Hold Still (22 page)

FORTY-THREE

November 7th

Back at Northwest Detectives, Jocelyn,
Kevin, Caleb, Finch, and Phil gathered in a loose semicircle around Jocelyn’s desk. Patrol officers dodged in and out of the unit to deliver paperwork or discuss cases with the detectives on duty. Some of them lingered to listen to the informal powwow. Jocelyn hid her grin in a cup of coffee as Inez slid in behind Finch and made an obscene gesture behind his back.

“What do we have?” Kevin asked.

“We have mug shots out on Donovan and Warner. We have to find the third suspect, but we don’t have much. We have one witness who saw his face four years ago,” Jocelyn said.

Caleb nodded. “She’s at a halfway house on Orthodox. I sent a couple of units to pick her up, but she was out. We’ll pick her up as soon as she gets back. We put out a GRM in case she doesn’t come back. We got authorizations for composite sketches.”

“So as soon as we pick her up, we can get a sketch,” Kevin said.

Inez nodded. “Okay, but what if you can’t find this chick? Can you get Donovan and Warner to roll on this other guy?”

Jocelyn shook her head. “They won’t. I already tried when I had them in for Anita Grant. Whatever this guy has on them, it’s big.”

Kevin looked at Phil. “Can’t we hit ’em heavy with charges?”

Phil had a hangdog look. Dark circles smudged beneath his eyes. He refused to take his jacket off and scrupulously avoided Caleb’s gaze. “They paid Jennifer Maisry for sex. She had sex with them. All we can hit them with is solicitation. She went with them willingly. At least with Grant they forced her into the car. We had the kidnapping charge. Here, besides the solicitation, there’s not much I can do.”

“They held her down,” Kevin said.

Phil shrugged. “They didn’t drive the nails in.”

Kevin’s face twisted in disgust. Jocelyn put a palm on his forearm to quell the outburst she knew was coming.

Phil held up a hand. “I can charge them with everything we’ve got on the books—I’m just telling you a lot of it won’t hold up. Most of the charges won’t make it to trial.”

“Because you’ll cut them a deal?” Jocelyn asked bitterly.

Phil’s brow drew low over his eyes. He glared at her and opened his mouth to respond, but Caleb spoke.

“We’ll need to hold a press conference,” he said. His cell phone buzzed. He looked at it and frowned. “The press is already in a frenzy as it is,” he added as he punched keys on the phone.

“How do they know so many details already?” Kevin said.

“Hospital staff,” Inez piped in.

“Well, we need to decide how much more to give them,” Phil said.

“Meaning you don’t want it getting out that Jennifer Maisry was a prostitute,” Jocelyn said flatly.

Phil sighed loudly. Before he could respond, Kevin asked, “Did anyone tell the husband?”

They all shook their heads. “That’s not our problem,” Caleb said. He went to put his phone back in his pocket, but it buzzed again. He held it in his hand and looked at each one of them. “But for our purposes, it may be best to simply omit that fact for now. The press is already going nuts over this. You add the prostitution angle, and it’s even more salacious. They’ll only be focused on that. Right now, we need to use them to find Warner and Donovan and our unknown suspect. We need them working for us—focusing on the crime and not the scandal.”

Caleb looked at his phone again and fired off another text. “No names,” Phil said. “At least for now. The Maisrys have asked that we not release Jennifer’s name just yet.”

“What about Anita Grant?” Kevin asked. “You gonna mention her?”

“Not by name,” Jocelyn said quickly. “I want her privacy protected as well.”

“I don’t think we should mention her at all,” Phil said.

Jocelyn glared at him. “Why? So your office doesn’t look bad?”

“No,” Phil said. “Because there’s no sense in putting this city in a panic when these men are targeting a very specific demographic. If they think there is only one victim, the press will be less likely to cause said panic.”

“They’re going to find out one way or another,” Jocelyn said pointedly. “They’re reporters. Their job is to find shit out.”

