Protecting the King Ch 6
~ ~ Lester – Day 2 – Late Night Thursday ~ ~
Lester glanced at his watch – 23:27. Almost exactly 48 hours since the shooting, 36 hours since the investigation started. He was at this desk scrolling through the findings so far, some of which he transferred to his phone. The muted tones of the late night control room crew came in through the open door.
The only progress made so far had been the preliminary searches on Detective David Simpkins, Vernell "Sweats" Robertson, and Thomas "Player" Parsley. They were still trying to get the name of the person who made the 911 call. Once they had it, they'd run that person too.
Player had been incarcerated in the New Jersey State Prison here in Trenton ever since Rangeman had picked him up on behalf of the ATF, so his update was the fastest. Sweats' search didn't take very long either, since he didn't really go anywhere or use credit. It did turn up one very interesting tidbit, though. He absolutely could not have purchased the phone that the texts had come from. He'd been in the county lockup in Philly for ten days on a drunk and disorderly rap. The purchase date was right in the middle of that stint.
New searches were running now on the most current contacts for those two. Similar secondary searches were being run on some of the results from Simpkins' initial searches. In his case, the programs were compiling information on his spouse and grown children in addition to associates. More searches might come from those. Silvio hadn't cracked the IAD files yet but to be fair, he was working on compiling, reviewing, and sorting the data from multiple ongoing searches.
Hector, Ramon, and Slick were finishing up a canvas of the surrounding neighborhood, doing a second round of door-knocking hoping to catch the night owls.
In particular, they were looking for Sweats' long time pal and occasional partner in petty crime, Medium Chad. The story was that when he was a kid, Chad had moved into a neighborhood that already had a Big Chad and a Little Chad. Height-wise, he was right in between the two so he got tagged as Medium Chad and it stuck. Even now, when he was the only Chad in his social circle, he went by the full moniker of Medium Chad.
There was a vibration on his hip. Lester pulled his phone out. Good. Rookie was responding to his voicemail.
"Hey, man. Thanks for calling." He leaned back in his chair, trying to stretch out his spine. Too many hours spent sitting had his muscles tightening up.
"No problem, Santos." There was a rhythmic sound of footfalls underlying Rookie's speech. "I'm gonna take a wild guess that this is about the situation you guys got going on now."
Lester swiped a hand across his face. "Yeah it is. We need a favor."
"After what you guys did for me, you got it. How can I help?" There was the double-beep sound of a car lock being released, then a door opened and slammed shut.
"We think this might be related to a guy we picked up last year for the ATF. He's sitting in your house waiting trial right now. Don't know if he's in your block though. We need a list of his visitors. Since New Jersey won't let felons visit, most of his guys can't come in directly. They might send in a family member or girlfriend as go-between." Lester paused and stopped over-explaining. As a corrections officer, Bill Rooks knew the rules better than he did. "Anyway, if you happen to know who some of the visitors are fronting for, that would be immensely helpful."
"You got it. I already clocked out tonight, so best I can do is get it tomorrow during shift then we can meet Saturday on my way back in. That'll give me time to make notes."
"That's great, man. I'll text you his name and prisoner number. I'll even buy you lunch tomorrow. "
"I will never turn down a meatball sub from Pino's. And Santos," Rookie paused, "for what it's worth, I know it wasn't him."
"Thanks, Rookie. I appreciate that."
There was the sound of a vehicle starting up and the line disconnected.
Lester rubbed his eyes, burning from too long spent staring at the computer screen. He stood and did a full-body stretch, anxious to get out from behind the desk and get active. That was the drawback of being in charge of an investigation. Sometimes you had to do the sitting and sifting in order to find the next move.
In the late evening quiet, the ding of the elevator arriving on the fifth floor was easy to hear. Hopefully that was the canvassing crew. He stepped out to see. Yep. He moved to meet them over by the monitors where Chet and Gene were exchanging greetings with Hector, Slick, and Ramon.
"So, what'd you guys come back with?" Lester asked.
Hector shrugged. "About the same thing we left with. Nobody's talking."
Ramon added, "I get the feeling it's a don't know situation, not a won't tell one."
"We did get a lead on Medium Chad," said Slick. "Word is that he's been crashing at Delphine DeSoto's place in South Trenton the past few days. She's got the attic of a row house that was converted into separate apartments. Address is Landing Street but you gotta enter from Riston Alley behind it."
