CHAPTER FIVE

Eva had spent the morning tracking down the owner of the Williamsburg home. It belonged to a real estate group that had purchased a huge amount of properties across the entire state and had simply lost track of this one. No wonder it was the only empty and neglected dwelling in an otherwise highly overpriced neighborhood.

There were no wallets, cell phones, or other identification found on any of the three victims. Fingerprints that had been taken from the victims were still being processed by the Crime Scene Unit. They were backed-up after a busy weekend, so it would be a day or so before they could run any fingerprints. And, the city coroner's office was backlogged, as usual, so it would be a few more days before she could get any positive identification from them.

She decided to canvas the Williamsburg neighborhood to see if anyone had noticed anything going on at that house within the last week or so. But nobody had seen anything except to notice a nice piece of property sitting there going to waste. None of the local businesses or buildings nearby had cameras facing the abandoned house. So, that was another few hours wasted.

If any car keys had been found at the scene, she would have checked for abandoned cars around the scene or checked with the local towing company. But no car keys were found on any of the three victims. So, either they all walked there to meet in person or they were dropped off by someone. She would need warrants to check the records of any local ride-sharing companies. That meant waiting for victim ID's to be done because she required names in order to get search warrants.

Back at the 90th Precinct, the Captain stopped by the Detectives Bureau to see if there was any progress. "I'm telling ya, Eva, HQ is already pretty hung up on this. Apparently some hefty campaign donations came out of this area last year, so the brass is clamoring about getting quick results on this one."

"Great," Eva replied. "This crime scene is all over the place, Captain. We have what looks like a third-party robbery of a drug deal. Except the robbery part itself doesn't make a lot of sense."

The Captain sat down beside her desk and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, the initial part of the robbery seems like at least two suspects came through the front and back doors simultaneously. They used a professional breaching technique to bypass the doors. And they shot everyone dead immediately upon entering."

"Did the drug dealers shoot back, maybe nick one of the robbers?"

"No, Captain," Eva said. "That's the next hang-up. They managed to breach two doors simultaneously, reach the center of the house, and double-tap two of the victims that had pistols still tucked into their waistbands. And the third guy seems to have been up on his feet when he took a shotgun blast to the face. It's not clear who was shot first"

"Jesus," the Captain exclaimed. "Starting to sound like a professional job, there."

"It gets worse," Eva continued. "No drugs on the scene, no serious amount of cash like you'd expect to see. But all three of the vics had small amounts of cash in their pockets, and all three were still wearing visible gold jewelry when we got there. Yet, no cell phones, wallets, or ID of any kind on any of the vics, either."

"Okay, so the suspects were in a hurry," the Captain replied. "Bunch of gunshots, no need to hang around for unwanted attention, just grab the goods and go. Plus, taking the cell phones and ID but not the petty cash or the jewelry points to a tactical motive rather than a financial one. All of that would be in line with the professional hit theory."

"Yeah," Eva said. "It all seems to line up. But, for a professional hit, why risk it with all three at once? Seems less risky to take them out separately, one or two at a time before or after the meeting."

"Well, clearly they had the manpower and the skills for various scenarios. So, maybe one hit was more efficient. The victims were all inside, at one location. Easier to control one enclosed area than a random public space. And a much better chance of avoiding witnesses."

"Sure," Eva agreed. "It could be a matter of efficiency. I also agree with the motive being tactical rather than financial. The fact that they took the extra time to remove wallets and cell phones, but didn't care about loose cash or jewelry shows that. But then why would these suspects take the drugs with them? It doesn't seem like someone with this level of skill would suddenly consider a career change."

"Perhaps they were hired by someone who specifically wanted the drugs."

"Possible," Eva agreed once more. "One thing is certain, this obviously took some serious planning. There are just too many specifics for this to be a random act."

The Captain grunted and said, "Well, try your investigation from a different angle. The suspects obviously planned and executed a hit. They also wanted to delay identification of the victims. So, who were the victims? It seems like the focus of the hit was more about the vics than drugs or money. So, identify your vics and work outward from there."

"Well," Eva chimed in. "I have just one more wrinkle I can't smooth out. I checked with local residents and any businesses that were open on Saturday night. Turns out that nobody heard anything close to gun shots that night. Now, we know that there were at least five shots fired that night, one being a shotgun. But nobody heard anything. That's a little strange, isn't it?"

"Very. When I was still in a patrol uniform, twenty years ago, it would have been strange to have a night without gunfire. But today, if somebody was lighting off bottle rockets our phone lines would have been jammed up with complaints. My advice is to begin with ID's on the vic's yet. Seems like that's the key here."

