Dead Cold Mystery Box Set 1 Read online

“Carlos, did you know Nelson Hernandez?”

  He stared at me. “I want my fockin’ lawyer!”

  I watched him. “I have to tell you that we have received information that places you at the scene of his murder, and that of Dickson Rodriguez, Evandro Perez, José Perez, and Geronimo Peralta.” I shook my head. “Quintuple, premeditated homicide plus castration and decapitation. Carlos, you go down for this, you are never coming up again.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I can’t talk to you unless you sign a waiver, but from what I hear, Chema…”

  “What is he saying? What is that mother tellin’ you?”

  “Well, I hope he’s telling us the truth. And I hope your lawyer is worth waiting for.”

  Dehan opened the door and said, “It’s ready.”

  I stood, and Carlitos said, “Wait!”

  I said to Dehan, “Come on in.”

  I pulled the waiver from my inside pocket and put it in front of him. He read it and signed it. As he wrote, he was shaking his head.

  “Okay, I hold my hands up to the deal, man. I’m gonna cooperate and tell you what you want to know. But I did not have nothin’ to do with Nelson’s death.”

  Dehan sat down. “Bullshit.”

  “She’s the bad cop,” I said.

  He looked at her, and you knew that was the way he looked at all women. Then he turned back to me.

  “You want to know who killed Nelson and his motherfockin’ primos? It wasn’t me. We was gonna whack him the next fockin’ week. He was goin’ around talking’ about how he was in with the fockin’ Ángeles. He married his bitch with a ceremonia del infierno. He was challenging the Chinese, the Mob, makin’ a fockin’ war, tellin’ everybody we was gonna back him up. Su puta madre! His fockin’ mother was gonna back him up!”

  Dehan said, “So you killed him.”

  “You ain’t fockin’ listening, bitch!”

  I said, “Watch your mouth.”

  “I’m tellin’ you. We was gonna whack him the next week. Somebody got to him first. Saved us the trouble. Chavez was sending a pro from Mexico. He was gonna do the job clean, go back home, no problem.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not what Chema is telling us.” It was true. Chema wasn’t telling us a goddamn thing. Carlitos threw his hands in the air. “Then he is fockin’ lying, man! Let me ask you a question. How much money went missing from Nelson’s place, huh?” I watched him, but I didn’t say anything. He went on, “Is okay, you don’t gotta answer. Now let me ask you another question. How much coke, H, and dope was left behind, huh? You think, in my hood, I’m gonna shoot fuckin’ Nelson and his cousins, and I’m gonna walk away and leave fifteen Ks of coke and two Ks of heroin and ten Ks of weed so the fockin’ cops can help theirselves to it? You think I’m that fockin’ stupid?”

  I sat staring at him for a moment. He knew he’d made his point, and I knew he knew it. It was the same argument Dehan and I had made to ourselves. But I kept repeating Holmes’s principle to myself over and over: “when you eliminate the impossible, whatever is left, no matter how improbable, is the truth.” It was improbable, but it was all we had left.

  He said, “You want to know who killed Nelson? I’ll tell you. Mick fockin’ Harragan killed him. And I bet you know that already, but you tryin’ to pin it on me to let your pal off the hook. Nelson had stopped payin’ him. Nelson told him he was washed-up. He told him no more money, no more coke, no more Latina bitches for him. So he killed him, stole the money, tried to frame the Mob and the Chinks, and left town. You know I’m tellin’ the fockin’ truth, man.”

  We left him to stew and went to talk to Chema. He just shook his head and said, “No, man. That was Mick. We was gonna whack him the next week. Chavez was sending a guy out to do it nice. A clean job.” Then he laughed like we were stupid. “There was half a million bucks of merchandise in there. You think we was gonna leave that there for you guys?”

  I stepped out to the parking lot. The sky was turning a pale blue. I wished I still smoked. When you eliminate the impossible…

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. Dehan was standing next to me. “Which one is impossible, and which one is improbable—Mick did it, or Carlitos did it?”

