Chapter 10
“Going down tonight … Jourdan … Wilson, you got your guys in pocket, right?”
“Don’t I always? No patrols nearby during the exchange.”
“Good. This ain’t no regular trade up. We’re talking at least fifty fresh ladies, new to the circuit.”
“When’s the shipment?”
“Three a.m.”
“… better get a move on, then.”
Mateo leaned closer to the audio equipment crowded onto one side of the delivery truck, as if distance was what kept him from hearing every piece of conversation floating from the speakers.
The snatches of conversation came at them from between thumping bass notes of music, but it was enough.
Jones stood at his back, waiting for him to react to the audio snippet he’d just listened to.
Donovan had found Mateo on the edge of the dance floor, grasped his shoulder and steered him out through one of the club’s side doors.
He had been so stunned to find the Seal of Azrael tattooed on some random man’s back that he hadn’t had time to react before he was outside, being hustled down an alley.
Eventually, he snapped out of it long enough to shoot Smith a quick text.
Shirtless prick on the dance floor. Back tattoo.
Smith would know what to do with that. The law prohibited them from detaining or questioning the man, as the symbol itself was too obscure and not found on any FBI or government watchlists.
The man hadn’t been caught in the midst of a crime.
But Smith could snap a picture or follow him, possibly resulting in a new lead.
“How long ago was this?” he asked Jones.
“About half an hour ago. I texted Donovan to bring you out here as soon as I heard it.”
“There was a part of it that didn’t make sense to me. Who is Jourdan?”
“Not a who,” Jones replied. “I had Darcy run the name, and it’s a street near the Port of New Orleans. After looking into the buildings in the area, she found Berenger Warehouse. It’s on Jourdan Street and it’s owned by—”
“Let me guess. Valemont Holdings.”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Mateo glanced at his watch. “It’s 12:30 now. That might give us enough time.”
“Time for what?”
He clapped Jones on the shoulder. “You did good, kid. Get that audio over to Carlisle right now, then I need you to go back to listening to that feed. Let me know what else you might hear.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Mateo stepped out of the van while retrieving his work phone. Donovan leaned against the brick side of a tattoo parlor, watching him silently.
Carlisle’s voice was deepened and thick from sleep when she answered. “Garcia, you’d better have a damn good reason for waking me up.”
“Check your email. Jones is sending you an audio file taken from the wiretap at Solstice. I think we have something. A possible exchange going down at a warehouse at the Port of New Orleans. 3:00 a.m.”
“I’ll listen to the audio and put in a request for a warrant, but it can’t happen that fast. You know that.”
Mateo began to pace the alley, running a hand through his hair. “It has to! This is the first real break we’ve had in the case in months.”
“We don’t even know if what you’ve stumbled upon can be considered a part of your case.”
“I saw a man with that fucking symbol tattooed across his back at the same nightclub Kacey Mills was trafficked out of. The same club where Suede, Wilson, and Morrison hang out, and where we recorded audio of them talking about a new shipment. A potential new crop of victims!”
“Even if all that means what you think it does, the UNSUB has never killed in the same place twice. When he’s ready to kill again, he will move on.”
“We don’t know that!”
Silence greeted him from the other end of the line. The whites of Donovan’s eyes flared bright in the dark as he watched Mateo as if he’d lost his mind. He was screaming into the phone, his neck tense and his face flushed. He was rapidly losing his grip on professional protocols.
“Garcia,” Carlisle said slowly, now sounding fully awake.
“You and your team have been working overtime, and I know that you, especially, are tired and worn thin. For that reason, I intend to overlook your lack of decorum and respect and assure you that I am doing everything I can from my end to help you. After I paved the way for your wiretap, you’re asking me to demand a warrant in less than four hours for a raid! ”
“Not a raid, then,” Mateo insisted. “Surveillance only. If we can get them on camera handling cargo, it’ll be enough to get a raid approved.”
“Not in four hours, Garcia.”
