CHAPTER 112
BEFORE WE GOT too excited about making a case, we needed Kevin Doyle to make a recorded phone call to his cousin, Celeste Cantor.
Dennis Wu, Rob Trilling, and I sat in the conference room with Doyle still handcuffed to his chair and shackled to the wooden chair next to him. We carefully cuffed his right hand to the chair as we released his left hand. We hooked a recorder to fit in Doyle’s ear, which would allow each of us to listen to the call as well. We gave Doyle back his cheap burner phone and he dialed the number to Cantor’s burner phone.
She answered after two rings, sounding concerned. “What’s up?”
We had already briefed Doyle on what to say. “All done. But I want to meet with you for a few minutes.”
“Why?”
“Need to clear a few things up. No big deal, but I’m leaving early in the morning. Can we just grab coffee or a bite somewhere?”
Cantor gave him the name of a family-owned Italian place in Williamsburg over in Brooklyn, Mama Rosa’s. We had an hour and half to scout it and set up. I hated doing things on such a constricted timeline, but there were really no other choices. I felt my lieutenant’s absence acutely. Normally, Harry Grissom would run interference with the brass, recruit others to help, and generally be a calming and insightful voice on an operation like this. I guess you don’t really appreciate people until they’re not around. When Harry got back from vacation, I intended to let him know how much I had missed him. For now, everyone was looking to me for guidance.
I rummaged around the storage closet where we kept extra equipment, recorders, transmitters, and anything else we didn’t use on a daily basis. After a moment, I found an off-white heavy T-shirt our tech unit had created for us. It had a concealed Kevlar patch covering the chest and most of the stomach. I also had one of our tech guys sew a tracker into the hem of it, something we used with informants. I’d be able to follow Doyle from a program on my phone if things went bad.
When Trilling and Wu stepped out of the conference room with Doyle, I explained about the shirt. I said, “It’s designed for protection against small- and medium-caliber pistols. It wouldn’t do much against a rifle. But I’m going to need you to wear it under your shirt just in case.”
“You think my own cousin might shoot me?”
“Until today I thought your cousin was one of the most stand-up cops I’d ever met. I’m not taking any chances. You need to wear the shirt.”
By this time there was no one in the office except us and Walter Jackson. We waited while Doyle stripped down. I noticed a number of scars and at least three bullet wounds on his torso. I didn’t ask about them right now. But I was curious how much combat he had seen.
I raced ahead to check out the restaurant, and I found a table where I could sit in the back of Mama Rosa’s near a three-piece band. I could tell by looking at the serving staff and probably one or two members of the band that it really was all one big family here. A pillar with plaster effigies of Cupid and a chariot laced across the top stood next to my table. I didn’t know whether that was good or bad. The pillar would hide me but would also block my view.
We were using our phones for communication. No need to make this operation obvious over the radio. I let Trilling know I was set up. The plan was simple. I was far enough away that hopefully Cantor wouldn’t notice me. Trilling would wear a Mets cap and sit at the bar in sight of the booth where Kevin Doyle would sit, since Cantor didn’t know Trilling well. We had already decided that Dennis Wu would be our outside surveillance member. Part of it was because Cantor might notice the Internal Affairs detective sergeant. Part of it was just me being a little bit of an ass to him. I sort of liked the feeling.