Moment in Time Part 3
Chapter 69
Fidelis Ad Mortem
Part 7
"Captain," Ryan calls from the doorway of Kate's office, "we found street cam footage of Bardot before he was killed. Vikram has it set up in Tech."
Kate signs off on a requisition at the top of her paper pile and joins her detectives in front of the large screen.
"This is Bardot an hour before he was murdered, walking past the fish market. It's right across the alley from an, um, lingerie wholesaler," Ryan explains.
"Are we talking about an unusual kind of lingerie?" Kate inquires.
Ryan shrugs. "It's not so much a matter of unusual but of taste."
"Especially the edible panties," Esposito inserts.
"But it isn't the lingerie that's significant," Ryan continues. "The business is a known front for Jack Flanagan, aka Lucky Jack. He's the boss who runs Hunt's Point."
"Bardot grew up in Hunt's Point," Kate recalls.
"And check this out," Esposito adds. "Bosley, the law firm that Bardot contacted, represents Flanagan."
Kate nods. "No wonder they claimed that no one could remember the call. They were covering up Bardot's communication with Flanagan through a third party. That would keep the calls from being traced."
Esposito clicks the video forward to show Bardot shaking hands with Jack Flanagan. "Until they communicated in person."
"Our victim was in league with the Irish Mafia," Ryan declares.
"Flanagan must have tapped Bardot to become his mole in the NYPD," Kate surmises. "For all we know, he's been grooming Bardot since he was a kid in the old neighborhood."
Ryan stares at the screen. "But if Bardot was working for Flanagan, why would he bring a gun to the meeting?"
"Protection," Kate offers. "The academy gave him second thoughts about being Flanagan's mole. But Flanagan wasn't about to allow a potential leak, so he took Bardot out."
Hunt struggles to get comfortable in the netting that the military calls a seat on its transports. He used to drop off to sleep as soon as he strapped in and wake up at his destination, ready to go. Now, sleep doesn't come as easily. It isn't as restful either. Too many memories invade his dreams. And when he wakes up, his body isn't ready for much of anything.
He passed the official retirement age for CIA agents years back. But for assets like Hunt, the only retirement is a hole in the ground – if the agency can locate his remains for burial.
For his kind, retirement usually isn't much of an issue anyway. Their lifespan is often severely limited. So far, Hunt's managed to outrun the reaper, but not the toll of the passing years. Realistically, his next mission could very well be his last. Before that, Richard should know the truth, or at least as much of it as Hunt can tell. The uncomfortable traveler checks his chronograph. He has maybe six hours left before the plane touches down in New York, depending on tailwinds and how much fuel the military's willing to burn. After that, it will take him another hour or two to get to Richard. Hunt forces his eyes to close again. Better troubled dreams than no rest at all.
Kate does her best to work her way through bureaucratic stacks until Ryan presents her with a laptop. "This was Bardot's. Vikram found a hidden folder that contains every NYPD file of Flanagan and his crew."
Kate flips open the computer and studies the contents. "Surveillance photos, wiretaps, CIs, everything Flanagan would need to stay one step ahead of the police. But how could a recruit get this type of information? He'd need pretty high-level access. And from what Vikram's told me, that's hardwired into select NYPD computers."
"Right," Ryan agrees. "But that includes the computer in Deputy Commissioner Malone's office at the academy."
"Of course," Kate acknowledges. "That's how Flanagan could use a recruit as a mole. Daniel would still have to get into Malone's computer. But once he did, he could steal anything he wanted. And that would account for him doing business with a less than reputable tech seller."
Vikram comes in to join Ryan. "Chances are that Bardot used a password cracker to hack his way in."
"And would one of those sell for about five grand?" Kate asks.
"Not if you had a chance to compare sources," Vikram replies. "But if a guy was desperate, he might have to blow that much."
"So, Flanagan used Bardot to get these files and then decided to trim a loose end by getting rid of his mole. But how did Flanagan get the gun away from a recruit trained to defend himself? According to Ortiz, Daniel was a good student. He wasn't as good as Decker, but he was competent. We're missing something."
"Maybe Bardot saw the double-cross coming," Esposito suggests. "He pulled the gun on Flanagan. Flanagan got it away from him and shot him with it."
"In the back?" Kate questions. "On the street? It doesn't track. But I'm going to have a sit-down with Lucky Jack. Maybe something will fall into place."
Kate glances around as she enters Lucky's Lingerie. It looks like any of the other distributors in the area, aging but functional – except that the forklift she saw at the shipping dock when she came in is brand new. The doors and locks are also in good shape. Flanagan can afford to keep things secure and running well. That probably takes more than he can realize selling crotchless underwear – especially competing with Chinese imports. She displays her badge as she approaches Jack's desk. "Mr. Flanagan, I need to ask you some questions about the death of Daniel Bardot."
Flanagan's eyes sweep appreciatively over Kate's body. "Always glad to do whatever I can for the NYPD. I was saddened to hear about Daniel. I knew him for most of his life. He was a fine boyo."
"Fine enough to supply you with confidential NYPD files?" Kate queries.
"I hate to disappoint a lovely lady, but I have no idea what you're talking about," Jack insists.
"So, you deny that Daniel gave you those files," Kate presses.
"Absolutely, with prejudice. Daniel came in here looking for a job as a lingerie salesman. You understand, for extra cash. But I wasn't taking on any more help."
"Bardot was working for you – and not as a lingerie salesman. I'm going to prove it," Kate promises before turning away.
Flanagan smacks his palms against his desk. "Twenty years. For twenty years, the NYPD has been coming here with accusations against Old Lucky Jack. Your problem is that none of you ever had the goods. So unless you're here to find something hot for a special person in your life, get the hell out of my store."
Kate smiles as she turns back to face her suspect. "See, that's how I'm going to take you down. It's the cockiest ones that are the easiest. You're so busy being clever that you don't see the matchstick falling out of your pocket. Well, I'm going to find that matchstick, and then I'm going to burn you with it. And Jack, I don't need any help from the trash you sell to heat up my special guy. You have no idea just how hot a blaze I can start."
Rick slams the lid of his laptop in frustration. As far as he can tell, the dinghy in which he was found drifting wasn't government property. He still has almost nothing about what happened between his time in LA and on the ocean. Someone covered the trail and covered it well.