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The sign of intelligence is that you are constantly wondering.
Idiots are always dead sure about every damn
thing they are doing in their life.
Jaggi Vasudev
Em glanced at Doug before clicking her microphone. “Is everyone ready?”
“We’ve established a perimeter, but like you suggested, we’re keeping our distance so the suspects won’t spot us. My partner and I are at either end of the block.”
“We’ve got the back of the house covered. We’re sitting three houses back.”
“This is Thomas in your alternate car; I’m by the side of the road a block away.”
Satisfied, Em touched her earpiece. “Mike, we’re set. How are you?”
“Another second ... OK, we’ve given the all-clear, Roger’s making the call.”
“Are you sure he won’t warn the suspect off?”
“No, we’ve got a plain-clothed officer babysitting him. We aren’t recording it, but Roger’s aware he’ll be in a world of hurt if he screws this up. If so, we’ll leak what he did to the press. No one would trust him as a journalist again. Not only would he be abandoning his ideals, but he’d betray both his source and us to benefit someone of questionable intent. The cost is too high for him to play games.”
“You realize, we’ll have to lie during the trial about how we discovered him.”
Mike sighed. “Yeah, that bugs me, but considering what’s at stake, and how everyone comes off looking better, I’m not overly worried. However, if anyone admits what we did, everything falls apart.”
Em glanced at the house. “You realize this would be easier if we just tapped his phone.”
“It would, but it’s riskier. If we went for the wiretap, the defense team would immediately question our authority to tape innocent third parties. The entire case would be tossed. It would also be difficult sweet-talking a judge into it. However, we have the next best thing. We’re tracking the phones in his house, both his house phone and his mobile. We won’t know what’s said, but we’ll track who he calls and where they are.”
Em leaned back in her seat, her arm resting on the console. “You’re the boss.” She monitored the front of the building as the team waited. They weren’t even sure anyone was home. The lights were on and music was playing, but they hadn’t observed movement inside the house.
Doug grunted beside her, sipping his coffee, not speaking until he put it down. “This is likely to take a while. They’ll argue over the phone about why Roger won’t defend him, and he’ll rant and rave. After that, he’ll run around the house, trying to figure out what to do. Once he calms down, he’ll formulate a plan. If we’re lucky, he’ll take a drink or two to relax. When he devises a strategy, he’ll make the call. After he informs his connection, he’ll dig the evidence out of wherever it’s hidden and bundle it up. We won’t see his furry little face for at least another hour.”
She patted the folded paper next to her. “That’s why I brought today’s New York Times crossword. It takes me hours before I give up and start entering nonsense.”
Doug rearranged himself in the passenger seat, leaning against the door and resting his upper thigh on the console his partner abandoned. “So how’d your date with a commissioner’s gal pal go?”
Em frowned. “It wasn’t a date.”
“But you were pretending it was, so you were both openly flirting. She’s certainly attractive. You put all the elements together and the gears start turning on their own.”
“There are no cogs cranking here. My love life doesn’t run on city time. I keep it strictly personal. You straights might be able to chase coworkers and get away with it. If a lesbian does, everyone talks and shakes their heads. Once that happened, they’ll assume I slept my way to the top. They’ll resent me for having the same advantages everyone else uses. It’s just not worth it.”
Doug brandished his cup, making a point. “You already have an edge, being the commissioner’s trusted go-to source.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t buy the position with sexual favors. He chose me because he trusts me to dig for the right answers.”
“Or he suspects you’re easy to manipulate. Say by insinuating that, as a woman, you’re liable to act a certain way. Knowing you, that’s guaranteed to make you do the exact opposite. You think you’re clever, but sometimes you’re quite predictable.”
Em lifted her cup. “You can only deal with what you’re aware of. I do the best I can. If I’ve got holes in my armor I can’t stop critters from digging under my skin.”
Doug raised his own mug in a return toast. “Spoken like someone who’s scratched many an itch.”
“Call’s made,” Mike’s voice announced in both their ears. Neither bothered to acknowledge it.
