Suspect, p.31
Suspect, page 31
“Had Blanco met Ritz before?” Moses asks.
“Never.”
“So who recruited him to this scheme in the first place?” asks Moses.
“Me. I mean, I did what Ritz said. Somebody—this Joe character, I think—drilled into Frito’s computer while he was using it and did quite a tap dance on Frito—even used the camera in Frito’s computer to take pictures of him in front of the machine diddling himself. And a dozen screenshots of what he was watching.”
I’m startled by this information, and immediately honked off that Koob held out on me and never said he had hacked Blanco. But then I remember our deal. He promised to tell me only about what happened the night Blanco was murdered. The full details on the jobs he’d been hired to do for Ritz were off the table. He made exceptions for what mattered to me directly—spying on me and penetrating the Chief’s computer—but only on the condition that I would not pass that on to Tonya, and I still haven’t. I’m still not sure if he felt obliged to keep Ritz’s secrets, or if his actual motive was to hold back any information that might make it easier for the FBI to identify him. But when I replay what Koob said when I asked what Frito was looking at on his computer, he said something like, ‘I can’t say,’ meaning one thing and me understanding another.
“Ritz told me to go over and show all those pictures to Frito. When we did, I really thought we were gonna have to dial 911. He didn’t quite faint, but we actually had to find him a paper bag to breathe in. Once he could listen, we told him he had an alternative, just an hour on the witness stand and nobody would ever know.”
“When was this?” asks Moses.
“Early March?”
Moses looks to Feld to give him back the floor.
“Let’s return to the night of Blanco’s death,” Dan says. “What did you do once you realized Blanco had passed?”
“Whatever we could. We cut off the zip ties on his arms and legs, and I actually went to an all-night pharmacy to get some alcohol and those gloves so we could wipe the place down for prints. By the time we were done, the Ritz had kind of talked himself into thinking this wasn’t all bad that Frito had croaked. You were right—he knew they don’t screen for that drug on the autopsy, and he thought most pathologists wouldn’t see the needle marks where they were. And we were done worrying about what Frito might say if he got immunity. No way I was seeing anything good about Frito dying—I was just all messed up about this—but Ritz, he was like, ‘Shit happens, Walt, make sure nobody ever sees this stuff.’ He took the SIM card out of Frito’s cell and told me to get rid of the phone and the used injection pens.”
“What happened to the phone and the card?” asks Ingram.
“Ritz told me he was going to melt the SIM with a lighter. The phone, Ritz said to throw it in the river. You know, because the water would kill the thing. I did it soon as I left. But we both knew the damn syringes would float. Ritz’s idea was for me to find some public restroom where they have those red plastic boxes on the wall—what do they call them, ‘sharps containers’?” After she got the autopsy results and learned about the injection sites on Frito’s shoulder, Tonya identified every sharps container within a mile of Blanco’s apartment, but the disposal pickups had all taken place by then and the contents had been incinerated. Once I got the bag from Paulette, we all realized that even if Tonya had thought of the containers sooner, it would have turned up nothing. Instead, Walter explains why he ignored Ritz’s direction.
“Am I gonna stand in some men’s room,” Walter says, “where anybody can walk in any second and see me with the shit in my hands that killed Blanco? No chance. I had to get home to my kid, so I just took that stuff with me.”
“And where did you dispose of it?” Tonya asks.
Walter smirks at her. He’s definitely not buying her act about Paulette.
“I dropped my kid off at my ex’s the next morning, and the bins were out front, it was garbage day. I still had the bag with the needles and the gloves in my trunk. I thought it was pretty funny, putting that shit in her can. It wouldn’t go wrong, but if one in a million it did, guess who’s getting hotboxed?” He’s not in a laughing mood, but he still manages a smile. If you ever want an advertisement against getting married, it’s Walter and Paulette, bound in shared hatred.
Ingram asks, “And Blanco’s phone went in the river, as planned?”
“Exactly,” says Cornish. “Threw it out the car window as I was going over the Bolcarro Bridge.”