  She sighed and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Man, I could use a cigarette. I wish I smoked…” Then, “They are both probable, but they are both impossible. Unless Mick was not with Jennifer at the crime scene.”

  I nodded, chewing my lip. “I thought of that. But even if he pulled that off—and the risk of exposure by a handful of other cops, plus the ME and the crime scene team would be huge—even if he pulled that off, he needs at least two other guys with him to pull the trigger. The only person who can have done it is Carlitos.” I shook my head. “But I know he didn’t.”

  She looked at her watch and slapped me on the shoulder. “We been hungover and on our feet for almost twenty-four hours, Stone. Let’s get a few hours’ sleep and come at this again with rested brains. Whadd’ya say?”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  I turned to go in, but she said, “Hey, Stone…?”

  “What?”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “You almost took a bullet for me tonight.”

  I was about to dismiss it, but something stopped me. I smiled. “You’d had the same thought, Carmen. I was lucky I was a couple of steps ahead of you.”

  She smiled. “You’re okay, Stone. You’re a fucking dinosaur, but you’re okay.”

  “Don’t get sentimental on me, Dehan. I’ll think you’re going soft!”

  I had to shout the last couple of words, because she was already walking across the lot toward her car.

  Sixteen

  I slept five hours, then phoned Dehan at lunchtime to tell her to pack a bag and, when she was ready, to go over to my place. We’d be setting out before dawn next morning; it was a twenty-four-hour drive to Shamrock. Then I went over to the precinct and went up to see the captain. I knocked, but I didn’t wait for an answer. I stepped in and closed the door. She stared at me. I sat.

  “Using my dinosaur methods, last night we got confessions from two of the leading Sureños. We took down two members of a Mexican cartel, and we gathered sufficient evidence to hand over to the Feds so they can mount a major cross-state operation.”

  “Congratulations, Stone, but spare me the sarcasm, please.”

  I ignored her. “What we didn’t get was a confession regarding Nelson.”

  She shrugged. “It’s a ten-year-old case. If Sam couldn’t…”

  “I’ll spare you the sarcasm, if you’ll spare me the bullshit.” She closed her mouth, and her eyes shone with anger. “I have statements from half a dozen people to the effect that Mick was a bent cop taking money from local organized crime, and the Mob and the Triads. I have bank records that show that he transferred a total of four million bucks to Belize in the year before he disappeared. I have evidence that he changed his name and used forged documents to go to Mexico. And I have his fingerprints, under a different name, in Shamrock, Texas, on a drunk and disorderly charge ten years ago, two nights after he disappeared. He disappeared after drinking tequila with somebody the night that Nelson was killed. The night he was on duty with you.”

  Throughout my speech, she had been staring out of the window at the trees across the road. Now she shook her head and looked at me like she wanted to hit me.

  “Jesus, Stone, you are a pain in my ass.”

  “Yeah? A lot of people feel that way about me, Jennifer. But believe me, this is just the beginning. Now, I’m all for keeping the peace and not rocking the boat. That partner you gave me, however, is a bit more aggressive. I have to congratulate you on creating a killer team.”

  “What do you want, Stone?”

  “I want to know why you are covering for Mick. I want to know what went on—or goes on—between you two. I want to know what happened that night. I want to know if Mick killed Nelson. And l
ast but not least, I want to go to Shamrock and talk to the county sheriff.”

  “You are blackmailing me.”

  I shook my head. “There is nothing unjustified about the threat I’m making, Jennifer. I am trying to do my job, and if you stand in my way, I will take you down, according to the letter of the law. I’m giving you the opportunity to clear yourself and do the right thing.”

  “You son of a bitch.” I went to stand. “Wait!”

  I sat. She sighed and looked down at her fingers, like she had memories hanging from them.

  “Mick and I had an affair. He was a total son of a bitch. But he had magnetism and that Irish charm. I couldn’t resist him. It lasted, on and off, for about a year, the last year he was here. For him it was just a game, but for me it was a lot more than that. I was in love with him.

