Chapter 9
Marissa's phone vibrated on her hip just as she was reading her last email. She was sitting at one of the desks that were primarily used for visiting agents. On it was a computer, notepads in varying degrees of use, stacks of Post-its, and a large pencil cup filled with pencils and pens. All field offices had a desk like this. It was a part of the FBI culture as a refrigerator was to a company's kitchen. Joe sat in a chair next to the desk reading one of the latest FBI press releases.
Marissa pulled the phone out of its holster "Carter." she answered, her eyes never leaving the screen.
"Good morning." Ranger's smooth, husky voice flowed in her ear.
A small smile curved her lips. "Good morning to you too."
"Slept well?"
"I slept."
The line was silent for a few seconds, then, "Where are you?"
"In a gun battle with a local street gang. Morelli's trying to hold them off with a rocket launcher we found in the Evidence Room."
"Mari..."
She chuckled. "Okay. Fine. We're at the Newark Field office. I'm catching up on some emails. Happy now?"
She heard a soft non-descript sound which she identified as the equivalent of a sigh for Ranger.
"What are your plans for the day?" he asked..
"Morelli and I are going to talk to the Gang Unit at the TPD and see if they recognize any characteristics about the way the victims were killed."
Joe looked at her with a confused look and mouthed "We are?"
She nodded.
"You have a theory?" Ranger asked.
"Nothing concrete yet. But this whole corpse-drug-mule business has me uneasy. It's one thing to hide drugs in inanimate objects, but when a body gets its organs hollowed out to be used as transport, I think we're dealing with some sick fuckers whom I don't want roaming the streets. This is some Jack the Ripper shit."
"What can I do to help?"
"You have enough going on Carlos. I'm sure..."
"I want to help." he interrupted tersely.
And she was appreciative that he wanted to. But she was still spinning in circles trying to get anywhere on the case. She had no leads, witnesses or evidence to point her in any direction. Plus, she was already feeling guilty dragging Morelli all over Trenton. He had better things to be doing rather than babysitting her.
No. She was not going to drag anyone else into this puzzle until she had something concrete to go on. A part of her wished that Bryan didn't have to go back to New York. He was the one constant she felt truly at ease with. No matter how crazy or boring things got he was always there to lessen the impact.
Carlos on the other hand...he made her feel things that were very unprofessional. He made her want the very things she had vowed never to let take over her life. But wanting something didn't necessarily mean that it was good for you. She knew that his emotional tolerance was every bit off kilter as hers. They didn't operate at normal levels, both professionally and personally. Emotionally they weren't even compatible.
He was calculating, covert and able to shelve his emotions with ease. She was a tenacious, witty, a go-with-the-flow type of gal who sometimes wore her emotions on her sleeve. She stopped at crying in public though. That was just unacceptable. Tears were a sign of vulnerability in her eyes, and didn't belong in her line of work or lifestyle. The last time she cried was the night...
She shook her head violently to clear the memory. Now was not the time to bring up that up.
"I'll be fine Carlos." she said. "I promise I'll call you if I get overwhelmed. Don't get shot today."
She hung up and went back to reading her email.
"Don't get shot today? Is that FBI-speak for I love you?" Joe teased.
Marissa narrowed her eyes at him. "Jealous Morelli?"
"Of Manoso?" he scoffed. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Get real. I don't know what you women get out of all that Mysterio shit."
"Women like a man of mystery. It's a challenge to see if you could be the one to make him open up and reveal his deepest, darkest secrets."
"And you like that sorta thing?"
She waved a dismissive hand at him. "I don't have the patience or time for that. But I'm drawing a general reference here Morelli."
He didn't seem to be convinced.
"It all boils down to the fact that women like to solve problems. Let me give you an example." Marissa took one of the Post-it pads that was lying on the desk and began writing.
"An open, easily communicable, attentive man is as easy as solving this." She wrote down 1 + 1.
"But a man who exudes this." On the pad she wrote v(t) = r (t) = (x (t), y(t), z(t)) = (-asin(t), a cos(t), b). "Becomes an anomaly that women would go to the ends of the Earth to find out the solution for, even if it means emotionally extending themselves for a period of time."
Joe shook his head. "That's just sad. Men just put up that façade just to get some pussy. Underneath all that complexity is a guy who scratches his ass when he gets up, and needs almost a can of air freshener after he uses the bathroom. It's all a cover-up. He's as human as any other guy. By the way, great parametric equation visual."
Marissa's eyes went wide. "How did you know that was a parametric equation?"
