Page 28 of Paranoia

I took Celeste Cantor at her word that I could drop by anytime. I wanted to propose this trip in person. It would be no big deal for her to approve it. Which is how I found myself at One Police Plaza, the single place in the greater New York City area I actively avoided. And why, three minutes after I entered Cantor’s office on the second floor of the building, I stood in shock, hearing her deny my request.

“I can’t approve a trip to Florida on this case,” she told me. “We’re trying to keep it quiet, and any kind of expense will draw attention. If not now, in the future. I sent you all of the reports from the explosion that killed Ralph and Gary. Why do you feel you have to go down there in person anyway?”

“You know as well as I do that reports don’t tell the whole story, Celeste. If you really want me to get to the bottom of this, I need to go to Florida.”

Cantor’s assistant tapped on the door, then stuck his head in and said in a soft voice, “Everyone’s waiting for you in the conference room.”

Cantor nodded impatiently. “Tell them I’ll be right there, Chuck.” She turned toward me and said, “Don’t we have enough of these suspicious NYPD deaths here in New York for you to find out everything you need to know? Or is it in every New Yorker’s DNA to go to Florida at some point?” She smiled at her weak joke.

I said, “I hear what you’re saying. I even understand it on one level. But now I’m in too deep on this case. I can’t just walk away. I wouldn’t think you’dwantme to walk away.”

Cantor said, “You’re a really bright guy, Mike. I have every confidence you’ll figure this out.” She started walking toward the door. Just as she slipped out of the office, Cantor looked over her shoulder and said, “Keep me in the loop on anything you find out.”

I didn’t want to risk saying something I might regret. I took a breath and nodded. Then I followed her out the door and found myself alone and unprotected.

As I headed to the elevator, I heard a voice yell out, “Bennett, what are you doing here?”

I turned to see Internal Affairs Detective Sergeant Dennis Wu walking toward me. This visit had just gone from bad to awful.

Wu said, “You supervising that madhouse while Grissom is on vacation?”

I nodded.

“Still working with that crazy Army vet, Rob Trilling?”

“Are you deliberately trying to insult a young man who’s done nothing but public service his entire adult life?”

“No, I’m deliberately trying to insult you. Mainly because you’re an asshole.”

“At least we feel the same way about each other. Excuse me, Detective Sergeant, I have real police work to do.”

Wu couldn’t let that little jab slide. As the elevator doors closed, he said, “And I’ll be keeping an eye on you while you do it.”

CHAPTER 43

BROODING AT MY desk in Manhattan North Homicide after my meeting at headquarters, I had to admit I saw Celeste Cantor’s point. But she was the one who’d brought this case to me, and now it looked like the real deal. Not just a rumor or conspiracy theory.

In the meantime, I had work to do as the acting supervisor, which took me away from my own cases. It also reminded me why I’d never been interested in being promoted. I was sick of reading and approving other people’s boring reports. I wanted to focus on my own boring reports.

I scrutinized the information Walter Jackson had provided. It looked like Richard Deason had run the most multiethnic crew to ever operate in New York. His list of associates included males and females, whites, Hispanics, and Black people. Deason had used a legitimate CPA for his personal finances, who claimed thathis client told him he was a “venture capitalist.” I always thought every drug dealer was some form of venture capitalist.

No matter what else I was discovering about Deason, I always circled back around to his son, Antonio. My imagination ran a little wild when I envisioned what he would look like now. I assumed he’d be a tough-looking, muscle-bound thug. In reality, his Florida driver’s license and his identification card from the University of Miami both showed a good-looking, smiling young man with longish hair. But both were at least five years old. I had almost no up-to-date information on him.

Walter Jackson shuffled over to my desk. The way he sat in the chair told me he had something important he wanted to talk about. When he didn’t come up with a pun right away, I knew it had to be serious.

I said, “What’s troubling you, big guy?”

“I’ve been helping Rob on the case he’s working with Terri Hernandez. Most of the reports and info have been going through Terri first. I saw something unusual and looked up the case file.”

“Please don’t tell me Trilling did something to screw up one of Terri’s cases. He’d have a better chance of survival if he told the commissioner to kiss his butt.”

Walter chuckled. “No, nothing like that. They’ve been doing surveillance of that gang up in the Bronx. Looks like someone in the group is good for a couple of homicides at least.”

“So what’s got you worked up?”

“They have an informant inside the group who gives them pretty good intelligence about who comes and goes from the warehouse they call their headquarters, any outsiders they’re setting up a meet with.”

“Okay. So they should be able to figure out who’s good for the homicides by looking at the members of the gang and their associates, right?”

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