Chapter 4

– Stephanie – Day 1 evening Wednesday

Stephanie arrived at her parents at 5:58 p.m. Plenty of time to eat before escorting Grandma Mazur to the viewing . Dinner was pot roast with all the trimmings. Not only did Stephanie get a doggie bag of leftovers, but her mom didn't criticize her once during the meal. Not for her job, not for who she was or wasn't dating, not for associating with Ranger and Rangeman, not for anything. Not even about Joe and – well, nevermind. She didn't want to think about that, though she was sure it had to have hit the gossip mill by now. Whatever. The point was, the lack of criticism made the food taste even better.

The viewing at the funeral home went well. The flowers were plentiful as were the cookies, so it started on a high note. There was quite a crowd inside when they arrived and Grandma was greeted with "Edna! Over here!" from more than one group.

The memorial card was unlike any Stephanie had seen before. On one side was an image of the Blessed Mother overlain with the words of the Hail Mary. On the other side was a picture of the deceased, a candid snap taken in a bingo hall many years ago. He was surrounded by bingo cards, dabbers, and a handful of smiling friends. The biggest smile was the one that lit up his face.

Until that moment, Stephanie had had no idea that it was possible to get custom decorated caskets so Mr. Ferignat's artfully airbrushed bingo-themed one was quite an eye opener. Even better, the lid was up, displaying the deceased for all to see, which kept Grandma Mazur out of mischief. Instead, she mingled with the rest of the mourners as they exchanged stories, laughed, cried, and relived fond memories of Raymond Ferignat, Bingo Enthusiast. It was the happiest viewing Stephanie had ever been to.

With Grandma behaving herself, Stephanie had nothing else to keep her mind occupied. Naturally, her thoughts turned to Ranger. Or should she start calling him Carlos when it was just them? She'd heard Lester calling him Carlos when it was just the two of them or them plus Tank and Bobby when the talk turned personal. Maybe that was one of the things they needed to discuss?

Several times during the evening, she found her cell phone in her hand. She kept wanting to call Ranger and apparently her subconscious was happy to oblige. Stephanie had surprised herself by resisting the impulse. Calling him just to say hi and hear his voice seemed too high school especially in light of the way he wanted to start off with a discussion, like responsible adults.

Leaving the viewing was like leaving a dinner party – lots of hugs with a round of cheerful farewells. Grandma's buoyant spirits were evident as they walked out to the car. Apparently Ray's arrangements had sparked something for her because the entire ride home, she talked about what she wanted at her viewing, including leopard print satin lining the casket.

"And I want one of those retrospective videos but not boring stuff that almost everyone does like going to school or getting married. I want newspaper clippings from when I helped solve that case with the gun runners."

Startled, Stephanie nearly missed the turn for her family's street. "You burned down the funeral home! Mom's phone was ringing off the hook for days with that."

"And my career as a singer in Sally Sweet's hot rock band. Or when I helped catch Uncle Sunny the serial killer."

"You were naked in bed with him!" Stephanie exclaimed. "You were almost his next victim! Are you sure you want incidents like that to be what everyone thinks about at your funeral? The gossip mill went into overdrive with each one."

Grandma made a rude noise and waved her hand dismissively. "Gossip just means that you've done something interesting that most people don't get to do. Most people gossip because they're jealous. They know they'll never be anything but boring. Gossip is nothing to be afraid of. It means you're memorable. Besides, eventually it all dies down. That's why I need to remind everyone at my viewing."

Stephanie couldn't say she agreed but it was Grandma's funeral to plan as she pleased. Grandma chattered on until they got to the Plum residence. She dropped Grandma off at the curb, watching to be sure she made it safely inside, then motored on home.

Stephanie thought once more about calling Ranger as she turned in for the night. Her finger was poised over the phone that was cradled in her other hand, ready to connect. It was more difficult this time but she managed to put the phone down.

