Kop (22 page)

Zorno was getting in his cab.
What the fuck is keeping our driver!
He was arguing with a man holding a wad of cash, trying
to settle his account. He kept pointing at us. The man counted out some bucks and passed it to our driver, who finally got in the car just as Zorno’s cab pulled off.

I flashed my badge and pointed to Zorno’s cab.

He whipped the cab out onto the street and set out in pursuit of Zorno.

I told him, “Leave some space between us. We don’t want him to know we’re tailing.”

“You gonna pay me for this or what? You ain’t gonna give me some bullshit about this being an emergency, are you?”

“We’ll pay. Now shut up and drive or I’ll toss your ass out and drive it myself.”

“That’s cool, man. If you’re paying, I’ll do whatever you say. You’re the boss.” I wanted to tell him to shut up again but held my tongue. Sometimes the best way to keep somebody from yapping was just to stay quiet.

There was only one model of car built on Lagarto. Distinguishing between individual vehicles at night could be next to impossible. Luckily, Zorno’s cab had a driver who liked to stand out. His rear windshield was bordered by tacky running lights that cycled in a marching-ant pattern. We headed out from the city center into a residential area. I said as much to Maggie, who was slow to respond. I stole a look back at her. She looked wiped. She hadn’t gotten any sleep last night—spent the whole night with Pedro Vargas, going through mugs. “You can take a nap, Maggie. I’ll wake you up when we get somewhere.”

“No, I’m okay. Just a little tired.” She opened her eyes wide and sat up in her seat.

The traffic thinned, so the driver hung farther back, letting Zorno’s cab get way out in front of us. I sneaked another peek at Maggie, whose eyes were now closed. I decided to leave her
alone and let her get some rest. We drove for a long time on the Cross Canal Road then turned into a dingy development of single-story apartments. The drive was overrun with branching weeds, candy wrappers caught in the cracks. We rode along slowly, people checking us out the whole way.

The apartments were run down. The paint was peeling; pieces of cardboard were taped over window holes. Many apartment fronts had been converted into small stores or food counters. People were out enjoying the evening. Men were grouped into card games and drinking circles. Women worked the stores and food counters. Their kids were running loose with the chickens while lizards hung out on the rooftops, observing without moving.

Zorno’s cab drove around to the back one of the apartment rows. He didn’t want anybody to know he was here. He got out of the cab and walked to the building. I couldn’t see which unit he went in; our view was blocked.

He was here to meet somebody, and I had to find out who it was—could be the person who hired Zorno to snuff Lieutenant Vlotsky. I was afraid he might spot me if I got out too soon, so I waited a minute before I rushed up to a row of crooked mailboxes, leaving a sleeping Maggie in the backseat.

Not all of the boxes had names written on, but I read off the ones that did. Scheid…Nunes…Rhyne…Vargas…OH SHIT! Vargas in unit 7! I sprinted to the back of the building, the weeds grabbing at my ankles. I struggled to pull my piece as I ran, finally managing to get it out of the holster as I sped up to the door of unit 7. How could I be so stupid? FUCK! The door was cracked open. I threw it wide and burst in.

Zorno was on his knees, lopsided smile and bloody knife in his hand. Pedro Vargas fish-flopped around the floor with his hands to his throat, blood running through his fingers—too goddamned late.

I was trying to keep my weapon leveled at Zorno, but it was wavering wildly—keep it cool, just relax.

Zorno held onto the knife. He was studying my wobbling gun, measuring his chances.

I held my piece with two hands but couldn’t control the tremors—RELAX! He got up, slip-sliding in Pedro’s blood. I started squeezing the trigger. My shots burned high and wide, my hand quaking so much that I wasn’t even close.

He was charging now. I kept firing and missing. I stopped pumping out short bursts and held the trigger down creating one long burn that I swept side to side like a fire spraying garden hose. He was still coming.

The frying sound of laser fire came from over my shoulder. Zorno buckled. Two more shots and the knife fell harmlessly from his hand as he collapsed.

“You okay, Juno?”

“Yeah, Maggie. Thanks.”

“You have to do something about that hand.”

