2 In The Hat Part 24

"That's not it, Sarge-"

"Later," Mooney cut him off. "I don't know where your head has been the last few days. At least Connie gives a s.h.i.+t about catching this guy."

Connie didn't want to put himself between the two partners. He turned away from Alves. Looking past Mooney, he saw that every house on the street was lit up, people gathering to gossip the way they always did when something bad happened to one of their neighbors. This was the event of the century for most of these people. Young kids in pajamas riding their bikes back and forth across the street. An elderly woman in a bathrobe at the end of the block, holding on to her walker, complete with tennis ball gliders. For an old lady, this would be like a front row seat on the fifty yard line at the Super Bowl.

Interesting. Out of the corner of his eye Connie noticed that there were no lights on in the Fresco house. Natalie might still be at work or out for a movie, but it was getting late. And where was the elderly Mrs. Fresco? He turned to Mooney. "Sarge?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"Don't turn around. Keep looking at me. I just thought of something."

CHAPTER 100.

When his Little Things got too demanding, Sleep put them in the trunk in the attic and latched it. He could still hear them banging around, but it was always a little quieter. Now they wouldn't be bothering him anymore. He couldn't think about them, all twisted flesh-colored plastic, their hair burned away, their beautiful clothes nothing but ash. He had to focus on what was important. trunk in the attic and latched it. He could still hear them banging around, but it was always a little quieter. Now they wouldn't be bothering him anymore. He couldn't think about them, all twisted flesh-colored plastic, their hair burned away, their beautiful clothes nothing but ash. He had to focus on what was important.

He had brought his wire, and he'd found a roll of duct tape in the pantry. He tried to explain to Natalie and her mother that if they waited in the closet until the police and firemen were done across the street, then the three of them could sit at the kitchen table and have a cup of tea. The one thing he'd taken with him from the house was Momma's wedding alb.u.m. He'd show them the gorgeous photos of Momma in her satin wedding gown. They'd work their way through the pages-Momma standing with her bouquet, his father in his natty suit. The attendants, smiling and young. And the last few pages, meant for the inscribed well-wishes of their wedding guests, on those final yellowed and smooth pages were the photos he'd taken of his couples, capturing forever their most joyous time.

But even with the tape and wire, he could hear someone kicking the locked closet door. Fortunately the ruckus outside was enough to drown out the noise. He'd check on them in a minute, but now he had to get back to the front room, pull back the curtain and see what was going on.

By the time he got back to his position in the living room, Momma's house looked like a skeleton of wood, the orange flames garish and scary, dancing wildly in the burst windows. In all the confusion, it took a minute but he finally saw something significant. Standing on the sidewalk a few houses down from Natalie's house were Darget, Mooney, and Alves.

He watched as the prosecutor and the sergeant got into one car. Alves into his own. Then Sleep watched as the two cars slowly wound through the maze of emergency vehicles and moved away down the street.

CHAPTER 101.

Connie's adrenaline was pumping. This wasn't like a ride-along, or a foot pursuit of a suspect, or even an execution of a search warrant in a drug house. For the first time he had used his skills to identify a killer. He knew Zardino had to be inside Natalie Fresco's house, probably with Natalie and her mother. The question was, were any of them still alive? a foot pursuit of a suspect, or even an execution of a search warrant in a drug house. For the first time he had used his skills to identify a killer. He knew Zardino had to be inside Natalie Fresco's house, probably with Natalie and her mother. The question was, were any of them still alive?

"You sure this is the house?" Mooney asked.

"I've seen Natalie come out the front door. And I ran her license. Her mother is incapacitated, took a bad fall a while back, but she stays up pretty late every night. Probably watching the eleven o'clock news, followed by Leno. I've been out here a few times. I've never seen the lights out this early."

"Connie, you stay back," Mooney said. "I don't want a situation here. He's got two potential hostages. If Angel and I can do this quick enough, no one will get hurt."

"Sarge," Connie said, "I'm carrying."

"All the more reason you're staying here." Mooney handed Connie his radio. "If anything goes wrong, you hear shots fired, call for backup. But don't try to be a hero. Stay outside."

Connie watched as the two detectives got low and made their way onto the small back porch, positioning themselves on either side of the door. Alves had his Glock in his right hand. Mooney was carrying the Blackhawk Battle Ram he'd taken out of the trunk. Once they were in position, Alves moved deliberately, looking in the gla.s.s panel of the door, at the same time trying the doork.n.o.b. He turned to Mooney, shaking his head. As expected, the door was locked.

From his position, Connie couldn't see any movement in the house. After a few minutes Mooney made his move. This was when he was the most vulnerable. He tried to keep his body to the side of the door as he leaned back to swing the Ram hard into the doorjamb. Connie saw a shadow move across a cas.e.m.e.nt window near the back door as Mooney prepared to launch the full weight of his body into the head of the Ram. Connie wanted to warn Mooney, but he couldn't make any noise, not until Mooney broke the silence with his a.s.sault on the door.