Wasn't impulse control a sign of maturity? Most of the time she didn't feel like a grownup but this seemed like a step in the right direction. Plus, she had successfully chaperoned Grandma Mazur with no shenanigans to hit the Burg and upset her mother. Best of all, she had returned home in the same state as when she left it. No rips, no tears, or other wardrobe malfunctions. No sauce, no garbage, no slime, or other grossness in her hair or on her person. No bumps, no bruises, no scrapes, no cuts.

Maybe there was something to be said for behaving like an adult.

– Ranger – Day 2 - mid-morning Thursday

Ranger had spent the rest of Wednesday with his attention split in two. Every time he found himself alone in his office, thoughts of Stephanie and their Someday kept crowding in. Someday wasn't just on the horizon, it was imminent, but it couldn't really start until they talked. He wanted it so badly that every minute – no, every second – of delay ate at him. Impatience had crackled like electricity across his skin and he couldn't settle down. Budgets, spreadsheets, customer contract reviews – nothing held his attention so nothing got done. Somewhere around 15:30 he gave up and headed to the gym, hoping to burn off enough energy to settle down.

The strategy had mostly worked. He felt calmer as he returned to his apartment on the seventh floor. Even so, several times, he found his hand reaching for his phone and had to pull it back. Calling her just to hear her voice and to get a jump on the conversation he wanted was needy and, frankly, kind of juvenile if not downright pathetic. It was definitely not the kind of thing a Special Forces Badass would do. Besides, she was with her scary grandmother and likely had her hands full.

He had slept fitfully but at least when Ranger woke he was himself again. Cool. Collected. Focused. The takedown Thursday morning went fairly smoothly.

Carson Renquist had been arrested for a series of increasingly violent date rapes. He was a good looking, upper middle class executive, with a big house, fancy car, and a completely unmerited superiority complex. He thought women should be grateful for his attention. And if they weren't, well, that's what the drugs were for. Or, with increasing frequency, his fists. Renquist was the kind of guy who assumed that anything he did was okay because he was the one doing it.

Getting arrested had annoyed Renquist because it was so obviously a mistake. He certainly wasn't going to participate in this farce by showing up at court. He did, however, take the precaution of hiding out at the house of an old college buddy in Piscataway until – as he put it – "this unpleasantness blows over."

Like most bullies, when faced with a formidable opponent, Renquist put up no resistance, disappointing Cal and Vince who had been hoping to give him a glimpse of what unpleasantness really was. Then again, based on his reaction to Tank and Cal, he'd learned what it was like to be terrified and helpless.

For Ranger and his team, it was captures like this that made the long hours and hard work worthwhile. He only hoped that the courts would serve up justice for the victims.

After the capture, Cal and Tank dragged Renquist, hands cuffed behind him, to one of the SUVs. Cal got in the back with Renquist, locking the skip in place with the shackle bolts. Once the prisoner was secured, Cal buckled himself into the front passenger seat. Ranger got behind the wheel for the drive to Trenton Police Department. Tank and Vince would take the other SUV back to Rangeman.

With Tank gone and Cal seemingly out of reach in the front seat, Renquist's cocky attitude returned. He mouthed off about his rights and the violation thereof and how many millions of dollars his lawyer would get when he sued Rangeman corporation and everyone at the takedown personally. Growling and cracking his knuckles, Cal put on his best Wild Berserker face and turned to stare at their passenger. The silence was immediate.

Ranger had to work to keep a smile from showing through. All of the men had their preferred non-violent method of subduing the perps they encountered, but Cal's was the most fun to watch. Tall, broad, and muscular with that flaming skull tattooed in the middle of his forehead, he was already physically imposing enough to stop most people in their tracks. For those that insisted on acting up, the Wild Berserker came out to play. Results were usually instantaneous and often amusing.

Piscataway to Trenton was about a 45 minute drive and Ranger spent that time thinking about the meeting he'd missed with Sweats. It shouldn't take long to turn over this skip and get the body receipt then Ranger and Cal would head straight back to Haywood. Lester and Hector should have some preliminary information, though Ranger expected very little to have come their way in the eleven hours since the shooting. Mostly, he expected to hear what areas of inquiry they would begin with and why.

