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Deadly Enterprise Page 3


  Kim Martinez, the mayor’s communications director, chimed in to agree with Williamson’s assessment. “The only way to prevent this from becoming a racial issue, and a problem for the mayor, is if we find the culprits who did this and build a solid case, maybe with a confession or two, and do it fast.”

  “You make it sound like we don’t try to do that except in politically sensitive cases,” Sully observed, looking at Dickson and McMillian with a scornful expression.

  “No, of course,” Martinez said, trying to recover without admitting the implication of her original comment. “I just mean that whatever additional resources can be brought to bear on this investigation should be considered and the mayor will support you.”

  “Thanks,” Sully responded. “I already have a detective team working the case. They responded to the scene last night – or early this morning – and they already made some progress during the day today. They had been on duty for thirteen straight hours, so I told them to go home and get some sleep, but I expect they will be working the weekend on it.”

  “That’s Detectives Berkowitz and Mason, right, Captain?” Williamson said, more like a statement than a question.

  “Yes,” Sully responded curtly, knowing that Williamson already knew this; the deputy mayor had been part of the briefing on the case they had done just after noon that day. “They aren’t here. I have Detectives Dickson and McMillian here, as you requested. Do you think we need two teams working in tandem on this so we can put on a full-court press?”

  Williamson paused on the other end of the phone and the detectives could hear muffled conversation between him and Martinez, but could not determine what they were saying. After more than a full minute, Martinez spoke up. “Captain, we appreciate that Detectives Berkowitz and Mason have started the investigation and done a really fine job. But we are anticipating that this case could become a racial issue and we’re concerned about the optics.”

  “So, you want a Black detective leading the team, is that it?” Sully snapped.

  “In a word, yes.”

  Now it was Sully’s turn to pause while he calmed down and told himself to avoid saying something he would regret. “Have you discussed this with Commissioner Ward?”

  “Yes,” Williamson cut in. “The mayor called him and discussed it this afternoon.”

  “Why was I not included in that discussion?” Sullivan said, his voice getting louder and his face starting to tinge pink as the blood rushed to his cheeks.

  “The mayor and the commissioner felt that this decision was sensitive and needed to be made at a higher level.”

  “Then why isn’t one of them on the phone to tell me that?” Sully was yelling now and all pretense of remaining calm had apparently gone out the window.

  “That’s not my call, Captain,” Williamson said curtly. “I’m doing what I’ve been told to do and you need to do what you’re being told to do.”

  “I’m going to call the commissioner when we’re done here,” Sully said threateningly.

  “That’s fine, Captain, but for now, can we complete our assignments?”

  “Fine. Dickson, McMillian, you two are going to take over this case, at the direction of the mayor, and apparently the commissioner.” Jason and Ray just nodded and stayed silent. Ray was too new to the unit to have a clue about what he should or should not say, and Jason had seen Sully in this kind of powder-keg mood often enough to know that he needed to keep his mouth shut. “Mr. Williamson, since you are apparently directing this operation, why don’t you brief the new lead detective and his partner on where we stand?”

  “I’ll be happy to do that,” Williamson said soothingly, hoping he could nudge the conversation back toward professional. Sully sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, while Jason and Ray both pulled out notebooks and pens and started writing.

  “Early this morning, about 1:00 a.m., a bodega owner and operator named Raul Rosario was locking up his store at East 193rd Street and Decatur Avenue. He never got the lock on the security door before he was assaulted, beaten, and presumably robbed. At some point, Rosario sustained a stab wound to the chest and subsequently died at the hospital, although we don’t have the report from the medical examiner yet to say it was from the knife. We have one witness, a clerk at a 24-hour donut shop on the opposite side of the street, who called 9-1-1. She said she saw a group of figures who looked like young men of indeterminate age or race running away, perhaps four or five of them, according to the statement taken by the officer on the scene. We’re checking the neighborhood businesses to see if there are any surveillance cameras that might have caught any images, but so far, we haven’t found any. No traffic cams, either.

  “Berkowitz and Mason responded to the scene and found a bartender at a pub halfway down the block, who said there was a group of basketball players from Fordham in the place late last night. They were celebrating after some big win or something. The college is just a few blocks away in the direction of the bodega. The bartender said that the group of guys had several pitchers of beer and staggered out about one o’clock. From the bar toward the college, they would have walked right in front of the donut shop and then made the right at the corner, so if there was anything going on while they were passing by, they would have seen it.”

  Dickson broke into the narrative. “Is it possible that the basketball players are the group of males that the donut shop clerk saw running away from the scene?”

  “We tracked down three of the players today and we got somewhat different stories. Two of them said they saw a group that included a few big Black guys and a single white male in a dark jacket and dark hat across the street and moving in the opposite direction. One of them said he did see a shadow or a figure that was lying on the ground in front of the bodega, which was dark, but he figured it was just a homeless person so he didn’t think much of it. We’re still tracking down the rest of the group and we should have contact with them tonight, since they have another game that starts at seven o’clock. There are two uniformed officers at the gym waiting to interview them when they arrive. We’ll see if the others tell any different stories, but for now we don’t consider them suspects.

