Chapter 10

They never made it to dinner. On the way, Jake’s radio crackled to life. The dispatcher reported a ten-forty in progress. The code for a shooting in progress, cautioned the responding officers to proceed with care. Dispatch phoned moments later, informing him of the shooting. As senior officer on call, he had no choice but to take it.

Jake was happy he and Mia had taken separate cars. He put on his lights and siren and pulled Mia over to explain. He phoned Louie and arranged to meet him there.

It was nine-fifteen when Jake arrived at the scene. He parked and observed the building and the neighborhood while he waited for Louie. Eleven Wiggins Street sat at the beginning of one of the worse neighborhoods in the city. The six-family brick apartment complex towered over the one- and two-family homes on either side of it. One window in the apartment complex had curtains, the rest were covered with sheets or shades.

It remained one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city despite the administration’s campaign promises to clean up the streets. Once elections were over, both the candidates and the residents went back to business as usual. The area housed the local drug dealers and prostitutes, along with the city’s poor and downtrodden.

A few minutes later, Louie pulled up and got out of his car. He wore jeans, his off-duty attire. The first officer on site, Connelly, told them a neighbor called in the 9-1-1 with no other information. Dispatch told them to see the woman in apartment 3C, at eleven Wiggins Street—they weren’t sure if the shooter was still on the premises.

As they entered the lobby, their senses were assaulted with a combination of scents. The most prevalent was the distinct odor of pot, along with takeout Chinese, pizza, and unidentifiable home cooking. The familiar scent of decay hung in the air. Jake guessed a dead mouse or some other small animal must be lodged in the walls. He wondered why these places always smelled of urine.

Taking the stairs, he and Louie avoided the elevator and stopped to listen at each floor before heading up to the third floor. As they opened the hallway door on three the odors were stronger. Everyone had left their garbage outside their doors for tomorrow’s trash collection.

Louie thought he’d lose his dinner. He could never figure out how people accepted living this way. He’d kill himself trying to find a way out.

Back to back, they proceeded down the hall to apartment 3C. When they reached the apartment in question, Louie spun away and faced the door, which was riddled with bullet holes and held open by a body sprawled against it. Their weapons drawn, radios in hand, Jake shoved open the door. The body didn’t budge much. Dispatch had said to speak with a Blanca Santos.

Poised at the door, Louie heard a woman crying. He exchanged a look with Jake but continued their scan of the scene. A male dressed in loose-fitting pants and sweatshirt filled the doorway. Half of his face had been blown away, but he appeared to be in his late teens. Blood spatter decorated the floor, door, and walls. Blood also ran down the kid’s neck. The overpowering smell from a puddle where his body had released its contents at the moment of death filled the air—the stench of death, the rusty metallic odor of blood, urine, and intestinal fluids burned his eyes as he blinked to focus.

Three bullet holes riddled the metal door. Jake would try to match them to the body wounds once they cleared the apartment. Trying not to disturb the scene, Jake shoved it open enough for them to get through. Louie swallowed hard. He pulled open the closet doors located by the door, while Jake covered him. From there they walked down a long hallway, back to back. The first room—the kitchen—opened into the living room, where they found a crying, pregnant young woman. Not a woman, a girl, if he was any judge of age. She looked to be no more than seventeen and ready to pop. She gripped the wastepaper basket, holding it to her face while she threw up into it. The girl appeared compact, with long black hair braided down her back. Her black eyes were red from crying. As though somehow making it worse, Louie discovered this was the apartment with the curtains in the window. The place appeared clean, though it smelled of burnt meat.

After a full search of the premises, Louie went back to the girl and helped her up while Jake returned to the body and called for the crime scene team. He and Jake had developed a rhythm over the years. He took the living. Jake took the dead.

Louie popped down the hall to inform Jake he’d called for the medics and a female officer because the young girl had gone into labor.

While Louie tried to calm down the girl to get her statement, Jake bagged the hands first, then the feet. Though crime scene techs would do the same, he liked to take his own pictures and the layout of the scene for further study. He took pictures of the body and the three spent shells that he had found out in the hallway. He circled them in chalk before bagging them. Rolling the victim to his side, Jake pulled the victim’s wallet from the back-left pocket, removed his license, and studied it, shaking his head. It saddened him. The kid, Xavier Orlando, of this address, lived a short life. He was nineteen. What a waste, Jake thought.

