Dani spotted a pair of black-and-whites parked on the two sides of the building visible to her. As they rolled to a stop behind one of them, a SWAT van screeched in beside them, double-parking while its rear door opened, and a row of black-clad tactical officers streamed out.
She was surprised at the speed of the deployment, then recalled how the NYPD’s Emergency Service Unit had set up rapid response teams to arrive at an evolving situation in a matter of minutes.
They met with the team leader briefly, outlined the situation, and connected with the ESU’s com system. After ensuring every avenue of escape was under observation, they hustled inside the building and climbed the stairs to Toro’s apartment on the fourth floor. The tactical operators lined up in formation with Dani and Flint behind them.
The team leader listened at the door. “Someone’s talking inside,” he whispered into his mic. “Can’t tell if it’s the TV, though.” After another attempt to discern whether he’d heard a show or not, he reached out with a gloved hand and rapped on the apartment door.
The conversation inside abruptly stopped. The door did not open.
Dani’s heart thudded. What was Toro doing inside? Had he assumed that since he’d escaped immediate capture he was safe in his residence? Did he have a cache of guns? For that matter, did he have a bunch of blow darts?
“Police,” the team leader called out. “Open the door.”
Without warning, the door swung inward. From her vantage point at the back of the group, Dani could see a petite, elderly Latina woman put one hand on her chest and cross herself with the other.
The team leader looked past her, scanning what he could see of the apartment’s interior. The woman began to tremble, and Dani rushed forward, open credentials in hand.
“I’m Agent Vega with the FBI,” she said in her most soothing tone. “We’re looking for Gustavo Toro. Does he live here?”
“No hablo inglés,” the woman said. “Pero soy ciudadana.” She straightened. “Soy boricua.”
Flint raised a questioning brow at Dani.
“She wants to make sure we know she’s a US citizen,” she said. “She’s Puerto Rican.”
A couple of the men looked like they could have translated, but perhaps sensing the woman would be more comfortable speaking to a female, they stood back and let her take the lead.
Dani addressed her in polite Spanish. “We’re not here to check your immigration status,” she said. “We’re looking for a man named Gustavo Toro. This apartment is listed as his address. Does he live here?”
The woman shook her head, explaining that her family had moved in more than two months ago and that she had no idea who was living there before that.
“Is there a superintendent or a landlord in the building?” Dani asked.
She pointed down the hall. “Super lives there,” she said in heavily accented English before closing the door. She was done talking.
Heavy-booted footfalls trailed Dani as she strode to the door the woman had indicated and knocked. After a full minute of scuffling coming from inside, the door finally creaked open. A pair of red-rimmed blue eyes peered out from beneath scraggly blond brows. The stained undershirt and grungy boxers meant he wasn’t expecting company.
Dani took a step back, waving away the marijuana fumes wafting from inside, and held up her creds again. “Special Agent Vega, FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The super squinted through the haze to study the card. “I got nothing to say to no Feds.”
Flint stepped beside her and raised his gold shield. “NYPD,” he said. “This property looks poorly maintained.” He rested a hand on his hip. “Maybe I should call the Housing Authority.” He glanced around. “Might need a full inspection and a tenant survey about how well you respond to their complaints.”
The superintendent craned his neck to check out the row of tactical officers lined up behind Dani and Flint. “Is this a bust or something?” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “I just got some weed for . . . uh . . . personal use. I don’t sell it or nothing, so I don’t need no license.”
Since the super seemed more intimidated by the NYPD than the FBI, Dani let Flint ask the questions.
“Now that I have your attention,” Flint said. “We’re looking for a tenant named Gustavo Toro.”
The super scrunched his eyes in concentration. “Oh yeah, he cleared out three months ago.”
“His lease was up?” Flint asked.
The super reached under his shirt to scratch his protruding belly. “Can’t remember.”
“Can we see a copy?” Flint asked.
The super shifted his feet. “I don’t think so.”
Dani gave him her patented don’t-mess-with-me glare and said nothing.
“What are you talking about?” Flint said, jerking a thumb toward the door at the far end of the hall. “That apartment’s on his driver’s license. He had to prove it was his residence.”
The super looked away. “I throw away old records. Don’t have room to keep them all.”
Dani fought an urge to gather handfuls of his filthy undershirt and shake him. “You can answer our questions here or you can answer them at what we fondly refer to as ‘an undisclosed location.’” She waited a beat for his weed-numbed brain to process the threat. “What aren’t you telling us about his lease?”
The super jabbed a nicotine-stained finger at her. “There’s nothing says I can’t rent out an apartment short term if it’s vacant.”
“Except that you’re the super, not the landlord.” Flint turned to Dani. “You think the landlord knows his superintendent collects cash under the table from squatters to let them stay in unoccupied apartments without a lease?”
She crossed her arms. “Should we call him and find out?”
A bead of sweat trickled down from beneath the super’s matted hair. “You wanted to know about Toro, right?” He glanced from Dani to Flint. “Maybe I can be helpful.”
“Do you know where he went?” Flint asked.
“Nah,” the super said. “He left the place empty. No forwarding address. Not sure where he went, neither. He’s not real talky.”
Dani exchanged glances with Flint. Toro had moved out without updating his license, creating another dead end.
“Does he still get mail here?” she asked.
The super frowned. “Do I look like a mail service to you?” He snorted. “Stuff that comes for folks who don’t live in the building goes in the trash.”
Flint edged closer to him. “You’re supposed to return undeliverable mail to the post office. The postal carrier will pick it up.”
“That’s what I meant to say.” The super nodded vigorously, as if that would make his lies more credible. “I give any unclaimed mail back.”
“After you’ve gone through it looking for credit cards, uncashed checks, or gift cards,” Dani muttered.
“We’re wasting our time here,” Flint said under his breath to Dani. “Toro’s in the wind, and we’ve got no trail to follow.”
They left the super to enjoy his “personal weed” and gathered on the street below with the tactical team leader. They agreed there was no sense calling out crime scene techs to process Toro’s former apartment. The new occupants had lived there for months, thoroughly compromising any trace evidence left behind.
Dani called Wu to report their findings. With no forwarding address to check, Wu told them he would assign Johnson to dig for other residences and ordered Dani and Flint to report to 26 Federal Plaza, known as “26 Fed,” where they could begin writing an affidavit for an arrest warrant charging Toro with murder.
“Where is the son of a bitch?” Flint said, sitting beside her in the squad car’s back seat on their way back to Lower Manhattan.
Dani felt the same frustration at their lack of ability to lay hands on Toro. “He’s out there somewhere, he’s dangerous as hell, and he’s got no conscience,” she said. “I want him too.”
“Put yourself in his place,” Flint said. “What would you do? Where would you go?”
People usually followed patterns. What were Toro’s habits? What routines did he follow when he finished a job?
“I’d go to the one who hired me and collect my money,” she said after a moment. “Then I’d get as far away from this city as I could.”
She looked out the window at the pedestrians walking by, going about their daily business, unaware of the danger in their midst. Everything about this case was a divergence from the norm. It fit no discernible pattern. That meant the investigation should be undertaken differently as well. She would have to convince her supervisor to handle things in a way that violated standard protocol. At this point, however, the NYPD was still the lead agency. Would Flint agree with her proposal?
CHAPTER 5