part0014

ADA Ron Bushy was tall and lean with a trim goatee and hair that was a bit too long for an assistant DA, but you wouldn’t want to tell him so. He was leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed and his left eyebrow in what looked like a permanent arch.

Inspector John Newman, the chief, was behind his desk with a face that didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried. Dehan was on the black leather sofa and I was leaning with my back against the door, listening to Bushy.

“I think I need to have things clarified a little. What exactly are we investigating here? And who exactly is investigating it? Are we looking at gangs and organized crime, are we looking at cross-border smuggling, are we looking at murder or a serial killer?” I drew breath to answer but he went on. “And who is doing the investigating? Is this a cold case that you are handling, Detective Stone, or is it a current case? Is this federal jurisdiction? In which case, why are they not investigating it?”

Dehan stared at the ceiling and spoke in a loud, startling voice.

“I blame the government,” she said. “The government should lay down guidelines for criminals, so they know exactly within what parameters they are allowed to commit crimes. Any crime committed outside the permitted parameters will be considered...a crime...”

ADA Ron Bushy was not amused, but I was and I snorted to show my appreciation. Before he could say anything I spoke.

“We are investigating a cold case that went hot a couple of days ago when Claire Carter was murdered using the MO of the Mommy’s Boy killer, five years back. So far it’s a serial killer, murder, within the jurisdiction of the NYPD, 43rd Precinct. With me so far, ADA Bushy?” He didn’t answer so I went on. “One of the suspects in that investigation, one Nelson Vargas, is a high-ranking member of the Chupacabras , a gang in the South Bronx. During our investigation into his connection with the Claire Carter murder, we came across a witness who is willing to talk to the Feds about the Chupacabras operation, and in particular Nelson Vargas, in exchange for immunity from the DA, and being put in the Witness Relocation Program.”

“So whose witness is this? Yours or the Feds?”

Dehan groaned softly. I pretended not to notice. “We’ve spoken to him and we think he’s given us everything we can use in the Mommy’s Boy investigation. So we’re ready to hand him over to the Feds. He figures he can give them Vargas, Vargas’s boss and the whole network down to Nogales and El Paso. Maybe beyond. I think it’s true.”

“Based on what?”

Dehan answered for me. “Based on over forty years’ experience between us. Based on having talked to the guy and listened to him instead of getting our panties in a twist over these damned crooks not observing the rules of procedure in the committing of crimes. Based, ADA Bushy, on being damned good cops and doing our jobs.”

She left a ringing silence when she stopped. I stepped into it and said, “You have a different opinion, ADA Bushy? Based on what?”

He raised both hands. “OK, you made your point. Inspector, what’s your view?”

The inspector knitted his brows at his desk. “if I had not agreed with Detectives Stone and Dehan, I would not have wasted the district attorney’s time. Believe me, you will not find two better investigators—anywhere! ”

Dehan stood. “Speaking of wasting time, we have an investigation that is already five years old. Are we going to offer Jose immunity, or are we just shooting the breeze here?”

Bushy scowled. “You need to moderate your tone, Detective Dehan.”

“Yeah? Eat my shorts, Counselor. How’s that for moderation? You want moderate tones, leave your attitude at the door. This is the Bronx, we eat white-collar punks for breakfast. You want to throw your scrawny weight around at the 43rd , you come to the next Mommy’s Boy crime scene. After you’ve thrown up your Earl Grey and French croissants, then you tell me to moderate my goddamn tone, and ask me what I base my goddamned opinions on!”

I watched her say all this with undisguised admiration. When she had finished, ADA Bushy looked at the chief for support. The chief cleared his throat but Dehan spoke first.

“Are we done here, sir? We have leads to follow up, Jose needs his immunity and we need to contact the Feds to come and take him away.”

He wouldn’t meet her eye but nodded and said quietly, “Indeed, Carmen. I suggest you inform your suspect that the ADA is here with the papers. John will join you in a moment.”

“Thank you, sir.”