"That's not going so well. Apparently it was a pretty busy weekend, and ours was one of the last cases to hit the list over at the lab. So, probably another day or two."

"Just as well," the Captain noted. "I know Jimmy is supposed to testify in that murder trial this morning. But, again, the brass is pretty anxious about this one. So, don't take too long finding some kind of answers."

"We're on it, Captain."

Jimmy and Marcus had arrived at the courthouse late. They had made a few stops along the way. Marcus had tried to get Jimmy to show up early, but Jimmy blew off the scheduled time, swearing they wouldn't miss anything.

The murder trial was scheduled to start early this morning. Though, experience had taught both of them that the scheduled start time meant that the attorneys had better be available for the judge at that time. The actual courtroom part of the process often didn't start until much later.

As they reached the top of the courthouse steps and entered the front of the building, Jimmy was telling Marcus about his latest case.

"I'm telling ya," Jimmy said. "This one is not going away easily. There were actually…"

"Jimmy Burke! You're such a useless piece of work!"

Jimmy and Marcus both stopped to look around and find the source of the outburst.

Coming off a bench located along the wall was an NYC Assistant District Attorney. He headed toward Jimmy with a stride that suggested the Assistant D.A. might tackle Jimmy.

"Where in the hell have you been? And why don't you answer your damn phone, you incompetent jackass?"

"Whoa!" Jimmy had both hands up in front of him. "What the hell? These things never start on time."

"Well, this one started long ago, you moron," the Assistant D.A. spat out. "The judge threw out the case. He threw out the whole damn case."

"Wait! What?" Jimmy asked. "Why? What in the hell happened?"

"You happened, Jimmy. You fucking happened."

"What in the hell did I do?"

"It's what you didn't do, Jimmy." The Assistant D.A. stopped to take a breath before continuing. "You didn't read them their rights, Jimmy. It's on tape at three different points."

"You're fucking kidding me," Jimmy fired back. "No way they didn't get advised."

"It's on tape, Jimmy," he continued. "At the arrest of Baskins, you told him that you 'had his ass now.' But you never read his Miranda rights. Then, when you interview the other guy that names Baskins as the shooter, you just walked in and started asking questions. You even got him to sign a statement. But not once did you advise him of his right to remain silent. Then, you got Baskins in an interview room. And, clearly he didn't need to be advised, since he never said a word. But you proceeded to antagonize and question him, anyway. Without reading him his damn rights!"

"What? There's no way. Those things are all being taken completely out of context," Jimmy protested.

"Three in a row, Jimmy," the Assistant D.A. said while almost turning purple. "All three are on video. Your arrogance gave him a pass on a life sentence."

"What? Wait, what about the drugs and weapons? We never found the murder weapon, but he had two pounds of cocaine right there and a dozen automatic weapons," Jimmy noted. "How in the hell does he get a pass on all that?"

"Fruits of a poisoned tree, Jimmy. Your search warrant was based on information you got from a guy that wasn't read his rights. As soon as both the arrest and the interrogation of that suspect were nullified, the warrant and any so-called evidence that resulted from that interrogation were rendered inadmissible."

"What? What in the hell is wrong with this judge? Baskins had every bit of that stuff right there in his home. Nobody else lived there, so there's no way that he can claim that the stuff belonged to somebody else." Jimmy shook his head in disbelief. "What in the hell is wrong with this judge?"

"Not the judge, Jimmy. You. All that evidence is gone. We can never use it against him. We can't even refer to it if he ever gets charged with anything else. You blew it all, you arrogant ass."

"Whoa, easy. We've all had bad days," Marcus offered. "It could have happened to any of us."

"Really," the Assistant D.A. said, turning back to Jimmy. "You think your old man would have let this happen?"

"If it's so big," Jimmy said. "Then why did the judge let it go?"

"Because, you arrogant bastard, you didn't play by the rules."

"I did my job, I brought in the proof," Jimmy said. "There is a confession and there is an evidence locker full of proof. Now, you guys want to just pretend that evidence never existed? Does that judge even know how big of a criminal Baskins is?"

"The judge knew exactly how big this case was going to be, and he wanted the entire thing done by the book. He wanted to see an airtight case so he could justify throwing that clown underneath the prison with no chance of an appeal. Instead, he had to throw the case out."