Moses has heard enough. He announces that everyone should take a break and the agents will get Walter a sandwich or something. Moses and Feld are leaving, but they will see Walter again. Later today, agents Ingram and Ferro will ask him more questions. The tape ends.
The Chief is still staring at the monitor.
“Ritz,” she says, like it’s the worst word in the English language.
Rik asks Tonya to step out so we can discuss the point Moses wanted the Chief to consider, whether she should resume command of the investigation. The answer is clearly no. The Ritz’s and Walter’s role in framing her—trying to end her career, maybe even put her in prison—means she has too clear a motive to get even with them. She’ll need to stay far away. Tonya will continue to report to the commander, the HI department’s number two.
“You think the Bureau is going to run Walter in wired on Ritz?” the Chief asks Tonya when she comes back.
“They aren’t sure he’s got the stones to get away with it,” Tonya says. “And the Ritz is probably too smart to say anything incriminating anyway, no matter what Walter tells him. You don’t really want the Ritz against Walter in a think-fast contest.”
The Chief nods emphatically.
“The Ritz will see through Walter from a block away,” she says. “Ritz will babble a bunch of exculpatory shit, no matter what kind of pretext the Bureau cooks up for Walt.”
Rik, however, believes that the Bureau will have no choice but to try something in that vein. A case built only on accomplice testimony is not strong. Ritz will trot out the standard defense, discrediting Walter by claiming Cornish killed Blanco on his own and is just offering up a big name like Ritz’s to shift the blame and reduce his time. No matter how trite or typical, that story might work. As they say, for the jury it is always opening night. The G needs corroboration for Walter.
“And by the way,” says the Chief, “what the hell is carfentanil, and how’d it get into my city?”
“It’s starting to turn up here and there,” Tonya says, “because there’s a shortage of illegal fentanyl. The Chinese got shamed into cutting off the manufacturing of the precursor chemicals. Apparently, the dealers have started cutting what they get with small doses of carfentanil. It’s a tranquilizer, but not for humans.”
It hits me quick.
“Let me guess,” I say. “It’s intended for large animals like rhinos and elephants?”
Tonya gives me a weirded-out look.
“That sounds like you’re not just guessing.” she says.
33. The Chief Decides
Rik, as usual, walks Lucy to her Toyota. Once they stroll off, I motion Tonya to the Cadillac, where we sit together in the cushy front seats. Tonya shakes her head about this car every time she’s in it.
I say, “I think your Bureau buddies should check with the DEA to see if any companies in Highland Isle have informed DEA that they’re going to manufacture carfentanil.”
“Okay,” she says.
“My hunch is DEA will tell you that there is one place, a company called Vox VetMeds, VVM, in the Tech Park.”
“Ah,” says Tonya.
I tell her that someone should sit on VVM starting tonight after midnight, using no radio or cell phones and watching out for the various anti-surveillance systems at Direct. After what’s leaked from Highland Isle to Cornish and the Ritz, I tell her it would be better if it was her or the FBI on the stakeout.
“About three a.m., you’re gonna see a panel truck make a delivery and take something away,” I tell Toy.
“Bust the driver?”
“Not yet. Because that would put Mr. Vojczek on high alert. Maybe tail the truck with somebody you know won’t fuck it up. If they follow the truck and get enough for probable cause, your Bureau friends could place a covert GPS tracking device on the vehicle. Find out where he’s going, who he sees.”
“Good thinking, Detective.”
“So what’s leaving the factory in the truck is, wild guess, carfentanil,” I say.
“Okay.”
“And if you sit on the place about 4:45 p.m., you’ll see the night security guard arrive. He’s still on duty when the panel truck shows up.”
“Secondo?”
“Secondo. No chance Vojczek didn’t put him in there, but I bet there’s a layer or two between Ritz and whoever got the order at the company to hire Sid.”
“But we think Ritz owns the place?”
