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“You mean the black gangbanger? All I did was shove him.”
“Shove, tried to choke—who could say?” The lieutenant gave him a grin that even made me nervous. “You know how things work around here. You could be isolated and secured until trial.”
“That ain’t right, and you know it.”
I said, “Is it right to lure kids into selling drugs?”
“Allegedly lure kids into selling drugs.”
It was my friend the lieutenant who said, “Cut the shit. If you want to avoid some additional charges, just listen to the questions Detective Bennett has for you. You may not even think they’re important.”
Stass thought about it for a few seconds, then looked at me without much interest and said, “Go ahead.”
I said, “Who put out the contract on me? And why?”
“All I have is hearsay. It could never be used in court.”
“No one will know we ever spoke to you.”
He waited a bit longer, then finally said, “The mama of that kid you shot in the library. Diego something. She’s the one who pressured the cartel. I heard they even hired some hotshot killer from Bogotá. The killer is supposed to take care of some Canadians and I guess you, too. From what I hear, the killer is really good. You might not live long enough to talk about our conversation.” That made him grin, revealing yellowed, uneven teeth.
I had a few more questions, but he didn’t know anything that could help me. At least I felt a level of satisfaction for having tied a lot of this case together. Now we had to figure a way to find the woman from Colombia who was committing these murders.
That was always the toughest job: stopping the killer.
Chapter 73
The visit with Albert Stass had shaken me. Over the previous months, I had experienced a number of revenge fantasies about him. That was not the way I was raised or what my upbringing in the Catholic Church had taught me. It wasn’t how I operated as a police officer. But I still fantasized about killing the creep, and that scared me.
I had to clear my head. Some people might call it centering myself. That meant I needed contact with my family. Some men rushed to alcohol, some men to drugs, but in times of trouble, I needed my family.
I didn’t hesitate to head south toward Brooklyn. I hadn’t been to the set where Juliana was filming her TV show in several days. Just seeing her would make me feel better.
As I parked near the nondescript warehouse in Brooklyn Heights, near the East River, the first person I saw was Juliana. She was standing outside the main door using her phone.
As I walked up, she covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “I get lousy service inside. And by coming out here I get a little air and a few minutes away from Carter.”
I waited a few seconds while she finished her call. She was trying to register for some acting class in Greenwich Village. Then Juliana slipped her phone into her purse and gave me a hug.
She said, “What brings you down here?”
I shrugged. “I just needed to see one of my kids. And I was curious about what was going on here on the set.”
“You were curious how I was handling Carter since he dumped me.”
“I’m more curious to know if you want me to do something to him.” I gave her a smile to let her know I was kidding.
Juliana said, “Ugh, Carter. I don’t even want to think about that jerk.”
I was glad to see that anger had replaced sadness—the natural progression in breakups.
Just then, the front door opened and Carter popped his head out. He said, “C’mon, Jules, don’t be like that—” Then he saw me and went silent.
I looked at him and said, “Like what?”
He didn’t say a word as he slipped back inside.
Juliana laughed, and it lifted my whole world.
