14th Deadly Sin (Women's Murder Club 14)

BRADY HELD AN impromptu standing-room-only meeting at the end of the shift. We were a ragged-looking crew but highly motivated to stop the growing body count and rescue our reputation, which was getting trashed by the media daily, nightly, and on weekends.

Brady is a hard-ass, but he wasn’t saying “you guys.”

He said, “We have a big problem. All of us. More than a dozen people are dead, including one of our own and his family. Some of the dead are victims of crimes, some are witnesses, and some are perps. I’ll be frank. I’m not sure we always know who is who.

“This is what I see.

“The nature of the war between the drug dealers and us has changed. Cops may be involved in drug-related crime, and drug dealers are firing back. No one can say with certainty who is doing what to whom, and that makes it even more, I don’t know, disgusting.

“This cannot go on.

“Everyone here, you are all working a piece of this war. Talk to your CIs. Think about things that have been said or done and you looked the other way. I don’t want any crap about never ratting out a brother. One of our brothers was tortured before he and his family were murdered.

“This was a first in my experience, and I don’t have to tell you that this can never happen again. My door is open to all of you. If you have a clue, even if it involves someone we know and trust, you tell me in private.”

Brady paced a little in front of the room, then asked if there were any questions. There were none. There were no strangers in our bullpen, just people who’d had our backs for years.

One of them had left an anonymous note on my desk saying WATCH YOUR BACK.

Brady went on.

“Boxer and Conklin are primaries on Wicker House and the homicides of Tom Calhoun and his family. If you’re assigned to those cases, report to them.

“Swanson and Vasquez are responsible for the mercado and check-cashing robbery homicides, past, present, and future.

“Whitney and Brand are point men on cases where drug dealers have been shot. Any information about dealers being ripped off or killed by cops, report immediately to me.

“My cell phone number and private e-mail address are posted in the break room. We’re smart enough to put this trouble down, so let’s do that. Vacations are canceled.

“That’s all.”

The meeting broke up, and Brady made his way through the roomful of cops to his office. When Conklin and I reached our desks, I picked up the phone. I called the men’s jail and in just a few minutes had set up a room for a conference with a car thief and former Wicker House stockroom boy by the name of Donald Wolfe.

CHAPTER 66

DONNIE WOLFE LOOKED to be in a pretty good mood when he was brought into the interview room in orange jumpsuit and cuffs.

“Wassup?” he said, sliding into a chair as the guard left the room. He angled around in his seat, getting comfortable, enjoying the attention or maybe just happy to have company. “You making me miss my dinner.”

Conklin said, “I’ve got some bad news for you, Donnie.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Someone took out your friend Rascal.”

“Nuh-uh, no, they didn’t.”

Conklin took his phone out of his pocket and found the photo of Ralph Valdeen lying facedown on his narrow bed, his blood soaking through the baby-blue covers. Conklin put the phone on the table and turned it so that Donnie Wolfe could see the picture.

For a moment, you could see the young kid in Wolfe. His eyes got big, he drew back—and then, only a moment later, he disguised his shock and took on the cocky scowl of a criminal with aspirations to become a bigger, better criminal.

“You faked that picture,” he said. “Trying to scare me.”

“Really,” Conklin said. “You really think we staged this blood and brains on the headboard to shake you up?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Because, Donnie, we don’t need to scare you. You’re in a cell. You’ve got a trial coming up and you’ll be convicted of grand theft and you will go to prison for a long time. You might get out in time to see your unborn baby get married.”