“So how’d the date go?” Doug pressed.
“Damn, I was hoping you’d forget the question.”
“That’s why I make a good detective. I’m bull-headed and persistent. You might as well answer. You know I won’t quit until you do.”
Em shrugged. “We were putting on a play, but she was quick and the flirting seemed real enough. She thinks fast and makes direct eye contact. As you said, she’s cute as a button.”
“Don’t get me started on button analogies. You know where I’ll take it.”
“Point taken,” she acknowledged. “Still, as interesting as she is, we’re two different beasts. She’s a girlie-girl while I’m a tom boy.”
“A lipstick lesbian and a butch dyke,” Doug offered.
Em frowned but nodded. “We don’t appreciate those terms, but we’re in separate worlds and mindsets. She’s into dress-up. I’m into physical activity and winning.”
“Don’t discount her competitive drive. If she suspects you’re worth the effort, she may give a good chase.”
Growing bored, Em picked up the newspaper and pulled the pen from behind her ear. “She might, but it doesn’t mean I’ll be receptive. The heart wants what it wants.”
“Ah, but remember the old saying, opposites attract. Take us. We’re as dissimilar as we can get. A diminutive Chinese-American married to a Puerto-Rican and a lesbian who could out wrestle me without breaking a sweat. Yet we make perfect partners.”
“Look who’s talking. You’re about the least stereotypical Asian I’ve met. You have no accent, you don’t defer and you can bully a perp with the best of ‘em.”
Doug laughed. “Yeah, but you should see me around my family. I’m completely different.”
Em turned and studied him. “I don’t buy that for a minute. We each play the tasks we’re assigned, but we also internalize those roles. If we’re the youngest, we become spoiled just to fit everyone’s expectations. It’s easier fitting in. Everyone adapts to individual social settings, but you can’t change that much.”
She took a sip of coffee. “Except for con-men. In their case, their portrayal is the con, thus they’re always playing that part. That’s why they blend into each character they play. They’re not acting a role. They’ve become the con-man, even when they’re with family, lovers or fellow criminals.”
“Besides, if you were perfect, you wouldn’t pester me with this inane chit-chat.”
“Hey, what else are we going to do waiting for the rats to flee their nest?”
Em held her paper aloft. “Finish my crossword?”
Doug laughed. “And how many of those have you finished in all these years? You put in a valiant effort, but you don’t have the spare time they require.”
“We’ve got a lead on the suspect’s outgoing phone call,” Mike reported. “It was never answered. It rang five times before he hung up.”
Em touched her ear again. “Did we trace it to a location?”
“They’re working on it. We have a number, but it’s a burner phone, where the owner buys a preset number of minutes.”
“Figures, that’s what I would have done.”
“That’s what any officer would do,” Doug said. She shot him a scowl, but he ignored it.
“Ah, we’re getting the location from the cell towers. Dang! It’s in Washington. Since it’s out of state, it’s taking longer to access the information. Wait a minute while they zero in.”
Em tossed her crossword on the seat by Doug’s leg. There was no way she could concentrate on it now. Doug tapped the side of his cup while his partner gritted her teeth and glared at him again.
“They’re triangulating the signal. It’s moving, it’s clearly a mobile phone. It’s heading away from Dulles Airport towards the city. Given the time of day and length of time the call lasted, we can’t pinpoint a particular car. Even if we can get decent video footage, it might be any of a hundred different cars.”
Em sighed, banging her head on the steering wheel before lifting it again. “Well, at least we can compare people’s schedules once we have a suspect. Knowing they traveled to D.C. today will confirm our suspicions.”
“It won’t hold up in court,” Doug reminded her. A sharp pain shot through Em’s temple as she turned to stare at her partner. The combination of tension and the boredom of long stakeouts made her TMJ worse.
“We’ve got an ID from the phone,” Mike announced. “The account holder’s name is Daniel Mathews. We don’t have any intel on him, though.”
“Good to know, it helps break up the long wait,” Em said.
“Alright, back to your non-date.”