The air smelled charred. The walls and furniture smoked with black singe marks. Zorno’s burnt flesh smelled well-done. Maggie kept a bead on him as she approached. She kicked away Zorno’s knife while I stood there, useless and fucking impotent. Pedro had stopped struggling, and Zorno wasn’t moving. Their blood mingled on the floor.

Maggie looked at Pedro’s body trying to figure out who it was. “Oh god. Is that Pedro?”

“Yeah.”

“How did he know about Pedro?”

I checked them both for a pulse—dead and dead. Then I searched Zorno’s pockets, pulling his bar bill out of his back pocket. There was a handwritten note on the backside.

Maggie paled. “Oh my god, Juno. It’s my fault. I filled out the witness report. I knew where Pedro lived.”

“It’s not your fault, Maggie. Zorno did this.”

“But I should have known! I knew his address. I should have known that was where Zorno was leading us. I could have stopped it.”

“You were tired. You didn’t sleep last night.”

“I don’t believe this. I fell asleep and let him die. He was counting on us….”

“Zorno did this, Maggie. You can’t blame yourself. Zorno and the fucking barkeep that passed him this note. I was the one that pushed you into following him. If we had arrested him right away, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Maggie didn’t look convinced.

She found a dry spot and sank down to the floor, the lase-pistol still in her hand. I studied her shock-seized face, unable to help…another example of how fucking useless I was.
Somebody is going to pay for this.

Some punk kid poked his head in the door.

“GET OUT!” I scared him so bad that he smacked into the door frame as he bolted away. I looked out and saw there was a whole crowd out there. Just like the flies and lizards, people were attracted to dead bodies. I closed the door and sealed us off from the scavengers.

I called down to HQ—told them to send out a body wagon and to get some cops here quick for crowd control. I went through the apartment and found Pedro’s mother in the bedroom, lying on the bed with an opium-glazed look on her face, ashtray on the pillow. She’d been here the whole time, too hopped to notice her son being murdered in the room next door.

I dried the cup with a moldy towel, dropped in a bag of green tea that I found in the cupboard, and poured boiling water. I left the tea bag sunk in the water and brought it to Maggie. It looked like some of the color had returned to her face, but I wasn’t sure.

I took a seat. Abdul worked from a kneeling position, plastic bags meticulously rubber banded over his clothes. His fingers spread Pedro’s throat wound open. “He did this one the same way—from behind pull right, push left, pull right. The incision isn’t as deep this time. He used a smaller knife, but the cutting motion is the same. It’s not as exact as fingerprints, but it looks like Pedro Vargas and Dmitri Vlotsky were killed by the same man.”

Greased by Pedro and Zorno’s combined blood, he slid more than crawled over to Zorno’s body, which lay facedown. “There’s your killshot,” he said, pointing to the charred region on the top of Zorno’s head. “Help me turn him over, Juno.”

I got down low, careful to stay out of the blood, and tried using my legs to help power him over. I pulled hard on one of his bulky arms as Abdul turned the torso. I almost fell when the body slid on the slick floor—damn, he was heavy. When we finally succeeded in getting him over, Abdul surveyed the corpse like it was a fine meal. “Ah, we have a stomach wound. I can see it now. The first shot burned into his stomach; he doubled over, and the second shot bored into the top of his head. How am I doing, Juno?”

“You’ve got it.”

Abdul took his eyes off Zorno’s body to look at Maggie sitting silently on the sofa. “That was nice shooting, Maggie.”

She met his eyes after a pause, reluctant to speak. “Only two hits; I fired three times.”

“Two out of three is excellent. I know thirty-year veterans that can’t match that ratio.” He smirked in my direction.

Two white coats entered. “You have somebody for us?”

About time! “Yeah, she’s in the bedroom, right down the hall.”

“Is she injured?”

“No, just drugged out of her mind. She missed the whole thing.”

They headed into the bedroom and came out a few minutes later with Pedro’s mother on a stretcher. They had mercifully pulled a sheet over her head, so she wouldn’t have to see her dead son. As soon as they left, in came Paul with that asshole Karl Gilkyson.

Gilkyson looked ill the instant he laid eyes on the gory scene.

Paul noticed his queasy stance. “Why don’t you wait outside? We’ll come right out.”

Gilkyson gave Paul a thankful nod and stepped out.