“A little panic is not the worst thing that could happen here,” Caleb said. “We should warn people that they are dangerous. That might get them caught faster. However, I would not bring Anita up at this point. If they find out, then we address it, but let’s not volunteer anything. I want them to have as little information as possible so we don’t have to worry about them second-guessing everything we do.”

There were nods of agreement. When no one spoke, Phil cleared his throat. He looked at Caleb, who was texting furiously. “You’ll take point?”

Caleb met Phil’s eyes, his face impassive. He held his phone up, the screen on display but too far away for Jocelyn to make out the series of text messages. “I can’t. We’re really close to cracking this child pornography ring. I’ve got to get back to the task force.” He gestured toward Jocelyn. “Rush can do it. She knows the case inside and out. Plus, I’d like the public to see a female face on this one.”

Phil raised a brow. “You want Rush on this?”

He said her name as though Caleb had suggested that Big Bird give the press conference. Both Caleb and Jocelyn opened their mouths to speak, but Kevin beat them to it. He stepped toward Phil, his neck thrust forward, index finger extended like he was going to poke Phil’s chest. “What’s your problem, Delisi?”

Phil raised both hands. “Hey, hey,” he said. “Relax, Sullivan. There’s no problem. Jesus.” He looked around the semicircle before lowering his voice. “What? Are you fucking her too?”

For a split second, every last bit of oxygen seemed like it had been sucked out of the room. No one breathed, let alone moved. Jocelyn’s face felt scorched. She looked at Caleb. He stared at Phil with unbridled anger in his eyes. She hadn’t seen him look anything but affable. Well, affable and hot. This was new and surprisingly intimidating. Something brushed Jocelyn’s side. She looked down to see Inez clenching and unclenching her right fist. She was like a racer raring to go, waiting for the starting shot.

Kevin, who had looked stricken for a fleeting moment, took the high road, defusing the situation. He turned back to Jocelyn, addressing her but hooking a thumb back toward Phil. “Is this guy for real?” he asked incredulously.

Jocelyn took his cue. She sighed impatiently and stepped in front of Kevin. She looked Phil right in the eye. “No one is fucking anyone. We’re all here for one reason—to catch these assholes. So let’s just do that. And, yes, I will be taking point on the press conference whether that suits you or not.”

She looked around at the rest of her colleagues. “Let’s set up downstairs.”

She strode toward the stairs, Inez and Kevin close behind her. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it’s done,” Kevin said. Inez’s quiet laughter trailed them down the steps.

FORTY-FOUR

November 7th

Jocelyn stood before the bank
of cameras and near-blinding lights. A cluster of microphones had been set up atop one of the tables in the lobby area. She stood behind it, her mouth dry. She licked her lips, but it didn’t help. In spite of the cold November air flowing in through the open window behind her, a bead of sweat slid down her temple. The crush of bodies and lights had caused the temperature in the room to rise. They had opened as many windows as they could, but it made little difference. The only sound in the room was the rustling of bodies. Oh, and the sound of her swallowing. She wished Caleb had been able to stay. In spite of her bravado with Phil, the last thing she felt like doing was giving a press conference.

Kevin sidled up to her. “You about ready to get started?”

“Yeah,” she said, the word scraping raw across her throat. “Let’s go.”

The room quieted. With the cameras on, their steady whirring sounded like a nest of angry hornets.

“Jocelyn Rush, Northwest Detectives,” she announced. Clearing her throat, she looked around the room. “I know why you’re all here. This is an ongoing investigation, so we’re not at liberty to disclose details. The victim has asked that we not identify her by name. What I can tell you is that a thirty-two-year-old resident of the Chestnut Hill section of the city was assaulted by three men in the late afternoon today. Two of the suspects we believe to be Larry Warner and Angel Donovan, whose mug shots you’ve been given by Detective Sullivan. The third suspect is a white male, approximately five foot eleven, two hundred pounds, brown hair, and blue eyes. We are working on getting a composite. We believe that all three of these men are extremely dangerous. If you see them, do not attempt to detain them yourself. Call nine-one-one right away.”

Phil, who had been standing behind her to her right, stepped forward and leaned into the bank of microphones. “That’s all we have. We’ll take a few questions, but then we need to get to work on this.”

