The Second Girl(89)

A few messages. A few calls. Some of the numbers I don’t recognize.

Leslie called again, but didn’t leave a message. Luna called, asking me to call back when I can, “Nothing urgent.” Davidson called, but didn’t leave a message. Miriam’s dad, Ian Gregory, left a message: “I don’t know what to say except how thankful we are for what you did. Miriam is in a recovery room, resting now. The doctors say she’ll be fine. I look forward to your call.”

I’ll call him, but not now.

I haven’t had much time to think about Leslie. I definitely want to talk to her. I f*cking miss talking to her, seeing her on a regular basis, even if it is mostly at her office.

My cell rings, startling me. I look at the display. It’s Luna again.

“What the f*ck you keep calling me for?”

“Damn, Frankie, you’re a hero,” he says.

“It’s too damn early for me to talk shop.”

“It’s a working man’s time.”

“Call me later. I’m not working.”

“Seriously, though, you’re a f*cking hero around here.”

“You f*cks got it all wrong. I’m just good at breaking the rules.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing, then.”

That’s so good I almost spit out my coffee.

“Davidson said he talked to you at the hospital, so you know about Little Monster?” he asks.

“Yeah, good job. Happy it wasn’t a cop.”

“Me too, but this one was all you, brother.”

“Shut the f*ck up already.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, enough said, then. Tell me how the warrant went otherwise.”

“Damn, I haven’t been home yet. That’s how good it was.”

“Happy it’s you, not me,” I say. “Was it one of his stash houses?”

“No big quantity of narcotics, but some PCP that looked like it was more for personal use so I don’t think it was a stash house. Lot of guns though. Lots. We’re thinking it was a safe house. A crash pad. You’d probably like to know: we got Cordell Holm in there.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, in bed with a minor.”

“Girl or boy?”

“A little girl. She was reported missing out of DC more than four months ago.”

“They’ll like him in prison,” I say, and have a fleeting thought about how Lenny Claypole might be able to work off the title to his truck. Just putting the word out to the right prisoners is all that would take.

“You get a boy named José in there? I don’t know the last name, but he’s Angelo’s brother.”

“Yeah, we got him, too. He had a gun on him. Lot of the main crew was being held up there. More than likely because of the shooting. Why?”

“I know him from sitting on the house I got that girl Amanda out of. He’s one that got away from you all. That’s all.”

“He’ll be visiting his brother soon enough. Let’s do drinks later this week.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll call you.”

“All right, partner, you stay safe,” I say, and then disconnect.





Eighty-two



I’ve been thinking a lot about what Playboy told me and how I should handle it. I’m confident he won’t be walking into a district station to give up what he knows about Officer Tommy, including his story about a crazy uncle who almost killed him at the Anacostia River. I’m also sure he’s in the wind about now, and if and when he does get caught, whatever story he has won’t matter as much as the officer he had a part in killing.

Officer Tommy’s death wish was that I “don’t tell,” but that had nothing to do with murder. I might do dirt, but I’d never hunt some punk down, let alone kill him because someone like Cordell Holm ordered me too. Tommy crossed the line with that alone.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out that the Feds are more equipped to handle something like this than Internal Affairs. Not that IA wouldn’t. They just have a tendency to drag their feet. But for my own selfish reasons, I don’t want to have to talk to anyone there.

After a nice long line, I call the FBI’s Washington Field Office and ask to be connected to Special Agent Donna Hernandez. They put me through, but it goes to her voicemail. I don’t want to call Davidson, so I call the WFO again and advise the operator it’s an emergency and pertains to the search warrant Hernandez is probably still working.

I get put on hold.

The operator comes back on and asks, “Do you have a number she can call you on?”

I give it.

Not even a minute later my cell rings.

“Frank Marr,” I answer.

“Agent Hernandez, Mr. Marr. How are you?”

“Thanks for calling back so soon.”

“I was told you have some urgent information?”

“Not so urgent, but important enough. Scott Davidson with you?”

“He’s in the office, yes.”

“Does he know you’re talking to me?”

“No, why?”

“Nothing at all having to do with him. It’s just something I feel should go directly through you guys.”