Connie heard the loud bang and the sound of splintering wood as the first blow split the doorframe.

"Movement inside, Sarge," Connie shouted.

Mooney followed through with the second blow, and the door flew open. Dropping the Ram, he removed the Glock from its holster and led the way into the house.

Connie was already holding his .38 as he moved on to the porch. Then he heard the shots echoing inside, multiple rounds in rapid succession, almost like one continuous shot.

Zardino's machine gun.

CHAPTER 102.

Sleep didn't see anything outside, but he thought he heard a noise.

It always started like this. A faint sound that grew louder until he had to put his hands over his ears. He couldn't think when his Little Things made such a racket. They had to be quiet or the detectives would find them. But they would never listen. That's how his father had found them in the attic together. "Shut up," he hissed. Momma did not like that language, but this was an emergency. Where was the sound coming from?

The closet.

He looked out the window. No sign of the detectives. He put his gun down on the lamp table. He wouldn't need it. At the hall closet he rested his head against the cool, painted wood for just a second. Just to gather his thoughts, as Momma used to say. Then he pulled the door open.

He took his flashlight out of his pocket and switched it on. It wasn't his Little Things. Just lovely Natalie and her interfering mother. The old biddy was always in the way. She and Natalie's old man were the ones that had turned Natalie against Sleep. But he needed her now. She would be the one to give Natalie away at the wedding, to give him her hand in marriage. The old woman was pushed back in the corner, Natalie in front of her, protecting her.

Natalie tried to speak, but with the duct tape he couldn't understand her. She kept using her feet to push herself back into her mother, as if she were trying to drive the old lady back through the back wall of the closet.

Sleep put his index finger to his lips. "Shhh. You must be quiet."

She kept distorting her face, trying to speak.

"You want to say something?" he asked.

She nodded her head.

"Promise to keep your voice down? No screaming?"

She nodded again.

Sleep leaned forward to remove the tape, pointing his flashlight in her face. Poor thing. He watched as she struggled to catch her breath, her face covered with sweat, her silky black hair matted to her forehead. He carefully peeled a corner of the tape, then quickly pulled it from her face. "What is it you want, dear?"

"Please don't hurt my mother," she gasped. "She didn't do anything. It's me you want. I'll do anything. But she's an old woman. She's having trouble breathing in here. She needs her medication. It's in a small bottle on the nightstand next to her bed."

Sleep heard another noise. He put the tape back over Natalie's mouth. He put his finger up to his mouth and closed the closet door. He listened carefully.

The back door. Someone was jiggling the doork.n.o.b.

He moved into the kitchen, standing away from the window, in the darkness. Still, he saw nothing. Then Sergeant Mooney appeared in the shadows outside the window. He was holding something in his hand. A log. Sleep moved across the kitchen. The gun was in the front room. He was in the hallway when he heard the first blow to the door. He reached the gun just as the door came flying open and Mooney burst into the kitchen and made his way to the front of the house.

Sleep wheeled around and took one shot. He couldn't get close the way he usually did. He aimed for the center of ma.s.s. Mooney went down and dropped his gun. Sleep made a move for Mooney's gun just as someone pounced on him. Whoever it was tried to pull Sleep's hands behind his back and cuff him.

It had to be Angel Alves. But he had made the mistake of underestimating Sleep's power. Alves was not a street fighter. He had never been to prison, never had to use his fighting skills to survive every day.

Sleep sprang to his feet with Alves's weight on his back. He repeatedly drove the detective into the wall until he felt his grip slacken and slip away. The detective slumped to the floor. Sleep saw a gun in the middle of the floor. He wasn't sure whose it was, but it didn't matter.

As he made a move for the gun, he felt a bone-crus.h.i.+ng blow to his ribs. He heard a crack as a sharp pain ran up his side, his breath leaving him. He tried a few feeble swings, but the room around them, the prosecutor holding the log, all of it was going gray.

CHAPTER 103.

How's Mooney doing?" Connie asked.

"He got dinged up pretty good," Alves said. "Zardino's gun fired four rounds, caught Mooney with three of them. Luckily none hit any bone. Those small rounds do the most damage bouncing around," Alves said.

"I plan to go to the hospital tomorrow," Connie said.

"He's not going anywhere for a couple weeks. Leslie's been there regularly, keeping him company."

"My victim witness advocate told me that Natalie's mother had some chest pains for a day or so, but she's doing okay. She's out of the hospital and back in the house on Paris with Natalie."

Connie watched as Alves ate his baked macaroni and cheese, the house specialty at Silvertone, a small upscale restaurant on Bromfield Street. Connie had ordered two plates of steamed mussels. Low in fat and high in cholesterol. Meeting for dinner had been Alves's idea.