Delphine was a small-time informant known to Rangeman. Her drugs of choice were Xanax and Percocet, prescription-only drugs which she'd buy off the street. She worked late nights at a convenience store as a clerk but had a side hustle with $20 blow jobs when she needed pill money.
"Okay." Lester looked them over. "You guys still dressed?"
There were nods of assent from everyone, including Chet and Gene who would be staying here, finishing out their shift on monitors.
"All right. Let's roll."
Although Lester led the way to the garage, he let Slick drive the big black SUV because he seemed to know that specific area. Hector probably knew it, too, since his old gang used to run the southside, but he seemed content to hang back. Soon, Slick was pulling into a tiny backyard which was open to the alley. A street light nearby and a neighbor's porch light kept it from being pitch black.
The house they wanted was in the middle of the block, crammed together with eight others for a row of nine. The three houses on the far left were uninhabitable. Outer walls were missing large sections. Old shredded tarps, tattered and fluttering in the light breeze, did nothing to keep out the elements. Each of those three had what once was a separate garage at the alley, but which had been neglected to destruction. Nothing was left but caved in piles of lumber too unsteady to rifle through for any leavings. Even the wood was too rotten to reclaim.
The rest of the units seemed run down but livable. None of them had an outbuilding. Instead the yards, which opened directly onto the alley, were full of vehicles parked for the night and garbage cans. Delphine's unit was the only one with an outer staircase. It was a bulky wooden thing, made from raw lumber with no attempt made to put a finish on it. There was a landing at the second floor and at the third where the tenant for those floors would enter. Whoever had the second floor had made an attempt to spruce up the place, with a window box of plants.
They exited their vehicle, softly closing the doors behind them.
"We won't be able to see any of the doors on any of these units once we're on that stairway," said Lester, keeping his voice low. "Slick, stay here and keep an eye on those doors and on any passers-by. Ramon, you'll stay on the landing at the top when Hector and I go in. I want a covert entry so keep it as quiet as you can."
They left Slick by the SUV and quietly climbed the stairs. Once at the top, Ramon took up position by the railing where the view of the surrounding streets was best. Hector put his ear to the door, then pulled away and shook his head, meaning he didn't hear anything inside. Lester tried the doorknob and then pulled out his lock-picking tools. The cheap lock was half broken so he barely needed them.
Lester drew his weapon and held it ready. He looked to see what Hector would go in with, knife or gun. Gun. Good choice. Hector preferred knives in general but some situations, such as walking blindly into a house inhabited by known drug addicts, were better addressed with a distance weapon.
The attic had been converted into an efficiency apartment with one main room, one bathroom, and a separate bedroom. The door opened into the main room. The far left corner had a small kitchenette. The light over the stove had been left on. As dim as it was, it was enough to clearly see the layout. Immediately to their left as they stood by the door was a little table with two chairs. Lester had seen the style referred to as "bistro" once when he'd seen something similar for sale at the big box hardware store. Immediately to their right was a television on a table that looked too small to hold it. Against the far wall to the right was a sofa that took up the entire back wall from the hallway to the side wall. There was someone sleeping on it, snoring lightly.
In the center of the back wall was a very short hallway, dividing the kitchen and living room sides of the main room. That was probably the door to the bathroom off to the left and the door to the bedroom straight ahead. Hector checked it out while Lester kept an eye on the sofa dweller. Hector was back in two minutes.
"Delphine is in the bedroom." he whispered. "She must be using again. There's a bag of pills on the nightstand and she's out. We could set off a bomb in here and she would't move."
Hector turned on the overhead light in the kitchen so they could get a better look at the sleeper in the living room. A grubby pair of slip-on sneakers was next to the sofa. A fleece throw patterned with colorful cartoon owls covered him from the knees down. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes - a pair of tan cargo shorts and a plain red t-shirt with a vividly colored Hawaiian shirt over that. His dark blonde hair was shaggy but not long enough to pull into a ponytail. This was definitely Medium Chad.
Lester nodded, then gestured for Hector to stand next to the hallway end of the couch. Their weapons were ready but not blatantly obvious. Didn't want to scare him too much. This guy wasn't known for violence of any kind. The opposite in fact. Apply too much pressure or threaten aggression and he'd break down, too scared to talk. After that, if you could get him to talk, he'd say whatever he thought you wanted to hear in order to make you stop and let him go. Lester needed the truth so he pushed the lethal badass part of himself aside and brought up the amiable guy.
