Bronx Requiem(96)

Jennie asked, “Do you need any more bodies on this?”

Levitt broke in, “I’ve got one other detective on the squad helping out. Mostly coordinating all the paperwork.”

“Ask for what you need to make this happen.”

With that, Jennie left.

Ippolito and Palmer exchanged surprised looks. Levitt said, “You heard the man. It’s on. Get to work and let me know what you need.”

Ippolito said, “Will do.”

“All right, I gotta meet with that parole division supervisor.”

Palmer asked, “Who?”

Levitt looked at his notes. “Walter Ferguson. Paco Johnson was assigned to him.”

“What’s he want? We interviewed him on the day of the murder.”

“He wants to know where we’re at. He’s got to file reports with the Department of Correction.” Levitt headed for the door. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of it. Get going. Touch base with me by end of day.”

Levitt found Walter Ferguson sitting patiently on a molded plastic chair near Sergeant Clovehill’s desk. Levitt motioned for him to come to his work area.

Walter presented his identification and told Levitt, “Lieutenant, I appreciate your cooperation. I know you’re very busy. If you agree, I think the simplest thing to do is to give me whatever documentation you have and let me read through the material. And afterwards, a couple minutes of your time if I have any questions.”

Levitt thought about it for a moment. Ferguson seemed organized and reasonable. He decided the quickest way to get rid of him would be to do what he asked.

“Fine.”

Levitt gathered all the case material, including his notes from the Wilson meeting, and handed the pile to Ferguson. “We’re still in the middle of this. I’ll be here for another hour or so. You can take notes, but nothing goes out of this office. Everything stays between us and the Department of Correction. In fact, I’d prefer if you waited until Monday to file your reports.”

Walter nodded. “It’ll take me at least until Monday to prepare them.”

“Good. I’ll check with you if you have questions before I leave.”

“Thank you.”

Levitt escorted Walter back to Clovehill’s desk and told him to find Mr. Ferguson a place where he could work.





57

Beck parked his truck across the street from his Red Hook bar later than he had hoped, a little after three P.M. on Friday. The last forty minutes of stop-and-go traffic on the BQE had been excruciating. By the time he walked across the street and into his ground-floor bar, he still wasn’t able to stand up straight.

Demarco Jones and Willie Reese were in the barroom. Demarco said nothing, but Willie Reese reacted with concern and confusion when he saw Beck. Reese was a very large, muscled-up, menacing ex-con who at one time had gone head-to-head with Beck and had suffered a broken nose, cracked ribs, and nearly lost an eye.

“Yo, Beck, what the f*ck?”

Beck wasn’t in the mood to explain anything. “There were six of them.”

Willie narrowed his eyes and frowned.

“Four dead, one in the hospital.”

Reese made a noise of approval, but he didn’t look any less concerned.

Beck made his way up to the second-floor loft, Demarco and Willie trailing after him.

Manny stood in the kitchen, as usual, cleaning and preparing food.

The Bolo brothers, Ricky and Jonas, were also hanging out in the kitchen area. They were wiry, compact men. Ricky, the more talkative, more animated of the two, stood describing a small piece of electronic equipment to Manny, whose disinterest didn’t dissuade Ricky at all. His brother, Jonas, stood leaning against the large island work counter, scanning the room as if he were casing it for a robbery.

Alex Liebowitz sat at Beck’s desk with Walter Ferguson, downloading photos from Ferguson’s smartphone.

Beck told everyone he’d be back and headed for the stairs at the west end of the second floor.

When Beck disappeared up the back stairs the others exchanged looks, but only Demarco spoke.

“He’s gonna tell us it looks worse than it is.”

After changing his clothes and dosing himself with pain relievers, Beck reappeared.

He headed toward the large rectangular dining-room table opposite the big kitchen area and waved for the others to join him. They assembled, bringing whatever material they had.

Beck took a seat at the head of the table. Alex Liebowitz and Walter Ferguson sat to his immediate right and left. Then Demarco and Willie opposite each other. Ricky and Jonas were next, facing each other. Manny sat at the other end of the table.

Beck asked, “Where’s Ciro?”

Demarco answered, “On his way.”

“And the girl?”

“Upstairs.”

“All right, so we have a lot of catching up to do. What’s happened since I left?”

Demarco started, but knowing Walter was at the table he spoke cautiously.

“I already told you we located Amelia. But here’s something you might be interested in. She can tell you how she came up with them.” Demarco slid two ledger books toward Beck. “These will give you an idea what Derrick Watkins was earning running his prostitutes. My quick run-through of the numbers puts his profits at about three hundred thousand a year. That doesn’t include what his brother was doing. And like I mentioned on the phone, those two were part of a much bigger crew run by a longtime gang leader named Eric Jackson. We got the rundown on him and his main enforcer, Whitey Bondurant, from a friend of Manny’s up in the Bronx. You might have known him. Benjamin Woods.”