wrong
guys.’

‘
Leann Casey’s own pimps killed her,’ Hendricks finished
quietly.

*

In the 4
^th
floor apartment on Rivington
Street, the three figures in white overalls and black gas
masks stood in a line in the bathroom, observing Alex Santiago’s
body as he lay in his own bath-tub. The dead man was fully
submerged in hissing clear liquid, the extractor fan helping to
clear the eye-watering chemical stink from the air as the
concoction in the tub went to work on the corpse.

A few
years back, the three killers had chosen pest control as their way
of moving around a city easily without the risk of being
challenged. People ignored fumigators; it was an unpleasant job but
an essential one in the city, which meant no-one wanted to
interrupt their work, happy to see the exterminators getting rid of
whatever pest was infecting their space. They were anonymous,
helped by the masks they wore as part of their assumed role, which
were replaced by baseball caps worn low when they weren’t on a job
or were out on the street.

They’d
worked together for a number of years and their routine was so
slick and well-practiced they could get on with the task in hand
without any communication whatsoever before, during or after. The
moment their target opened a door, the leader would shove a pistol
in their face. He’d push them back as the second man secured the
door, locking it behind them. The third member, the woman, would
clear the victim’s residence with her pistol, making sure no-one
else was there. If they were, they were unlucky.

The
target was chloroformed, ensuring no marks were left on their
attackers from a blow which could potentially incriminate them.
After the targets were restrained with zip-ties, the baths were
prepared, the two men bringing up the reinforced pesticide cans
from the van outside as the woman kept a pistol on the target or
targets just in case they came round.

When the
baths were ready, the victims were strangled quickly and
quietly.

And once
they were dead they were placed in the liquid.

A normal
sized bath-tub needed about ten cans to dissolve a corpse and their
specific concoction worked fast. In under an hour, all they had to
do was turn on the taps and the body was gone, leaving no trace.
They always used the victim’s own bath to dispose of them when
there was one available, which took away the risk of moving the
body and potentially providing any evidence for police or
forensics. If they had to remove a body, they carried it to their
van wrapped in plastic and a box along with their other equipment
and disposed of it at a warehouse they used as a base. It was
effective as hell.

No-one
here knew their names or who they really were.

As the
extractor fan whirred and the liquid in the bathtub hissed, the
leader of the trio turned and stepped out of the bathroom, glancing
to his left to make sure the curtains were drawn, which they were.
He then removed his mask to take a deep breath of air and pulled
out his cell phone with a gloved hand, checking his
messages.