  “But, a few of the local business owners who we spoke with today said that there has been a lot of activity in the area involving a local gang. There have been several muggings over the past month, although none of the victims wanted to identify the perp or perps. Most of the victims were Black or Hispanic, but none of them are similar to the bodega owner and no one involved got stabbed. Still, we think if it was the gang members who were fleeing the scene, they have to be considered prime suspects.”

  “What about the white guy the basketball players saw walking away from the scene?” Jason asked.

  “Well, none of the basketball players saw him at the scene, he was just coming from that direction,” Williamson replied. “He’s a person of interest at this point because he might be a suspect and he might be a witness, but all we have is a vague description and nobody else has been able to confirm his existence or give us any leads on him. For now he’s a secondary concern.”

  “Don’t you think the detectives should be the ones deciding primary and secondary concerns?” Sully broke in, annoyed.

  “Of course,” Williamson soothed. “But we do want to move quickly here and the gang members seem to be the most immediately available lead.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Jason said, and then paused. Now it was his turn to struggle to keep his anger under control. “You have decided that this murder was committed by these gang bangers, who are likely Black, and you need a Black detective to lead the investigation so that when we arrest them, the Black community won’t be able to accuse the white cops of busting the Black dudes and so Al Sharpton will have a harder time making this into a racial and political issue. Have I got it right?”

  “That’s about right,” Martinez answered for the deputy mayor.

  “And the reason that neither the m
ayor nor the commissioner are on this call is so that they can have deniability about what’s being discussed and planned?” Sully said, not trying to hide the disgust in his voice.

  “I really can’t answer that question,” Martinez said softly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jason cut in quickly. “There is a man dead and somebody is responsible, and we need to investigate it and do it quickly. If it turns out these gang members are responsible, we’ll bust them and make it stick. But we’ll be sure about it first. We’re not busting anyone without good cause, and we’re going to find this white guy and see what he knows.”

  “Fine,” Williamson said dismissively, as if trying to end the discussion.

  “Anything else?” Sully asked, motioning silently to Ray and Jason. When they both shook their heads, he said, “We’ll take it from here.” He reached to punch the button to end the call. When he was sure they were disconnected, Sully threw his hands into the air. “I’m sorry about this, Dickson. They called and asked me to get you two for a conference call and told me not to brief you in advance. This is such political bullshit.”

  “It’s bullshit,” Jason responded calmly, “but there is a point to it. Plus, I might get more cooperation from the locals on this than Berkowitz or Mason.”

  “Are you saying they are the whitest cops in the city?” Ray quipped.

  “You know any whiter?”

  Ray laughed, and even Sully couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Okay, you clowns. I’ll tell Berkowitz and Mason to send you all their notes and they can debrief you in person tomorrow.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “You’re authorizing them to work overtime on a Saturday just to debrief us?”

  “Yeah,” Sully said, smiling. “The one good thing about this shit show is that we have authorization to spend money and I can assign you whatever manpower you need to assist in the investigation. The mayor really wants this cleared, as if that wasn’t obvious.”

  “Do we have uniforms canvasing the area tonight to identify additional witnesses?” Jason asked.

  “Only the two at the college who are meeting with the other basketball players,” Sully said.

  “Okay, well that’s the first order of business. Captain, can you give us six or eight officers to help knock on doors and talk to the locals who may be able to help us find these gang-bangers, or point us toward our mystery white guy? Ray and I will get out there and coordinate the efforts. Since the media are already there, do you want to have someone from the communications office there to field questions?”

  “That’s a good idea, Detective,” Sully agreed. “I’ll call back Martinez and make sure we have someone.”

  “Looks like we’re going to be logging some overtime,” McMillian said with a smile as he rose from his chair.

  “Yeah, but not the good kind. Something tells me we’re going to be earning every penny on this one,” Jason said, shooting a resigned look toward Sullivan.

  Chapter 5 – Blood Brothers

  Saturday, Feb. 9

  THE NEXT DAY WAS SATURDAY and Jason and Ray were in the Bronx. They were still waiting on identification of their Jane Doe floater, so that case was on hold while they tracked down whoever killed Raul Rosario. They set up a makeshift command center inside the bodega, behind the crime scene tape and separated from the six local news crews who were set up for live remotes outside. The story was the lead on every local news channel and had been picked up by the national networks. Al Sharpton had, indeed, held a press conference that morning in which he accused the police of failing to give priority to the murder of a minority citizen. Apparently, a Black mayor in the city did not slow down Sharpton’s willingness to play the race card before the investigation was two days old. The command center’s location also had the advantage of being warm, while the press was relegated to the cold space outdoors.

  Dickson and McMillian were debriefing pairs of uniformed officers about their interviews with local residents and the regulars at the local watering holes. They were hoping to find somebody who was willing to talk to the detectives about the local gang members. Dickson noted that every pair of uniforms included one that was either Black or Hispanic, which was statistically unlikely given the overall makeup of minorities within the department.