She left and didn’t quite slam the door. I watched Bushy gearing up to open his mouth and stopped him. “She’s the mild one. Get me going and I throw grown men out the window. You ever been to a crime scene where a sadistic serial killer has been at work? She saw her first just a couple of days ago. It gets to you. I’ve known it to kick the cocky bullshit out of a few Ivy League assholes. Now, let me ask you a question, Bushy. Did the DA tell you that immunity for our informant was at your discretion?”

“Then can we cut the crap and get it wrapped up and done? Like Detective Dehan said, we have work to do.”

The inspector aimed a frown at me and said, “Indeed, I am sure we all have.”

We wrapped things up with Jose, ADA Bushy left and the chief called the Bureau to have them send a couple of agents to collect Jose. Then I tramped downstairs, by way of the coffee-like-substance machine, and found Dehan sitting at her desk with her boots propped on the corner. I gave her a paper cup of coffee-like-substance and sat in my chair.

“The Feds are sending over a couple of guys to collect Jose. You get any more out of him? I think we got all he had for us.”

“I asked him when Vargas went to see Campbell. He said he thought the visits started maybe four or five years ago. He couldn’t be precise. But as far as he’s concerned, he may still visit him from time to time. It’s something Vargas doesn’t talk about much.”

I sighed, picked up a pencil, tapped the eraser a few times on the desk and examined it. I didn’t find any answers there.

“We need times, dates… We need to know what they spoke about. What they speak about. We need video and audio. We need a judge to sign off on a warrant to tap their phones, and we need a team to follow Vargas.”

Dehan nodded for a bit. “Maybe we can liaise with the Feds. They can do all that real easy. A judge is going to buy Vargas the drug dealer-slash-importer a lot easier than he’s going to buy Vargas the serial killer. All we’ve got is a theory and a tiny bit of circumstantial evidence.”

I did a little dance with my head.

“We can connect five of the six victims with Vargas. And we can link Vargas with Campbell as a man seeking a spiritual path.”

“You don’t have to sell it to me, Stone. I already bought it. But it’s going to be a hard sell to a judge.”

“There’s something missing.”

“Yeah, evidence.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. So, we need to go talk to Golam Heitz, and we need to go lean on Reverend James Campbell. We also need to talk to...” I reached over for the file and leafed through it. “...Saul Lipschitz. See if we can find some connection between Sharon and Vargas, or Campbell.”

Through the door I saw ADA Ron Bushy leave and reached for the internal phone to call the chief.

“Ah, John, look, I can’t condone the way you and Carmen spoke to the assistant DA...”

“No sir, we were out of order.”

“Well, that’s very big of you. I was going to say that I did enjoy it. However, what can I do for you?”

“We need you to authorize a tail, sir. We think there may be a connection between James Campbell, Margaret Campbell’s son, who preaches a radical form of misogyny, and Nelson Vargas, whom we know threatened two of the victims with rape and murder, and whom we can connect with five of the six victims. We know that Vargas went, and possibly still goes, to Campbell for spiritual guidance. We need to put a tail on Vargas, and if we can prove they meet more or less regularly, we need to apply for a warrant to listen in on their conversations.”

“All right, you can have your tail. O’Connor and Brightman have experience in the field. They’re on late tonight. I’ll have them report to you. As to the tap, send me what you’ve got, but from what you’ve told me, we don’t have enough yet for a judge to sign off on that one.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

I hung up and sat looking at Dehan, who was staring at me. “You called the doctor yet?” She shook her head. “Do it now.”

She pulled out her phone and sat looking at it. I stood and went to look for Maria. She was at the front desk talking to a man who wanted to report the abduction of his next-door neighbor by aliens. She was nice to him and asked him to wait.

“What do you want, handsome?”

“I need you to get Mike O’Connor and John Brightman for me. When do they come on?”

She looked at her watch. “It’s six, they should be in in a couple of hours. You want me to call them?”

“Which one? They’re not married, you know.”

