CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"Alright, boss," Martinez said. "We got a plan for the brownstone. Hodges managed his way onto the rooftop of the small apartment building directly behind it and did some recon from there. We're going to have to go after dark for our best chance at stealth. However, if we can hit him before midnight, that would be the optimal time for masking sounds while also masking our movements."

"Okay," Ortiz said. "Tell me about it."

"Well," Martinez started to explain. "We pull a cargo van into the large paid parking lot next door to the house. We back it up to the fence. Hodges goes back up on the roof behind the brownstone and does preliminary recon. If everything is good, the rest of us go out the back of the van and over the fence into the backyard of the brownstone. There's a fire escape on the backside with three levels, one for each floor. So, we take the fire escape to find our entrance point. The exact point of entry will depend on who is in the house at the time and where they are located."

"Neutralizing any threats in a hurry is going to be a big concern," Ortiz noted. "Any gunfire from anyone inside is going to draw a lot of attention. What else?"

"Also, a primary concern is the dog. We've got to put him down quick and quiet if we make entry anywhere other than the floor that our target is on. Right now, our tentative entry point is a back door on the first floor and windows on the second and third floors. Again, entry is going to be dynamic and depend on who is in the house and where they are."

"So far, so good," Ortiz said. "What do we know about floor plans, building layout, etc.?"

"Most of the third floor is just a rather large bedroom area, full bathroom, jacuzzi, a few walk-in closets. The second floor is pretty much a large lounge and entertainment area. Two big screen TV's on two walls, a full stocked bar, and a few rows of sectional furniture. The furniture is arranged so that each large sofa piece is stacked behind the next one, sort of like a movie theater full of couches. He also has one corner of the second floor sectioned off as some sort of closet or storage space. It's unclear what's in there."

"We need to make sure that people aren't in that space when we raid the place," Ortiz said.

"Next, the first floor has a large kitchen area, a bathroom, a room he uses as an office, and another room with a very large safe in it. The genius keeps the combination to the safe on the back of a large-framed photograph on a table next to the safe. Hodges observed him and others reading the combination off of there. It's not clear what exactly is in there. But we can probably guess drugs or money."

"I bet I know how we can find out," Ortiz said with a grin.

"Finally, most of the cocaine and heroin either comes out of, or goes into, the basement. We don't know anything about that area, either, since we can't get eyes down there. But whatever it is can't be much because, whether someone is dropping off or picking up, they're never down there more than two minutes at the most. So, that's a good sign."

"I like how this sounds, so far," Ortiz said. "What do we know about foot traffic in and out of the place? Any frequent or regular visitors? Are drops and pickups random or scheduled? How many people are in the house at any given time? Does anyone else live there or tend to spend the night?"

"Visitors are random, but seem to be the same faces, whether it's a delivery thing or someone hanging out for a while. Nobody lives there but him, though various females do spend the night. There doesn't seem to be any more than three people at a time, as far as visitors go. And when people hang out for a while, it's usually on the second floor watching sports or movies on the big screens. If anyone is actually there on the night we go in, then they will most likely be on the second floor."

"About the dog," Ortiz said. "Is he a roamer or does he tend to stay in whatever room our target is in? Does he get taken outside on a regular schedule? Who takes him out? And for how long? Regardless, I think you're right about putting it down quickly. He's both an alarm and a weapon. We don't need a dog screwing up everything."

"So far, the dog and the owner are inseparable," Martinez said. "He is the only one that takes the dog outside. It doesn't seem to roam much, stays mostly in the same area that our target is in — inside and outside. Also, it doesn't display any signs of being a trained security dog or anything. It just stays close to its owner."

"What about lighting and shadows," Ortiz asked. "How much exposure do we have from the back of the van until we're in the house?"

"In the parking lot, the lighting seems to be focused on the fence areas of the streets on either side of the block. There's one large light pole in the middle of the lot, but it has no effect on the backyards of the properties on either side of the lot. There are lights on both the back of the apartment building and the back of the brownstone, but none of them seem to be motion-activated. Somebody has to flip a switch to turn them on."