He moved into position in the middle of the couch and began kicking it with his steel-toed boots.
"Hey. Pendejo. Wake up."
The snoring abruptly turned into a snort as Medium Chad woke. He bolted up into a sitting position, sputtering and trying to back away, the fleece tangled around his feet. He ended up sitting on the arm of the couch, one hand pressed across the back wall, the other against the side wall and his back shoved into the corner. He was as far as he could get from Lester and Hector.
"Hi there!" Lester put on his best customer service smile and smooth voice. "We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."
Lester knew that a panicked person typically didn't register what was being said as much as how it was presented. The friendly tone and smile should help calm him down and get his thinking brain back online. Medium Chad's breathing slowed from a frantic panting to rapid shallow breaths. His body was less rigid and he blinked a few times. Lester could see reason returning.
"Hi there," repeated Lester. "We're with Rangeman and we have a few questions for you about your buddy Sweats. You know, the dead guy?"
Medium Chad looked panicked again, waving his hands and vigorously shaking his head. "I didn't have anything to do with that."
"But maybe you know something," suggested Lester. He kept his tone light, encouraging. "Maybe there's something that, now you look back at what happened, might seem more important than it did at the time. Something he said. Something you saw."
There was a split second of hesitation in Medium Chad's face. A split second where his eyes darted up to his left. It wasn't a foolproof tell, but that was supposed to be a sign of recalling a memory.
"What are you thinking about?" asked Lester gently. "What did you remember?"
Another hesitation, but this time one of indecision. He looked at Lester as if weighing his choices. Lester sensed that giving him silence in which to consider would be more effective than additional cajolery. He waited, counting slowly. He had gotten to 78 when Medium Chad finally spoke.
"About a week ago – I mean – I didn't think it was connected, but –" Staring down at the couch seat, he sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Keeping his perch on the arm of the couch, he took a moment to unwrap the fleece from his feet and ankles. He folded it, then laid it across his lap, absently petting it as if it was an animal.
"This past Saturday, Sweats needed a ride to the harness track over in Freehold. Had some kind of opportunity. Don't know what. He was supposed to meet a guy there and get more information and wanted to borrow my car, but there's no way I'm letting him behind the wheel."
He stopped stroking the fleece long enough to rub his hands together then started up again. "He was supposed to come alone so he didn't want anyone to know I'm there with him. Now, I'm not sitting in the car for who knows how long. So, I tell him I'll go inside, place a couple of bets, grab a bite to eat and just hang out. He can text me when he's on the way back to the car and we'll go.
"There wasn't much of a crowd. Just a few of us placing bets and sitting at the tables nearby in the dining area. One of them is this guy, older than me, like, 'over 40' old, and not real tall. Way out of shape, too. Had a beer belly starting. His clothes were rumpled and sloppy looking. Doesn't have a style like me."
Medium Chad waved one hand from his head to his toes and back again, referring to his California Surfer Dude get-up which looked out of place on the east coast and really out of place when that heavy Jersey accent came pouring out of his mouth.
"I kept an eye on him because he gave off that cop vibe and you gotta pay attention if one of them is around. He had a table near me. Must have been there awhile because the table top is covered in betting slips. Looked like he was losing big, too. Kept frowning and getting pissed. He gets a text. Leaves for a few minutes then comes back with this other guy, taller, with black hair. They pass near my table and I hear them talking. Something like 'that's definitely him' but i can't remember which of them said that.
"They sit at his table and the black haired guy starts rifling through the slips. He laughs but not in a funny way. It was mean, like he was mocking the rumpled guy. Told him he must not want out since he kept digging himself deeper. Rumple snapped back at him and said, 'I'm out once your boss gets his twofer.'
"Black hair shook his head and gave him this smile like a hungry shark and said, 'You've been ours for years. What makes you think you'll ever get out? One dead, one destroyed, ain't enough. You gotta make sure the boss walks and then we can discuss whether you leave.' Right about then Sweats texted me, so I scrammed. Tried not to bring any attention to myself, either. I didn't know what they were talking about but I knew damn well it wasn't good."
Medium Chad folded his hands together and rested them on the fleece. He looked sad and defeated. "I didn't think it was important at the time. Maybe if I'd said something. Do you think he'd still be alive?"
Trusting Hector to keep guard, even though Medium Chad didn't seem in the mood to start trouble, Lester holstered his gun and pulled out his phone. He flipped to the photo gallery and showed a picture to Medium Chad.
"Is this the rumpled guy?"
