Brooklyn Busted Read online

  There was a knock on our door. Amy’s eyes grew wide. “It’s the coppers. They’ve come for me.”

  I shook my head at her. “You need to stop being paranoid.”

  Max answered the door, showing Lola Thorndike into our living room. The diminutive mortician had dark hair with a prominent widow’s peak that brought to mind a character from that old TV show, The Munsters.

  “Look what the goblins drug in,” Amy said, displaying her usual contempt for the little man who ran Funk’s Fields. “It’s dark out. Aren’t you supposed to turn into a bat or go suck somebody’s blood?”

  Thorndike pointed a finger at her as he spoke in a thick Eastern European accent. “You best be watching yourself. My wife may be returning from old country soon.”

  “Don’t tell me. They crowned Dominica queen of the ghouls at the annual witches convention.”

  Thorndike glowered at her. “I be warning you not to cross her.” A disturbing smile found his thin lips. “Unless you want to be bald again.”

  Amy’s last encounter with Thorndike’s wife resulted in Dominica creating a potion that had left my friend follicularly challenged until she reversed the curse. I decided I needed to intervene between her and Thorndike before things went further downhill.

  “What can we do for you?” I asked the little man.

  “We are scheduled for big wedding the last Sunday of the month. I need you all in Balfour Chapel at six to help with security. The funeral will be, how you say, a little different.”

  “Different in what way?” Max asked him. “And don’t tell me we’re gonna have more family problems involving weapons.”

  She was referencing some past issues we’d had with family members who had all brought guns to a funeral. We had barely maintained control by getting them all drunk and letting them take home the decedent’s body for a home burial.

  Thorndike gave us another one of his patented creepy smiles. “The family shouldn’t be having guns because there be no place to put them.”

  Amy spoke up. “What are you trying to say, you little creepazoid?”

  “The family... They are, how you say, they will not be dressed for funeral.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Nudists?” I said, the reality of what he was trying to say hitting me. “You expect us to work security for a bunch of naked people?”

  Thorndike tottered toward the door, but stopped and turned back to us. “Yes. And everyone will be without clothing. That includes the three of you.”

  FOUR

  The next day, after Max left for work, I went with Amy to tell her client about the death of Wally Boyle. As she drove, Amy mentioned what Thorndike had said last night about us working a nudist funeral.

  “Do you think he was just kidding, trying to see how we would react?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m almost sure of it. And the last thing I’d ever wanna do is see that little ghoul naked. His frankfurter is probably so small Dominica calls him ‘peewee’.”

  I laughed, getting a visual I didn’t want, so I changed the subject, asking her what she was going to tell her client about Wally.

  “I’m just gonna tell Judy—that’s my client—that Wally was killed in an accident.” She cut her blue eyes to me. “You heard anything from your cop friends about how they’re handling his death?”

  “Max talked to her friend Rosie. So far, there’s no record of the death or how it’s being handled. That’s probably good, because it might mean that it’s being handled as an accident.”

  “Do you know if Wally’s brother, Jimmy, has been told yet?”

  “I’m not sure, but it would be standard procedure to notify the next of kin right away.”

  “Damn.” She sighed. “I hope Wally didn’t tell Jimmy about me tailing him.”

  “What did you hope to gain by following him?”

  “Jimmy had connections to a pharmaceutical company that pushed OxyContin to doctors’ offices. Wally was the front man. From what I know, the brothers were working with a Dr. Zhmed. He runs a bunch of pain management clinics. Word on the streets had it that Zhmed’s partners were writing thousands of prescriptions up and down the east coast. That’s how Judy’s son got hooked.”

  “Wow. This thing sounds like it’s a big operation. Maybe we should let Vice know about it.”

  “They do know, and, so far, they done nothin’. The clinics have operated for years with nobody doing anything to stop ‘em.” We were in the Carroll Gardens area of Brooklyn, where Amy pointed out a big house. “That’s where my client Judy lives.”