"And what about the rooftop view from the apartment building? If someone is up there with a rifle, what kind of clearance do they have? How much of the three floors is open for over-watch?"

"The rooftop is open," Martinez continued. "It's almost level with the second floor, giving a pretty clear view of the entire second floor in the brownstone. It also gives about a fifty-percent view of the first floor, but only part of the third floor. It's not perfect, but it is pretty damn good as far as both recon and over-watch go."

"Alright," Ortiz said. "It sounds like we have a plan. We just need to pick out the right night, hopefully with cloud cover, since the new moon will be starting in a few days. But it sounds like we might be able to do this quickly and quietly."

Jimmy was finally back in the office. He had tried to steel himself for this moment. But when he walked back into the Homicide Bureau reality cut through all of his careful planning. His eyes immediately locked onto Eva's empty desk. Nobody had touched it out of respect. The task of cleaning out the desk of a fallen partner was not something that came up often, but when it did, the task fell to the surviving partner. It was a way of finalizing the level of familiarity and bond between partners on the job. It was also a chance to close the chapter on that partnership. He was immediately overwhelmed by the sight of her empty desk, as if she, too, would also be back on Monday morning. The realization that she was never coming back fell over Jimmy like a ton of bricks.

He had a long list of leads he wanted to chase down, evidence he wanted to revisit, and people that he wanted to talk to. But Eva's desk had to be dealt with. For him and for the rest of the detectives that also had to walk by her desk and be reminded that she was gone. So, he spent the morning dealing with acceptance and slowly removing any sign that Eva "Smitty" Smith had ever been anywhere near that desk.

Ortiz had the boat out, again. All the guys brought their fishing gear this time, but it was mostly for appearances. Today was about adding things to the ocean rather than taking anything out of it. They spent a few minutes getting their gear together and setting various things in place just in case another boat happened to come near. Then they began opening various duffle bags that they had stashed in the boat's cabin last night. With a final look around to make sure they were not within sight of anyone, they began tossing bricks of pure Mexican brown heroin over the side of the boat into the water.

"All this extra weight, I'm surprised we're still afloat, boss," Martinez remarked.

Even though they had only done a few of these missions, it had become understood that nobody would mention any suggested street values of the drugs, because it would imply that the trash they were getting rid of had some kind of value. Rather, they were just throwing out garbage that needed to be gotten rid of. Another reason for not mentioning any street value was the risk of developing a financial motive for taking the drugs from the dealers that they eliminated. All of them were motivated by personal reasons, and none of them wanted to risk putting this garbage back on the street.

"Hell, she could handle more than this if she had to," Ortiz proudly claimed. "She might look a little shabby, but she's a great boat."

"With all of this shit going overboard, somebody should notice a difference in street supply really soon," Roman said. "Hey, just want to remind you guys that we did a good thing last night. With that scumbag out of the way and all this shit going overboard, we just interrupted some major supply lines. And I feel great!"

"Hear, hear," said Ortiz, adding to a chorus of agreements and celebratory remarks from Hodges and Martinez.

"Plus," Martinez said. "We finally got some cash to get some new supplies. I'm looking forward to getting our hands on that military-grade body armor, though I'm not too anxious to try it out, if you know what I mean."

Another round of laughter ensued.

"Well, thankfully we didn't need it last night," Ortiz noted. "That whole thing went over very smoothly."

"I don't know, boss," Roman said. "I still feel pretty bad about shooting the dog. I mean, I like dogs more than I like most people. At least with a dog, you know where you stand."

"It was necessary, Rome," Hodges said. "It could have compromised our safety."

"I know, I'm just saying," Roman said. "It would do what it was supposed to do, protect its home and its owner. Just seems wrong for it to be stuck in such a shitty situation and not realize that its owner is actually an asshole."

"Yeah, it sucks," Hodges agreed. "But that's what this shit does," Hodges said as he tossed a two-pound brick of cocaine over the side of the boat. "It contaminates and distorts everything that it comes into contact with."

"Well," Martinez said. "We left three dead assholes and a dead dog at the scene last night to emphasize that. Let's hope people start getting the message."

