“Internal Affairs just wants to make sure one of the department’s most well-known detectives is not too close to a case.”
“I’m just helping out with a series of homicides. Technically I’m not even the lead on any one homicide investigation.”
“As I understand it, you think these murders of Canadians could be related to the death of your partner, Antrole Martens. Am I right?”
There was no sense in denying anything. But there was no reason to admit it, either. “Possibly. We really don’t have much yet.”
“Look, Mike, I get it. The public is never that outraged by the murder of a cop. They remember every shitbag shot by a cop in the middle of the night, but aside from a few headlines and a high-profile funeral, no one remembers the names of cops killed in the line of duty. Except other cops.
“No matter what you think, Internal Affairs is still staffed by cops. I don’t want to stand in your way. I just don’t want you to get in the trick bag, either.”
“Since when is Internal Affairs so worried about my job security?”
“Since the Post called you the best detective the city ever produced.”
“So it’s more of a PR issue than a desire to catch a cop killer.”
The slick IA detective said, “Why can’t it be both?”
Chapter 69
Alex Martinez finished her conversation with both her daughters over a static-plagued cell-phone line. Her daily conversations with Gabriela and Clemency just made her miss home that much mo
re. It didn’t help that her mother called every other day and made her feel guilty about staying so long in New York.
She sat at a computer in a café a few blocks from Times Square. She’d been making notes from articles and posts about Detective Michael Bennett on the Internet.
Normally this was the part of her job she really enjoyed, but now she was ready for some time with her daughters and her horses.
As she was reading yet another article about Bennett’s involvement in the famous case of hostages taken at the First Lady’s funeral, her phone buzzed. Only a few people had the number. For a moment, she was scared something could be wrong at home, even though she’d just spoken to the girls.
When she looked down, she recognized the number as that of her mounted police officer, Tom McLaughlin. She let the phone go to voice mail. As sweet and fun as Tom was, she had a job to do, and she wanted to do it as quickly as possible.
She still could find no photographs of or information about any of Bennett’s children. Not that she would ever hurt a child, but the kids could be a trail to the detective’s weakness. Or perhaps she could use one as bait. At this point she didn’t care, as long as she was able to finally close the contract on Bennett.
She decided to start serious surveillance, which meant she had to rent a car. The first place she watched was his office, on Broadway and 133rd Street.
Unless you knew what you were looking for, there was no way to tell that this was an official police office. There were a lot of Chevrolet Impalas and Ford Crown Victorias parked on the street around the building and under the elevated train track, but the building itself was unmarked and innocuous.
Alex was peering out her open driver’s-side window when a rap on the trunk of her car startled her. When she looked into the rearview mirror she saw a tall black woman, a traffic enforcement agent, strolling to her window.
Alex smiled and said, “I’m sorry. Do you need me to move the car?” The woman didn’t say anything but leveled a stern glare at Alex.
She said, “It’s too late. The signs posted all around here clearly say no parking or stopping.” She pulled out her ticket book and started writing.
Alex said, “I’m still in the car. I never got out. I was just stopping for a few moments to check my phone.”
“I saw you sitting here for more than six minutes. That’s six minutes of breaking the law. That’s an awfully long time to be checking your phone. I don’t care how pretty you are.” She stepped to the rear of the vehicle and noticed from the tag that it was a rental. “Where you from, young woman?”
Without hesitation Alex said, “Philly.”
“I don’t know if Philadelphia enforces the law, but here in New York we do.” She wrote something else in her ticket book, then continued to lecture Alex.
“If you don’t pay attention to the signs, you get a ticket. Just as simple as that.”
Alex didn’t like the position she had been put in and couldn’t afford to be readily identified by someone who worked for the city. Her pistol was stuffed next to the seat for tactical purposes. She always carried it there when she was driving.
She was prepared for situations like this.