Chapter Thirty-Two
Bhodi?
Earlier that morning…
Stepping into the precinct, it’s chaos. Moving past officers and detectives, I eventually reach my desk before I hear my name being barked through the office. Turning to see captain Dean standing in the doorway, his face is focused and showing no emotion.
Stepping inside his office, I close the door behind me as he falls into his chair. The familiar figure sitting opposite him doesn’t turn, but I already know who it is. I feel my spine stiffen at his presence. I watch as he taps his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair.
“What is it?” I finally ask.
“Harry is dead.” The captain shakes his head.
Stepping further into the office, I slam my fists onto the desk. When the captain leans back, he shoots me a warning glare. Turning to see Bernardi’s lawyer shooting me a death glare, I look between both men, straightening my back.
“What happened?”
“You tell me, he was killed in custody.” Elijah shrugs.
My eyes narrow on his, usually he comes in barking orders, demanding to speak with the highest authority and throwing his weight around. But he doesn”t seem too fazed for someone who’s just lost a client.
Turning back to the captain, I shoot him a questioning look.
“Someone in custody killed him.” He lifts a file from the drawer and slides it across the desk.
Pulling it open my eyes land on some scrawny kid. His mug shot shows his hollow cheekbones and eyes. The scabs on his skin confirm what I already know before reading his sheet.
“This kids a fucking junkie.” I say, throwing it back onto the desk. “What happened?”
“They were both in holding, a fight broke out, and he slit Harry’s throat.”
“How the fuck did he get a weapon? Everything should have been taken off him?” The frustration in my voice evident from my wide eyes and trembling hands.
Elijah rises from his seat; the blank expression remains on his face. He refuses to look my way. Instead, he turns toward the captain.
“I expect a full investigation. That junkie shouldn’t have been able to smuggle a weapon into the precinct and it not be found.” He speaks calmly before stepping away from the office, shooting one final look at me before disappearing altogether.
His words leave an uneasy feeling in the room. The captain shakes his head.
“He’s waiting in the interview room. See what you can find out.”
Nodding, I leave the room. Taking a deep breath, the chaos seems to have subsided slightly, but glancing around, everyone looks on edge. Whoever didn’t process this kid properly, won’t skate on this colossal fuck up.
Wasting no time, I push open the interview room door with Detective Callaghan on my heels. A keen new detective who just got his gold shield, feeling him bump into me from behind, I shoot him a warning glare to tone down the eager puppy act.
Pulling out the chair, I take a seat. Flipping open the file, I look between this kid and his sheet, studying the list as long as my arm. I immediately close the file and rest my arms on the desk.
“Brent Mason, twenty-six years old, parents live on the Upper East Side. You’ve been arrested for possession of drugs, selling, buying, hell, even petty theft. Yet you’ve never killed anyone until now.”
I speak calmly and stare into his eyes, watching him twitch and pick at his face. His eyes flicker to mine, but he can barely hold my gaze for more than a few seconds. The sweat forming at his brow and the shakes leads me to believe he hasn’t had a fix for a while.
“So what made you do it? As far as I know, you’ve never met Harry until today.”
Brent keeps looking away, his eyes momentarily dart between Detective Callaghan and me, but he chooses to chew on his fingernails instead.
“You’re looking at twenty-five years for murder, Brent. If you tell us why, we can speak with the D.A. Did Harry threaten you at all?” Callaghan interjects.
Brent”s eyes widen for a second, the fear threatening to show at the thought of being locked away. No matter how Callaghan tries to spin this, he’s going to prison for a long time. He murdered someone. There were witnesses, and right now, no apparent motive.
“I can’t go to prison!” Brent leaps to his feet, the chair clattering on the floor. Backing into the corner, he begins to rant incoherently. “I’m not going! They said I wouldn’t!”
My eyes narrow on him, rising from my chair. I keep my distance as Brent begins to sob, cowering in the corner. I slowly step closer. Dropping to one knee, I lean in.
“Who said you wouldn’t go to prison, Brent?”
“The man! The man who gave me the money!” He sobs.
“What money? Where is it?”
“I needed the money. They said they wouldn’t give me anymore.”
“Who wouldn’t give you any more?”
“My mom….she cut me off.” He rubs his eyes while more tears fall.