"How's the case against Zardino?" Connie asked.

"Solid. He made incriminating statements to Natalie and her mother. We've got the wire he used to bind the two women. Matches the wire used on all the vics. We have the twenty-two-caliber Beretta. Ballistics is a match. And best of all, we have photos of the dead college students pasted into an alb.u.m. We're reopening the investigation into his father's death, too." Alves tore a bit of bread and sopped up some mussel broth from Connie's bowl.

"What about his sidekick Luther? He have any involvement in this thing?"

"Negative. In fact, Luther was able to corroborate that Zardino had the opportunity to commit the murders. Their program is funded by a grant, and Luther kept detailed logs of the time they spent working the streets at night. Zardino's hours got pretty spotty over the last few months. When I talked with Luther at Crispus Attucks House he was beyond p.i.s.sed that Zardino would betray 'his kids' trust' this way."

"I bet he's glad we caught Zardino," Connie said. "Imagine working that closely with a serial killer. Especially when Luther could have become a suspect in the murders. People are always willing to believe the black guy did it."

"He's not happy about anything. Still thinks the police care more about white college students getting killed than we do about poor black kids. Like his brother."

"You think that case will ever get solved?" Connie asked.

Alves shook his head. "How's your case against Stutter Simpson? Ray Figgs treating you okay? I ran into him last week. Looks like Figgsy went to Bridgewater for a spin dry. Word is he hasn't had a drink in weeks. Working out at the gym again. Seems on top of things."

"The grand jury has everything they need to indict, the murder weapon, motive-Stutter and Jesse Wilc.o.x were shooting back and forth at each other for months before Jesse turned up dead. My problem is Figgs. He's busting my chops, complaining we should do more investigation before we indict."

"Probably just wants a solid case," Alves said. "So it doesn't go south on you at trial."

"Stutter Simpson is a murderer. I'm going to indict and convict him for killing Jesse Wilc.o.x."

They ordered coffee. It was nice to be comfortable with Angel again-talking about their cases like old friends. He didn't like it when Alves was guarded around him, keeping things from him. Things were getting back to normal.

CHAPTER 104.

Alves held the door to Silvertone open for Connie, who was still making his way up the stairs. The cold air smacked Alves in the face, waking him up, helping him shake off the effects of the heavy meal and the warm restaurant. "That was the best mac and cheese ever," Alves said. "Now I need a nap." making his way up the stairs. The cold air smacked Alves in the face, waking him up, helping him shake off the effects of the heavy meal and the warm restaurant. "That was the best mac and cheese ever," Alves said. "Now I need a nap."

"You really are an old man," Connie said as he b.u.t.toned his coat. "You're not going to fall asleep behind the wheel are you? I knew I should have driven."

"How can you call me an old man? You're the one who drives a minivan. A single man with no kids tooting around like a soccer mom. That's sad." Alves could feel himself straining for the playfulness that used to be a natural part of their relations.h.i.+p. "I can't be seen riding around the city in that thing with you."

"It's not just a minivan, it's the 'snitch mobile,'" Connie laughed. "My investigators use it to pick up witnesses and victims. And, as we say in the Gang Unit, today's victim is tomorrow's defendant. They're all afraid of being labeled snitches. So we had the windows smoked out. It's so dark, it's an illegal tint. I have trouble driving the thing at night."

"And you've got lights, siren, and a police radio installed. But no matter how you dress it up, it's still a minivan."

"It's better than this s.h.i.+t box Ford you're driving around in," Connie slapped the roof of the car. "You're on homicide and they don't give you the honor of a ride like a Crown Vic or a real police car."

"Shut up and get in," Alves laughed. He had to keep the mood light. At some point he needed to get some information from Connie. He didn't want to confront him yet. He just wanted to talk about the Blood Bath case. Bring up some of the things that were still bothering him.

"You want to come back to my house for a beer?" Connie asked.

"I've got a better idea. I have a six pack in the trunk. Let's go to White Stadium and have a few."

"Angel, you may not have noticed, but it's almost November and it's freaking cold."

"Don't be a crybaby. It's a great place to drink. Back when I was a juvenile delinquent, me and my boys used to hop the fence and get trashed in there. Then we'd end up playing tackle football in the dark. What a blast. That's where I played my games in high school."

"Me, too, but I'm not jumping any fences to go have a beer and relive my high school glory."

"No fence jumping. I used to work the detail for the mayor's Friday Night Game of the Week. I've still got the key to the gate."

"I don't even have a drinking glove."

Alves reached into the back seat and pulled out two ratty looking gloves. "We each have a drinking glove. Now you have no excuses."

"I'll go for a beer or two, but no football tonight." Connie laughed.