Black Water Transit (33 page)

“Found them at the bottom of a construction tube. Right over there. Even got the same stitching.”

“But …”

“Son, you’re a cop. You got to follow where the trail goes.”

Dexter shook his head. “Even that doesn’t …”

Frick shook his head sadly, walked over to a plastic storage box, popped the lid, lifted out a big plastic bag with a pair of tan leather boots inside. He brought it back over to Dexter.

“What’s that on these boots, son?”

“Green paint.”

“Yep. And …?”

“And blood.”

“And blood. That nail it down a bit, son?”

“Yes sir,” said Dexter. “It does.”

They got away from Hazleton about an hour later, after Dexter had stopped to talk with Pepper the state trooper, keeping a promise to fill her in. He was glad he had; she turned out to be Captain Billy’s niece. Then they drove north on 81 until they reached the intersection of Interstate 80.

Casey stopped at the entrance to the Ramada to call her mother. Nicky and Dexter went into the bar. Derry Flynn was waiting for them, alone. They filed into the booth and sat back. Derry Flynn was shaking his head slowly before they got settled.

“Damn, you two are a sorry-looking lot.
Que pasa?
”

“I blew it,” said Dexter. “I called this whole thing wrong.”

Derry Flynn raised a hand, got the waitress over, ordered something called a bucket o’ brewskies. It took two waitresses to haul it to the table. Nicky slapped a brand-new box of Marlboros on the table and fumbled for a lighter. Casey came into the bar as they were cracking open the first cold bottles. She peeled the pack and slipped one out, waited while Nicky lit hers and then his own, and Dexter watched this ceremony with a yellow glitter of flame in his deep brown eyes. He grinned at Casey, shook his finger.

“Casey, you fraternizing with this horrid little trooper?”

Casey, to her surprise, managed a blush.

Nicky looked a bit puffed out and then he laughed too.

“Casey’s slumming. It amuses her. How’s your mom, Casey?”

“She’s okay. Somebody called her just now, asking for me.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“A guy. Deep voice. She didn’t get a name. She said he sounded sexy. He asked where I was.”

“She tell him?”

“Yeah. She’s … a little under the weather, Nicky.”

Nicky understood that. It worried him.

“You have call display?”

“Yeah. She can’t work it. Don’t worry. Probably a bill collector. I’ll check the call list when I get home. Forget about it. Agent Flynn, nice to see you. Thanks for coming.”

Nicky looked at her face. She was worried. He could see that. Very worried. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but she shook her head and gave him a not-now look. He shut up. Derry Flynn took a long swallow, set the glass down hard.

“What is it you people wanted, anyway? I thought you were all fired up about Earl Pike. Why the interest in Jack Vermillion?”

“They’re connected,” said Nicky, and told Flynn the basic story, all the way from the double homicide at Blue Stores through the Red Hook disaster. Earl Pike was the link, the consistent thread throughout the case. And Pike led straight to Jack Vermillion. You couldn’t separate them. Flynn listened with his eyes on the tabletop. When Nicky wrapped it up, he studied them, clearly making a decision.

“You know anything about Earl Pike?”

“We know about CCS,” said Casey. “And we’ve met him.”

“Have you? Well, then. You can see he’s a handful. I got my theory about what’s going on here, but I can’t get Greco to pay any attention. She’s got Vermillion on the brain. What did you people make of that mess back in Hazleton?”

Dexter’s face darkened slightly.

Nicky answered for him.

“We were working on the theory that Jack Vermillion wasn’t a hard guy. That he was basically straight. We were wrong.”

Flynn nodded.

“Captain Frick made the wounds as nine-mills, right? And we figure Vermillion is carrying Deputy Callahan’s piece. That was a Glock nine-mill. So yeah, I figure he did the thing. But killing three scum-sacks isn’t the same as shooting two guards in cold blood.”

“You figure the captain was right? About the reward?”

“Why else would they tangle with him?”

Casey shook her head.

“We all looked at the bodies. Each one of them was already down. The fight was over. He didn’t just kill those kids. He executed them. If he could do that, he could do anything. I think Greco’s right about him. If it quacks like a duck, it’s a duck, right?”

Flynn didn’t buy it.

“Do you people know anything about Vermillion? About the case against him?”

Dexter shook his head.

