Ambush (Michael Bennett 11)

I said, “You said you’d be finishing up soon, so I thought I might give you a ride back home. Save you the effort of riding on the subway.”

Juliana said, “Thanks, Dad.” She took a moment to introduce me to the director. He was a little older than I was and couldn’t have cared less that there was a visitor on the set. He gave me a bored nod and told Juliana to be back on set tomorrow.

As we walked off the set, I was already thinking of how I would ask Mary Catherine to come by and hang out during the filming. It was the only way I would ever get some peace.

Chapter 24

The next day, I sat at my desk and looked at several cases that had caught my attention. My review of homicides in Manhattan and the Bronx included the murders of two Canadian tourists.

One had occurred before the ambush and one just after. At first glance the two cases seemed unconnected, until you noticed that both men had criminal records for narcotics trafficking in Canada.

That fell in line with what Brian had told me earlier about the Mexican cartel battling with a Canadian group for control of the synthetic drug market in the northeastern United States. Other sources had said the same thing.

The first homicide had occurred near Times Square, and the victim was described as a “tourist.” My research told me he was a moneyman for the Canadian mob. He’d been stabbed once through the heart. According to the medical examiner’s report, the wound was caused by a straight four-inch blade. The word that stuck in my head was stiletto. No one in forensics had ever used that term. They used clinical terms like blade and instrument.

I talked to the detective handling the case. I remembered him from other cases. Nice fella, but maybe not as driven as most homicide detectives.

When I got him on the phone he said, “That was a nasty one. Coroner said she thinks the perp was a male between five seven and five ten.”

“How did she come up with that?”

“The angle of the strike along with the power behind it. She thinks it was someone who really knew how to use a knife or a sharpened spike.”

Again I thought, Stiletto.

I said, “You got anything about the victim or motive?”

“Yeah. The victim was just a tourist from outside Toronto. I figure he was a robbery victim.”

“Did you see his criminal history?”

“I did—so what?” He was annoyed that someone else was snooping into his case.

“Don’t you think that could’ve played a role in the murder?”

The detective said, “No. He was the victim, not the suspect.”

I let it go. Then I said, “According to the report, he still had his wallet and money on him when the body was found.”

“Yeah—so?”

“What kind of robber goes to the trouble of killing you but doesn’t bother taking your money?”

“The kind who gets spooked by something or didn’t mean to kill the victim.”

“How could being stabbed in the heart be an accident?”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you when we catch the robber.”

I knew I wouldn’t get much useful information from this guy.

The second homicide occurred a few blocks from Bryant Park. The victim was a known enforcer for the Canadian mob named Alain Coush, and he had just left an Irish pub. He’d been shot twice in the face. There were no witnesses and no leads.

I knew the detective on that case well. Her name was Cassandra Max, known as Cassie to her friends and Maximum Cass to anyone who got on the wrong side of her. She was as intelligent and hardworking as anyone—a rising star and considered one of the sharpest homicide investigators in the city. Her ability to speak Spanish and Creole, which she learned from her parents, made her even more valuable. When I met with her, she said, “We got nothing, but I’m still canvassing the area and seeing if we can find any security video.” She flipped open a notebook. “I’d say it was a professional. Someone jammed a toothpick in the car’s lock. Looks like when the victim tried to open the door the killer stepped up and shot him.”

I liked that no-bullshit attitude and work ethic. I’d stay in close contact with her because something would get done on this case.

But even if these murders were part of a pattern—how did they fit in with the ambush that killed Antrole or the attack on Brian?