Lupo POV
Bernard wasn't kidding about the Gorens being as good as a get out of jail free card.
Because Ross had been ticked, and then suddenly he wasn't.
The only thing that had occurred between those two states of mind was me telling him that I'd run into the Gorens and so I'd given them a synopsis as to the latest state of affairs, which had ultimately caused me to be slightly late returning from lunch.
Bernard also wasn't wrong about the true cause of my tardiness.
And I was a little bit embarrassed about that because I never would've believed that I would be that guy.
The kind of guy who couldn't seem to get through the day without spending a little quality time with his significant other.
But she'd called me, and said that she had some time while she was waiting for word from the grand jury, and I just couldn't say no.
Who am I kidding?
I didn't want to say no.
I was just going to have to keep a better eye on the clock next time.
Yeah, because that'll happen.
How was I supposed to watch the clock when Connie does that…thing that she does?
She had a way of making me forget about everything. Hell, half of the time I forgot to breathe.
Maybe I'd have to set the alarm.
Or maybe I shouldn't plan on midday quickies, I chastised myself.
Maybe I should be a little bit more professional and actually only eat lunch on my lunch hour.
Nah, I thought with a smile. The alarm would work.
So after giving Ross the rundown on the latest with the Gorens, he filled us in on his request for a follow-up on the tourist murders.
He told us to take care of that and then continue working on the Alex Goren hit request.
I didn't like the coldness of the label.
I'd just had dinner with the woman last night, and now to think of her as being a case, a potential victim, well…I didn't like that at all.
Ross looked very uncomfortable about it, too.
And very adamant that we take care of our final task on the other case and then get to work on this Stoat thing.
So we headed out to Queens. We'd already made the arrest, but apparently the ADA, someone other than Connie, wasn't completely satisfied with the statement that we'd obtained from a witness, so we went out to speak with the man again.
After we handled that, we headed for the home of Candi Ayers.
On the way there, I got a call from CSU.
"I didn't get anything from those prints you dropped off," he told me.
"Nothing at all?"
"I got your expected results," he stated. "And I've got one partial left that's unidentified. You said there's one more person's prints needed for exclusionary purposes?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Get it. If you're lucky, maybe the one I've got won't match up, and then you might be looking at your perp."
"But so the perp isn't in the system," I confirmed.
"How many different ways you want me to say it, Lupo?" he asked smartly.
Asshole.
"I got it," I replied. "Hang onto the partial. I'll bring you another one for comparison either later today or tomorrow."
"Sure thing."
I hung up with CSU and brought Bernard up to speed.
"So it's no one that Stoat was rooming with in prison. No recent parolee."
"Unless the perp wore gloves and none of the prints is our guy."
"The old man didn't mention gloves," Bernard reminded me.
"No, he didn't," I replied thoughtfully. And Rensini had been thorough in his description, plus he'd taken a picture.
"So square one there," Bernard stated.
"Then we need to get Candi in a conversational mood."
"You think she'll be home?" Bernard asked me as he parked in front of a rundown apartment building.
"I don't know. It's four. What time do strippers usually clock in?"
"You're asking me?"
"Well don't ask me," I replied.
We got out of the car and walked up to the entrance. The front door had a buzzer, but apparently the lock was broken because the door was ajar.
"No way this girl has got the bucks to pay for a hit," Bernard mumbled as we walked through the lobby.
"Maybe Stoat had money hidden somewhere that was never found," I suggested.
"Or maybe someone else is working with him."
The elevator was broken, so we climbed up three flights of stairs and then went down the hall to Candi's apartment.
"Maybe we'll get lucky and she's already gone to work."
"How is that lucky?" I asked.
"Then we can go to the strip club," he said as though I was crazy for having to ask.
"Oh, yeah. That's how I want to spend my Tuesday night," I replied as I banged on the door.
"What happened to you, Lupes? You used to be fun," Bernard teased me as we waited for her to open.
I thought I could hear rustling, so I had my hopes up that she was actually home, but I had to knock again when after another minute she still hadn't answered.
"I'm still fun," I retorted. "Just because I have no interest in going to a…"
The door whipped open unexpectedly and there stood Candi with a shotgun in her hands.
This was the second fucking time I'd had a gun pulled on me today.
"Hey, settle down," Bernard said quickly. "NYPD."
My heart was pounding as I realized that she could've killed us both while we were joking around.
There's no such thing as a routine stop.
Not only a mantra for cruisers, but for detectives as well.
Never underestimate a situation.
"Show me your badges," she replied, not lowering the gun.
Her hands were shaking and she looked like hell. Mascara smudges covered her cheeks and her hair was a matted mess.
She wore what appeared to be a remnant from last night's show – some sort of school girl outfit, but nothing that would have ever been allowed in any school I'd ever attended.
"I'm going to reach in my pocket and get it out," I told her carefully.
"Do it slowly," she ordered.
No shit, I thought.
I got out my badge and held it up for her inspection.
"Now you," she insisted. Bernard got his out, and she finally lowered the shotgun.
