Fuck. He glanced at his desk blotter. Less than two weeks. "You know it man. Just let me know when to be at the house." He'd be there for his former commander. The man had always been there for him.
"I will. Look, I gotta..." His voice trailed off.
"Right man, me too. But you know I'm here, right?"
"Always. Go catch a killer." The line disconnected before he could respond. He returned the phone to the cradle and glanced at his partner, who was messing with his cell phone, pretending not to pay attention to his call. "Did you get anything from Vice?”
Jordan smiled.
He felt a smug slice of satisfaction. “What’d you get?”
“Two of the women in Gino’s stable, Mystic and Magic, rolled on the slimy bastard. We got the ladies downstairs. They should be signing their statements about now. Gino is in the holding cell. He’s made his one call, so there’ll be a lawyer present, but we got him. Both Mystic and Magic claim to have watched him kill Star. They have knowledge of the injuries that we didn’t release, and get this, they can place his so-called witnesses on street corners at the time of the murder. Vice is pulling camera footage to corroborate their statements, but it looks like a slam dunk.” Jordan leaned back in his chair and tugged at his tie, loosening the knot.
“Have you called the ADA assigned to the case?” He grabbed Star’s folder, not sure which ADA was assigned. Getting Gino off the streets would be a major coup for both them and Vice.
“Not yet. We are waiting for the techs in Vice to get the footage that proves Gino’s alibi is for shit, and then I’m going down, and we'll make the call together. We wouldn’t have been able to advance on this case without Vice's contacts and help.” Jordan extended his hand for Star’s file. He gratefully handed it over. Any day they could close a murder investigation was a damn good day.
“So, bring me up to speed on the case we caught last night.” Jordan reached for his coffee cup and nodded to the break room.
He grabbed his empty coffee mug and followed his partner. “The name Samuel Treyson ring any bells?”
Jordan stopped, his brow furrowed, and he nodded. “Yeah, he’s in charge of Treyson Industries, right? Big money, affluent, a couple of mansions over in Briar Hills. Why?”
“Someone killed him last night. HCFD found him in the ass end of a warehouse. Based on the lake of blood the man was lying in, it looks like his throat was slit at that location. No defensive wounds that I could see, and no signs of a struggle; I'm really curious to see the toxicology report. Part of the warehouse went up in flames, but thankfully HCFD did their job before it got a chance to burn up our evidence—what little there is.”
"What did the techs find?" Jordan fished around for a new notebook. They both started a new spiral notebook with each new case. Field notes, leads, interview notes, drawings, they all went in new, pristine notebooks. It was a lesson they learned early and fast. Submitting case file notes with other information for other cases scribbled on the margins almost lost them a case as the defense tried to insinuate shit based on those scribbles. Now everything was segmented, and nothing went on their phones. Ever. Pictures were taken with digital cameras, not cell phones. The SD cards with those pictures were labeled and placed in evidence bags that were attached to the notebooks and filed with the case as evidence. Being a cop was all about crossing the 'T’s' and dotting the 'I’s'. More crimes were solved by following boring anomalies in evidence then by breaking down doors. He reached beside his desk and into his open duffle, rummaging through and snatching the notebook he’d started last night.
He tossed his notebook to Jordan and continued to talk as the man thumbed through his notes, diagrams, and initial questions the scene had raised. "There wasn't shit not covered in soot or ash. They busted their balls to get what they could. I have a feeling any physical evidence is going to be thin, so we need a solid motive and a strong suspect for this case. We'll start with Samuel’s phone, his receipts, and the business cards I found in his wallet.
Jordan looked up from his notebook. His brow furrowed, “Why wasn’t this assigned to Briar Hill?”
“My exact question to my father not more than an hour ago. He said Briar Hill would be there to support us, but this is our baby. I need more coffee.” They continued to the break room and the coffee pot. He elbowed his way in front of his partner to fill his coffee cup.
“So, the case is ours. If we need assistance from The Hill, Dad suggested we contact Jeremiah or Fisher.” They’d worked with those two detectives before, and it didn’t totally suck.
“So, we hit Treyson’s evidence while I wait for Vice?”
Brock nodded toward the bullpen. “Yeah, and we need to request the Lieutenant put together a task force to shake loose our shooter in The Desert.”
“Gino’s case is a done deal. Let’s see if Kowolski and Edmans will take the drive-by shooting. That way we can focus on Treyson.”
“Exactly my plans.” Lieutenant Davidson’s voice boomed from the break room door, spinning them both.
“Give me the case file on Gino. I’ll meet with Vice when they have their end done. Ski and Edmans are waiting for a brief on the drive-by in The Desert. Whitt, the only case you're working until the Feds get off their asses and send for you is Treyson. What time is your meeting with Mrs. Treyson?” Davidson turned and looked directly at him as he spoke.
“3:30. We’ve got his phone, receipts and business cards that we are going to run down until then.” His Lieutenant was a tough fucker and protective as hell of his people.
“Did you clear the use of the information on the phone?"
“I did, but I’m getting a warrant to cover our asses.”
“Keep me informed. I’m giving you what cover I can, but you’ve got to know, your old man is spread and nailed to a cross on this one. The big boys and the press want blood, the killer’s or your old man’s, it doesn’t matter to them; so, let’s do everyone a favor and not let the Commissioner be the sacrificial lamb.” His Lieutenant’s glower landed on them. Ninety-five percent of the cops in this city loved his old man. The other five percent were crooked motherfuckers who preferred the 'good ole boy' system his father had obliterated. Davidson fell firmly on the ‘I love your old man’ side.
“Will do.” He nodded his affirmation. He and Jordan silently watched Davidson leave the breakroom. “Fuck me.”
“It would seem your old man has literally put his career in your hands.”
His father had alluded as much this morning but hearing it from his Lieutenant and his partner drove the message home with emphasis. A sinking feeling grabbed his gut and held him down as if it was anchored to the weight of the world. “Yeah.”
3
"The man had one hell of a caffeine addiction." Jordan motioned to the coffee shop where one of the many receipts in Samuel's wallet came from.
"Coffee ain't illegal, and seriously, he has just as many dry-cleaning receipts," He grumbled as he put the car into park.
"A clean and pressed caffeine freak," his partner murmured.