The crime scene team arrived at the same time the M.E., Dr. Lang, did. Ms. Santos let out a bloodcurdling scream, startling all of them. The baby must have decided tonight was a good night to make its entrance into this world.

Jake almost laughed at the panicked expression on Doc Lang’s face. “I haven’t delivered a baby since medical school. Get her out of here, or you’ll have another victim on your hands,” Lang whispered to him.

The men let out a collective sigh of relief when Stella Fisher, the female officer, arrived, relieving them of the care of the girl. Nodding to Jake then Louie, she took charge of the situation and arranged transport to the hospital for Blanca.

Before Blanca headed to the hospital, she told Louie they’d been watching television when someone had knocked on the door. Xavier had gotten up to answer it. He always looked through the peephole before opening up. She had heard gunshots and had gone to see what had happened. She had found Xavier on the floor, bleeding. Not able to find a pulse, she had dialed 9-1-1.

“Did Xavier open the door, Blanca?” Louie asked as he timed her contractions in his head.

“No, I did.” Leaning over, she grabbed the chair with one hand as she wrapped her other arm around her belly and took a deep breath.

“Why?”

“Because my next-door neighbor, Annie, called out, asked if I was all right. I let her in. When she saw Xavier, she screamed and ran back to her apartment. She’s in 3D…” She yelled out in pain when another contraction came.

Lang’s and Jake’s heads jerked up as the girl in the living room let out a scream. Jake had the woman in his line of sight. She gripped Louie’s arm. “Call my mother. I need my mother with me in the delivery room. She promised she’d be there.”

“We have to get her to the hospital. I’ll stay with her,” Stella said. “Blanca, give me your mother’s number. I’ll call.”

With no other choice, Jake let their witness go. Once she delivered they’d question her.

“Crazy night,” Louie said.

“Sure is. How is she?” Jake asked.

“She’s in good hands. Fisher will take care of her. What have you got?”

“The kid was shot three times through the door. Before Blanca could open for the neighbor, she had to pull the body out of the way first. I’m sure the exertion brought on her labor. This isn’t where the body originally landed. Make a note to question her—how far did she move the body? Let’s start the door-to-door with apartment 3D. See what this Annie person has to say. Make sure you take a uniform with you, Louie. I’ll stay with the CSIs,” Jake said.

Nodding, Louie walked away and grabbed the first uniform he saw.

“Be careful. We don’t know if the shooter’s still in the building,” Jake called out.

“Okay, Mom,” Louie said.

“So, Doc, what’s it looking like to you?”

“Well, Jake, he’s definitely dead.” Doc Lang deadpanned and motioned for the team to take away the body.

“Good one.”

“I’ll let you know after I post him. Don’t come around until after eleven tomorrow morning. I have a full house right now. I pulled in two shootings from the Hartford area, now this makes the seventh one I have in house. The natives are on a rampage. Check in before you come to make sure I’m still on schedule,” Lang said, as he hurried out of there.

“Will do.”

Jake needed information on his witness and when they’d be able to interview her. While waiting for Louie to return, he decided to give Stella a quick call for an update on Blanca’s status.

Louie, with notebook in hand, walked back into the apartment as Doc Lang waved good-bye.

“I got the uniforms going door to door. 3D’s Annie Darcy. She didn’t want to speak with us. She’s sorry she knocked on the door. She doesn’t want to get involved. She feels bad she couldn’t stay to help Blanca but she left her kids alone in the apartment to check out the commotion. Darcy didn’t want the kids coming out to look for her or see Xavier. She heard someone knock before she heard the shots. They sounded like firecrackers going off. She looked out her peephole, but she saw no one in the hallway. She raced to her bedroom, grabbed her kids and hid them in the closet to protect them. Right after that, she heard Blanca scream and ran over to see if she could help. This is a direct quote from her. ‘That’s all I know.’ Unquote.” Louie flipped his pad closed.

“Let’s finish our search in here. Doc said to see him tomorrow morning after eleven, not before. He hopes to have something for us. Oh, I spoke with Stella. The doctor said Blanca should deliver within the hour. If we try now we’ll get nothing from her,” Jake said.

“I got three kids. The doctor said Sophia would go fast for each one, remember? She was in labor for fifteen hours for the first one, ten for another, eight for the last one. What does the doctor know?”

