Chapter 5: D is for Dead Man
Alex and I made it back up the hill, then down the walking path back to the car in the parking lot. Alex had bummed a ride to the crime scene, and I had brought the police-issued car from the station.
Alex drove. It wasn’t far.
Once Alex went over the transmission-destroying speed bumps on Hollis Hills Terrace, he slowed to a stop at the red light at the intersection with Union Turnpike.
Alex kept an eye on the road and said, “I hear you got jumped this morning.”
I took in a slow, deep breath, remaining calm at the thought. It had already been a busy morning. “Yup. Here we go again.”
Alex barely spared me a glance. His voice was calm and casual as he asked, “Old fan? New fan? Random perp who wants a scalp—cop scalp or just plain scalp?”
It says a lot about how much crap has gone on in our lives that he could ask it as easily as he discussed the weather.
“No idea,” I told him. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
Alex scoffed. “Please. The only way I find out anything these days are when the people who are shooting at you can’t aim, and I’m in the way.”
I smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I got your back.”
“You better. I’m not the one with the superpowers.”
I rolled my eyes but said nothing for a long moment. Classifying God’s gifts as superpowers felt callous and more than slightly blasphemous. I had been told by a reliable source that I was chosen because I could use them wisely and well. This made me feel less cavalier towards them. Not more.
After a long moment of silence, I said, “I’m thinking about the Sergeant’s exam.”
Alex shrugged. “Yeah. You can. I think you memorized the Baltimore Catechism. The Sergeant’s manual can’t be that much harder. Though it’s going to be odd seeing you back in uniform.”
I smiled. “No kidding. Though I don’t want to leave you without a partner.”
Alex sighed. “You know I’ve put in my twenty a while ago.”
I nodded slowly. Twenty years as a police officer made any cop eligible for their full pension. “You going to pull the pin?”
Alex shrugged. The light turned green and he pulled out. The street ahead went up another steep hill. “Probably. Not really interested in breaking in someone else. Frankly, after dealing with your strangeness for so long, I think a normal shift would be downright boring.”
I sighed. “At least consider sticking around until I make it. Wouldn’t want to retire before I get promoted. Then I’d be the one breaking in a new guy.”
“Deal.”
At ten in the morning, we pulled up at a street corner at Hempstead Turnpike and 222nd Street, a little over a mile from the station house. The corner had a massage parlor that gave out specific massages and also dealt other technically legal medicinal herbs.
No, I was serious. By that point, I had learned about D’s extra-legal facade. It was strange thinking that a law-abiding citizen had to fake being a deadly criminal in order to do business. But I had met some of D’s competition. Technically, it was possible that I had literally sent one of the competition straight to Hell, but I didn’t know the state of his soul when he had been torn apart.
The owners of the establishment stood outside on the corner. They dressed in black, with leather jackets, but their black shirts were professional, button-down collars with the top button undone. Their pants were professional, with a few scattered black jeans and corduroys, and most importantly, they wore belts and wore their pants up around their waists.
Alex parked the car at the corner. I stepped out, leaving Packard in the car. I headed for the biggest, blackest guy on the corner.
“Hey, D.”
“D” was Daniel David DiLeo. Someone tried calling him 3D once, and the ensuing brawl quickly put a stop to that nickname. He nodded at me, then continued surveying the street.
“’Sup, Detective?” he rumbled in a voice like a bass drum.
“Where’s Steven?”
D’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Need to talk with him about Vincent.”
D winced. He let out a heavy breath. He looked around at the crew. D looked to me and jerked his head to one side. I followed him down 222nd Street, where there was no foot traffic, and no one to overhear us.
I looked around, concerned by D’s paranoia. “What’s the matter?”
D took a slow, deep breath. “Steve’s dead.”
I blanched. “When did this happen?”
He frowned and looked away, upset. “A few weeks before you came back, a month or two after his brother disappeared.”
I grimaced. Two brothers killed within a few weeks of each other set off all sorts of alarm bells. “Why didn’t you call me? Even if it wasn’t my case, I would have at least looked into it.”
D sighed. “I wasn’t going to welcome you back home after a year and a half and start dumping on you. We’re better than that.”
I couldn’t argue with his reasoning, though I liked to think I wouldn’t have hesitated if he had asked. Hell, I felt like an idiot for not keeping closer tabs on his gang. After all, he was an ally.
“Was it ever closed?” I asked.
D shook his head. “Nope. No motive, either. We presumed because he tripped over whoever disappeared Vincent.”
My mind went back to the ravine I just left. “Could Vincent have been murdered because of Steven?”
D shook his head sadly. “Nah. More likely the other way around. Steve kept poking around the army base to find Vinny. Then Steve died.” He gave a huff of frustration. “Look, Vincent was the kid brother; and he was a good kid. He went into the military to become an engineer when he grew up. He liked the life. Liked being EOD.” He frowned and scanned the area again. “Though before he disappeared, he was ... unnerved. He recently wanted out of the army. He told Steve he didn’t like some of the new ‘team building exercises.’ And no, he didn’t elaborate.”