He tore the phone away from his ear and hurled a string of epithets into the darkness. He pounded his fist against the brick and took a slow, deep breath before bringing the phone back to his ear.
“What do you expect me to do, ma’am?” he asked, surprising even himself with how calm he sounded.
“Wait for a warrant.”
“By the time we get one, it’ll be too late. The shipment will have come and gone.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“It’s not the best I can do.”
“Garcia.” There was a warning in Carlisle’s tone. “Don’t be a cowboy. We’re walking a razor-thin line keeping you on this case as it is. You go rattling too many cages, I won’t be able to help you.”
“Understood.”
“Good. You’ll hear from me when the warrant for surveillance is a go.”
The line went dead, and Mateo clenched his phone at his side, his fingers trembling around the plastic and glass.
“Well?” Donovan prodded. “What’s the deal?”
“The deal is, we’re expected to sit around with our thumbs up our asses while Suede and his crew move a shipment of women right under our fucking noses.”
Donovan ran a hand over his closely-shaved hair. “Fuck. Fucking bureaucracy, man. It’s what I hate the most about this job.”
In the past, Mateo would have argued Donovan down to the ground over the importance of protocol.
It was the lifeblood coursing through the veins of a justice system Mateo had believed in since taking his oath of office.
But this case had changed him in the most fundamental ways; not just as a man, but as an agent.
He couldn’t agree more that the red tape boxing them in made them less effective in situations like these.
“Fuck this,” Mateo spat. “What kind of surveillance equipment do you have at the field office?”
Donovan frowned. “A camera with a telephoto lens and infrared, a few directional mics, and some night vision binoculars. Why?”
Mateo was already setting off down the alley. Donovan scrambled to catch up to him.
“Garcia, maybe we should talk about this.”
Mateo emerged from the alley and turned left after orienting himself. He snatched the priest’s collar from around his throat.
“Nothing to talk about. You’re going to go back to Solstice and pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”
“Let me help you.”
Mateo halted in his tracks, bringing the other man up short beside him. “No. You’re a promising young agent with a flawless jacket. I won’t let you jeopardize that.”
“And what about you?” Donovan challenged. “The SSA Garcia I read about doesn’t investigate like this. Your docket says you’re a by-the-book kind of guy. What’s a move like this going to cost you?”
Mateo shrugged Donovan’s hand off his shoulder. “This case has already cost me everything. Go back to Solstice. Meet me at the office at seven a.m. sharp.”
Without waiting for a reply, he continued on his way.
The warnings of both Carlisle and Donovan nagged him all the way back to his hotel, but he ignored them.
He had been sitting on his hands long enough.
This was what he had been waiting for—a lead to track, a thread to pull, an instinct to follow.
He had been at a standstill since Mari’s death, too numb with shock and grief to move forward.
The lack of new evidence in the case had made him feel as if it might never end.
Now, he had what he needed to push on. He might not be able to see the end from here, but the path was clear. He wouldn’t be swayed.
Half an hour later, Mateo lay belly-down on the roof of a warehouse that had gone quiet and still for the night.
From his vantage point and through the long-range camera he’d borrowed from the field office, he could clearly see what went on in the fenced-off yard behind Berenger Warehouse.
He had arrived with only twenty minutes to spare after stopping off at his hotel room and then the field office.
He had stripped out of his priest costume and put on another all-black get-up, this one more comfortable.
He had left his credentials at the hotel, not wanting to reveal his identity if discovered, but wore his bureau-issue sidearm under his arm.
He’d be damned if he was caught without protection.
He took the rental car he’d secured once it became clear he would be in New Orleans for more than a few days.
Mateo had made a stop at the field office to fill his duffel bag with borrowed surveillance equipment.
Before heading for the port, he had sent Darcy a quick text with Melody’s picture.
She would still be up this time of night, on standby for bits of information from Jones and the surveillance team.
Need an ID on this waitress from Solstice. First name Melody. Age unknown. Lived in NOLA for a year. Info comes straight to me only.