Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) (27 page)

Fedor’s eyes flicked over to Livana, then back to Proschetta. “Other than the Castiglias?”

“Other than them.”

“No. She was a sweet girl, never hurt anyone. There was a boy who asked her out, but I can’t believe Cassie rejecting him would make him do something like this.”

Proschetta handed over his spiral notepad and a pen. “Jot down the names of the guys you had lunch with today, and the ones you worked with in the afternoon, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to the boys. “Why don’t you guys tell me about school. Anything unusual today? Niklaus?”

Niklaus shrugged. “Same as most days. We sometimes meet after school and hang out, do homework while we wait for my dad and Livana. Sometimes we hang with our friends. Then we meet up and go home together.”

“You don’t go home right after school?”

“Why would we do that? We’re teenagers.”

“Right,” Proschetta said.

Livana was glad Niklaus did not mention where they lived, or why they
really
waited around. Still, there was truth in what he said. Even if they lived in the city like a normal family, the kids would likely get together with their friends before heading home. Home was not cool, but going places in Manhattan with your buddies—without your parents—definitely was.

As Proschetta took the spiral pad back from Fedor, he said, “Dmitri—anything seem strange to you today?”

He shook his head but did not answer verbally. He began playing with a discarded soda can with his right shoe. Livana wanted to tell him to stop and pay attention to Protch, but she held her tongue.

“When was the last time you saw your sister?”

“About 2:30. When we got out of class.”

“And?”

“And what?” Dmitri asked, still playing with the can.

“Hey buddy, can you look at me for a sec?”

Dmitri glanced up, then back down.

Proschetta licked his lips. “Did you see her again, or did you notice anything strange about her, like was she upset about anything?”

“Nope. Nothing was wrong. Didn’t see her again.”

“Niklaus, where’d you go after you got out of school?”

“There’s a playground on Second. I play basketball.”

“Dmitri, how about you?”

“Not my fault. Not my fault. Not—”

“Whoa,” Proschetta said, holding out his hands to calm the boy. “What’s not your fault?”

Dmitri rolled the can with his foot.

“Hey, buddy. Would you mind giving that to me?”

Dmitri hesitated, then bent over and picked up the can. He handed it to Proschetta, who took it by the lip and casually held it away from his body.

“So are you talking about Cassandra? That her death is not your fault?”

Dmitri nodded.

“That’s okay. I’m asking everyone the same questions here. My boss makes me write up a stupid report and then he checks it over. I don’t ask the right things, he sends me back to meet with all a you and do it all over again. So just tell me where you were.”

Dmitri did not answer.

“He was with me,” Niklaus said. “Playing ball. The guys there, they needed an extra player for three on three.”

Proschetta frowned. Livana figured that Protch was thinking what she was: why didn’t Dmitri just say that? Was it true?

“Is that right, Dmitri?”

He nodded, kicking the toe of his sneaker into the sidewalk repeatedly.

Proschetta sucked on his front teeth. “Hey Niklaus.” He held out the pad and pen. “Write down the names of the guys you were playing with for me. Boss is gonna ask.”

“Don’t know their names. We just go there to play. It’s a pickup game.”

“And you’ve never seen them before?”

“Mighta seen a couple, like a few weeks ago. Don’t know their last names.”

“First names? You talked to ’em on the court. You didn’t say, ‘Hey, you, pass me the ball.’ What’d you call ’em?”

“Joe, Juan, and Billy.”

“Joe, Juan, and Billy.” Proschetta forced a chuckle. “That narrows it down to about half a million guys in the city.” He frowned at Niklaus, then turned to Livana. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. I know you need time as a family to deal with this. You think of anything else, you give me a call, okay?” He handed Livana his business card. “What’s your address these days? The detectives are gonna need it for their report in case any of them have questions.”

They both supplied their work addresses, which Proschetta noted on his pad. “And home?”

Livana and Fedor shared a look.

“Protch, can I have a word with you alone?”

“Liv,” Fedor said.

She gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay.”

Proschetta and Livana walked a dozen feet away. “When the Castiglias told us to get out of town and not be seen around here again, we moved away. To Ellis Island.”

“Ellis Island. But that’s abandoned. No one—”

“We do. In one of the old hospital complex buildings. But please don’t tell anyone.”

“You’ve been living there? For …” He thought a moment, did the calculation. “Seven years?”

Livana looked away. “We fixed it up, made it a real home. All the other buildings were falling apart. This one, well, we took pride in it. Painted and decorated it. Fedor repaired things.” She glanced at Proschetta. “We don’t make a lot of money, Protch. It seemed like the safest place we could go, near enough to Fedor’s grandparents, where the Castiglias wouldn’t bother us.” She sucked in some air, then started crying. “I guess we were wrong.”