  “A week or so before he disappeared, his partner, Kirk, called in sick. So Mick suggested to the lieutenant that we could partner up. I was new and he was the most experienced detective on the squad. We worked together for about a week. It was probably the happiest week of my life.”

  She looked embarrassed. “So what happened that night?” I asked.

  She gave a small shrug. “Somebody reported a shooting on Longwood Avenue, near the railway tracks, about one or two in the morning. It was a young guy, early twenties.”

  “Who identified him?”

  She frowned a moment. “He had his ID on him. Later his mother identified him.”

  “How was he killed?”

  “Shot in the head. It was an execution. Why?”

  “This kid was a student from Brooklyn, why would they execute him?”

  She spread her hands. “He’d been at José’s tavern, up the road, boasting he was going to kill Nelson. He wanted to know where Nelson was. Some guy in the bar said he would take him. He must have led him down the road and shot him.”

  I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “Did you catch the guy who did it?”

  “No. You know what it’s like. They clam up. Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything.”

  “Who was your witness?”

  She shrugged. “A young Latino kid. But as soon as we started asking questions, he said he didn’t know anything and left.”

  I sighed. “You didn’t hold him and check him for GSR?”

  “No.”

  “The only witness you had to a homicide and you let him walk away.”

  “Get off my back, Stone!”

  I could feel myself getting mad. “I don’t know if you are engaged in a big, fucking cover-up, Jennifer, or if you are simply criminally incompetent.”

  “How dare you!”

  “I dare. And don’t push me, because the only person in this room looking at early retirement is you, Captain.” I sank back in my chair and thought while she stared at me, teetering between rage and fear. After a moment, I asked her, “Did you go back to Mick’s house with him that night?”

  “No. He didn’t want me to. He said me he was going to be gone for a bit, and to tell people he’d gone to Miami for his health.”

  “And you dutifully covered for him.”

  She nodded. “For ten years.”

  I watched her a moment, then asked, “How much did you know?”

  She pulled a face. “I knew he was bent. I didn’t know how bent. I didn’t want to know.”

  “Did you know he was in with the Mob?”

  She wouldn’t meet my eye. “No. I didn’t know any details at all.”

  I stood. “I’m going down to Shamrock for a couple of days. I want you to call the Wheeler sheriff’s department as a courtesy. Tell them we’re coming and ask them to cooperate with us. When I get back, you and me are going to talk. I want you out of this job. Ideally, I want you out of the NYPD. But there is no way in hell that you are staying on as captain. Either you go, or I’ll kick your ass from here to Belize.”

  She didn’t answer. I left.

  I checked a few things I needed to confirm and headed home at about five. I was thinking of a big steak and a bottle of beer and then an early night. I was pretty beat and still had a lingering hangover, and we had a twenty-four-hour drive ahead of us. I was wondering what time Dehan would show up as I pulled into my road, and saw her sitting on the hood of her car, waiting for me. I parked behind her and climbed out. It was good to see her.

  “Do you own a frying pan?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I brought some Argentinean beef.”

  I walked up the steps toward my door. “And you plan to cook it? Isn’t that a crime?” I opened the door and stood back to let her in. She slid off the hood of her car and climbed the stairs at a little run. “We can do better. We can scorch it over a barbeque.”

  “You’re a good man, John Stone. You’re a good man.”

  Seventeen

  We didn’t talk much during the drive because while I was driving she was sleeping, and while she was driving I was sleeping, but as we moved steadily south and west, along the I-70 and then from St Louis, the I-44, slowly, everything began to fit into place. I tried it from every angle, but I couldn’t find a flaw. I needed evidence—I needed proof. There were things I needed to see with my own eyes. But it was as clear to me in my mind, as though I had been there and seen it happen. I played it over, again and again as we drove through the day and then through the night; and as we passed Oklahoma the vast, flat horizon began to pale behind us, in the east.

  At Weatherford, in Custer County, I pulled into a service station and woke Dehan. It was seven in the morning, and the sky was lighting up, though the sun hadn’t yet risen. We ordered eggs and bacon and pancakes, and sat eating and drinking coffee in sleepy silence till ten to eight. Then I called the sheriff to tell him we were a couple of hours from Shamrock.