“Is it true the victim was a schoolteacher?” someone called from the back. Deciding that this was a question that interested all of them, the other reporters fell silent, staring at Jocelyn expectantly.

“Yes, the victim is a teacher,” she confirmed.

“What school?” someone else asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” Jocelyn said.

Quickly trying to keep control of the situation, she pointed to a reporter from Channel Ten whose hand was raised. “Is it true that she was crucified?”

Jocelyn glanced at Kevin and Phil briefly. “The suspects took her to an unknown location—we suspect it was an abandoned house in the Northeast section of the city—where they nailed her hands and feet to the floor and sexually assaulted her.”

Some of the reporters tapped away on their phones or iPads. Few looked sobered, but that didn’t surprise Jocelyn at all. They were well acquainted with the myriad of violent crimes that Philadelphia had to offer.

“What information do you have on the third suspect?” someone shouted from the back.

“Just what we’ve told you,” Jocelyn said. “As I said, we are working on getting a composite sketch. At this time, we have very little information. As soon as we know more, you’ll know more.”

A reporter from Channel Six who had obviously done his homework raised his hand but didn’t wait for her to nod before speaking. “Is it true that Warner and Donovan are out on bail for a similar crime?”

Jocelyn cleared her throat. Another bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. She brushed it away and met the stares of the roomful of reporters. “Yes,” she said. “A month ago, they committed the same crime against a different woman—a receptionist.”

“Why are we just hearing about this now?” A woman from Fox News asked, disdain dripping from every word.

Because that woman was poor and black
, Jocelyn nearly blurted out. She caught herself and stared the woman down hard. For a moment, she thought the woman was angry that they’d set Warner and Donovan loose on the unsuspecting women of Philadelphia, but then she realized it was more likely about them not getting a potential story. The media thrived on scandal, just as Caleb had said. The idea that law enforcement officials had had two predators in custody and allowed them to go free to prey on a rich white woman from an affluent section of the city was just the kind of scandal they dreamed of when ratings were down.

Jocelyn sighed. “That arrest is public record,” she said flatly. “Warner and Donovan were in custody, and we were actually pursuing the third suspect when they made bail.”

In other words, blame the DA’s office and the judge who set their bail.

A low grumble went through the room. She swore she could feel Phil’s glare boring a hole in the side of her face. Before they could shout any more questions, Jocelyn held up a hand. “That’s all for now,” she said. “You guys have the mug shots and the number we’re asking the public to call for tips.” The room erupted in a cacophony of questions, but she stepped away from the podium and kept going.

FORTY-FIVE

November 8th

They met on the Stroll
this time, which Larry had protested against.
It was very public and out of their routine. Larry almost hadn’t come, but now his and Angel’s mug shots were all over the news. He had to talk to Face to find out what they should do. He really wanted to beat the shit out of the guy, mess up that pretty face that had earned him the nickname. He told Face the Chestnut Hill woman was a bad idea, but Face had insisted. He had specifically picked the ad. Larry thought they should cool it so soon after Anita Grant.

He waited inside the stairwell of an entrance to the El. He was getting ready to leave when Face strolled in. “Walk with me,” he said.

“Fuck you. I could get spotted by the police out there.”

Face sighed impatiently. He looked too clean for this neighborhood—black shirt and jacket, blue jeans, and black boots. He was trying to blend in, but there was something too fresh, too neat about him.

“There’s a dive bar two blocks from here where no one will care who you are. Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, Larry followed. As promised, the bar was indeed a dive. There were five men inside—old-timers with gray hair or no hair at all. Hunched over their beers, eyes glassy, and faces puffy with drink. They spoke to each other in gravelly voices, discussing the latest loss of the Philadelphia Eagles. Three of them were black, two white. They gave Larry and Face a cursory glance and turned their eyes back to the 76ers game playing on the only television in the tiny room. Larry’s living room was bigger than this place.

Face ordered two beers, which the bartender delivered without a word. Face waited for the man to meander back to the other end of the bar before he spoke. “Where’s Angel?”

“Where do you think? He’s hiding.”

