“We wanted to, but the Huddleston family, they were begging for closure. They’d had enough, so pressure came from downtown to move on, especially since there’d been official disposition. And then Charles got his promotion and took over the Twentieth, so it fell away.”
Heat handed him the mug shot of Sergio Torres. “This guy would have been doing some low-level dealing north of 116th and in the Bronx back then. Ever come across him?”
He studied it carefully and said, “No, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t around. I was Homicide, not Narcotics.”
“Speaking of which, does this guy look familiar? He worked Narco around then.”
Eddie took the picture of Steljess and said, “Mad Dog.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Total dipshit, that’s all you needed to know. He was undercover but everyone knew he crossed over. Went native, you could smell it on him.” He handed the picture back. “I hear they drummed him out. Good riddance.”
“Well said,” from Rook.
After Heat took back the pictures, she said, “One more question, if you don’t mind, Eddie. Who was the big player then?”
“In drugs? Uptown and in the Bronx?” He chuckled. “One man, Alejandro Martinez.”
* * *
On the flight back to LaGuardia Nikki said, “Nice one, thinking about Eddie.”
“Not a problem. I am an investigative journalist, you know.”
“Oh? And I understand you also have not one, but two Pulitzers.” She drilled his ribs with her knuckle.
“Do I say that too often?”
“Not really. Maybe if you just carried the awards around it would be more subtle.” She laughed and said, “But you did put your talents to good use. Even if we don’t know all the answers to this yet, we do know one thing.”
“If you’re dyeing your hair black, keep out of direct sunlight?”
“Absolutely.” Then she grew serious. “At least we know Captain Montrose was working on something and not . . . you know.”
“Dirty?”
“And I knew it. And now that we’ve talked to Eddie, I truly know it. So thanks, times two, Pulitzer boy. For the idea and the plane ticket.”
Rook turned to her and said, “I don’t know who you’re trying to redeem, Montrose or yourself, but I do know one thing. I’m with you on either.”
* * *
Heat had multiple voice mails from Ochoa when they got off the plane. “What’s up, Miguel?” she said in the taxi line.
“Where are you? I hear jets.”
“At the airport. Rook and I just went to Florida.” And then she couldn’t resist adding, “For lunch.”
“Man, my frostbite has frostbite. I want to get suspended.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Heat, “best week of my life.”
“First off, Steljess did have his old cuff case and holster but no scrapes matching that leather bit. Same on Montrose’s leathers. OK, more on the captain. Raley and I went to Forensics and personally checked out the questions you had about his weapon. He had a full magazine minus one bullet.” Whatever relief Nikki had felt after meeting with Eddie Hawthorne flushed out of her. A deep sadness gripped her. Rook read it on her and mouthed a silent “what?” but she waved him off. Then Ochoa said, “But hang on. I checked his backup magazine from his belt and discovered something interesting.”
Heat said it first. “One’s missing.”
“Even better. Not only is one missing, the top load in his gun’s mag was the orphan from that spare clip.” Nikki could feel her spirits rise back up while Detective Ochoa continued, “No prints on the cartridge, which is also strange—not even Montrose’s.”
“Not just strange,” Heat said, “significant. I mean, come on, how does a dead man reload?”
* * *