Medium Chad nodded almost instantly. Then Lester showed him a few other photos. The fourth one was the winner for the black haired guy.
"Thanks for the info, man," said Lester. "I would suggest you not tell anyone else about this."
"Oh yeah. I mean no. No, no I won't. Not a word."
Lester and Hector headed out, leaving Medium Chad clutching the fleece to his chest and muttering to himself. They collected Ramon on the way down then piled into the SUV. As with the drive there, Hector and Ramon were in the back, Slick was driving, and Lester was in the shotgun seat. Slick headed back to Haywood. As they turned out of the alley, Hector chuckled. Slick and Ramon, who hadn't gotten briefed yet, asked what was so funny.
Hector laughed and said, "Extended warranty."
Slick and Ramon looked puzzled, but Lester grinned, reached back, and high-fived him.
~ ~ Ranger – Day 3 – morning Friday ~ ~
Compared to other places he'd been incarcerated, the city lock-up in Trenton was more like a bad motel. Ranger was in a climate controlled environment, fully clothed, regularly fed, and even had a flushing toilet. There'd been times in his career where he'd been held captive with none of those things. Bonus for the Trenton experience was not getting beaten or tortured by his captors or having to fend off deadly attacks by fellow inmates.
On the other hand, it was still a prison. His movements were strictly controlled. No visitors allowed unless approved by his jailers. No communication devices like phones or laptops. No access to the outside via Wi-Fi . Food came when they decided it would. The ambient temperature was at their discretion as well. No fiddling with a thermostat for him, even if he'd wanted to. It had always been the loss of free will that had chafed at him the most in those foreign cells. This one was no different.
It was hard to stay patient. Once he bonded out, he'd be an active part of the investigation. At least it was in good hands with Lester while he was sidelined.
Ranger heard footsteps coming down the hallway. From the sound and the cadence, he'd guess it was Eddie Gazarra. The person came into sight and his guess was confirmed. Everytime Eddie had come to his cell he'd seemed embarrassed. Not embarrassed for Ranger who was the one locked up on suspicion of murder, but embarassed by his and the police department's role in this fiasco.
"Your lawyer is here. I'll take you up to the visitor's room." Eddie held up a pair of handcuffs and looked apologetic. "Sorry, Ranger. I've got to follow the rules."
"It's okay."
Ranger put both hands through the horizontal slot in the bars on the cell door. That small opening was there for moments like this and for meal time or anything else that couldn't be tipped on its side to pass through the bars. Eddie had brought the chained cuffs, not the hinged ones for the more dangerous inmates. He put the cuffs on so they weren't too uncomfortable but not too loose either. Ranger stepped back so Eddie could open the door to the cell.
They walked down the hallway side by side like equals, not prisoner and jailer. Ranger asked how his family was doing and Eddie shared the latest story of his wild kids. Once again, Eddie offered to bring in special salads hand made by his wife Shirley and once again Ranger thanked him but declined. It wouldn't do for Eddie's kindness to come back later and somehow bite either of them in the ass.
As they neared the door to the visitation room, Eddie exclaimed, "Oh! I forgot to tell you. Your cousin Santos is in there too." He looked around then lowered his voice. "So, if you need extra time with your lawyer it's okay."
Poor Eddie was doing his best to be subtle about offering him a chance to catch up with his cousin but he might as well have announced what he was doing. He was a good man and a good cop but didn't have a devious bone in his body. If there was a conspiracy here, it was a given that Officer Eddie Gazarra was not involved.
"I appreciate that."
Lester and the lawyer, Jeffrey Dinsmore, were already waiting in the room.
Lester looked tired and Ranger wondered how much sleep he'd gotten. He stood by the window, fiddling with the cord to the blinds. Lester always started fidgety then got more focused and still as a situation deteriorated and shit got closer to hitting the fan. If he was fussing with the stuff around him, he must see an easy out. That raised Ranger's spirits.
Jeff was seated at the far side of the table. He was an inch or two shorter than Ranger and about a decade older although his hair was still a thick dark brown. He wore a light gray suit and white shirt with a purple silk tie that had faint diagonal lines in a paler purple. He kept himself as fit and trim now as he did when he was in the Army's Judge Advocate General's office.
Ranger had run into him several times overseas. Jeff had been the JAG lawyer assigned to a couple of different command centers over there. It was his job to review targets and advise the commanders and teams in combat situations. Ranger kept in touch, and was pleased that when he was discharged Jeff had ended up close enough to act as Rangeman's corporate attorney.