“Not much. Our target here is Pike. We know this Greco number, she’s been on TV, she’s painting a picture of a bent guy with Mafia connections, running stolen cars, drug money. Now also a stone killer. I’d say that makes him a bad guy.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Flynn.

“Never is,” said Nicky. “Fill us in, then.”

Derry Flynn sketched out the basic case against Vermillion, the Red Hook connection, the transfer deal for Danny Vermillion, the link with Earl Pike, what had been found in the container, the stolen cars, the cocaine-tainted cash. The three NYPD cops listened quietly, but nothing they heard outweighed what they had seen back in that garage. When Flynn had wrapped it up, Dexter spoke for all of them.

“A guy who could do what we just saw could do anything.”

Flynn didn’t back down.

“I’m just not convinced Vermillion’s as dirty as Greco wants him to be. There’s no proof that his transport company is mob-connected. He grew up with some mob guys. So what? He had a good reputation in Albany, fought hard for his workers, treated them right. Even the Teamsters couldn’t break his shop floor. Now everything he had is gone, snapped up by Greco under the RICO laws. People have limits. You take a basically solid guy, businessman, do him like Greco’s doing him, sooner or later he’s gonna get cranky. Okay,
cranky
is not the word. This guy’s life has just been ripped up, everything he ever had taken away. Maybe he deserves it. The stuff we found is hard to explain. But a murderer? I don’t know about those guards. I talked to the witness up there. She didn’t actually see Vermillion shooting anyone. She heard two shots, real close together, then the female guard comes out of a phone booth, goes pounding back to the washrooms. She hears the guard screaming, ‘Drop your weapons.’ Get it? Like she was talking to two people. Then three more shots. Then she hears a man say something like ‘Never look away.’ ”

“So Vermillion was saying something to the guard. After he shot her. That’s what the waitress heard. Vermillion’s voice.”

“No. She took Vermillion’s order, a Grand Slam breakfast. She says this voice was softer, deeper, and had a sort of a western drawl to it. Vermillion’s voice is real New York. He grew up in Queens.”

“This is a very good witness,” said Dexter.

“Oh yes. Smart kid, Annie. She wants to be a criminologist.”

“Pike has a western drawl,” said Nicky.

“So I’m told. Also, the rounds we got out of the guards, none of them was from a Glock, and that’s all the guards were carrying. They were killed with a big Smith. Whose Smith? Not Vermillion’s. He’s a prisoner, and the marshals would have shaken him down thoroughly. So who brought the Smith? Earl Pike owns three, according to the register. Greco doesn’t like that information one bit. She says it’s all guesswork. Something else. Somebody threw up all over the shooting scene. We figure it was Vermillion. Try to imagine a kind of Grand Slam in reverse. Better yet, don’t. But it tells me that, whatever happened there, it got to him. Got to him so much he vomited. That’s not what you call cold-blooded. If Jack Vermillion’s a killer, then he’s a hot-blooded killer. About the van, I wouldn’t worry too much. Let’s just say we’re on it. He’ll turn up.”

“You’re on it?” said Nicky. “How?”

“I just mean we have assets, resources. We’ll find him.”

“Something I don’t get,” said Casey. “Pike’s the best bet for the shooter at Red Hook. But Greco’s been all over Vermillion, and I don’t see you people doing much about finding Earl Pike. Why?”

“One thing, there’s not even a warrant out for him. Vermillion gives us the original heads-up on Pike. We do the sting at Red Hook, you were there. What’s the word?”

“Fubar,” said Casey.

Derry nodded in appreciation.

“Exactly. Fucked up beyond all recognition. Everybody got shot to shit. Smoke clears, I lost good friends. Lee Ford. Luther Campbell’s hanging on by a thread. Farrell Garber, one of our snipers. Bunny Kreuger. So we crack open Pike’s box. What do we find? Antique weapons, Winchesters, Sharps, a lot of swords, flags, medals, militaria, that kind of thing. All of it connected to his family in some way. Went back two hundred years. Most of it was nothing we’d care about, but there were some pieces, full-auto stuff, M-sixteens, a couple Garands, some M-fourteens—Vietnam-era—a Stoner, an M-sixty—also full auto, takes a seven-point-six-two round—they had them in Vietnam too—and all this stuff, it’s now banned under the Brady laws. So there’s a lot of technical violations, but seeing as how Pike’s a decorated soldier, connected all over DC, known inside the Beltway, the usual course would be to work out a fine, let him off with a reprimand. No headlines in that for La Greco, see?”