All those police and courtroom dramas on television made a criminal investigation look quick and easy when in reality it was neither. Crystal clear video, coherent witnesses, suspect clearly defined by conclusive motive and opportunity, all coming forth within hours of a crime? That was pure fiction, doubly so when the victim was someone on society's fringes like Sweats who was frequently homeless, usually unemployed, and a chronic alcoholic.

Investigations took time. Waiting for updated police and ambulance reports; knocking on door after door in the neighborhood and interviewing anyone who responded; contacting informants to get the word from the street then sifting those scraps for truth; searching for CCTV cameras and then getting hold of hours of footage for painstaking reviewing; waiting days, weeks, or months for DNA and fingerprint results. Granted, Ranger's men could work faster since they weren't hampered by the need for warrants and subpoenas. People were also more likely to talk to them than to the cops. But it was still time consuming.

Ranger pulled into the parking lot by the side entrance to the Trenton Police Department. Ironically, Renquist must have felt safer with police only yards away and resumed his diatribe. Cal hopped out of the vehicle and whipped the rear door open fast enough to startle Renquist. Climbing into the back, he loomed over the skip, upper lip raised the way a dog would to bare its fangs, and growled again. Renquist shut up. Cal released the restraints keeping him in the seat. The cuffs wouldn't come off until he was remanded into police custody.

Cal gripped Renquist by the upper arm both to guide him through the parking lot into the station house and to keep him from falling. With his hands cuffed behind his back, Renquist wouldn't be able to catch himself, smashing face first into asphalt or concrete. While that occasionally happened to deserving perps, it was certainly not going to happen as they walked up the three steps into the police station. Ranger moved ahead of them, holding the door open as they entered.

The building had recently been renovated to add safety features which they were all getting used to. This area had changed the most. Instead of opening straight into the main room as it did before, the side door opened into a large vestibule. Directly ahead was a reception desk although technically, it was a high counter. A thick layer of bullet resistant plexiglass ran from the countertop to the ceiling just like a teller counter at a bank. There were two doors with electronic locks, one to either side of it. One door led to the cells. The other led into the main section of the station which was visible behind the counter through the plexiglass.

As they stepped up to the window, Ranger caught an undercurrent of tension in the employee manning the desk. There were lines on her face and gray in her hair. The polo shirt she wore indicated that she was one of the civilian employees. It was good that she was behind the barrier because she clearly wasn't physically capable of subduing any out of control subjects. She didn't say anything, but let him state his business, looked at the bond papers for Renquist, and buzzed the three of them in.

The tension was more prominent in the main room. From the way Cal closed up behind him, Ranger knew he could feel it too. Scanning the room as he strolled across it, he headed for booking. Fleeting side-glances in their direction from faces that were turned away were coupled with a murmurous undertone as if a roomful of people suddenly began whispering. Shit. This vibe was reminiscent of the one he'd get on a mission when he wasn't sure if his cover had been blown.

Renquist was a high-bond skip and the crimes for which he'd been arrested were despicable. But if it was his appearance here at Trenton PD that had their attention, the cops would be direct. They'd seize the opportunity for a good stare-down and a snide remark or three. They'd make sure the perp knew how low their opinion of him was. Take him down a peg. They'd be obvious about it. Then Ranger saw a cop sitting at a desk at the far end of the room staring at him – not Renquist, not Cal – desk phone pressed to his ear, nodding and speaking rapidly.

What the fuck was going on?

Robin Russell was at the booking desk. Ranger liked working with her. She was the right mix of friendly and professional. She never made any of the come-ons that other women did, never indicated that she'd be game for anything outside of business and he appreciated that. Today, however, she was staring at him but not in a good way. Her eyes were wide and her lips pressed together. She seemed nervous.

He held out the bond papers and it took a moment for her to glance down at them. She took the papers and began the data entry. Her fingers looked a little shaky.