Em sighed, but faced him again. “You’re right. There’s a little of that in play. We accept the roles we’re dealt. We often accept traditional roles. It’s easier that way. If we know what we’re supposed to do, we can leave half the tasks to the other person and concentrate on a specific set of guidelines. What’s more, we assume the parts we’re comfortable with. I’m always the lead in my relationships. But, those performances only go so far. I’m not about to spend hours shopping for makeup or getting pedicures. I’ll put up with it for a while when dating, but I can’t sustain interest on a long-term basis. No, in this case, you can’t build a bridge across such a wide span.”
“Well, that’s too—” Doug bolted upright. “The door’s opening.”
A man, presumably Daniel Mathews, walked out carrying a large flat screen. It was awkward enough he had to tread carefully. He was in such a hurry he took fast short steps, looking like a penguin. Doug laughed, but Em’s glare shut him up.
Mathews struggled to hold the monitor under one arm, eventually unlocking the trunk. He was skinny—almost rail thin—with the pallor of someone who spends all his time indoors. He emptied the contents of the trunk beside the car, mostly stained boxes of assorted junk and loose papers with little apparent worth. He stored the display inside before locking it again, and then rushed back in the house.
“Someone seems to be in a hurry.” Doug glanced at his watch. “Yep, he’s close to my schedule. He’s getting rid of the incriminating evidence before we can get the search warrant signed by a judge. This should unfold quickly.”
Em grunted, not disagreeing with her partner’s summation.
The door opened a couple minutes later and Mathews exited, carrying a large desktop computer and a heavily-laden bag. “That’s the laptops and hard drives,” Doug observed.
His partner snickered. “And every dead electronic device the Adams’ had lying around the house.”
Mathews waddled to his car, dumped the gear on the ground and opened his trunk.
Em clicked her handset. “Suspect has the goods, everyone prepare to move.” She touched the microphone in her ear. “Commissioner, he’s ready to run. We’ll follow him to his contact. Since he thinks he’s ahead of us, he’s unlikely to be too paranoid yet.”
Mike grunted over the line. “Except he already tried calling him and he’s out of town.”
“Still, we may get lucky. Hopefully, he’ll either take it to the contact’s location or store it with a third party, implicating them as well.”
“Well, whatever you do, don’t let him slip away. This is the first solid lead we’ve had. If this falls into place, we could wrap up the entire criminal enterprise in one fell swoop.”
“Now who’s being overly optimistic?”
Doug nudged Em’s arm. “Get ready, he’s getting in his car.”
“I’ll keep you apprised of what happens. We’re moving.”
Mathews’ car edged forward. He waited for a car to pass and pulled out, turning left.
“Car two, he’s heading east. You’ll need to circle the block and catch up. We’ll maintain a running tally of where we are.”
“Don’t sweat it. We’ve done this before. Just keep a loose tail on him. When the traffic slacks off enough that he may notice, we’ll take over.”
The suspect’s car reached the end of the block before Em eased out, following a good seven car lengths behind.
Doug nodded. “Good, don’t indicate we were at his house.”
“Hey, don’t forget, I’m the better driver. If you were driving, you’d be jerking all over the road.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a New Yorker. I’ve never had to drive much. I can reach my family in Chinatown with a cab so I don’t get much practice. Just don’t comment on me driving like a Chinaman.”
“Hey, you said it, I didn’t,” Em reminded him.
They drove several minutes before Mathews put on his blinker. Doug grabbed the microphone. “Suspect turning southwest on Third Avenue.”
“Got it,” the other car responded. “We’re paralleling you on Eighty-Second Street. We’ll come in behind you so we can relieve you when necessary.”
Em turned, allowing a couple cars to slip between them as they followed. Traffic was slow, so there was little chance of Mathews slipping away.
“Turning left on Eighty-Fifth Street,” Doug announced as they turned again.
Em glanced at the traffic ahead. “He’s not heading for the expressway; otherwise he’d be going south. He may be aiming for Dyker Heights or Bensonhurst.”
“Or he’ll stop somewhere along the way. There’s no sense guessing where we’ll end up until we get there.”