“Really? I thought they’d finally tied the knot. Get Mike for me. He’s the butch one, right?”

She sighed and shook her head. “You can’t talk like that anymore, Stone.” She started dialing. “They’ll have you doing gender fluidity awareness classes if you’re not careful.”

“It’s too late for me, Maria. I’m a dinosaur. I’m already extinct.”

“More’s the pity. Mike, Maria, hey, gorgeous. Yeah, I got sourpuss Stone here wants to talk to you.” She was quiet for a moment, giggled and said, “No, he really is here and he really does want to talk to you. Yeah, I know.”

She handed me the phone and winked at me.

“Hi Stone. How’s it hangin’?”

“Yeah, good. Listen, I just got through talking to the chief. I need some surveillance done. He said you and Brightman were the guys for the job.”

“Yeah, I just heard. Whatcha got?”

I told him about Vargas and Campbell. He said, “Holy shit. What’s the timetable?”

“I think the most likely hours are eleven AM till two AM, I can’t see anything happening before or after that time.”

“Me neither, but that’s fifteen hours, pal.”

“Yeah, that’s why there are two of you. Start tonight, soon as you can.”

He grunted and I hung up and scowled at Maria. “So I’m handsome, but he’s gorgeous.”

She shrugged. “What can I say. He’s Irish. The Irish have that special something.”

“Yeah, it’s called Guinness.”

I made my way back to Dehan. She was still sitting staring at the phone.

She shook her head. I reached out my hand and she gave me the phone. I pressed call. After a couple of rings a woman’s voice said, “Doctor Kelly Surgery, can I help you?”

“Good afternoon. This is John Stone. My wife thinks she might be pregnant. She’d like to make an appointment to see the doctor and have a test.”

“Oh hello, Mr. Stone. Carmen, isn’t it? I have a cancellation tomorrow at nine AM.”

“That will be fine.” I looked at Dehan. “Tomorrow at nine then. Thank you.” I hung up and handed her the phone. “I’ll come with you and hold your hand.”

“Thanks.” She turned the phone around in her fingers for a while, then slipped it into her jacket. “You want us to go? Let’s go talk to Campbell. Ask him about his connection with Vargas.”

I nodded. “And then home.”

By the time we got to the Church of the Holy Father and Son at the End of Days, dusk was closing in under a heavy gray sky, but a warm light glowed in the lobby and washed the sidewalk through the plate-glass doors. We pushed in and saw the doors to the chapel open also, and a powerful, bombastic voice berated the world from within. We crossed the polished wooden floor and stood on the portal of madness, watching the dark mass that was going down inside. I glanced at Dehan and smiled. She had achieved the apparently impossible task of staring wide-eyed while squinting. And I could see why. At least two-thirds of the congregation were women. And James Campbell was not giving them an easy ride.

By their reaction, it didn’t look like what they wanted was an easy ride. He was striding up and down the stage, gesticulating violently, pointing a large finger here, there, at all the women who sat gazing at him, weeping, occasionally wailing and clenching their hands in prayer.

“...Our Father who art in Heaven. I think, I think , that’s what it says! Am I wrong? Is there a woman out there who can set me right? Does it, in fact, say our mother who art in Heaven? Whose name is it, after all, that must be hallowed? Is it our mother in Heaven?

“No! No! And a thousand times no!”

I reached in my pocket and switched on the recording app on my cell. He plowed on.

“ Was it, I ask each and every one of you vile sinners, was it the daughter of God who came down to save man kind? No! And, is it woman kind that he came to save? No! And do you know why?”

He strode up and down in silence while among his faithful the women fell on their knees, beating their breasts and crying out, “Save me! ”

“Save our souls! ”

“Forgiveness! Forgive us, Father! ”

“Oh! We are sinful!”

Then he bellowed, “I asked you a question! ”

One black woman wailed above the others, “We are not worthy! ”

His face contorted and the veins stood out in his neck.