"Had a class on it when I was in the Navy. And if I'm not mistaken, that particular equation calculates the velocity of a particle following a three-dimensional curve."
Marissa stared at him. "Joseph Morelli did you just go Einstein on me? If so I think I'm in love."
He grinned. "I bet you didn't see that one coming, huh? See? I can be mysterious."
Marissa smiled. "Yeah, but that doesn't count as I'm a nerd-boy lover. Brains over brawn is what gets me excited."
"You don't come across as a pocket-protector admirer." he said giving her an assessing look.
"How do I come across?"
"Well judging from all that I've seen go down between you and Manoso, I'd have to say you like the action-hero type."
"Nothing has been going down between Carlos and I."
"I promise I'll call you if I get overwhelmed. Don't get shot today." He mimicked in a falsetto voice.
Marissa threw the Post-it pad at him, hitting him in the chest. "That was business."
"Right."
She stared at him thoughtfully. "Maybe that's the solution to your problem. Maybe you need an air of mystery."
Joe made a face. "I'll pass."
"Steph might like it." she added coyly.
Joe eyed her suspiciously. "We not together anymore so it doesn't matter."
Marissa waved a dismissive hand at him. "Of course it matters. I saw the way you two were looking at each other last night."
"What way?" Joe ducked his head and pretended to be engrossed in the memo in his hand as flashes of the scene on his kitchen table ran uncomfortably through his head.
"Uh huh. Anyway Morelli, all I'm saying is give it a try. You have nothing to lose. It'll be a win-win situation for you if it pans out."
But Joe knew there was a lot to lose...especially on his part. Steph was the only woman he'd truly loved. And he didn't know if he could survive going through another break up with her if he did go through with what Marissa was suggesting. No, he wasn't going to risk that. This time the ball was in Steph's court, and if she wanted him she was going to have to make the first move.
"This is the Gang Unit?" Marissa asked as she looked around the cramped windowless space.
There were four desks in the room. Each desk had a paper mound that competed against the other, and behind one of the mounds a phone was ringing. There was no one in the room, but signs of life were all around; a radio played softly, filling the dismal space with melodic sounds.
In one corner near a window stood a fichus plant that despite its dreary habitat looked healthy and thriving. A large cork board covered in maps, mug shots, newspaper clippings and FBI Most Wanted posters occupied an adjacent wall. The smell of coffee, cigarettes and perseverance hung heavily in the air, and Marissa tried to picture the people that inhabited the space. Whoever they were they she already liked them.
They were in the bowels of the TPD building. To get to where they were she and Joe had taken two flights of stairs down, and went through a door that looked liked it belonged in a dungeon rather than in a building built less than twelve years ago.
"Don't let the atmosphere fool you. These guys are on top of their game." Joe said as he sat down on a tattered leather sofa near the door.
Marissa studied one of the paper mounds closest to her and pulled a sheet off the top. It was a coroner's report page that informed her that Julius Norman, age twenty-one, male and of African-American decent, had died due to multiple gunshot wounds. He was found on the corner of Stark and Pickering on December 18th 2008.
Marissa sighed and put the sheet back. No Christmas for him. Shame.
"Where is everyone?" she asked Joe as she sat down next to him.
He shrugged. "Probably in a briefing. I'm sure they won't be long."
"You come down here a lot?"
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Depends on how shitty my day unfolds."
"Meaning?"
He huffed out a heavy sigh. "Lots of homicides to cover, especially during a full moon and the first of the month."
"Explain that to me?"
He opened his eyes and turned his gaze on her. "Welfare checks come in the mail close to the first of the month. Some people use it to feed their children and families, other use it to buy drugs. I've seen a lot of buys gone bad. The worst are when kids get caught in the crossfire."
Marissa noticed his eyes took on a far-away look, as though he was reliving the scenes.
He continued talking. "When it's a full moon it seems people's emotions come rushing up to the surface. Stabbings and gunshot wounds usually go up by at least four percent. One night I got called to three stabbings and two drive-bys. The paperwork was a bitch. Fortunately the guys here in the Gang Unit had some insight that saved me hours of interviewing witnesses. In less than a week I had all the stabbing suspects in custody and an arrest warrant for one of the drive-bys. I bought the rounds that night at the bar."
Marissa nodded her head in understanding. "It's great when an investigation comes together because of good police work. I just hope they can help me out."
Joe reached over and rubbed her arm. "Don't stress too much about it. If they can't we'll find some other way."