“Would he get anything back?”

“No. It’s all marked for destruction. Of course, some of our guys will get a chance to pick through it. It’s a perk, sort of. We call it ‘extracted from source for training purposes.’ The rest will get sold off or sent to the crusher. Proceeds will go to DOJ revenue.”

“So still no warrant?”

Derry shook his head.

“What have we got? Sure, I like him for the shooting at Red Hook, but I have zero proof. We found the sniper location. Not a single shell casing, no boot marks, no used cigarettes, no candy wrappers. Some abrasions on a railing that looked like bipod marks. Since nobody heard anything, we figure the weapon was sound-suppressed. In short, we have dick on the guy. He’s too sharp.”

“We have something,” said Casey. “We have DNA.”

“How the hell did you do that?” asked Flynn, his eyes wide.

Nicky explained the injury on Pike’s hand, the connection to the double homicide in Blue Stores. Flynn liked it very much.

“Okay. I like this. Have you heard from the lab?”

“Yeah,” said Nicky. “I talked with my LT an hour ago. They got a match on fourteen indicators off the male vic at Blue Stores, Donald Condotti. Nothing on Julia Gianetto. But Pike’s toast.”

“Well, I feel better. If we can’t make him on the Red Hook thing, then you guys can fry him for the double homicides. Force a statement, maybe. Will the DNA stand up? How’d you get it?”

Nicky looked at his hands. Dexter took some beer. Flynn got the point. Casey had been thinking about the Red Hook incident.

“What made you search the rest of the ship?” asked Casey.

Flynn gave her a careful look, then tapped the side of his nose.

“Got a phone call.”

“A snitch?”

“Yep.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. Greco knows. Won’t say.”

“So Greco shifts her sights?” asked Casey.

“Maybe. I know her first target was Frank Torinetti, and Vermillion’s a known associate. I think she’s running a snitch inside Black Water Transit. Somebody who knows how the outfit runs.”

“This the guy who made the call about the other container?”

“Could be. Like I said, I’m not in the loop. Know
what they call her around the office? The Pirate Queen. She’s the undisputed champ when it comes to asset seizures in upstate New York. Last six years, since she’s been the assistant United States attorney in Albany, she’s generated over seven million dollars in forfeiture funds. She’s a gold mine for the feds. And this is the biggest case she’s ever had. Black Water Transit is worth millions. And all that money goes right into her operating funds, so she gets to run even bigger cases. She’s already been promoted to New York City.”

“Why pick on Vermillion in the first place?” asked Casey.

“Like I said, his Mafia buddy, Frank Torinetti. Jack grew up with the guy, still sees him. And the Teamsters never hassled him. Vermillion has an Italian name. Therefore he’s corrupt. We see what we want to see.”

“Vermillion’s a French name, actually,” put in Casey.

The other cops blinked at her, then went on talking. Nicky winked at her. She smiled back.
Men
.

“Torinetti owns Hudson Valley Fine Cars,” said Nicky. “Porsches, Ferraris, Corvettes, classic cars. I go there all the time. Look in the windows and cry.”

“Me, too. Anyway, Greco runs Vermillion through the machine, and now she’s got a ruling, gives her control of his company.”

“What’s she going to do with it?”

Derry Flynn shrugged.

“She’s going to sell it off. Like I said, the Pirate Queen.”

“Kind of like the spoils of war,” said Dexter. “We do that too. That Lincoln out there, we got that from our own seizure program. It used to belong to a Russian importer, got popped for money laundering. Our department makes a bundle out of seizures too. Who’s Greco selling Vermillion’s outfit to?”

“No idea. Greco’s pretty tight on things like that. I’m just a street guy. They don’t tell me much and right now she hates me.”

“Because we showed up in Hazleton?” said Casey.

“Yeah. She saw the NCIC log, nailed me for it. That’s okay. I’m going home. I got friends to bury.”

There was a long silence after that. In a while Dexter lifted his glass. They raised their beers, drank deep.

“What’s Pike after in all of this?” asked Casey.

“Vengeance. I figure Pike’s returning the favor. I think he’s fucking with Vermillion for ratting him out on his gun collection.”

“Why not just kill him when he had the chance, back there at Beach Haven? He had a piece, he had the guy right in front of him?”