“Because woman is the spawn of the devil! Because woman was created by Satan to lure Man away from the Father’s righteous path! Because it was woman who enticed Man from the path of righteousness to eat the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. And I ask you this…!”

He paused, glaring out at the rapt, transfixed members of his congregation.

“I, the Reverend James Campbell, spokesman of God, I ask you this! Answer me, if you will, this question: If Eve was the creation of our Lord the Father, why would she disobey our Lord and entice Adam away from righteousness? Why would she heed the word of the serpent? Why did the serpent not go directly to Adam? Why, I repeat, why would Eve obey the serpent Satan if she was indeed the creation of Our Lord the Father?”

His voice dropped to a rasp: “Well, I shall tell you! She would not! She did these evil things because she was the creation of Satan!” Another pause, and then, “It was Satan who took the rib from Yahveh’s perfect creation, thus rendering him imperfect. It was Satan, the Fallen One, who molded Eve’s form from base clay, and it was he who created this faithless, flawed, perfidious, shameless creature. And in so doing...”

He took a few paces, blaming the world with his face.

“...in so doing, created sex! And with sex did he create Man’s great weakness, Man’s hunger, Man’s lust, Man’s hubris in his need to see himself immortalized, not through the Father, but through his own lasciviously obtained offspring! Through this disgusting act of copulation does he seek, beguiled by evil woman, to emulate the divine act of creation!

“Shame! I say to you, a thousand times shameful, ye, who crawling in the mire are born of the serpent, and seek to drag divine Man down with you!”

There were now several women prostrate, lying facedown on the floor, weeping. One woman on her knees was crying out, “Father! Holy Father! Lead us to redemption! Help us!”

He stretched out his arm, pointing the finger of damnation at them where they lay.

“Are you ashamed? ”

“Yes! Yes! ” came the cry from the congregation.

“Are you ashamed of who you are? Are you shamed that you are the whores of creation? ”

“Yes! Yes! Shame is ours! Father, redeem us! Lead us to righteousness! Lead us to salvation! ”

You? You ask me for redemption? You dare to ask me for redemption when it is you who have brought Man low? You dare to come here to me, begging for forgiveness and salvation, when it is you who have brought Mankind to the brink of damnation? ”

Now they were all weeping and beating their chests. Some were beating their own faces with their open hands and tearing at their hair. The men were moaning, rocking back and forth and from side to side, while the women cried out, “We are not worthy! We are not worthy! ”

“Then dig deep! ” he thundered. “Dig deep into your pockets! Dig deep among your ill-gotten gains! Dig deep among the wages of whoring, and pay! Pay for your eternal sin! Pay to spread the word of the Holy Father! Pay! Pay! Pay! ”

And as he railed against them and swore at them and insulted them, they wept and reached into their purses and paid. The money flowed, from those women’s hard-pressed, hard-taxed wages, and into the silver bowls that Campbell’s two cherubic pageboys carried very slowly around the room. I did a rough estimate and figured he pulled in five grand in about ten minutes.

They sang a couple of songs about how no man born of God would ever be damned, but about how women might be saved if they sought the grace of the Father, then they all tidied their ragged clothes and filed out into the dark, ten bucks lighter and easier of soul, just like nothing had happened, and they hadn’t been sprawling on the floor, weeping and wailing, fifteen minutes earlier.

As they filed out, Reverend James Campbell watched us from the pulpit, and when the last of his disciples had left the hall he boomed, “I have nothing to say to you!”

Dehan gave a single, dry bark of a laugh.

“The day you have nothing to say, Campbell, they’ll be selling Ben and Jerry’s in hell.”

“Bullshit! Cut the crap, Jim. You can tell it here or you can tell it down at the station. You choose!”

“How dare you…?”

I started down the aisle and spoke quietly, so he had to listen.

“We dare. Now let’s move on. Where do you want to do this, in the comfort of your own madhouse, or in the discomfort of the station house?” He drew breath and I added, “Do I need to call for backup? We can have two cars flashing lights outside your church in two minutes. You tell me.”