CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"Jimmy," Marcus said. "Wake up, brother. Big news."

"These early phone calls are getting to be a habit," Jimmy muttered. "What fucking time is it?"

"It's early. But the sun is rising and so is your luck. After consulting with the Attorney General's office last night, the bosses decided that we're going to grab Detective Roman Georginski from the Bronx Narcotics Bureau. We've already got enough to bring him up on numerous federal charges. And, if he plays ball, he might get some slack on the murder charges that he'll soon be facing."

"What," Jimmy asked. "When?"

"Well," Marcus said. "We're waiting on the actual warrant to be sent over from the AG's office. But we are going to take him today. We'll also be very closely monitoring the other two detectives and praying that they do something stupid."

"Christ," Jimmy said. "How are you awake and being so productive before the sun even comes up?"

"You're slipping, Jimmy. Remember what they told us in Ranger school? The French and the Indians attack at dawn."

"Yeah, well," Jimmy said. "Mickey's bar doesn't kick my ass until after dark. But I'll rest better knowing that you're out there keeping us safe from French-speaking Indians."

The detectives from the Bronx Narcotics Bureau were all expected to show up late in the office today. After a night of buy/bust operations, and arresting around ten different dealers, the detectives were up late writing reports. But Ortiz found his way into the office early. He left messages for Hodges and Roman that he would be out of the office today for a meeting with his lawyer and a custody hearing in family court. His phone was turned off and placed in his desk drawer. He had other plans for today, beginning with going to the location where this new supplier named "White Mike" allegedly met with dealers to resupply them. He wanted to learn every inch of this area during daylight hours so that he would be more familiar with it at night.

A few hours later, Hodges and Roman showed up at the precinct parking lot at the same time.

"Hey, are you following me," Roman asked with a chuckle.

"Nah," Hodges said. "Great minds just think alike."

"Yeah, maybe," Roman said. "Or stupidity runs in circles."

"Roger, that. It's been a regular Indy 500 around here lately."

"See, that's why you're a detective," Roman said. "Nothing gets by you."

"So, I guess Sarge is out for court, huh?"

"Oh my God," Roman said. "Fucking Maria. She puts him through hell."

"Agreed."

As they entered the office, Roman glanced over towards Martinez's empty desk.

"Man, I'm still not used to this. Every time I come through the door, I expect to hear Gil's voice, giving me shit about something else."

"We're all feeling the loss, brother," Hodges noted.

"Yeah, but it's more than a loss. I've been starting to look around and ask myself if what we're doing is really worth it. I mean all of it. It's the same shit, over and over. It seems like it never ends."

"That's because it doesn't," Hodges said. "Sometimes we are able to get out in front of all the bad shit out there and prevent some stuff from happening. But mostly we just react to things as they happen."

"That's what I mean," Roman lamented. "The more we react, the more jaded I get. I'm starting to feel like some kind of robot or something."

"So, what else is there? What else would you do if you could go do anything else out there in the world?"

"I don't know. Go somewhere and build schools and shit. Something that feels better, maybe make a difference that lasts more than a week or so."

"So, go do it," Hodges said with sincerity. "You know life is too short, especially on the job. I'm not saying you're not good at what you do now. But you gave Uncle Sam four years, and you've given NYC another ten. You deserve to do something that feeds your soul, brother."

"Feed my soul," Roman repeated. "You sound like one of those self-help books or something."

"Chicken soup for the burned-out cop?"

Roman erupted in laughter.

"Seriously," Hodges said. "You've spent your adult life serving your country and your community. You deserve to be happy. The drugs will never permanently go away, and there's nothing at the end of this job but a gold watch and a shove out the back door."

"I hear ya, man," Roman. "I actually need to think on it some more because I don't really know how to do anything else. But I do know this ain't really doing it for me anymore."

"Then get after it," Hodges said. "Right now, I need to get over to the crime lab with that phone we took off the tall, skinny kid last night. He swore it wasn't his, so technically it goes into Lost & Found. But not before I get all the phone numbers and messages off of it."

"Go get 'em, detective," Roman said with a grin. "The only technology I'm dealing with today is to finish getting these arrest reports in the computer."

Jimmy was on his way over to the alley in Ridgewood, Queens, where Lamar Tate's body was found. He was convinced that Tate was victim number four from the original murder scene in Williamsburg. The fact that he had either jumped or been pushed through a window at the house was confirmed by the presence of glass shards found in his clothing. And his presence at the house was confirmed by the fact that he was covered in blood spray from two of the other victims.

Jimmy didn't really need to drive over to the alley, the old photographs from Queens homicide and the latest forensics reports provided plenty of evidence. But Jimmy wanted to be out of the office and busy today whenever the FBI arrested that detective from the Bronx. The FBI was supposed to take over the whole investigation at that time, and Jimmy wanted to be just as surprised as anyone else when it happened. Well, that's what he planned, anyway.

He was on Troutman Street and just pulling up to the alley when his phone rang.

"We got him, Jimmy," said Marcus. "We arrested him at the office without incident. We had notified a few people at 1 Police Plaza as soon as he was in cuffs. And we informed them that we were taking over the investigation."

"Great," Jimmy said. "I knew it was coming but, now that's it here, I'm not sure how I feel about it. How did the folks at headquarters take it?"

"Like they were losing a kidney. They were told to cease any investigative efforts related to the entire case. It might as well have been a declaration of war."

"Well," Jimmy said. "Maybe I can go back to actually solving cases instead of chasing my tail and investigating fellow cops. I mean, I'm mad as hell that these guys used their shields to prey on people. But they're still cops, and I hate being mixed up in any of this shit."