  We stopped on the street and left the car. I said, “It looks like Judy’s doing well for herself.”

  “Her husband’s a big time lawyer, so she’s loaded. That’s why I was hoping for a big payday.” As we got to the front door of the massive two-story brick home, she added, “Let me do the talking. I don’t want Judy thinking I had anything to do with Wally’s death.”

  Judy Wentworth answered the door, and Amy introduced me, telling her I was her part-time partner. We followed her into the lavish home. We took seats in a family room that looked out into a glass atrium. Despite the freezing weather, the glass enclosure was filled with flowers and vines.

  “You got yourself a real nice place here,” Amy told her. “I always feel like I’ve entered a secret garden when I’m here.”

  Judy, who was in her fifties and heavyset, nodded. “Yes, but it’s a little large for just the two of us after our son...” She sighed, brushing a tear. “We’re thinking of downsizing. Maybe getting a condo.”

  “It’s lovely,” I said, seeing the sadness in her heavy eyes. “But I imagine there is a lot of upkeep.”

  When she didn’t respond, Amy took over again. “Madison and me are here to let you know that Wally Boyle was found dead last night.”

  Judy’s green eyes brightened. “Really? What happened?”

  “All I know is that he was found in an office building over in Manhattan. I think he might have fallen and hit his head.”

  Judy’s gaze moved off, the sadness in her eyes palpable. “I wanted...I wanted him dead, but I also wanted him punished. Somehow it doesn’t seem like it’s enough after what he did to my son.”

  I felt her anguish at losing her son. “I understand he supplied your son with OxyContin.”

  She looked at me. “Dylan—he was my son—he was injured in Iraq, and was in a lot of pain. After going to one of Dr. Zhmed’s clinics, he was never the same. He overdosed two months ago.” She broke down crying.

  I repeated my condolences, and we gave her some time to recover. Amy eventually spoke up again. “I know it doesn’t make up for what happened, but at least Wally’s no longer a threat to anyone else.”

  Judy reached into her purse and wrote Amy a check. As she handed it over, she said, “I want you to consider this a down payment.”

  Amy looked at the check, her eyes growing larger. “A down payment? I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean I want Wally’s brother and Dr. Zhmed in prison. You help make that happen, and I’ll give you another check. The next one will have another zero in it.”

  ***

  “Holy mother of Bruce Springsteen,” Amy said after we left her client’s house and were on the street. “Judy Wentworth wants to give me a hundred grand!”

  “Yes, but it means you’d be trying to take down two of the biggest drug dealers on the east coast.”

  “Do you got any idea how a hundred G’s would change my fuwking life, Mads?”

  Amy had a way of saying the f-word like it had a “w” in the middle and several syllables, something she’d acquired on the streets of Jersey.

  “Yes, but it also might mean the end of your life.”

  “Why you gotta always look on the dark side? You’d think you lived in a cemetery or somethin’.”

  We stopped at the car. “How would you even begin to take down Jimmy Boyle and Dr. Zhmed?”

  “I don’t know. I got to put on my Jersey thinking cap.”

  Amy was referring to a baseball cap that read Brick City on the front. She claimed that it boosted her street IQ by a couple dozen points. When we got in her car, she found the cap in the back seat and put it on.

  “I’m already feeling like Albert fuwking Einstein,” Amy said a couple minutes later when we were on the road. “As in e equals mf squared.”

  “You’re losing me, Sherlock,” I said.

  “E equals the enemy, while mf is a couple of motherfuckers.”

  “Now I’m really lost.”

  “E is Jimmy and Dr. Zhmed. They’re the mofos that are going down big time. I just gotta work out the details. And, speaking of details, I always think better with a Ripper and a beer. Let’s go by Sammy’s and get some grub.”

  I texted Max, and she agreed to meet us for lunch at Sammy’s, a sandwich joint that was a subway stop from the new Precinct Blue headquarters. After meeting up with Max and ordering, we took seats, and Amy asked Max how her day was going.