As Mathews turned again, Em pointed where he was heading. “Nope, he’s going left, driving towards the Gowanus.”
“We’ll see,” Doug said as he relayed the information.
They crossed over route 278, but instead of turning on the entrance ramp, the suspect went northwest on Fort Hamilton Parkway. He only drove a couple blocks when he signaled a turn.
“Suspect turning left on Seventy-Fourth heading east. There’s too little traffic for us to follow unnoticed. If you take the lead, we’ll circle and provide back up.”
“Think he’s going to someone’s house in Bay Ridge?” Em asked as she turned on 73rd to parallel Mathews.
“Either that or he spotted your impeccable driving and figured something’s up. He may be trying to ditch us.”
The radio crackled with a response. “Suspect pulling into the ... Saint Ephrem’s parking lot.”
“What the hell? What is he doing at a Catholic high school?” Em gunned the engine, turning onto 10th Avenue to backtrack.
“Should we follow?” the cops in the other car inquired.
“If it’s a through street, then yes, otherwise, he’s likely meeting someone,” Doug cautioned. “Don’t crowd him. We’ll be there in a second. Between us, we’ll corner ‘em.”
Making another turn on 74th, Em parked near where the other officer’s vehicle was sitting. Edging to the side of the road, they jumped out of the car. Seeing them disembark, the other cop got out to support his partner, currently monitoring the parking lot.
“Where is he?”
“I can’t see him. He must be transferring the goods.”
“Probably passing them to someone else.” Doug pulled his gun. “We better move.”
The officer held his hand up. “No, he left his trunk ajar. He’s coming back.”
“He has several loads, it’ll take a few trips to transport everything,” Em agreed. She motioned positions for everyone and they moved into place.
Minutes later, Mathews returned. He went to his open trunk and pulled out a red metal container.
“That’s a gas can,” Doug whispered into his radio.
“Think he’s refueling another vehicle?”
Em leapt up, withdrawing her Glock and rushing the scene. “No, he’s planning to burn the evidence!”
The others followed, but Em was well ahead. As she rounded the corner, she witnessed Mathews unscrewing the cap on the five-gallon gas can. She raised her pistol. “Freeze, you’re under arrest!”
He glanced up before leaping to his feet, carrying the open container to the nearby dumpster.
“Stop!” Doug shouted behind her. Em realized the time for orders was past. She squeezed the trigger and the dark passageway lit up as fire leapt from the end of her pistol. The ground between Mathews and the trash bin erupted in shrapnel and he hesitated. Doug and the other officers rushed past Em.
Mathews threw the gas can at the larger officer who deflected it, getting gasoline over his leg and upper thighs. Doug grabbed Mathews, swinging him around, knocking him off balance. As he fell to his knees, Doug jerked his arm up behind him. As he cried out—his shoulder threatening to dislocate—Doug slapped a handcuff around the suspect’s restrained wrist.
“Geez! I smell like an Exxon Valdez oil spill.”
Em waved the fourth officer back. “Bring the car around. We have to dig the evidence out of the trash. Juárez, since you already stink, you get the honor of dumpster diving.”
“Damn it!” Juárez swore. “As if I don’t smell bad enough.”
Reciting Mathews his Miranda rights, Em faced him. “What did you hide in the garbage bin?”
“Uh, nuthin’. I saw you approaching and I tossed some pot.”
“You didn’t notice us, so you were hiding something more incriminating than drugs. We’ll uncover whatever you hid. You might as well admit what it is now so Juárez doesn’t have to wade through too much crap. He’s mean as shit when he steps in it.”
He shook his head, frowning. “I want my lawyer. I’m not saying a word.”
“All right, you can sit in the car while we dig out whatever you dumped. Once we have the evidence, it won’t matter what you say. If you cooperate, it could help your situation.”
“Forget it,” Mathews sneered. “Collect what you want. The evidence won’t make any difference. I’m still not talking. Get me my damn lawyer.”
“Get him out of here,” Em insisted, rolling her sleeves up.