"No way this is on me," Jimmy said. "You guys want him back on the street over technicalities, that's on you. I did my job, I got him with the drugs and weapons, and I got a confession naming him as a murderer. I did my job, damn it."

"Hmph! You are so damn arrogant, Jimmy. You just don't get it, do you? It's the justice system. A system means that we all have to get it right, or it doesn't work. You blew this one, like it or not. And the fact that you don't even realize just how bad you screwed up is proof that you'll never be half of the cop that your father was. You should go back to patrol and quit pretending to be a detective. You ain't him, Jimmy. And you never will be."

At the last few words, Jimmy lunged toward the Assistant D.A., but Marcus anticipated this and quickly stepped in the way.

"Cool down, Jimmy," Marcus whispered. "He's not the enemy. Let's just get out of here."

The Assistant D.A. was already headed back to find his seat on the hallway bench outside of one of the courtrooms.

Marcus had his arm around Jimmy as they turned to head out the door of the courthouse. They only made it a few steps before Deshawn Baskins, the infamous drug kingpin known as "Sweet B", stepped out of the courtroom doors laughing loudly. Sweet B seemed to be sharing a joke with his attorney. But, upon them noticing Jimmy and Marcus in the hallway, the laughter faded.

Then Sweet B spoke up, "Hey, motherfucker, is that your new attorney?" Obviously pleased with himself, Sweet B broke out into another fit of laughter.

Jimmy suddenly felt like his head was going to explode. "You! You're under arrest, you son of a bitch." Jimmy started in Sweet B's direction and Marcus was suddenly holding him back, again.

As Jimmy was straining like an attack dog on a leash, Marcus was whispering in his ear, "We can't do it, brother. We can't do it. Not now, not here, Jimmy. We just can't do it."

Sweet B's attorney was speaking up, asking if the city wanted a huge lawsuit on its hands. Meanwhile, Sweet B was laughing and waving his hands, inviting Jimmy to come and get him.

A few seconds later, four courthouse bailiffs were standing between Jimmy and Sweet B, one hand on their pistols and one stretched out in front of them, trying to figure out what was going on.

Jimmy was shouting, "I'm going to get you. You got lucky, asshole. You got lucky, but I will take your ass down."

"I'm advising you to remain silent, officer," Sweet B shouted back amid more laughter. "It's your right!"

Jimmy was shouting, "You're mine, asshole. You. Are. Fucking. Mine." as the bailiffs were pushing Jimmy and Sweet B in two different directions. Marcus, also pushing Jimmy back down the hall, pulled out his FBI credentials and assured the bailiffs that he had Jimmy under control.

As Sweet B and his attorney were being pushed out the door, Sweet B was shouting, "Come and get me, bitch. You might not make it out alive the next time."

As Jimmy had finally started to calm down, Sweet B's attorney was back in the hallway. "You're officially on notice, Detective. I'm filing for a restraining order. And, since this blatant display of hostility was recorded by every camera in the building, I doubt I'll have any trouble getting it."

"What? What are you talking about? Hostility… I'll show you hostility, motherfucker." Jimmy now lunged at the attorney as Marcus, again, stepped in to block Jimmy with his whole body.

The attorney didn't flinch as he said, "You're on notice, Detective. Stay away from my client."

"Your client," Jimmy shouted. "Your client is a piece of shit that sells drugs to school kids. Are you proud of yourself, counselor? You just put more kids in danger, you greedy asshole."

"You're on notice, Detective. Oh, and before telling me about my job, maybe you should learn how to do yours first."

Jimmy exploded in a new attempt to go after the attorney, amid Marcus and two bailiffs holding him back.

"I'm a Federal Officer. Get that asshole out of here," Marcus shouted, pointing at the attorney.

Two more bailiffs were showing the attorney to the door and threatening to arrest him for disturbing the peace if he didn't leave.

Jimmy collapsed onto one of the benches lining the courthouse hallway. He had his head in his hands, repeatedly asking himself, "What have I done? How did I fuck this up? I let him go. What did I do?"

"You'll get his ass next time," Marcus was saying as he sat down on the bench next to Jimmy. "He's a piece of shit, and he'll fuck up, again. When he does, you'll be there to get his ass."

"No, man, he's out now because of me. How did I fuck this up so badly?"

"Doesn't matter right now, brother," Marcus assured him. "Right now, we just need to get over to Mickey's. You need some liquid therapy, bro. C'mon, let's go."

Marcus stood up and led Jimmy out of the courthouse. They spent the next few hours at Mickey's Place, a local bar popular among Brooklyn cops.