Jimmy spent most of the morning dealing with Eva's desk, locker, and personal property. After that, he returned some phone calls and sorted through various messages that had been left for him while he was out of the office. He was scheduled to meet with fellow homicide detective Mark Kincaid, again, this afternoon.

Since Kincaid was handling the investigation of Eva's murder, Jimmy had already met with him occasionally over the last few weeks. Kincaid was now finalizing the investigation and double-checking every detail with special attention before officially closing the case. Nobody wanted some bleeding-heart lawyer to come along and jeopardize the ensuing court case over a minor technicality. So, Kincaid wanted to meet with him one last time to go over the evidence that was collected from the original crime scene.

"Hey, Mark," Jimmy said. "How are things wrapping up?"

It was an informal meeting between the two detectives at Kincaid's desk right there in the office.

"Rumor has it that the asshole is going to plead out and throw himself on the mercy of the court. We'll see. Either way, I want to make sure everything's airtight just in case he changes his mind at the last second. Sorry to have to drag you through this, Jimmy. But this should close it all up for us."

"No problem, Mark. I'm just glad that you didn't ever make me go through the photographs that you took. I don't ever want to see that scene if I can help it."

"No shit. Nobody would. We're all hurting here. There's no justice anymore, Jimmy. I'm telling ya, there's no justice anymore."

As Jimmy finished going over evidence, Kincaid was now able to get started on his final set of notes. It would be up to the District Attorney's office to follow through with the prosecution of the case now. But, for Kincaid, the case would be officially marked as closed. For Jimmy, on the other hand, there were still more people responsible for Eva's death. None of this would have ever come about if they had not started in motion the other sequences of events that lead to Eva being in the place where she was killed. Jimmy was determined to find them and to make them pay.

Ortiz couldn't believe his ears. These parasites really did live up to their reputations. The attorney was explaining some long, drawn out process of paperwork that had to be finished before they could even file with the family court for an injunction to prevent his wife from leaving the state with his son.

"I don't get it," Ortiz said in an exasperated tone. "She could be on the plane right now, and I have to file all of this crap before I can even ask a judge for help? Aren't there any emergency alternatives for situations like this? I can't be the first person in New York City to have to deal with something like this."

"As I was saying," the attorney slowly said. "The quote/unquote emergency alternatives all result in getting Children's Protective Services involved. Again, this is something that I highly recommend against. When that happens, even if the child is not temporarily remanded into protective custody, we lose a great deal of opportunity to influence the outcome of this process before we even finish initiating the original action. Plus, once Child Services gets involved, almost every judge defers to the opinion of CPS. No matter the final outcome of the action, nobody can hold a judge responsible for anything that happens to the child based on CPS recommendations. And, when it comes to CPS, as well-meaning as things start out with them, neither law nor logic seems to apply to any decisions that they make. Their considerations and recommendations are rarely consistent from caseworker to caseworker. And nobody can do anything about that because no elected official that ever wants to be elected to anything ever again will speak out against an organization based on rescuing children."

What in the actual fuck is this son of a bitch talking about, Ortiz wondered to himself. Is he charging me by the word or something? "So, where are we? Besides, you're needing more money. Am I going to be able to stop her from taking my son away from me?"

"It's still far too early to start making predictions," the attorney said. "I don't want to get your hopes up by giving you the wrong information, and I don't want to dissuade you from pursuing your rights while you still have a chance to do so. Family court can be a volatile experience and there are going to be a lot of factors that get considered before they render a decision. That's why we need to make sure that we take every step possible and observe every precaution ahead of time. The last thing that we want is something coming back to weaken our position later on in the process because by then there is no turning back. Trust me on this, okay? I know what I'm doing."

I wish the fuck I knew what you were doing, Ortiz thought. Then he realized that this must be what Hell is like: An eternal conversation with a lawyer. "Look," he said. "What do I need to do? I just don't want to lose my son."