Smiling, Cal greeted her. "Hey, Robin. Got cuffs I can switch out ours with?"

She didn't have her usual return smile for Cal but she did hand over cuffs. Cal took his pair off Renquist then cuffed him to the bar installed specifically for this purpose at the desk.

As Robin handed the body receipt to Ranger a hush fell over the room. A voice he didn't recognize called his name. His full name.

"Ricardo Carlos Manoso."

Ranger turned to see a man in a rumpled brown suit jacket with black pants, black shoes and a white shirt. Based on the lumps under his ill-fitting clothes, he was probably carrying a 9 mm pistol in a shoulder rig under the left arm with a smaller backup gun on the right ankle. He looked to be in his mid 40s with watery blue eyes and light brown hair getting sparse on top but the rest of which could use a trim. He was a couple of inches shorter than Ranger and was sprouting a small paunch. He must be the newly transferred Detective they'd heard about.

Ranger raised one eyebrow and waited as the man headed over to him. He had the swagger of a weak man who misused his authority in petty ways to make himself feel powerful. In the background, Ranger saw Detective Joe Morelli come out of the hallway leading to the offices. He had his cop face in place.

Morelli was the total opposite of the new guy. Over six feet tall, with olive skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes thanks to his Italian genes, Morelli was in his usual dark blue jeans, long sleeved shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and black boots. He had the build of a man who got his workout playing ball with his nieces and nephews or helping his brother renovate the garage or build a playhouse. He needed to ease up on the beer and pizza though, because his jaw line wasn't as sharp anymore and Ranger could see where he'd recently started buckling his belt one hole over from where he used to.

He was a good cop and Ranger respected him as he would any veteran who served honorably. He and Morelli used to have a better working relationship before Stephanie came between them but they'd never had a good relationship. Morelli was used to being the big fish in the little pond of Chambersburg. His family had lived there for generations and his stint in the navy and status as a cop got him many accolades. Hailed from an early age as a Hometown Hero, the Burg mamas and their daughters considered him a highly eligible bachelor and longed to catch him.

Then Ranger and his men came along. Maybe Morelli reevaluated his time as a Naval Petty Officer and his career in law enforcement in comparison to a building full of former Special Forces security experts who were routinely contracted by the government to take on jobs the cops couldn't handle. Ranger wasn't sure if it was jealousy or insecurity or both, but suddenly Morelli started puffing himself up by putting down Ranger and his men. It pissed him off, but he wasn't going to get dragged into a mud slinging contest so he ignored the jibes and ordered his men to do so as well.

The new guy stopped a good five feet from Ranger. There was a malicious gleam in his eye that put Ranger on edge. The man didn't introduce himself but spoke loudly enough for the whole room to hear.

"Well? You are Ricardo Carlos Manoso aren't you?" His tone was condescending, his lips pulled into a sneer. He waited for Ranger's nod before continuing. "You are wanted for questioning as a person of interest in the murder of Vernell "Sweats" Robertson."

And there it was. He'd been trying to decide if the attack on Sweats was random, was meant to kill both Sweats and him, or was part of a bigger plot of some kind. This guy's attitude, his putting on a show for the entire cop shop, Ranger being named as a person of interest scant hours after the murder of a fringe-dweller – all that pointed to a set-up for murder.

Ranger turned to Cal. "Call Tank. Have him send the lawyer."

"On it, boss."

As he spoke, Ranger surreptitiously handed his phone to Cal who slid it into his cargo pocket as he pulled his own phone out. While it was supposed to take a subpoena before the cops could get into a phone, Ranger didn't want them to be tempted. The programs on there would brick it if anyone tried to access it so he knew the information on it would remain confidential. While Rangeman did have secure backups on a very encrypted server, it was a pain to have to get a new phone. He'd rather save himself the trouble and the cops the embarrassment.