“Maybe not on paper. Moses’s team will have grand jury subpoenas, so they’ll probably do a lot better than me in proving that. But given what’s going out the back door, I bet Ritz is careful to keep his distance. Maybe Ritz is controlling the board somehow. Or he has somebody fronting for him as the main shareholder. But he told Walter all about carfentanil before he showed up with it in Blanco’s apartment. And there’s only one place in town it comes from.”
“DEA makes companies like that keep a close count on all the chemicals used to manufacture that stuff,” Tonya tells me.
I think for a second.
“Okay,” I say, “so now we know what the panel truck is delivering—replacements for what’s used to produce the carfentanil.”
Tonya tilts her head at me like a curious dog.
“How much of this did you come back to town with, and how much did you figure out on your own?”
“The second. I’ve had this feeling for a while that Ritz’s thing with the Chief has to do with the Tech Park. Only I thought it was about Northern Direct. That’s why I started watching.”
From her wary eyes, I can see she knows I’m bullshitting and why.
“But Joe from Arizona,” she says. “That’s your guy?”
I don’t answer her.
“Only you couldn’t have gotten back and forth from Arizona that fast. Did you meet him someplace in between? Kansas City? Colorado?”
I give her a death stare and reach across to open the passenger door without another word.
On Thursday, Rik asks the Chief to come in to the office. Rik is already preparing to move into a bigger office upstairs, and the conference room feels even more cramped now that I know that. He’s interviewed a woman about my age who has two kids and is interested in working part time as his associate. Rik is finally getting what he wants. I just hope it doesn’t kill him.
“Well,” says the Chief, who looks far better rested, when she rolls in, “it can’t be terrible if I’m not in my nightie.” She is in fact in uniform.
Rik points her to a chair and gets her coffee.
“There’s a complication,” says Rik.
“Okay.”
“You know I’ve been waiting for Marc to dismiss the P&F complaint since Blanco died, and he keeps dragging his feet. He finally fessed up this morning. The Reverend and Mrs. Langenhalter don’t want to close the case yet. They have no question that the first two witnesses are liars and that Blanco’s testimony needs to be stricken because there was no cross. But, the Reverend says, it seems to have been conceded by the defense that you were sleeping with officers under your command. He thinks you need to answer questions about that before the case is dismissed.”
“Ah.” The rosy look she had a second ago has vanished.
“Those weren’t the charges,” I say. Rik gives me a kind of startled smile, like, ‘Look at you, getting all technical.’
“True,” says Rik. “But they can amend their complaint whenever they like, if we force them to.”
“And if I just say I’d rather not,” the Chief asks.
“They can order you to testify, and probably will. I’ve already explained to Marc that the FOP contract has no rules about ‘fraternization’ between officers. He knows that. But you can guess his answer—you’re management.”
“Are they going to fire me after all this?”
“The Rev hasn’t told Marc what they’re thinking. But Marc suspects they’ll want some admission of questionable judgment and behavior. Maybe they’ll reprimand you with a brief suspension, so the rules are clear going forward. But they’ll acknowledge the ambiguity as a reason not to remove you.”
Her face is squinched up in consternation. That outcome was what the Chief said she would accept to start, but it doesn’t sound as good after being on the rack for three months. She’s ready for this to end. It’s like COVID. It never goes away.
“But won’t the commissioners ask her about that picture?” I say.
From the way he bobs his head, I can tell Rik didn’t want to go there yet.
“There may be a way to finesse that,” Rik says. “Moses won’t want any mention of the Ritz in public. Maybe the commission will accept that the photograph was taken before you became Chief and is beyond the scope of the complaint.”
Lucy shakes her head sadly.
“Steven will go whoop-ass as soon as I concede the picture is real. Rik, you’re the one who told me the night Blanco testified that the mayor can’t just say okay about sex in an office the public pays for.”
Rik doesn’t answer. He’s thinking. But she’s right. Logic says she should resign now, if testifying will doom her anyway.
“Actually,” I say, “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Uh-oh,” says Rik, but he’s smiling.
“What if we can flip the script?”