Eddie unlocked one cuff and reclasped it to the bar on the table. With a quick smile to everyone he left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Lawyer visits were privileged. There would be no video, no audio, no listening of any kind. If Lester had visited on his own there would be no privacy at all. Anything said could end up in court so they'd have to use code. If he was here now, he had something he needed to pass along and it was quicker and easier to speak plainly.
Ranger made himself as comfortable as he could on the hard chair. "Primo. Let's hear it."
Lester's report included the time difference between the 911 calls and the video, the discrepancy in the purchasing of the phone, the impending list from Rookie, what Medium Chad had overheard, and, most importantly, who he identified.
"So," Lester concluded, "Jeff here can pass this along to the prosecutor and it'll all be over."
Ranger hated to admit to how relieved he felt that he didn't have to pull Stephanie down into the mud with him. Sure, she could alibi him, but would the prosecutor accept her word? Would it be enough to drop charges? Or would she find herself up on a witness stand in front of the court and jury telling everyone exactly what the two of them had been doing? She would hate that. He wouldn't ask it of her. Ever.
Personally, Ranger didn't care whether people knew what he'd been up to. He only worried about keeping Stephanie out of the official court records. She would be beyond mortified. The gossip mill would go crazy and they would eviscerate her. Her reputation might never recover.
Jeff raised his hand. "Sorry guys. It's not that straightforward."
Shit. Ranger leaned back in his chair. "Explain."
"The thing to understand is that you've already been arrested. That's the second step of eight in the criminal defense process. If they'd gotten that information during the first step, investigation, then maybe you wouldn't have been charged. But now that you have been, we have to follow the steps.
"The next one, step 3, is your initial appearance in court this afternoon for the arraignment and bond hearing. The court lists the charges, verifies that you are the person being charged, asks for your plea, and sets bail. We cannot bring up this information directly to the court at this time. We can certainly start supplying it to the prosecutor. However, it won't be until we start the fourth phase, the pretrial hearings and plea bargaining, that we can start to ask for charges to be dropped in light of the evidence.
"And we still have to look at the quality of the evidence. How will it hold up? The time difference - maybe the person filming had the time set wrong on their device. The phone purchase - just because Sweats didn't purchase it, doesn't mean he wasn't the one using it. When you guys replace your phones, do you buy them? Or does one of your employees pick them up? The story that Chad guy told? Prosecutor will have a field day picking him apart on the stand. He's an addict, leads a transient lifestyle, and hangs out with people who tell stories in exchange for money.
Jeff looked at Lester. "Don't get me wrong – it's good stuff. There's a lot there, a preponderance of evidence as they say, and I'm impressed at how quickly you got it. But Ranger's not walking out with us today."
"What if," Lester asked slowly, "he had someone to vouch –"
"No." Ranger shook his head, his temper rising.
"– for his whereabouts at –"
"Do not bring her into it." Ranger stood. "I'm warning you."
"– the time of the murder?"
"¡Cállate!" He yelled, slamming his free hand on the table.
Lester glared at him, stubbornness set in every line of his face. Jeff's eyebrows climbed up his forehead as he looked from one to the other. For a few moments there was no sound, no movement. Then the door cracked open and Eddie poked his head in.
"Um, guys? Is everything okay?"
Neither Ranger nor Lester moved but continued staring at each other.
Jeff gestured to Eddie. "Just a disagreement on whose mama is the better cook."
Eddie hesitated but left, shutting the door.
Lester spoke in a low voice. "Carlos, you know she'd do it for you."
"And that's why I won't ask her to." He felt weary and dropped back into his chair. "Have you thought about what it would do to her? The Burg would rip her to shreds and that's before the prosecutor gets hold of her. I can't do that to her. I won't."
"How about," said Jeff, "we save whatever that is for later? Let's go with what we have now, and keep this as backup?"
Both Ranger and Lester nodded in agreement.
"Okay," Jeff continued, "now about today's arraignment …"
~ ~ continued ~ ~
Author's note
There really is a Medium Chad. Years ago I had a neighbor who had three boys in elementary school. The kids often had friends over and some of those friends had similar names. So when I was treated to stories of what the kids were doing, to keep straight who they were talking about, they'd say "K Kolby" or "C Colby" or Big Chad and Little Chad. Then one day, there were three kids in the yard named Chad and Medium Chad entered the lexicon.