Paul told Maggie to take a break. She was deeply offended; after all, she’d just killed a man, working this case. She’d earned the right to be in the inner circle.

Paul said, “I’m sorry, Maggie, but I need to talk to Juno and Abdul privately.”

She left in a rush.
Are those tears in her eyes?

The three of us were alone with the two bodies. Paul took charge like always. “We won’t be able to talk for long. Gilkyson will be back in here as soon as he gets his stomach back. I need to know what happened.”

I said, “The kid’s name is Pedro Vargas. He was a witness to
the Vlotsky killing—saw the whole thing go down. He picked Ali Zorno out of the mugs last night.”

“Zorno? I thought you were looking at the military guy—Kapasi. I’ve been busting my hump trying to get you in to see him.”

“Keep on it. He and Zorno were cellmates at the Zoo. I still want to talk to him. Zorno got arrested by Brenda Redfoot when he broke into an apartment in her building. She had him pegged as a serial killer but couldn’t sell it to the judge, so he got sent up for burglary. He just got released from the Zoo a few weeks ago. Get this: Brenda put together a list of missing persons that she thought Zorno could have taken, and Kapasi’s missing sister is on the list.

“At this point, Maggie was thinking Zorno was a serial killer and Lieutenant Vlotsky was just a random victim. But when we busted into Zorno’s place this morning, we found a pile of cash in his mattress along with Vlotsky’s lips. We’re talking a big pile of cash with Vlotsky’s picture and address. That locks it, Paul. Vlotsky was a hired hit. Maggie wanted to arrest Zorno right away, but I wasn’t sure we’d be able to get him to squeal, so I talked her out of it. I thought we should follow him to see who he contacted. We wound up following him here. By the time I realized this was the kid’s place, it was too late.”

“How did he find out about the kid?”

“I had Maggie fill out a witness report.”

“A cop tipped him off? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yeah, unless it was Gilkyson. Is that guy glued to you or what?”

Paul looked ready to explode—must be what I looked like most of the time. “No. Gilkyson’s too busy crawling up my ass to read witness reports. It has to be one of ours. Odds are it’s the same asshole that ratted the frame job I tried to put on the mayor last month.”

Abdul stopped working the stomach wound to talk to Paul. “Why’d you put Juno on a homicide? You could have gotten him killed.”

That made me angry. “Since when do you talk about me like I’m not here?”

Abdul raised his spectacle-magnified eyebrows at me. “Since you don’t know how to take care of yourself.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Abdul. I need you to butt the hell out.”

“The hell you don’t. You practically fried the whole apartment and didn’t hit him.”

Paul looked at the burn-scarred room. “Did you do all that? Is your hand that bad?”

“How do you know about my hand?”

“Abdul told me.”

I was getting angrier. “What the fuck did you do that for, Abdul?”

“Because I’m your doctor. You are my responsibility.”

“You’re not my doctor. You’re a fucking coroner.”

“I am your doctor. And you’re not fit for a homicide investigation. You shouldn’t be on the street at all. I called Paul as soon as I found out you were on this case and told him about your hand. I knew there was no point in trying to talk you out of it, so I appealed to Paul.”

“Fuck that! I won’t leave the street.”

Paul tried to settle the argument. “You’re right to be worried, Abdul, but I need Juno on this case.”

Abdul resumed work on the stomach wound, wiping the blood away as he talked. “What’s so important about this case?”

Paul sat down on the sofa. He fingered his tie tack. “I need somebody I can trust.”

Abdul asked, “Why?”

Paul took a minute to explain his mayoral involvement theory to Abdul. It was cut short when the door opened, and Karl Gilkyson came back in—bastard couldn’t leave us alone.

Gilkyson was making a concentrated effort to keep his gaze off the carnage. “Fill me in.”

Paul jumped in before I could respond. “The kid’s name is Vargas. That’s him with the cut throat.” Paul pointed to Pedro’s body, trying to get Gilkyson to look, but he wouldn’t bite. He stayed focused on Paul. “He witnessed the Vlotsky killing and picked out the murderer’s mug shot. The murderer’s name is…what was it again, Juno?”

“Zorno. Ali Zorno.”

“Yeah, Zorno. That’s him with the head wound.” Again he pointed.