“Okay,” says Rik. He’s wary but interested.
“What if the big news about the Chief has nothing to do with this? Or is much much larger than all this?”
“And what might that be?” the Chief asks.
“How I got this idea, Chief, was listening to you thinking out loud about Walter, and you saying that sending him in on the Ritz didn’t seem like it had much chance of success. And I started thinking, Well, what if the person who makes the move on Ritz is nobody he’d ever expect and who has no connection to Blanco’s murder? Somebody he hates enough that he couldn’t resist the chance to speak to her?”
“Yo?” The Chief touches the buttons on her service blouse. But her mouth turns down thoughtfully.
“What would Lucy have to talk to Vojczek about?” Rik asks. “She can’t call and say, ‘Let’s chat about offing Blanco.’”
“We’ll think of something,” the Chief says. “I just need to get him talking.”
Rik stares at her. “A couple of nights ago we were hearing how the Ritz murdered Blanco. That’s who you want to sit down with, Lucy?”
“The Bureau will cover her,” I say.
“The Ritz will want to meet in a bank vault,” says Rik. “Someplace where surveillance is impossible. And the first thing he’ll do is search you for a wire.”
For a moment, the Chief’s look is unreadable. Only her eyes move while she considers things.
“I like it,” the Chief says.
“I don’t,” says Rik.
“Ricky, I’m a cop. It’s my job. The Ritz is a blight—on this town, and humanity, frankly. If Moses buys in on this idea, I want to do it. P&F or not.” She smiles a little. “And it sounds like fun.”
34. Walter Loves Spilling
According to what Tonya hears, Walter loves spilling tea about the Ritz behind his back. To keep his cover, Walter is still going to work every day at Vojczek Management, and then detouring from his nightly trip to the tavern to meet for an hour or two with Ingram and other agents at another off-site, in the North End.
Even to those who have known him for decades, the Ritz, according to Walter, is ‘fuckin strange.’ While he was on the job in Kindle County, he met Jewell Green, a civilian employee, legendary beautiful and just divorced from a doctor who ran around on her. Jewell’s mom was white and her father was Black, and because of the dad, Ritz’s mother wouldn’t even be in the same room with Jewell. Ritz married Jewell anyway and supposedly never spoke again to his mother, who he described as ‘mean as a stick.’ According to Walter, Jewell was the Ritz’s true better half—warm and gracious as a diplomat, unlike Ritz, who is almost always sullen and uncommunicative, with that sinister vibe. Just before the Ritz left the Kindle County Unified Police Force, Jewell and he split. Walter says there are many stories about why, and no one knows the truth. Some heard the Ritz brought home an STD. Several say it was because Jewell wanted children. A few people claim they saw Jewell with bruises. And many others, adding two and two, think Jewell DQ’d Vojczek because he’d started using. Walter still has no idea what actually broke them up. Jewell subsequently had one child, a son born during her brief relationship with an officer named Harris. The kid is solid and reportedly can’t stand the Ritz.
Despite their breakup, the Ritz and Jewell never divorced and remain in close touch. He hasn’t lived with her for roughly two decades, but he still has dinner at Jewell’s every Sunday night in a big McMansion on the West Bank that he supposedly bought for her after they separated. Walter says they speak by phone every day.
For a while the Ritz had a Chinese girlfriend who had started out as his language tutor, but as his drug habit has become more regular, he seems to have lost interest in women. Years ago, Ritz used to say he knew how to tame the dragon by chipping—reducing his doses over the course of a week—but Walter hasn’t heard him make that claim in years. Instead, Ritz seems to live the junkie’s dream of infinite supply. He tends to spend his nights alone in the penthouse of a Trump-branded high-rise on the other side of the river, which Ritz owns and runs. According to the Chinese girlfriend, who was bitter when Ritz dropped her, he reads about whatever esoteric subject he’s currently studying—recently Walter says there are books around the apartment about the architecture of Pompeii—while listening to jazz, until he fixes for the last time that day and drifts into a nod.