He motioned her closer and took her in his arms. “I know it’s been difficult. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think the Castiglias are involved.”

She pushed away and wiped at her tears. “Why not?”

“It’s not how they operate. Cassandra was—” He stopped himself. “She was strangled. As a rule, they don’t do that. And they’ve got bigger problems right now than your daughter who’s minding her own business and staying out of theirs. She
was
staying out of their business, right? She wasn’t going after them or anything? Actually, were any of you?”

Livana sniffled. “We’ve got no desire to dredge all that up, Protch. I’ll ask, just in case there’s something I don’t know about. But we don’t want any trouble. We don’t even talk of them—of that.”

“Just the same, Dmitri appears to be hiding something. I don’t know why or what, but Niklaus is covering for him. I don’t buy that Joe, Juan, and Billy story. He knows the names of the guys they play with. But my money says Dmitri was somewhere else. And if he gives me their real names and I question them, they’ll confirm that Dmitri wasn’t there. Maybe you can gently ask him about it. Let me know if you find out anything.” He looked away. “I know that places you in an impossible position. But if Dmitri did have something to do with it, better that we know so we find out why. And get him help.”

“My son’s got his issues, Protch. His doctor said his behavior’s not surprising given what happened to him. So him being different from other boys, don’t take it to mean that he killed his sister.”

Proschetta stepped squarely in front of her and bent forward, down to her level, and peered into her eyes. “Livana, do you trust me?”

Livana held his gaze. “I trusted you with my son’s life, didn’t I? And I’ve just told you things I’ve never told anyone else.” Still, there’s a limit. I can’t tell him about those books on murder and death, or the squirrel, or him watching Cassandra— She could not implicate her son, even if he was guilty. But if he did do this—

“Then trust my instincts. Dmitri isn’t telling the truth. Doesn’t mean he’s a killer. But he’s hiding something.”

“I’ll see if I can find out. He doesn’t always talk to me. If anything, he might tell Nik.”

“Then see if Nik will help us out.”

She nodded tightly. “Okay.”

“I’ll do what I can, but remember, this is Detective Jenkins’s case. Him and that homicide detective. I’ll talk to them and my lieutenant, see if I can be a part of the investigation, but I gotta be honest with you. They don’t need me on the case, so there ain’t much chance of it. But I’ll poke around a bit, see if there’s anything goin’ on with the Castiglias.”

“What—what am I supposed to do now? With Cassie, with her—” Livana cleared her throat. “Her body.”

“She’s probably gonna be taken to the morgue very soon. In cases like this, they’re going to do a thorough check to make sure they’ve got the cause of … death right. Then she’ll be released to you so you can plan the funeral.”

Livana teared up again.

“I’d like to be there, to pay my respects, if that’s okay with you.”

“I would like that. Thank-you, Protch. For everything. I owe you a lot.”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to be here for you. My job, I don’t always deal with nice people, with good people. You deserve better, and I’m gonna do my best to see that you and your family get it. Go home, grieve together, be there for one another.” He gave her a hug and then headed back toward his car.

WHEN LIVANA REJOINED Fedor and the boys, she told them they were free to go home.

Niklaus looked from his father to Livana. “That’s it? Just go home?”

Livana had to swallow down the urge to cry. She knew what Niklaus was intimating: how could they just leave Cassie behind? Going home seemed so inadequate, so shallow and … hollow. To Livana, it felt like she was abandoning her daughter.

She related what Proschetta told her, then said to Niklaus—though it also served as a reminder to herself: “There’s nothing more for us to do here.”

They headed over to the marina and sat quietly as they motored toward Ellis Island. About halfway across, in the light of a full moon, Livana told Fedor to stop the boat.

“What are we doing?” Fedor asked.

“Dmitri,” Livana said. “I know you weren’t playing basketball with Nik. Look at me.” He met her eyes. “Were you with Cassie?”

Dmitri swung his gaze toward the dark waters. “No.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

He turned to her.

“Tell me where you really were.”

He glanced off again, this time toward Manhattan. “I don’t want to say.”

“Livana,” Fedor said.

“Not now. I need to know. I need to know if my—if my son had anything to do with … I just need to know.” She moved in front of Dmitri, the boat swaying as she shifted her weight. “Tell me.”

“I went to a bookstore.”

“Which one?”

“A used one where they have the books I like.”

“And where are the books that you bought? In your backpack?”

“I didn’t buy any.”

“Did anyone see you there?”

He shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

Livana clenched her jaw. She did not know what to believe. First he lied, then he told her a story that would be hard to verify. “What’s the name of this store?”

“I don’t remember. It’s on Second Street.”

“Tomorrow you’re going to take me there.”

“It’s my place, I don’t want you there!”

“Dmitri,” Fedor said. “It’s just a bookstore. Anyone can go there. If your mother wants to go, you don’t have anything to say about it.”

“He’s saying that it’s his,” Niklaus said. “His special place, where his parents don’t go.”

Livana thought a moment, then reseated herself. “Take us home, Fedor.”

As they set off toward the island, Livana saw a new addition to their neighborhood: some sort of flat-topped barge with the words “Anderson Salvage” lettered in white on the side.

She and Fedor shared a concerned look, then headed to their mooring in the rear of the complex. The event that she had anticipated, and feared, for the past year or so had arrived: the government was going to renovate the dilapidated buildings. The place would soon be crawling with workers, surveyors, supervisors, and inspectors.

Their days on the island were numbered.

42

>UPPER NEW YORK BAY

New York/New Jersey territorial waters

Saturday, January 7, 2006

The ferry was moving through Upper New York Bay, and the weather was unseasonably pleasant: mid-forties with a cloudless sky.

With Manhattan island receding as they moved away from it, Vail could not help feeling a sense of loss. She still had not gotten used to seeing the New York skyline without the Twin Towers. Their absence was like a weeping wound that refused to heal.

Vail swiveled in the bench seat, which ran the length of the ferry beneath a wall of windows, and pointed. “Jonathan, see that? It’s called Ellis Island. Remember I told you your grandfather came over from Ireland? That’s where his boat docked.”

“What does ‘docked’ mean?”

“It’s like parking a car, but instead it’s a boat. They tie the boat to the big wood walkway, so it’s safe for the people to get off. You’ll see one in a few minutes when the ferry gets to the Statue of Liberty.”

A moment later, Jonathan squirmed in his seat.

“Look, Mommy, there it is!”

No matter how many times Vail saw the copper green skin of Lady Liberty, from near or far, the grandeur of the iconic symbol of freedom moved her, filled her with a sense of pride. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“C’mon, let’s go!” Jonathan jumped off the bench, took her hand, and pulled her off her seat.

She laughed as she let him lead her toward the exit. “We have to wait till the boat stops, okay?”

Five minutes later, the ferry had tied off and the passengers were disembarking, heading toward the base of the statue. “It’s so big, isn’t it?”

Jonathan craned his neck skyward and shielded his eyes against the glary sky. “I wanna go inside. C’mon.”

They made their way to the back of the island and went through the security screening procedure, then walked the fifteen feet toward the base’s entrance, which was protected by large granite bricks stacked on either side of black metal doors with vertical copper handles.

Entering the statue’s pedestal, Vail and her son were met by a man in a park ranger’s muted clay-colored uniform.

“Welcome to the statue,” he said. He must have noticed Jonathan’s fascination with the copper colored two-story structure behind him, because he knelt down and followed the boy’s gaze. “That, young man, was the original torch.”

“Cool,” Jonathan said, as he started to climb under the metal bar that kept tourists a safe distance away.

“Jonathan, sweetie, stay over here. You can’t go under there.” She smiled and said, “I’m Karen Vail. We’re supposed to meet Ranger Harris.”

The man chuckled. “He’s the resident expert on Liberty Island. A bit eccentric, but he can tell you anything and everything you want to know. And I mean
everything
.”

“That’s what I was told. He’s going to be giving us a tour of the crown.”

“Crown’s been closed since 9/11,” the ranger said. “Nobody goes up.”

“I realize that’s the official Park Service line, but we both know exceptions are made if you’re the right person with the right connections.” She winked. “Can you just locate Ranger Harris for me?”

The man frowned, then mumbled, “Give me a minute,” and headed off to the left, out of sight.

“Can we go up to the crown now?” Jonathan asked.

“Just a minute, sweetie. Ranger Harris is the only one who can take us up.”

A middle-aged man with a receding hairline approached and said, “Agent Vail?”

“Ranger Harris, good to meet you.”

“I’ve been told to take you to the crown.” He checked his watch. “I only have thirty minutes. Should be enough time.”

“My son’s been talking about this for a week.”

“Is the crown as cool as the torch?” Jonathan asked.

“Did anyone tell you about the old torch?” Harris asked. “This is the one built in 1884. The torch you saw out there when you were on the ferry, it was put there twenty years ago in 1986. It’s got a copper flame covered in 24 karat gold, just like this one. Other than the light, the new one’s an exact reproduction of the original.”