"Then you're going to love this. We're sending agents over to your office to collect from you anything related to the investigation. This is your chance to get out from under all the bullshit. Just don't let on to anyone that you already knew we were involved and things should get back to normal soon."

"Well, I'm over in Queens right now, following up on some case details. So, I'm going to stay busy right here until the bosses call me. At the speed with which shit rolls down in the department, it shouldn't take long before my phone rings itself apart."

"Best of luck to ya, brother," Marcus said. "I'll catch up with you later on tonight or whenever I get free. I'm not sure how all this is going to play out for us right now, so I'll talk to ya when I can."

By the time Hodges had returned to the office, the entire precinct was swarmed with chief's, deputy chiefs, and supervisors from almost every level of the department. The street out front was entirely blocked off with news vans and people holding cameras and microphones. As Hodges entered the building, a captain that he didn't recognize stepped out from around a corner and asked, "Are you Detective James Hodges?"

Even though he was instantly wary, he casually replied with a yes.

"In here," the captain barked.

Hodges was directed into an interrogation room where there were four other bosses that he didn't recognize but knew were from headquarters by the way they talked and acted. He was directed to sit in a chair as they began firing questions off at him. He asked if he should have his union rep or an attorney present, but then declined to contact either of them after realizing that they didn't ask for his pistol when he walked in.

The next four hours were a non-stop series of questions and interrogation about the activities and cases that Roman had been involved with over the last few months. He eventually found out that the FBI had arrested Roman in the office today and that nobody could seem to reach sergeant Ortiz. He was told to stay in the office until his shift was over, warned about speaking to the media, and turned loose.

Based on their questions, and the fact that he still had his badge and pistol when he left the interrogation room, he didn't think he was under any type of suspicion at all. It occurred to him that he had the knowledge and connections to be out of the United States and sitting on a beach in some non-extradition country within twenty-four hours. But he didn't really think it was necessary. Apart from Roman and Ortiz, there was not really any evidence that could connect him to anything that had happened over the last few months. And he unconditionally trusted his fellow detectives.

Ortiz was dressed in torn and ratty clothing, with dirt smeared across his face and an old floppy fishing hat on his head. He had spent most of the day clinging to a brown paper bag with a bottle of iced tea inside it. Stumbling between different vantage points, he would fall down and sit there for a few minutes while observing the location where "White Mike" was supposed to meet up with dealers to resupply them. It was an empty field in an area of the south Bronx known as Mott Haven. The field itself was filled with bits of what looked like construction debris and a few discarded washers and refrigerators. The field was nestled between two abandoned buildings and across the street from some type of large warehouse.

Within a few hours he had been all around the block itself and had viewed the area from all sides. He hadn't noticed anyone loitering around or even stopping anywhere near the area. Most of the vehicle traffic in the area consisted of semi-trucks hauling large trailers in and out of the warehouse across the street. It was almost like any other vehicles that came near this city block made it a point not to stop or even pause here for any length of time.

As afternoon was turning into early evening, Ortiz began looking at everything around the area from the point of view of planning a strategic ambush. This would not be anything like the other dealers he had stalked and killed. If he did something here, and did it alone, then he would have to rely on speed, stealth, and pure luck. The buildings on either side of the lot were not accessible without some serious hardware and a lot of time invested in entering them. Also, he did not know exactly where in the field a meet was supposed to take place, nor did he know the route "White Mike" would arrive from.

Judging by the access points available to someone driving from New Jersey, he narrowed down the most likely approach to be from the southwest corner of the lot. He hoped that this drug dealer would be lazy like most others. And, hoping that "White Mike" would feel out of place compared to New Jersey, the southwest was the shortest direction to and from the interstate leading back to Jersey. So, now he just needed to figure out where he could launch a quick attack from. He wasn't worried about his escape plan, because if this didn't work out just right, he probably wouldn't make it out of this area alive.

It was almost six o'clock and Jimmy was still in the alley over in Queens. He was comparing crime scene pictures, working with his tape measure, taking his own pictures, and pretty much just making up a lot of cool-looking investigative techniques to buy time while waiting for his phone to ring. Finally, just before six, he got a call from the Chief of Detectives informing him to return to the office and hand over anything in his possession related to the case. He explained where he was and why it would take him a few minutes to return to the office.

When he finally arrived back at the precinct, two FBI agents and lieutenant Markinson were there waiting for him.

"Lieutenant," Jimmy said. "What the hell is going on? The C.O.D. called and handed my ass to me before telling me to get back and hand over all my case stuff."

"I don't have all the facts, Jimmy," Markinson said. "All I know is that these guys arrested a narcotics detective up in the Bronx, and then I got a call informing me that this is no longer our case. Apparently we have to turn everything over, do nothing to impede their investigation, and somehow carry on with business as usual. Whatever the hell that means."

"Okay," Jimmy agreed. "They can fucking have it. It's just one dead end after another and, honestly, I'm glad to get rid of it."

"Not me, Jimmy. I'm two years away from retiring, and this damn case is going to somehow come back and haunt me before I get out of the door. I just know it."

After Jimmy had boxed up every photograph, file, and whatever else he could find related to the case, he made photocopies of his notepad and then Eva's notepad. Finally, he dumped every electronic file that they had on the triple-homicide case onto a portable drive and handed that over to the FBI agents. They now had the entire case and Jimmy actually felt a huge weight being slowly lifted off of his shoulders.

The feeling of relief vanished as quickly as it had arrived when he realized that his jacket pocket was making a strange beeping sound.