  “New building SOS, as in Same Old Shit. Spent two hours with Hock, lifting weights.” She showed us a bicep. “Don’t mess with me. What about you guys?”

  Amy took a moment to fill her in on our meeting with Judy Wentworth, including the prospect of her making a hundred grand. “I take down Jimmy and that Zhmed asshole, and my financial worries are over.”

  “And maybe her life,” I said.

  “You got a plan?” Max asked her.

  Amy tapped her Brick City cap. “As a matter of fact. I think I’m gonna call Mojo and see if he’ll work undercover and go to one of Zhmed’s clinics, since he looks like the world’s biggest doper anyway.”

  “Mojo” was my uncle’s love child, the unfortunate result of his extra-marital coupling with a porn star. Mojo’s a couple years younger than me, and had rightfully claimed the title of World’s Biggest Pervert. Amy was right: bad teeth and uneven features gave him the appearance of being the world’s biggest dope, if not doper.

  “You think you can trust that little weasel?” Max asked Amy.

  “I don’t got nobody else, and Mojo works cheap. I’m gonna have him come by our place tonight and work out the details.”

  I suppressed an eyeroll. “What about Jimmy? Are you going to use Mojo to get the goods on him, as well?”

  Amy didn’t look at me as she said, “Maybe. I gotta do more thinking ‘bout how to handle things.”

  I told Max. “It must be tough being a genius.”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

  After our food was served, we ate in a hurry, because Max said she had to catch the train back to the precinct. Between bites, she said, “I also got a situation we need to deal with tonight. Rosie’s gonna come by and talk about her baby sis. I don’t know all the details, but she said she was arrested last night for murder.”

  “Who’d she whack?” Amy asked.

  “Not sure, but I think it has something to do with her business. Rosie said she’s a psychic.”

  Amy munched on a fry, then said, “You think she’s innocent?”

  Max shrugged. “Rosie says she is, so that’s good enough for me. Maybe we’ll put our psychic heads together and get some vibes.” She tossed her cup in the trash and stood. “I’ll see you guy’s tonight, and we’ll get the details.”

  Max had a history of getting what she called “psychic vibrations”. As she put her coat on, I asked, “How are things with Sonny?”

  Max smiled. “I’m spending Saturday night at his place, so I can’t complain.”

  After she was gone, Amy became depressed. “Damn. Max is gonna get laid, and I’m gonna spend Saturday night with a bunch of stiffs, and I ain’t talking ‘bout a girl’s best friend.” She popped another fry. “What’s the latest with you and Sam?”

  I sighed. “I’m not sure. Last time I saw him, he said he’d filed his divorce papers and would be in touch, but I haven’t heard from him in several days.”

  “Didn’t you two check out that burned-down place where Holmes lived?”

  “Holmes” was a mysterious subject who had provided me with information about a couple of past cases we’d worked. He called himself a detective, and I had the impression that he might have worked in law enforcement at one time. We had reason to believe that he was disfigured from a fire because a witness in a prior case had said he’d seen him wearing a leather mask.

  Sam and I had found a dilapidated storage shed behind his burned-down house. It was filled with newspaper clippings about serial killers. Among those clippings, there was information about William Jeffers. We had reason to believe that Jeffers might be the man the press had dubbed “The Phantom”. The Phantom was responsible for killing several women in Raleigh, North Carolina, around the time my mother abandoned me and checked into a drug treatment program.

  My mom had been involved with a man named Mark Banuelos at that time. Banuelos had subsequently been murdered, probably by Jeffers, after he’d ripped him off in a drug deal. The most disturbing finding in his hillside shed was a photograph of my mother, making me believe she was, in fact, working with Jeffers.

  “Sam’s opinion is that Holmes is some kind of serial killer groupie,” I said. “He thinks he could be obsessed with killings, including my mother’s possible involvement with William Jeffers.”