“Can we go into the torch too?”

Harris leaned back. “Sorry, son. Only way to get to the torch is through Lady Liberty’s arm, and it’s really narrow, barely the width of my shoulders. And the arm sways from side to side as you climb the ladder. Pretty dark and scary in there. The only person who’s allowed in is the maintenance ranger, to change the lightbulbs. Same ranger’s been doing it the past nineteen and a half years. Twenty in June.”

“You ever been up there?”

“I have.” He looked around. “But don’t tell anyone.”

“Can we go to the crown now?”

“We sure can. Are you ready for the climb, young man? It’s 168 steps to the top.”

“A hundred and sixty eight? Is that a lot?”

“I would say so.” Harris scratched his head. “It’s the equivalent of walking up a twenty-two-story building. Are you ready?”

“Yeah!”

As they started walking past the torch, Vail’s BlackBerry rang. She looked at the display and cursed under her breath.
My boss? On a Saturday?

“Go on ahead,” she said. “I’ll catch up.”

“You can’t come up unescorted,” Harris said. “Gotta be with me. And if I wait for you, we may not be able to make it up and down in time.”

Vail answered the call. “Sir, one second please.” To Harris: “Can you take him up without me?”

“I sure can.”

“Jonathan, go with Ranger Harris, okay? I’ll meet you right here when you’re done.”

Jonathan, unfazed, turned and walked alongside Harris as the ranger spouted more facts and information.

Vail brought her phone to her face as she headed back out the same doors they had entered moments ago.

“Karen,” the assistant special agent in charge said. “Sorry to bother you on your day off, but we’ve got movement on that bank robbery case and I wanted to keep you in the loop.”

“Appreciate that, sir.”

“So we think the four suspects you identified yesterday are our guys. Great work with that. Looks like there’s a pattern to their drug buys and the robberies, just like you thought there’d be.”

“Do we know when they’re gonna strike next? And where?”

“Working on it. You want to be part of the discussions this afternoon? I’ve called a meeting for 1:00.”

Yeah, I would.

“I’m on Liberty Island with my son and my husband isn’t available today.”
Actually, I just checked him into rehab.
“Thanks for the heads-up, though. You want me to come in tomorrow?”

“I think we’ll be okay till Monday. Enjoy the day with your son.”

Vail hung up and headed back into the pedestal, then walked through the museum. She had vague memories of taking a trip to the island with her fourth or fifth grade class. In truth, for some reason, she had more vivid memories of the ferry ride than the time they spent in the statue.

As she stood there staring at the true-to-life mockup of Liberty’s face, her thoughts turned to the bank robbers her ASAC had called about.

IT WAS MONDAY, and Vail sat through the morning briefing with her team as they reviewed surveillance reports prepared by the agents who had been watching four men suspected in a rash of violent “take over” bank robberies the past three months. Their modus operandi involved taking a female hostage and holding a gun to her head while the others collected the money. They had murdered a woman during their last heist and decided to lay low to let the heat and media coverage subside.

After going dormant for eight weeks—their longest stretch without a job—Vail noted a pattern in their behavior based on information her CI, Eugenia Zachary, had given her: the robbers were drug dealers who had not gone longer than sixteen days between jobs.

But Vail found a pattern to their heists, and it involved their heroin buys. With info from Eugenia, she was able to track their purchases to the first of every month. When their supply sold out, they knocked off another bank to subsidize their habit. Vail surmised that the robberies also served another purpose: it gave them the thrill of the chase, a high-adrenaline rush that trafficking in illicit drugs could not provide.

Today was day fifteen, and Eugenia had tipped Vail about talk that some fresh heroin and cocaine were going to be hitting the streets in three days. Vail surmised another heist was on the horizon, and the surveillance crew confirmed activity consistent with a change in their demeanor and daily routines.

Vail’s team had gotten an early start, as the suspects, who normally slept until noon, were on the move by 9:00 AM.

They were tasked with following the perps until they were ready to enter the bank—and then take them down.

Vail and her four colleagues took turns tailing the men, who were in two cars, through the Bronx, Queens, and Manhattan. At 11:33 AM, they drove into a secluded neighborhood just outside Coney Island, whipped out their paraphernalia, and shot up.

“This is not good,” Vail said into her lapel microphone as she drove by. Agent Rick Chi was a block away. “Coming up behind you. I’ll pick them up.”

Five minutes later, Chi’s voice blurted over the radio. “Holy shit, he shot the guy behind the desk.”

“What desk?’ Vail asked.

“A bodega. One of ’em pulled out a suppressed handgun, but the owner didn’t want to hand over the cash. He shot him and emptied the register. He’s a cold-blooded SOB. Sorinson, he’s the shooter.”