* * * *

With little sleep, Jake plowed through his first departmental meeting. He reviewed everyone’s caseloads. He looked over the file he and Louie caught the night before and decided to hand off the Wiggins Street shooting to Al Burke and Gunner Kraus.

“Burke, Kraus, where do you stand on the Rubino case?” Jake asked.

“It’s basically wrapped, except for a few loose ends. We’re waiting on the D.A. for a warrant,” Burke answered.

“Who’s going to be the lucky guest of the state?” Jake inquired.

“One Julianna Rubino, the wife. Seems Mr. Rubino stuck his zucchini where it didn’t belong once too often.” Kraus laughed, shaking his index finger at Jake, imitating Mrs. Rubino. “She warned him, but did he listen?”

“You have such a grasp of the English language, Gunner,” Jake commented, unable to hide his grin. “Okay, last night’s shooting on Wiggins Street. The victim, a young Hispanic male, age nineteen, was shot in the face through his door. He lived there with his girlfriend, Blanca Santos. She’s in the delivery room at St. Mary’s hospital as we speak. No witnesses except the woman in 3D, who heard everything. Burke, you and Kraus take this one. Girlfriend claims they don’t do drugs or anything illegal. Here are the preliminary interviews. One’s from the uniform who was first on scene, and one from Louie and me. I’ve also included a report of my observations and how it played out for me. Doc Lang said he’d have something for you after eleven today. Any questions?” Jake looked around at his team.

“Yeah. Overworked, Lieutenant? It’s not like you to hand off a case,” Kraus commented.

“We’re bogged down with the Adams and Wagner cases. So, this one’s yours. You have any questions, Gunny?”

“No, sir,” Kraus answered. His guys knew when to joke and when to rein it in.

“Now, let’s move along. Brown, what’s the status on the hit-and-run? Also, do you have anything new on the high school shooting—a suspect or a solid lead?” Jake rapidly shot his questions at Brown and Lanoue.

“Not yet. The victim of the hit-and-run is still in a coma. The eyewitnesses didn’t get a license number, though we do have the make and color. The witnesses are sure the driver was a kid. As for the high school shooting—the principal and the teachers are cooperating. The students aren’t. I’m sure the kids know who did it, but no one’s talking. It’s obvious to me they’re afraid. Right, Armand?” Brown turned toward his partner to confirm.

“Yeah, Kirk, those kids are afraid of someone. The victim didn’t belong to any group or gang. He maintained straight A’s and didn’t do drugs, nothing. It doesn’t make any sense,” Armand Lanoue stated.

Kirk Brown and Armand Lanoue had been partnered since last year, when Joe Smith retired. Armand got promoted to detective. Brown’s partner, Kraus, moved over to partner with Burke. Both were in their thirties. Kirk Brown matched his name—brown hair and brown eyes, height five-eleven. Armand Lanoue—thinning blond hair, brown eyes—stood a gangly six-three. Their partnership seemed to be working.

“Do you need any help on either one, Kirk?” Jake asked.

“No, we’re still in the early stages. What if we grab a couple of uniforms for the door-to-door on the hit-and-run, to narrow down the list, is that okay with you?” Detective Brown said.

“Do what you need to. If you need more, come see me. Al, you and Gunner go over to the hospital, interview the live-in girlfriend after she delivers.”

“We get all the choice assignments, don’t we? Why couldn’t she be a stripper?” Burke said.

Jake stared Burke down until Al turned away. “Gunner” or “Gunny,” as everyone referred to Kraus, and Burke were the original odd couple. Gunner’s suits, shirts, even his ties were matched and pressed with precision. Though married, he thought of himself as a ladies’ man. Jake thought of him as a snake. He hated cheaters.

With Burke, Jake could always tell what he ate for lunch because he wore it on his shirt, which fought to cover his bulging belly. A red nose showed his penchant for alcohol. A good cop, Jake thought, though he’d seen too much in his years on the force. Years before, as the lead cop, Burke had worked the murders of seven children and their mother. It never let go of him.

Jake signaled for Burke to hang back when the meeting broke up. “You discover anything I should know about?”

Both he and Burke knew what he was asking. “No, but I agree that all the evidence points at Spaulding. You find anything?”

“No, my father was thorough, I agree, it all points to one person. But I still have more files to vet,” Jake said.