When she did, I bull-rushed her, wrestling the shotgun from her hands and then taking her down to the floor.
"Hey, what the hell?" she shouted as I jerked her arms behind her back and applied the handcuffs.
"You just pointed a shotgun at two NYPD detectives, sugar. What did you think was going to happen?" Bernard asked her.
I pulled the girl to her feet and then sat her down in a kitchen chair.
"Talk. Fast," I instructed. "If we like what you have to say, we might let you go."
"Talk about what?"
"Why'd you have the gun out? Who are you afraid of?"
"You see where I live," she scoffed. "You never know who's gonna come knocking on the door."
"Try again," Bernard said. "And the name Stoat had better be somewhere in your explanation."
At the mention of Stoat, the girl burst into tears.
"He's dead," she wailed. "What does he have to do with this?"
"You tell us. You took him a cell phone last week."
"He asked me to."
"What else did you do for him?"
"You mean…" she began, looking at me in confusion. "Like sex?"
"No," I said in annoyance. "I mean like contraband. Did you take him a different phone before this last one? Did you take anything out of prison when you visited? Did he ask you to mail a letter or make a call?"
"I couldn't even see him anymore. I met with Johnny, and passed stuff through him."
"What kind of stuff?" Bernard shouted. We were both losing our patience with her.
"And Johnny who?" I asked. "Testarossa?"
"Yeah," she said with a nod. "I took him a cell phone two weeks ago. Then last week, I traded it for another one. But that's it. I didn't mail no fucking letters and I didn't make no fucking calls. Now can you let me go?"
"Where's the phone that he gave you?"
"I threw it out."
"Where?"
"The fucking Hudson, where do you think?"
"Keep on being a smart ass, Candi," Bernard told her. "You're going to find yourself in lock-up for the night. You want to miss out on having all those dollar bills jammed into your g-string?"
"I don't have the phone, okay? I swear. I tossed it in the river."
"Give us the number."
"Of that phone?" she asked dumbly.
I was starting to get a headache. Maybe this was why I'd started law school.
"Of that phone," I repeated firmly. She rolled her eyes at me, but then complied.
"Now can you let me go?"
"Now you can tell us why you pulled out that shotgun," I answered. She looked back and forth between me and Bernard, and I guess she decided that we weren't budging until she came clean.
"I…I just…I was scared, okay? I thought that maybe…maybe whoever whacked Mike was gonna come after me."
I exchanged a look with Bernard, and then turned back to her.
"Who do you think whacked him?" I asked.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But he wouldn't kill himself. Not now."
"Why would you think they'd come after you?"
"I don't know," she said again, this time more slowly.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to call bullshit on that one, Candi," I told her with a shake of my head. "What were you and Stoat involved with?"
"In case you hadn't noticed, Mike's been in prison," she retorted. "How could he have been involved with anything?"
"Because he had you running his errands for him," I stated.
"And you were using Testarossa as the go-between," Bernard added. "What was he getting out of the deal?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. At our continued stares, she said, "Okay, so maybe I was giving him a little, you know…"
"Stress relief?" I supplied. She shrugged and gave us a nod.
"That's it?" Bernard asked her. "He didn't want his own contraband? He ran the risk of getting busted for swapping out illegal cell phones for that? Are you really that good?"
"I can show you," she suggested as she sat back in the chair and crossed her legs slowly.
"That's okay, sugar. I'm not sure if I'm up to date on my shots," Bernard replied.
"Hey, mother fucker," she yelled indignantly. "I'm not like that. Don't be hatin' on me just 'cause I'm a stripper."
"No, I'm hatin' on you because you were pimping yourself out," he clarified. I hid my smirk and tried to regain the focus of the interrogation.
"Okay, Candi. So you would meet with Testarossa, spend a few minutes discussing the big bang theory, and then you gave him a phone. A week later, same thing except he gives one back to you."
"That's right."
"So why would you think that someone wanted to kill you?" I asked carefully. "Stoat might get killed over a cell phone in prison, but who would come after you?"
"I think I want a lawyer now."
"You're not actually under arrest," I countered. "Yet."
"Then arrest me or let me go."
"Be careful what you wish for, sugar," Bernard said as he brought her to her feet. "Candi Ayers, you are under arrest for smuggling contraband into a state prison."
I held back as Bernard went over her rights and guided her out into the hallway.
I looked around the kitchen, hoping to see something incriminating.
What had she said? He wouldn't kill himself. Not now.
That was the same thing that I'd said. Why hire a hit and then commit suicide before it was completed?
So did that mean that Candi knew about the hit?
Or was it something else, considering that she thought that her life was in danger?
Because she hadn't been expecting cops when she'd opened up that door. She was expecting someone else.
But why?
I did a visual sweep of everything in plain view, and just as I was ready to call it quits, I caught sight of a gym bag underneath the coffee table.
I walked over to it and squatted down, without touching anything.
The zipper was open.
And now I was even more confused than before.
Because the bag was filled with cash.
TBC...