“Status?” Vail asked.

“Owner’s down, took a head shot, gotta be dead. Sorinson fled back to his buddy in the car.”

“That’d be Bodene,” Vail said, “the driver. Call an ambulance but do not engage the perps. We need to be able to connect them to the bank robberies. If I’m right, they’re on their way to another job. That’s when we take them.”

“Affirmative,” Chi said. The two other team members acknowledged as well.

They followed the two sedans, each carrying two men, for an hour. Both vehicles pulled into the empty parking lot of a defunct big box electronics store.

“Anyone got eyes on?” Vail asked. “What are they doing?”

“McKay and Demarco are getting into Sorinson’s car,” said Agent Tiriko, the third team member. “And they’re shooting up again.”

They’re using the drugs to build up the courage to knock off the bank.
“I think this is it.” Vail grabbed her two-way and requested aerial support.

“Negative,” came the response. “It’s tasked with mob surveillance on the island. A million dollar transfer’s going down. They’re a day late.”

And apparently I’m a dollar short.
“Ten-four.” Vail moved her sedan a block away so she would be in position to follow the moment the suspects made their move. When they were done using, Sorinson and Bodene stumbled to their car and a couple of minutes later the two vehicles left the parking lot, driving erratically.

Trying to follow them when they’re all over the road is gonna be tough without getting made.

But Vail was able to maintain a discreet distance without giving away her presence. Three miles down, however, Tiriko broke radio silence. “Uh, we got a problem. McKay got out of Demarco’s car and he got into his own that was parked in the South Bronx. I’m staying on McKay. Who can pick up Demarco?”

“I got it,” Tiriko said.

“I’m still with Sorinson and Bodene,” Vail said. “We’re approaching Queens Boulevard. They’re stopping in front of a newsstand. Two guys getting in. Male Caucasians, medium build. Average height.”

“That’s a huge help, Karen,” Chi said. “Aren’t many men fitting
that
description. No wonder you couldn’t cut it with NYPD.”

Had Chi been within reach, she’d have kicked him in the balls. She would have to remember that comment the next time she needed to visualize a target on the shooting range.

Knowing that her transmissions could be monitored or recorded, she kept her response professional: “Just reporting what I see.”

“Don’t do us any favors.”

Vail keyed her radio. “Suspects turning onto Queens Boulevard.”

Chi’s voice: “Ah, shit. My car just died.” Over the open mic, Vail heard his car engine cranking but not turning over. “Are you kidding me?”

She resisted the urge to laugh—or give him a dig.

“All right, here we go.” Vail stopped half a block away and watched as three of the men—Sorinson, Bodene, and one of the newer guys—got out of the car and headed into the bank, wearing black ski masks.

Vail pulled up to the storefront and opened her door, then, using it as a shield, stepped out and reached for her radio. “Dispatch, this is Agent Vail. I’m in position, thirty feet from the bank’s entrance. I’ve got a visual on three well-armed men dressed in black clothing, wearing masks. ETA on backup? I’m solo here. Over.”

“Copy. Stand by.”

Stand by. Easy for you to say. My ass is flapping in the breeze outside a bank with a group of heavily armed mercenaries inside, and you tell me to stand by. Sure, I’ll just sit here and wait.

Vail was informed that SWAT was en route, but before they arrived, Mike Hartman, her former partner, radioed that he was responding, along with an NYPD cruiser.

As Hartman pulled up, the three masked men emerged from the bank with money bags—and MAC-10 machine pistols—in hand. They let loose a barrage of rounds, two of which struck Vail in the left thigh.

The deep burn of a gunshot wound was instantly upon her, and a bloody circle spread through the nylon fibers of her tan pants. She grabbed the back of her leg and felt two tears in the fabric, indicating the rounds had gone right through. Assuming they didn’t hit a major artery, she’d be okay for a bit—but it sure hurt like hell. She hit the ground and returned fire.

As lead projectiles flew in both directions, two of the perps went down—along with the cops, Hartman, and his partner. The remaining robber—by body type it looked like Bodene—bent over and lifted the large canvas bag from his dead comrade’s hand and turned to hightail it down the street.

Well, this isn’t good. Mike and his partner down, a couple cops dead, and the shithead’s about to make it away with the cash? Not on my watch.

Vail rolled left, got prone against the ground, and brought her Glock to the front of her body. This would be an insane shot—below the cars and above the curb—but what did she have to lose? With all the shooting, there were no innocents around. She squeezed off several rounds, the weapon bucking violently. Bodene stumbled, then limped—he was hit.