  The two detectives were talking with one set of officers about their lack of progress canvassing the apartment building across the street when they were distracted by a commotion at the front door. Somebody was shouting and they could see a man through the glass, waving his arms and pushing against the officer who was guarding the door to make sure the press stayed outside. The man pushed the door halfway open, yelling, “This is my store!”

  The officer pulled him back and the two continued wrestling as Jason and Ray both sprang up and rushed to the door to try to diffuse the situation, before the television news crews got video of a white cop beating up an unarmed Hispanic man. Jason was first through the door and immediately ordered the officer to stand down. He looked out toward the reporters and found himself staring into five high-definition video cameras. He smiled and waved as he patted the still-enraged man on the back and calmly escorted him inside the building. Once the door was closed, he lost the smile and demanded that the man explain why he was trying to push his way into a restricted crime scene.

  “This is my store!” the man yelled as he glared up at the much taller Black man.

  “Who are you?” Jason inquired as calmly as he could manage.

  “Luis Rosario,” the man shot back in a heavy Puerto Rican accent. He was short and stocky, with dark eyes and a thin moustache. He had on a bulky green parka and a black knit hat.

  Jason furrowed his brows. “Are you related to Raul Rosario?”

  “Yes. He’s my brother. We own this store together.” Mr. Rosario had calmed down slightly but was fidgeting and looking quickly back and forth at the two detectives, as if he was concerned that somebody was going to arrest him.

  “Where have you been for the past two days?” Jason inquired skeptically.

  “I was home in Puerto Rico. I saw the report on the news and flew back this morning.” The man was upset, and still semi-shouting, but Jason believed him.

  “I’m sorry,” Jason soothed. “Please understand that we have a crime scene here and we’re investigating a murder. Can you show me some identification?”

  Rosario looked annoyed, but dug into his bulky coat and extracted his wallet, from which he pulled out a driver’s license and handed it to Jason. After a few seconds of examination, Jason handed it back. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Rosario. I hope you understand that we will need to verify that you are really the brother of our deceased victim.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Rosario said reluctantly. “I’m just so angry!”

  Jason shifted into treating this man as a potential witness. “Do you know of anyone who would want to kill your brother?”

  “I know who killed him,” Rosario responded quickly.

  “Really? Who?”

  Rosario looked down at the floor, then back up at Jason. “I don’t care anymore. I’ll tell you.”

  Jason and Ray looked at each other, then back at the dead man’s brother.

  “I told him not to take a stand. They said they would hurt us. But Raul wanted to organize the other store owners and fight back. He wanted to go to the police. They must have found out and came for him. They have no soul, these bastardos.”

  “Who?” both Jason and Ray said simultaneously.

  “El jefe mafioso.”

  “Why do you think that?” Jason asked.

  Over the next twenty minutes, Luis Rosario told Ray and Jason quite a story. Although they had not yet verified the man’s identity, neither detective doubted his sincerity by the time he was through. He told them how he and his brother had come to New York in 2012 to work and eventually scraped together money to lease the bodega and open their own business. They worked eighty-hour weeks and built up a nice neighborhood clientele, then brought thei
r wives from Puerto Rico. At one point, Ray asked whether Luis had applied for citizenship. Jason smacked him in the arm and reminded him that Puerto Rico is part of the United States.

  Rosario then explained that they’d had a visit about a year ago from a man named Ricky, who told them that there was a lot of gang violence in the neighborhood and that they needed to purchase some security services to protect their property and customers.

  “We didn’t know about any gangs and never had any problems,” he said, holding out his hands in a confused expression. “This gringo says we need to pay him and that he’ll take care of our security. So, Raul tells him we’ll think about it and he leaves. Then a few days later, somebody puts a big rock through our front window just before we close up. We had to pay six hundred dollars to fix it. Then Mr. Ricky comes back and asks if we made up our minds about his security services. He says it would be sad if somebody threw a brick through our window. We said we would have to think about it. A week later, we came to work and the metal gate on our door was bashed in like somebody drove a truck into it. The door was cracked, too.

  “The next day, this group of gang thugs starts hanging around on the corner right outside the door, and they’re hassling our customers and scaring people away. In comes Mr. Ricky and tells us that he thinks we have a problem, but he can make it go away. So, Raul asks how much and the guy says he just wants to do business with us, which we thought was bullshit. But he says he’s going to give us a show of good faith, so he leaves and the gang guys leave right behind him.

  “He comes back the next Monday and he tells us what he wants. He says he has people who need to buy things, so he will bring us packages and then, when his customers come in and ask for them, we’ll take their money and give them the packages. We get to keep five percent of the money. He says it’s all legal and he’ll give us an invoice for the stuff. We’d pretend like we bought it from him and then sold it to the other guy and made a profit, so he gets his money and we get our money and everybody is happy. Raul thinks it sounds illegal, but Mr. Ricky smacks him on the face and says it’s all legal and if he says anything like that again, he’ll be making a visit to the hospital. So, we go along and we do it. We’re not allowed to look inside the packages. We just take the money and turn over the boxes.