  He had the slow drawl you’d expect from a Texan, and he told me he’d be mighty obliged if I’d go to Wheeler, which was where he was based, and he’d be happy to answer any questions we had. I told him that would be fine, and a couple of hours later, at nine a.m., we rolled into his town. It was already getting hot.

  It was a town that didn’t really have streets. It was more like there were houses and barns and buildings, and areas of grass and woodland, scattered sparsely in a grid pattern over an area of countryside. The sheriff’s office was a big old redbrick building, vaguely reminiscent of the Wild West, more or less at the center of the grid. It stood alone, twenty yards from the general store on one side, and a hundred yards from the nearest house on the other. Space was something they were not short of in Wheeler, Texas.

  We parked out front next to the sheriff’s pickup and went inside. It was a big room with a high ceiling and a wooden floor. There were a couple of desks, one of them by a tall window at the back. That was the only one that was occupied. The sheriff stood as we came in and walked toward us with slow, deliberate steps. Space and time were both abundant here.

  He held out his hand and smiled.

  “Detectives Stone and Dehan? Sheriff Ted Weiss, at your service, ma’am.” This last was directed at Dehan. “Come on in and make yourselves at home. I have some coffee brewing, if you’d like some.”

  We told him we were fine, and he drew up a couple of chairs to his desk. There was a file open where he’d been sitting. It wasn’t thick, just a couple of pages. We all sat, and he leaned back and regarded me with just a hint or that irony that Texans reserve especially for New Yorkers.

  “You’re looking for someone and you think we found him?”

  “Them, perhaps. Like I said on the phone, we got a hit on IAFIS. Ten years ago, you arrested a man in Shamrock…”

  “Michael O’Hannafin. More Irish than the Irish. I was just refreshing my memory. I’ve been sheriff here for fifteen years. I remember the man. He was a loudmouth. He got drunk and wanted to show everybody how tough he was. He said he was on his way to Mexico, but he talked like a New Yorker. I didn’t ask him a lot of questions. To be honest I wasn’t interested. I figured i
f he was going on his way, that was good enough for me.”

  I nodded. “Sure. Was he traveling alone?”

  “Nope. He had a young Mexican girl with him. Sweet kid. She was polite and pretty, couldn’t have been more than twenty. I couldn’t figure out what a girl like that was doing with an old thug like him.” He shrugged. “Takes all sorts, I guess.”

  I scratched my chin. “She made no effort to talk to you alone, no plea for help…?” I shook my head, shrugged. “Nothing of that sort?”

  He frowned. “Well, no… You telling me she was abducted?”

  “I don’t know. We aren’t sure yet. But it’s possible.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How long were they in town, Sheriff?”

  “They arrived that morning. They booked in to the Sleep Inn on 66, and then they went to Big Vern’s for a steak dinner. Vern does his own brand beer. It’s good beer and it looks like your friend Michael took a liking to it.”

  “He got drunk?”

  He studied my face for a moment, with his fingers laced across his belly. “Shamrock is a quiet town, Detective. By eleven just about everything is closed and folks go home. We like it that way. This Michael didn’t. He’d had a few beers too many, and he was making a noise about how this wasn’t no Irish town. The Irish knew how to drink, that kind of stuff. The staff asked him to keep it down, and he became abusive.” He looked down at his fingers and raised an eyebrow at them. “Vern’s is a family restaurant. I can recommend the steak. You won’t find any better anywhere. It’s a real friendly, family place.” He looked up and held my eye. “I know it’s a different world out east. But here we don’t like swearing, especially in front of ladies. We got different values.”

  Dehan smiled and said, “Somebody told him to watch his mouth?”

  He nodded. “Couple of boys took him outside, and things could have got ugly. Luckily I was in the area, and when Vern called, I swung by and brought him up here to sleep it off.”

  “What about Maria?”

  “The girl? She went back to their room. She was awful upset, kept apologizing and crying her eyes out. Broke my heart to see it.”