“Is there any other family?”
D shook his head. “Not any more. We had to bury Steven.”
I arched a brow. “We? You mean the corporation?” I asked dryly.
D allowed a smile to slip through. “I mean da gang, yo.”
He said it so dryly, and so deadpan, I had to restrain a laugh. It had taken me too long to realize his “gang” had never had a real name. While the “3D” nickname had never stuck with him, the street name for his gang had been the Triple-Ds.
It wasn’t while I was in Rome that someone had told me that there was a company called Triple-D LLC, and D had registered it.
He twisted his lip. “Look, I was just about to take a meeting. I think you should join me inside.”
I cocked my head, curious. I hadn’t been on any of his business meetings. “Why?”
“Because I have his next employer here.”
I arched a brow, curious. “Why here?”
D shrugged. “Apparently, Vincent scheduled it that way. He thought he would be out by now. I guess he had talked with Steve about it. Then Steve didn’t bother telling me after Vincent disappeared.”
I nodded, understanding how that would be screwed up. “Right. Because no candidate, meeting canceled. I guess they never got the memo about Vincent going missing.”
D shook his head. “Nope. Come on in. I’ll introduce you.”
I waved to Alex in the car to get his attention. Then I waved him in. If this was going to be more than a quick conversation with D, then I wanted Alex with me.
The man here for the interview with Vincent Ledford was a man named Brian Levine. Despite the name, Brian was black. He was taller and wider than D or me. He had a build that screamed football player. His haircut was a tight crew cut that stopped just short of bald.
Imagine a 1990s Denzel, built like a refrigerator, and you have an idea.
Of course, this image conflicted harshly with his knitting a bright pink baby blanket.
“One second,” Levine said. He quickly finished his row, drove a needle through the project, and stood.
He offered his hand, and I took it. The handshake was quick and professional. He didn’t even try any dominance games. Given his size, he didn’t need to work for it.
“Thomas Nolan, NYPD. This is my partner Alex Packard.” I badged him. “Can we talk a moment?”
Levine arched a brow, a little smile gracing his lips. “I’m relatively certain that whatever it is, I have an alibi,” he said dryly.
I smiled, trying to pretend that the joke was entertaining. “I don’t think you need one.”
“But it would be nice,” Alex added. Because Alex had to one-up the snark.
I sat down in D’s second visitor’s chair. D sat down behind his desk, and we were all at general eye level. Alex rested behind me, leaning against a sideboard like a lazy cat who thought there was something amusing to kill.
I took out my notebook and began. “What can you tell me about Vincent Ledford?”
Levine shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Good kid. Army. Solid man when it comes to bombs. He was about to muster out and join my private military contractor.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What does your PMC specialize in?”
“Private security.” He smiled. “You might remember my employer from the Vatican job a few years ago.”
Alex slapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t you know that guy?”
I shrugged. “We met for a few minutes once.”
Alex rolled his eyes, then looked to Levine. “You describe that as private security? You guys only pissed off ... what?” He paused as he counted the countries on his fingers. “Ten major nations?”
Levine snickered. “I describe that as an off-the-books job that didn’t directly involve our company, just the boss. Who’s nuts. We’ve branched out since. But when the client is under threat by professional killers sent by the Chinese, we’re the ones you want on guard.”
I nodded. I wouldn’t argue with him. “And what would Vincent’s role have been in this?”
“The new bomb sweeper.”
I smiled, expecting there to be a punchline when I asked, “What happened to the old one?”
Levine didn’t see the joke. “Nothing. He’s my boss. And his idea of being a bomb sweeper is to kick things. If they don’t blow up, it’s clear.”
Alex grimaced. “Yikes. What’s it like working for this guy?”
Levine said nothing for a long, long moment. “I used to be in a Greek letter unit. I’m used to coloring outside the lines. My boss doesn’t even see lines.”
I could only presume that the unit he meant was Delta. Which meant Levine had had his share of outside-the-box operations.
“So Vincent would have put your mind at ease,” I prompted.
Levine chuckled. “To put it mildly.”
“Why your company? I heard he went into being a military engineer so he could get a degree when he came out.”
Levine sighed. “Good question. According to the application, he felt like he would make a more tangible difference in bodyguard work. He thought the military was changing on him. In dark, dark ways.” He shifted in his chair. “I thought I’d ask him about it further when I got here. By the nature of your questions, I presume he’s dead.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to disclose anything else, since details spread at the speed of rumors. “You presume correctly. Is there anything else you learned that would explain why Vincent felt things were changing on him?”
“Honestly?”
Alex scoffed. “No, I want you to lie to us. What do you think?”
Levine ignored Alex and answered straight. “He sounded scared. I don’t know by what. But he obviously thought he could wait it out, otherwise he would have gotten out of there, AWOL or not.”
To say I had a bad feeling about this didn’t nearly summarize the sensation.
My phone rang. It was home. “Pardon me.” I stood and answered it. “What’s up?”
A frantic Mariel screamed at me. “They’re after the children!”