Ambush

Chapter 68

My ad hoc task force on homicides had attracted some attention. While I was briefing the forensics people and some of the detectives involved, I noticed Internal Affairs inspector Alice Witcroft slip into a seat at the rear of the conference room.

Roddy Huerta had been true to his word and not mentioned to anyone that I had cut a deal with Julio Laza just before he was murdered. He sat, in his usual suit and tie, making notes as I spoke.

I had to give him credit because he didn’t even shoot me any sidelong glances when I talked about the murders and failed to mention Julio and his cousin Willie Perez. Of course, there was no evidence that the two Dominican gunmen were murdered by our suspect. But I still believed it deep down.

When I asked if anyone had anything new, Cassie Max was the first to speak up.

She said, “I’ve done nothing but look through surveillance videos in the areas of my two homicides. I have a couple of shots that don’t show a face but do show a woman with long brown hair, about five foot seven, who seems to have something strapped across her that’s not a purse.”

Cassie handed out photos taken from the video. She had described it perfectly.

Roddy said, “I have a similar-looking woman coming out of the East Harlem hotel.”

“Can you see her face?”

“No. Just long hair, nice legs, and high heels. I discounted her the first time I saw her. Once you gave us more information I zeroed in on her immediately.”

A plump forensics tech named Harry said, “I think she has a camera on a strap around her.”

I said, “How do you know?”

“Because I have one strapped around me most of the day. No one ever even notices.”

Now, with a new perspective, I saw it, too. “It does look like a camera.”

Cassie Max said, “Do you think she takes trophy photos?”

I said, “Or is it a cover?”

The meeting broke up on its own. Everyone had things they wanted to get done immediately.

I thought I might slip out of the conference room without having to talk to Alice Witcroft. I had nothing against her personally. It was just a general feeling that it was best to avoid Internal Affairs.

The tall and fit fifty-year-old woman nearly blocked the door to keep me from escaping.

She smiled as she said, “C’mon, Bennett. You really think you can evade me that easily?”

“I thought I’d try.” I matched her gaze. I’m sure many a cop had melted under those intelligent blue eyes. “What are you doing here, Alice?”

“Internal Affairs just wants to make sure one of the department’s most well-known detectives is not too close to a case.”

“I’m just helping out with a series of homicides. Technically I’m not even the lead on any one homicide investigation.”

“As I understand it, you think these murders of Canadians could be related to the death of your partner, Antrole Martens. Am I right?”

There was no sense in denying anything. But there was no reason to admit it, either. “Possibly. We really don’t have much yet.”

“Look, Mike, I get it. The public is never that outraged by the murder of a cop. They remember every shitbag shot by a cop in the middle of the night, but aside from a few headlines and a high-profile funeral, no one remembers the names of cops killed in the line of duty. Except other cops.

“No matter what you think, Internal Affairs is still staffed by cops. I don’t want to stand in your way. I just don’t want you to get in the trick bag, either.”

“Since when is Internal Affairs so worried about my job security?”

“Since the Post called you the best detective the city ever produced.”

“So it’s more of a PR issue than a desire to catch a cop killer.”

The slick IA detective said, “Why can’t it be both?”