"Well, the only thing that we can do right now is follow the process through to the end. We still have a lot of ground to cover, which means we need to be prepared for whatever roadblocks or hurdles that might come up. We definitely need to dedicate some more money to our efforts. There is still a great deal of research that we need to accomplish in order to get all the paperwork in motion. And the courts, being as overburdened as they currently are, will not budge without all the required tenets of criteria being met first. Even then, they are going to require that we exhaust every personal and administrative remedy currently available to us. Therefore, we can't afford to miss any opportunity to specifically address the myriad of needs that stand between us and gaining the favor of a family court judge."

Ortiz wondered to himself if maybe he could talk his guys into murdering a lawyer or two for the benefit of their city — and the greater good of humanity, as well. "So, you need more money? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, James, what we're facing is…"

"Look," Ortiz interrupted. "I'll get you more money. Just tell me that things can start moving forward if I get you enough money."

"Actually, things have been moving forward. Yes, more money will certainly help us move things along faster. But you have to keep in mind that this is a marathon, not a race. We have to remain committed to the process and be ready to stick it out for the long-haul."

"How much do you need," Ortiz interjected before the lawyer had a chance to recite the Gettysburg address. "Just tell me how much money you need."

"Well, we can't point to a specific number, James. I told you in the beginning that was going to be a lengthy and unpredictable process. How much is your son worth? We can't put a price on that. We just need to persevere and make sure that we keep ourselves in the most advantageous position possible. Let's not focus on costs right now. Instead, let's try to see this as a process of 'How far ahead of the competition can we get.' By improving our starting position, we are going to be halfway through the race before anyone else even leaves the starting line."

"Fine, I'll get back to you when I can. Just stay on top of this, please."

With that, Ortiz ended the phone call before the lawyer could start talking again. He couldn't be sure, but he suspected that he might be getting billed by the hour for these phone calls. Which certainly would explain why this lawyer couldn't seem to shut the fuck up and make some kind of sense. Whatever, he was heavily invested in the lawyer by now, both financially and emotionally. Hopefully something could be done to stop his ex-wife from permanently taking his son away from him. Somehow, he needed to get more money.

"Hey, Jimmy," Homicide Detective George Romero said. "Glad you're back in the saddle. The ninetieth was hurting without you."

"Thanks, George," Jimmy replied. "How's life in the 1-0-4?"

"Very damn interesting," Romero said. "I got one this morning that you might be familiar with. Three stiffs in a house that was apparently hit some time last night. A local dealer and two of his buddies. Sound familiar?"

"No shit," Jimmy said. "I might have come across something like that before. Can I come take a look?"

"Of course," Romero said. "I'll text you the address. I won't be available. I'm in court all afternoon dealing with an unrelated case. But I'd sure like to know what you think. Meet me at Mickey's tonight? I'll bring what I got so far and we can compare notes. I usually don't rush my judgment on cases, but no way these ain't related, man."

"I hear ya," Jimmy said. "Mickey's is great. I'll bring what I got, which ain't much. Maybe we can finally find something to build on."

"That'd be nice," Romero said. "I don't need a three-piece fucking up my clearance rate, not to mention, I really don't want anyone from the Plaza poking their noses into my shit, too. No offense, man."

"None taken, brother. I don't blame ya. Tonight, then?" Jimmy hung up the phone after Romero confirmed their plans to meet.

Jimmy immediately checked his laptop to make sure it was charged. Then he grabbed his gear bag to verify that his camera and extra batteries were all charged. Finally, he grabbed a folder that contained copies of all the notes, reports, and photos from the original crime scene. He had other leads that he badly wanted to follow up on, but fearing the answers, he also welcomed any valid distraction. And this was one hell of a distraction. It was a long-shot but maybe this new crime scene would offer some new clues.

He grabbed his bag, told the lieutenant about the phone call, and headed over to the neighborhood of Ridgewood in Queens. He identified himself to the patrol car that was waiting per his request to 104th precinct. After the ordeal with Eva, it was temporarily mandated that no detectives visit any crime scenes alone. That would be a pain in the ass for patrol officers all over the department, but the bosses didn't want to give the media anything else that they could turn into an easy story.