Marissa watched his hand moving along her arm and was suddenly aware on how potently male he was. His strong forearm was covered in a light sprinkling of fine brown hair, and the heat from his hand permeated the fabric of her turtleneck. The gesture was meant to comfort, but it was igniting a disturbingly delicious tingle that started from the point of contact and fanned out all the way to her uterus. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from moaning out loud, and was about to jerk her arm away when the door opened and three casually dressed men strolled into the space, each talking louder than the next.
"Hey!" Joe yelled over the din. "Don't you fuckers ever shut up?"
All eyes turned to the leather sofa. The taller of the men, an angular-faced African-American male, who Marissa guessed to be in his mid-thirties, was the first to speak.
"What the fuck you doing here Morelli? We already told you your pussy-ass belongs upstairs. Down here is the Gladiators' Pit."
"Gladiators' Pit my ass. You don't even know how to spell gladiator." Morelli scoffed. "And watch your mouth, we have a lady present."
All eyes shifted to Marissa. She smiled and stood up, at the same time holding her hand out. "Hi. I'm Special Agent Marissa Carter from the New York Field office."
Heyman was the first to grasp onto her outstretched hand. "Well, well, well, it's rare we get such a beautiful woman visiting us. Nice to meet you Agent Carter. I'm Detective Deryck Heyman. These other assholes are Detective Pete Sanchez." The fair-skinned, heavily built man with a buzz cut, who stood to the left of Detective Heyman, nodded. "And Detective Carl Sosmos."
The tall, white man with blonde hair, who Marissa thought could pass as Joe's brother, smiled at her and said "Welcome to our crypt."
"Thank you."
"Let go of her damn hand already you pervert." Sanchez said to Heyman. "Feel free to press federal charges Agent Carter. Lord knows he needs some jail time."
Marissa was enjoying their playful banter. It reminded her of being back at the office in New York with the members of her Unit, Special Agents DeChooch, Newton and Hawkins. She missed them.
"Detective Morelli tells me that you guys may be able to help shed some light on a case I'm working on."
"Is that so?" Heyman said, as he took a seat behind one of the desks closest to the corkboard. "Is your case gang related?"
Marissa sat back down on the couch. "I'm not sure. Here's what I know so far."
She went on to tell them about the bodies found floating near Coney Island, and the marks on the body found at the port. She described the similarities in the wounds, and her suspicions that one entity was responsible for both incidents.
Sosmos was the first to speak when she was done. "As crude and as dangerous the gangs that we know about are, this is the first I'm hearing about using bodies as transport vessels. That's some morbid, fucked up shit."
"Yeah. It doesn't fit into how most of the gangs we're aware about operate their drug trade." Heyman chimed in. "This feels dark."
"Have you been able to identify the victims?" Sanchez asked from his perch near the fichus tree.
"That's the thing, no matches in any database. My partner and I think they might be illegal immigrants. North Atlantic regions possibly, as the bodies were Caucasian."
"Any other identifiers?" Heyman asked.
Marissa shook her head. "No tattoos, piercings, scars or birthmarks. It's like they didn't exist until they were found floating in the water. My partner and I also think that where ever the bodies were going to couldn't have been far, as a corpse doesn't travel long distances well without some type of preservation method, and no traces of embalming fluid were found in any of the victims."
"How did the bodies get in the water?' Sanchez asked.
Marissa shrugged. "I don't know yet. No accident reports about vehicles or boats in the surrounding areas showed up. We checked with the Coast Guard but there were no records of suspicious vessels in the area."
"Just your regular unsolved mystery." Joe said. "I'm surprised you guys haven't heard any noise about any lost shipments. What was packed in those bodies had to be worth at least half a mil. If I lost that amount of money you'd be damn sure to hear my mouth."
"Doesn't matter with you Morelli, we hear your damn mouth almost every fucking day." Sanchez said.
"At least what I say comes out from my mouth and not from my ass, unlike you." Joe shot back.
Laughter filled the room, but Marissa didn't join in she was busy running what Joe said through her head. Then a thought hit her like ton of bricks.
"Oh my God! That's it!" she exclaimed as she flew off the couch. The men looked at her. "Whoever lost the bodies has to be kicking up a stink somewhere."
"And how are you going to find out if they are if you don't know even who they are?" Heyman asked.
Marissa smiled. "Easy. You go to the one place that always has its ears to the drug underground. The DEA."
The men looked at each other then back at her.
"Doesn't that require some type of inter-departmental request and approval?" Joe asked.
"Sure it does, if you were to go through the regular channels."
"And I take it you know a shortcut." Sosmos said.
"Even better." Marissa replied as her smile got wider. "I know an undercover agent who owes me a favor."