  “You think he could be dangerous?”

  “I’m not sure. Sam said he was going to look into his background and let me know what he finds out.”

  “I think you should call him. You’re not getting any younger, Mads. And neither am I, for that matter.” Her eyes brightened. “Hey, maybe Sam knows someone who he could set me up with.”

  “Maybe, but you’re sounding a little desperate.”

  She swigged the last of her beer and burped. “I am desperate. That last idiot I dated was a mad man.”

  Amy had recently posted her profile on an Internet dating site called GuySwatter. The results had left a lot to be desired, including her meeting up with a guy who chased her around a park.

  I finished my sandwich and crumpled up the wrapping. “You giving up on GuySwatter?”

  She folded her arms. “That site is for rejects. I gotta step up my game, Mads. That means, from now on, I date guys with only one felony conviction and who look like that Stephen King clown, Pennywise.”

  FIVE

  Amy and I spent the afternoon shopping, despite me telling her that my finances were tight. She had refused to listen, claiming that she was soon to be a tenth-of-a-millionaire, and both our financial worries were over. I told her she was half-crazy, but ended up with a new blouse and pair of shoes.

  When we got home, I decided to take her advice and called Sam. My call went to voicemail, but he called back a few minutes later.

  “Sorry, I was knee-deep in paperwork when you called,” Sam said. “Despite what you see on TV, an FBI agent spends most of his time staring at a computer screen and filing reports.”

  “Sounds like my life before I got to Precinct Blue.”

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Pretty good. I’m finally starting to get used to the sling.”

  “I say enjoy the time off while you’ve got it. Maybe we can get together for lunch one of these days.”

  I was still upset over his previous failure to tell me that he was still married, and changed the subject. “I was just wondering if you got anything on Holmes. I was telling Amy today about the serial killer newspaper clippings and photograph of my mom we found in his hillside shack, and she suggested that I call you.”

  “I did manage to get a match on a print we lifted from the interior of the building. It came back to a guy named John Brosnan. He worked major crimes for your department until he retired about five years ago.”

  “That would explain his police contacts and continued interest in law enforcement. What do we know about the property where the house burned down?”

  “It was an early morning fire caused by some electrical problems about five years ago. His wife and son died in the fire. Brosnan suffered third degree burns over half his body and was in intensive care for months.”

  “Geeze, that’s terrible. I guess it explains him wearing a mask. Do you know anything about his work history?”

  “He retired under a cloud that had something to do with conflicts he had with his superiors and wanting to work cases his own way. He had about a half-dozen write-ups, but no formal disciplinary actions.”

  “I wonder where he’s living now, and why he’s kept his identity a secret.”

  “Hard to say, but it’s clear from what we found on his property that he still has an interest in major crimes, including your mother.”

  I mulled that over for a moment. “Anything new on Jeffers?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. As you know, his car was spotted near the town of Windham, in the Catskills. The local sheriff’s department was notified, but I doubt it’s high on their radar. They’re probably busy with traffic control and local crime.”

  “Maybe I need to take a trip to Windham and check things out.”

  “Not a bad idea. I could take a couple days off and go with you, if you’d like.”

  Sam and I had spent the night together before I found out about his marital status. I was unsure how I felt about his offer. “Let me think it over, and I’ll let you know.”

  “Good enough.” He paused, then said, “I want you to know the divorce will be final in a couple months. As I said before, Jennifer signed the paperwork, and everything’s been filed.”

  “That’s good. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  After ending the call, I went into our living room and told Amy what I’d learned.

  “You ask me, that killer Jeffers and your mom are holed up somewhere in the mountains,” Amy said. “You gonna take up Sam’s offer and go look for ‘em?”

  “I’m not sure. He told me that he filed all his divorce paperwork, but it won’t be final for a couple months.”

  “So what? You got a fish on the line, start reeling before he takes some other bait.”