over the paperwork on these pop-and-drops, and if we have any chance of quickly figuring out who’s doing what-and we need to, or it’s likely going to get ugly very fast-we need to be able to put him back on the street.”
Carlucci looked thoughtfully at Coughlin a long moment, then at Payne, then back at Coughlin. He grunted and put down his china mug with a loud thunk.
“For the record, Denny, color me not completely convinced. Maybe it’s because I recently spent so much time trying-key word ‘trying’-to dissuade the media that we have a loose cannon in our police department.” He exhaled audibly. “But I do know better than to micromanage the people in whom I have absolute trust.”
With a deadly serious face, he looked at Payne.
“Just try not to add to the goddamn body count. Got that, Marshal? I don’t want to have to answer any more questions from the damned press about you.”
Payne nodded. “Yessir. Duly noted, sir.”
Carlucci met his eyes and added, “That doesn’t mean that I don’t support you in what were righteous shootings. You were doing your job, and you did it well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Okay, everybody have a seat,” Carlucci then said. “Let’s hear what you’ve got on the pop-and-drops, Matt.”
“Yes, sir,” Payne said. “But, as you noticed, Tony and I have been up all night. I can’t speak for Tony, but I could use some caffeine.”
“I’ll get ’em,” Harris said, heading across the room as the others sat down at the conference table.
[FOUR]
Sergeant Matt Payne drained his second cup of coffee, then made a grand sweeping gesture at one of the banks of TVs.
On its screens were images of the first five dead fugitives-both their Wanted sheets and crime-scene photos from where they’d been “dropped”-as well as detailed maps and lists of data showing where the bad guys had lived, where they had committed their crimes, and, ultimately, where they had been found dead.
He looked at Mayor Jerry Carlucci and said, “And that is essentially what I put together from the files of the first five pop-and-drops. There’s no question that they were targeted killings by the same doer. But the new ones from last night don’t quite fit the profile.”
“ ‘Targeted killings’?” the mayor repeated.
Payne nodded. “Today’s buzzword for ‘assassination.’”
Carlucci made a sour face. “Let’s stick with ‘targeted killings,’ in the statement and elsewhere. Or even just ‘murders by perps unknown.’ At least for now.”
He looked around the ECC conference table, and everyone nodded agreeably.
“You said,” Carlucci went on, “that with the exception of one of the first five, all were dropped by the same doer at the district PD closest to the critter’s Last Known Address. And all had the same MO?”
Payne pointed to one of the TVs. “Yes, sir. That’s shown on Number 8. All were bound at their ankles and wrists. All shot either in the chest or head. And all with the same doer’s fingerprints. Which makes us”-he glanced at Tony Harris-“believe that we will find he’s also responsible for at least two of the three dropped last night. He left prints everywhere. Prints and piss.”
Carlucci cocked his head. “Did you say piss?”
When Payne explained about the “gallons” of piss all over the lawyer’s office, Carlucci shook his head and said, “If I’d known, I might have contributed. Never did like that Gartner.”
Matt chuckled.
Carlucci went on, “So, piss and prints. Could be the doer’s just careless or stupid-or worse.”
“Or maybe he wants to get caught?” Harris offered.
Payne raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. He’s damn sure leaving ample opportunity for that to happen. Just a matter of time…”
“So,” Carlucci said, “again, all we have for sure is one doer linked to the first five pop-and-drops-”
“That’s correct,” Payne said.
“-and maybe at least two of last night’s three-the two who were shot-if we find that the prints on them match those prints on the first five. Same for the third, even though he wasn’t shot.”
“Exactly,” Payne said.
“Strangled and beaten,” Carlucci then wondered aloud. “What could be the significance of that?”
Payne shrugged. “Maybe the doer ran out of bullets.”
Carlucci snorted.
“Let’s hope so,” he said. “If not, then we have two or more goddamn doers to collar. So when do you get the prints that were taken last night back from IAFIS? Before noon, in time for the statement?”
IAFIS, the FBI’s Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, was the largest biometric database in the world. It held the fingerprints and other information collected from local, state, and federal law-enforcement agencies on more than fifty-five million people. Law-enforcement agencies could access it at any time and run a search with the fingerprints they lifted from a crime scene. It wasn’t uncommon, provided the submitted print or prints were clean, to get a response in a couple hours as to whether there was a match in the database.
Payne shook his head. “We’re still waiting for Forensics to process the prints that were lifted. You know what their motto can sometimes be…”
“Enlighten me,” Carlucci said dryly.
“ ‘If we wait until the last minute to do it, it’ll only take a minute.’”
There suddenly was a cold silence in the room, and Payne then realized from the furious look on Walker’s face that, given difference circumstances-say, the absence of Walker’s three immediate bosses-he would have reamed the hotshot Homicide sergeant a new one.
Nice job, Payne ol’ boy, Matt thought. Forensic Sciences belongs to Walker.
Screw it. Maybe this will get them moving faster.
Payne remembered one night at Liberties Bar when, more than a couple of stiff Irish whiskeys under both their belts, Coughlin had let slip that he was not a fan of Walker’s. Walker, who spoke with a cleric’s soft, intelligent voice, cultivated a rather pious air. Coughlin felt that Walker used all the bells and whistles of Science amp; Technology as smoke and mirrors to disguise his incompetence.
“But Ralph said he had his reasons for asking me to give Walker the job. And, write this down, Matty, never argue with your boss. Still, I’d love to know what angle Walker is working on Ralph.”
Mayor Carlucci guffawed, breaking the tension.
“I’m going to have to remember to use that line back at City Hall. Nothing gets done there, not even in the last minute. It’s always late, if at all.”
There were the expected chuckles.
“Okay,” Carlucci said, “then I won’t ask about NCIC. If we don’t have prints to run, we don’t have a name to run.”
The National Crime Information Center-also maintained by the FBI and available to law enforcement at any time, day or night-had a database containing the critical records of criminals. Additionally, NCIC tracked missing persons and stolen property. Its data came not only from the same law-enforcement agencies that provided IAFIS, but also from authorized courts and foreign law-enforcement agencies.
“I’ll go stoke the fire under them for those prints,” Walker then offered lamely. He stood and went over to use one of the phones at the other conference table.
Bingo, Payne thought. That’ll get ’em moving faster.
Ralph Mariana then spoke up: “Jerry, what should be done about Frank Fuller?”
Payne put in: “I’ve had an unmarked sitting on Fuller’s Old City office.”
“That’s fine, Matt,” Mariana said, “but I meant what should be done about his now-infamous rewards.”
Carlucci, his face showing a mixture of anger and frustration, said, “I’ve spoken with Fuller privately about that bloodthirsty reward system of his. I’ve tried to dissuade him, suggesting that it’s encouraging criminal activity.