Ranger noted the faintest hint of amusement in Morelli's face and knew he must have seen the phone handoff. Yet he said nothing. Why? Ranger would have thought he'd jump at the chance to see what was on it whether it was to catch Ranger in the midst of nefarious deeds or to see exactly what went on between him and Stephanie.

When Moreill did speak up, it was about something entirely different.

"Ranger Manoso, meet Detective David Simpkins." Morelli gestured from one to the other. "Detective Simpkins transferred in from Newark two weeks ago."

Simpkins frowned at Morelli, as if unhappy about the information being shared. Morelli ignored him and continued.

"Detective Simpkins will conduct this interview strictly by the book." Ostensibly, Morelli was addressing Ranger, but it sounded as if his words were meant as a warning to Simpkins and information for Cal to pass along. "You will not be questioned without your lawyer present. You can wait for him in interview room 2. Simpkins and I will escort you there."

Ranger tipped up the corners of his mouth in a fake smile. "Why, Morelli. Such adherence to procedure. I didn't know you cared."

Morelli snorted. "I don't. But whatever happens, I don't want … "

He paused and Ranger could see his mouth beginning to make the shape for the word 'you' then changed it.

"... the killer to get off on a technicality."

Interesting. And somehow it didn't come across to Ranger as if that was what was going on here. If he could draw out Morelli a little more, maybe he'd hear a better motive for this rigid following of the rules.

"At least you didn't assume that I did it. I'm touched, Morelli. Truly." There. Dry sarcasm with an expert level of deadpan delivery so that it went over most people's heads should get him a reply from Morelli, yet could not be used against him later.

Morelli looked at him assessingly then flicked his eyes to Cal for a second. "I may not like your methods, but you're not stupid or sloppy. This was both."

Ranger nodded. Morelli, of all people, was letting him know what little he could within the bounds of the law. And he was doing it in the middle of the cop shop with everyone watching and where Cal could hear and pass it along. Maybe something had happened that was already public knowledge. Ranger wouldn't be able to find out while he was in here, but Cal could. Or Cal could take word back to Lester and Hector who would find it.

However it went down, Ranger was in for a long, tedious afternoon. Simpkins pointed to the hall door and he, Ranger, and Morelli headed off to interview room 2.

– Lester – Day 2 – afternoon Thursday

Tank's office wasn't as big as Ranger's but it would do. Lester and Hector were in the two chairs in front of his desk. Cal, apparently too keyed up to sit, stood by the side of the desk, letting the extra chair languish in the corner. Originally, Lester was going to hold this meeting in Ranger's office, with Ranger and Tank the audience to Lester and Hector's executive summary.

It was going to be a preliminary report. No need yet for written documents with charts and graphs for powerpoint presentations and such because they didn't have enough information for that. He and Hector had only just gotten started with the investigation. They'd done an assessment of the types of data available, the amount of each, the difficulties inherent in gathering that data type, and a recommendation of what avenue was best explored first given the available time and talent. That's all this was supposed to be.

Instead, an urgent call had come in from Cal who'd just hung up with Rangeman's lawyer, Jeffery Dinsmore. The fact that Ranger had been taken in for questioning hours after the killing of a low-level informant like Sweats was unheard of. Well, unheard of in the real world. It happened all the time on police and courtroom television dramas which sometimes made Lester a little crazy when he watched those shows since he knew better.

Once Cal got the bare bones of the story out of the way, they went back over some of the details such as the information about the new detective. Tank leaned back in his chair, letting Lester take charge. Hector had gotten a ping on his phone that was apparently important enough to get him scrolling and tapping on his phone. He even put one earbud in. Lester left him alone. Hector worked best when he was given an objective and was allowed to meet it as he saw fit.

"And Morelli gave you all that information?" asked Lester. When Cal nodded, he added, "and he told the new guy to make it by the book and told you which room Ranger would be in?"

Cal nodded again. "Yeah, it was kind of odd. Then he made that comment about getting off on a technicality. Oh!" Cal snapped his fingers. "Before they left, Morelli said something about how Ranger couldn't have done it because whoever did was stupid and sloppy."