I can feel my limited patience begin to drain away. Turning to Callagham, he merely shrugs. I gesture for him to follow me from the room, closing the door behind us.
“Did he have money on him when he was arrested?” I ask.
Callagham flips through the log but shakes his head.
“Just a phone, his wallet and cocaine. But there was no cash.”
“Why was he arrested?”
“Anonymous call came in last night; someone was complaining about a drug deal outside their apartment. Brent was picked up by patrol a little later.”
I look back through the window, Brent pacing the room, scratching at his skin, but it’s not the scratching and continued picking that draws my attention. It’s the numerous track marks that mar his skin, some older and some new, but he’s covered, which are the signs of a constant user.
Snatching the file from Callaghan, I continue reading through the reports of each arrest, my eyes scanning page after page. He shoots me a questioning look, leaning in closer, trying to read, but I just take a step back.
“Shit.” I mutter.
Moving with a purpose, I storm through the office and back into the captain”s office without knocking. As the door swings open, he holds his coffee halfway to his mouth. Ignoring the anger blooming across his face, I slam the report down onto his desk.
“It’s a setup.” I protest.
“What?”
“The arrest, the whole thing, someone wanted Harry dead.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Opening the report, I slide it over to the captain. His eyes scan the pages for a moment before he looks at me. His eyes are wide, he leans back in his chair, running a hand over his stubble.
“Cocaine, he’s a heroin user. But could he be selling?” He asks.
“Why have cocaine in the first place if you can have heroin instead?” I ask. “Because they wanted Harry dead, they knew he was here. They knew the junkie kid was an easy target. All they had to do was get him arrested.” I protest.
Captain Dean slumps into his chair.
“But the blade wasn’t on him. He was searched?”
My blood runs cold. Straightening up, my gaze roams across the busy office, watching everyone go about their day.
“Someone here gave it to him.” I mutter.
“Grey, you can’t be fucking serious. Do you have any idea what you’re accusing somebody of?”
“Luca.” I let out a heavy sigh. “Harry has been arrested, and if the right deal is offered, he may spill his guts. Tell us everything.
“Shit.” The captain mumbles, leaning back in his chair he studies the ceiling for a moment.
My phone begins to ring, immediately sliding it from my pocket, I see Summer’s name fill the screen. For a moment, I just stare, but I can’t answer her call here. Tapping ignore, I slide it back into my jeans and turn to the captain.
“I need the security footage from the office captain.”
“Fine, I’ll call down now.”
Nodding, I leave the office. Keeping my head down, I step through the main office and head towards the main doors and outside. Glancing around first, I pull my phone out and hit call. Holding it to my ear, I let out a heavy sigh when it goes straight to voicemail.
“Come on, answer baby.”
Ending the call, I lean against the precinct wall. I take a deep breath and try to figure out what to do next. If the security footage shows a cop passing this kid the blade, it means they knew what was going to happen, and they went along with it.
I guess Luca really has an influence within the NYPD.
This just confirms what I already fucking knew. He and Harry were clearly into something that he didn’t want us to discover. He couldn’t trust him enough not to cave under pressure, and it must be big if he’s willing to trust a junkie kid to do the deed.
But what?
I feel the disappointment rain down on me hard, pissed off I couldn’t kill Harry myself. Take my time, slice off his fingers, followed by his hands, take each arm…..
Mulling it over in my head, my phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts.
Summer?
Glancing at the screen, I see Jimmy’s name. A flicker of disappointment runs through me, but I hit answer.
Letting out a heavy breath, I hold the phone to my ear.
“Jimmy, it’s...”
“Bhodi, the fucking apartment is on fire.”
The statement paralyzes me. I can feel the blood draining from my body.
“What?” I bite back.
“Summer called me. It went to voicemail. I heard gunshots and got a call from the security company. The fucking place is on fire, Bhodi! They’ve called 911, but I’m heading there now.”
I can hear Jimmy running through his apartment, the door slamming behind him as he heads to Summers. But I can’t move, I’m fucking drowning. I can hear my heart thundering in my ears, anger clouding my vision. I try to force my feet to move, but they won’t. The only thought running through my mind continues to cruelly taunt me.
You should have answered the call.
See you soon for part two.