I’ve been thinking a lot about what Playboy told me and how I should handle it. I’m confident he won’t be walking into a district station to give up what he knows about Officer Tommy, including his story about a crazy uncle who almost killed him at the Anacostia River. I’m also sure he’s in the wind about now, and if and when he does get caught, whatever story he has won’t matter as much as the officer he had a part in killing.
Officer Tommy’s death wish was that I “don’t tell,” but that had nothing to do with murder. I might do dirt, but I’d never hunt some punk down, let alone kill him because someone like Cordell Holm ordered me too. Tommy crossed the line with that alone.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out that the Feds are more equipped to handle something like this than Internal Affairs. Not that IA wouldn’t. They just have a tendency to drag their feet. But for my own selfish reasons, I don’t want to have to talk to anyone there.
After a nice long line, I call the FBI’s Washington Field Office and ask to be connected to Special Agent Donna Hernandez. They put me through, but it goes to her voicemail. I don’t want to call Davidson, so I call the WFO again and advise the operator it’s an emergency and pertains to the search warrant Hernandez is probably still working.
I get put on hold.
The operator comes back on and asks, “Do you have a number she can call you on?”
I give it.
Not even a minute later my cell rings.
“Frank Marr,” I answer.
“Agent Hernandez, Mr. Marr. How are you?”
“Thanks for calling back so soon.”
“I was told you have some urgent information?”
“Not so urgent, but important enough. Scott Davidson with you?”
“He’s in the office, yes.”
“Does he know you’re talking to me?”
“No, why?”
“Nothing at all having to do with him. It’s just something I feel should go directly through you guys.”
“Okay. Stand by for a sec,” she says, and then I hear scuffling, like she’s moving somewhere else.
I hear a door shut.
“What do you have?”
“You already know that I gave the location where you got Cordell Holm, so don’t try to pull all that top secret shit and not share anything with me. If you’re going to be like that, then I’ll give the information to someone else that’ll want it.”
“Understood,” she says politely.
“I know Cordell Holm got arrested in the house and so did one of his mopes, a kid named José. He’s the brother of Angelo. You remember Angelo, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I got this information from a very reliable source, and don’t ask who it is, because the source will not make itself available to you or, for that matter, to me anymore. According to the source, Angelo called in the hit on Edgar Soto through his brother José, and it was cleared through Cordell.”
“But without a source—”
“Let me finish. Cordell approved the hit, but used someone outside to do it. The officer who got shot. They called him Officer Tommy.”
“What?”
“It’s good information. You can trust that. The officer was a frequent guest at the brothel. He had himself a Latina girl there. I’m sure if you talk to some of the girls, put together an array, and convince them it’s in their best interest, they’ll identify him. Another thing I know well, because despite what you might think, I was good at my job—”
“I never meant to give you the impression—”
“You can apologize later. Listen now. You got Angelo and Viktor in jail, Cordell Holm on good charges, and this boy José, who was involved in Amanda Meyer’s abduction and probably rape. I’m sure you all got some other good stuff out of that house, and those boys are facing serious time. You set up debriefings with them through the U.S. Attorney’s Office, one after the other, and it’ll only be a matter of time before they all start rolling on each other.”
“This is incredible, Frank, but I really need your source of information.”
“Don’t ask that again, because it’s not going to happen. You have to work for this one. It might take a little time, but it’ll pay off, because everyone rolls.”
“Will you be available to give a statement?”
“Donna, close the fucking Edgar Soto case with some good legwork. I’ve seen your legs. They can work. I’ve given you everything you need to know, so be the hero and do it all yourself.”
I disconnect.
We’ll see how she plays it. I have a feeling she likes the idea of making a name for herself.
Eighty-three
I’ve got a nice chunk of coke on the glass table to chop up. I can’t think of anything better to do today.
The doorbell rings and I nearly fall out of my seat.
I peek through the curtain.
Fuck. It’s Leslie.
I run toward the door, but remember the coke.
“Who is it?” I ask like an idiot.
“Frankie, it’s Leslie.”
I look back in the living room. I can’t let her in yet.
“Leslie, just a minute. I’m not decent. Just wait a second.”
“Okay, then,” she says.
I run back to the living room, look at the chunk I’ve been cutting up. It’s gotta be more than an eight ball. I look around the living room and see the Washington City Paper on the coffee table.
I grab it.