"Huh." Lester sat back trying to make sense of that. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? 'You probably didn't do it' should be a good thing to hear but the implication was 'You're too proficient at killing to be caught' which, at best, was a backhanded compliment.

Next to him, Hector cursed and pulled out the earbud. "I know what he meant." He pointed his chin at Tank. "Mira. Give me your keyboard."

Tank signed into his computer to make it accessible then handed over the wireless keyboard. He shifted the monitor around as the rest of them crowded forward.

Hector brought up a video sharing site, clicked a link, and a video started. The title in all caps was "MANOSO THE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN. TRENTON BEWARE!"

The video had that low-quality handheld cell phone look where the image isn't always centered. The video was shot outside at night time. About thirty feet from the camera there was one person, probably male. He was in frame facing the camera, dimly lit from the street lamps in the distance. From the mix of hard packed dirt and rocks he stood on, to the bagged material piled next to a brick wall, the location shouted materials yard.

The person in the frame moved enough for light to fall on their face. It was Sweats. He was in dark pants, probably jeans, dark sneakers, and a pale t-shirt with a rock band logo. There was a scuffling noise out of frame and Sweats turned slightly to face it.

Someone roughly Ranger's height and build stepped into view. Filmed from behind so the face was never on camera, the man wore a polo shirt, cargo pants, and boots all dark enough to be black. He had a black ball cap pulled down, obscuring his face from Sweats.

As the man approached Sweats he said something too low for the cell phone to catch. In reply Sweats said very clearly "Manoso." The man in black pulled out a gun and shot Sweats twice in the face. Sweats dropped where he stood, falling backward to drape across the bags of material. He'd done nothing to provoke the attack or to defend himself from it.

At that point the image dropped to show the hard packed lot with the image wobbling wildly before the video abruptly cut off.

Lester started cursing as did Cal. Tank held up a hand for silence.

"So," said Tank, "the meet was a set-up. Whether Sweats was also targeted or just the victim, remains to be seen. This was definitely meant to target Ranger, but not to take him out cleanly. It's meant to discredit and destroy him."

"Check the hashtags," said Hector. "Whoever posted this tagged Ranger by his nickname and his full name, tagged Rangeman, the City of Trenton, AND the Trenton Police Department."

Lester was angry that someone would come after his cousin like this, with manufactured lies. He was also afraid that it might work. Afraid that the weight of the video added to the text messages on Sweats phone from Ranger discussing the meeting at that time and place would be enough to convince a jury of his guilt.

Fuck that. Lester would make sure it didn't happen. In fact, he already knew at least one way to prove this was bogus.

"Time stamp on that video was 11:31 p.m. to 11:32 p.m. Hector, what time was the 911 call for shots fired?"

"11:25 p.m." Hector had the files up on his phone. "Which we now know was six minutes before the shooting. And guess what the caller gave as their address? 41 Norman Street."

"That's the abandoned house in the center of the materials yard, isn't it?" asked Cal. "It's directly opposite the Mellon Street side where Sweats was waiting for Ranger?"

"It is indeed," Lester confirmed. "Cal, get with Silvio. His top priority as of now is a full, deep-background search on Detective Simpkins from Newark. I want finances, family, IAD files if he can get them. If he can't get into the cop's Internal Affairs files, have him get with Hector.

"My gut tells me that this is related to taking out Player last year so I'm going to look at his known associates on file. See if I can find someone loyal who could pass for Ranger in low light at night from a distance. Cal, have Silvio pull searches on Player and on Sweats too. I want to see what they've been up to lately, update their files.

"Hector, see what metadata or other info you can pull from that video. Maybe we can find out who posted it. Everybody keep me informed at every step. You learn something, you pass it on. I'll keep Tank and Ranger in the loop. Understood?"

There were murmurs of assent from Cal and Hector. Without further discussion, each headed out on his assignment.

~ ~ continued ~ ~