“Where are you guys staying?”

Larry shook his head. “Fuck if I’m telling you. We are really screwed this time, and that lady cop—she’s got a real hard-on for you.”

Face’s eyes darted to Larry. “What lady cop?”

Larry rolled his eyes. “She’s with Northwest. You know her. She was on TV last night. She’s real pretty. Brown hair. Rush, I think her name is—she wants you real bad, and unless you do what you promised, I’m going to give the lady what she wants.”

Face sighed again, feigning nonchalance. “She’ll take you down too. Don’t doubt that, my friend.”

“I ain’t your friend,” Larry said. “Now, you promised me something, and I expect you to deliver.”

Face turned toward him. “You know what I’ve never understood, Larry? That thing I promised to do for you—why don’t you do it yourself?”

Larry lowered his voice to a hiss. “’Cause I’m not going down for killing a cop—even a dirty one. You said you could make it look like an accident—”

“A
retired
cop,” Face corrected. “You won’t go down for killing a retired cop, but you’ll go down on rape, aggravated assault, conspiracy—”

Larry cut him off. “You already know I’ll plead down and be out in a couple of years. Murdering a cop—any cop—is life—or death if y’all get to me first. Now I told you, we are takin’ a lot of heat. What are you going to do about it?”

Face shrugged. “Nothing I can do, Larry. You’re right. We’re in hot water.”

Larry’s voice was a snarl. “No, motherfucker, me and Angel is in hot water. Unless we give you up. That last bitch—I told you she was a mistake.”

Face scoffed. “She was a whore, just like all the others. Sure, she smelled nice, dressed better. She wasn’t a junkie, but she was a whore just the same.”

“She’s rich,” Larry said. “Why else would they be making such a big deal of this on the news? A rich white bitch. I told you it was a mistake.”

Face smiled at Larry in a smug way that made Larry very uncomfortable. “Then why’d you do it, Larry? Why’d you pick her up and bring her to me? Why’d you fuck her, Larry?” He waited a pregnant moment, but Larry had no explanation. Face lowered his voice. “You liked that rich white whore, just like you liked that black bitch and that skinny, tattooed freak we did before her. You like it, Larry. I didn’t make you do this shit. This was a good deal for you. You get sex on my dime and you get what you wanted.”

“But you didn’t do it,” Larry pointed out.

Face’s features tightened. “I tried.”

“But he ain’t dead, and I don’t got my money back. You kill him, get me that money, and I’ll go down for the white chick. I won’t turn you in, but you gotta do it.”

Face looked away. A long moment stretched out between them. Finally, he said, “One more job.”

Agitated, Larry stood up. “Fuck you,” he said. His bar stool tipped over as he headed for the door. Six pairs of eyes turned toward him. The silence in the bar was palpable.

“Sit down,” Face snapped.

Larry stood at the door for a long time, weighing his options. Finally, he returned to the bar. He righted the stool with a mumbled apology to the bartender.

Face bought two more beers even though Larry’s first one sat untouched. He waited a full five minutes before speaking again. “One more,” he said. “Then I kill that motherfucker. As promised.”

Larry slumped and finally took a sip of beer. It tasted bitter. Face pulled out a cell phone—his personal phone, not one of the throwaway prepaid phones he normally used to contact Larry. He slid his fingers across the screen, pulling up a photo. He handed the phone to Larry.

The woman hadn’t known that Face was taking her picture. It was three-fourths profile in waning daylight from several feet away. She looked very familiar.

“She’s on the Stroll,” Face said.

Larry shook his head and handed the phone back. “She’s a junkie. What do you want with her? She probably got more diseases than I got hair on my balls. I thought we weren’t doing no street whores no more.”

Face put an index finger over the woman’s face. “She’s more than that. I want her.”

Larry rolled his eyes. “When?”

“Give me a few days. There’s something I gotta take care of. Pick up a prepaid and text me the number. I still have minutes on the last phone. I’ll pick out a place and call you when everything is ready.”

“Last job,” Larry reminded Face. “You do what I asked, or I turn your sorry ass in.”