“I think that went well, don’t you?”
They weren’t talking to me.
“Guys, I’m sorry…”
Katz didn’t turn this time when he spoke. “We have just given you access to some of the most sensitive evidence in this case, and you withhold something like this?” He held the note, now safely encased in a ziplock bag.
“I was going to tell you about it.”
“When?”
I looked out the window and into the velvety darkness of the Delaware River toward the New Jersey pine barrens. “After you showed me the reports.”
Katz finally turned and looked at me. “This is not a poker game where we call and see; this is a murder investigation, and if you don’t start coming clean with us, then all bets are off, and you can take the next flight back to cowtown.”
We sat there for a little longer. “I’ve got more.” They looked at each other. “I questioned the security guard at the Franklin Institute, Esteban Cordero, in a little more detail.” I had to be careful how I did this, so that none of the blame would fall back on the inexperienced Michael Moretti. “He remembered that a young man had banged on the door after Cady’s fall, but I don’t think it was Devon Conliffe.” I had the detectives’ full attention as I explained about the incongruities of the man’s appearance and the red tie. “After we looked at the picture on the cover of the Daily News, he positively stated that it wasn’t Devon who knocked on the door.”
Katz turned to look at me again. “So someone else was there.”
“Someone who identified himself as Devon Conliffe and was gone by the time the guard got outside.” As they absorbed that, I asked them a question. “What can you guys tell me about Devon’s Roosevelt Boulevard incident?”
It was Katz’s turn to sigh. “That was yours, Tony. You tell it.”
“It was before Thanksgiving.” Gowder made eye contact with me in the rearview. “Assistant district attorney with the Special Narcotics Prosecution Unit…”
“Vince Osgood.”
“You’ve heard of him?”
I paused a moment, not wanting to get anyone else in trouble. “He sounds important.”
He laughed. “Important enough to get charged by a federal grand jury for violating the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act; about a half-dozen counts for racketeering, possession with intent, conspiracy to extort money, conspiracy to manufacture drugs, witness tampering, and retaliation against a witness.”
“This guy’s on our side?”
“Wait, it gets better,” Katz interrupted. “Tell him about the retaliation.”
“Tim Gomez, writer for the Daily News, investigates and writes about Osgood’s activities with the Special Narcotics. Being a good reporter, he catches wonderboy Vince outside 13th and Samson, where he asks the assistant DA about property seized by the drug task force. Oz loses his mind, has to be forcibly restrained after kicking Gomez and screaming about how he’s going to bitch-slap him all the way to Camden if he doesn’t lay off.”
“Always good to have positive relations with the fourth estate.”
Gowder laughed. “Some of the extortion charges dealt with sums over $100,000.”
I shook my head and looked out the window. “What about the possession/distribution charges?”
Gowder shook his own head and concentrated on the road. “Oz was reported to have watched another man cook about 118 grams of designer stuff and then accepted half in June of last year for distribution. Local kingpin Toy Diaz is picked up on a traffic stop by Osgood’s buddies in the drug task force and relieved of about two million dollars worth.”
“Must’ve been a big car.” I thought about it. “Toy Diaz is the operator of the house we took out last night.”
“Could be. He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies.”
“In the aforementioned transaction, all the evidence disappeared from the holding unit, and that under Vince Osgood’s supervision.”
“What about Roosevelt Boulevard?”
I saw the mole kick up again, and I was sure he was smiling. “Easter Sunday, and Oz leaves the office with good friend and fellow attorney…”
“Devon Conliffe.”
“You got it.”
I glanced at Katz. “Easter morning?”
Gowder went on. “As they pull away, they notice that they are being followed by a Toyota station wagon occupied by two nonwhite males, approximately thirty years of age. Osgood pulls a sawed-off shotgun from the under the seat and rests it in his lap. Then he instructs Conliffe to take the 9 mm, which he keeps for insurance, from the glove box and be prepared for what happens next.” He took a deep breath, glanced at Katz, and continued. “Being a concerned citizen and aware that gunfire may result, Oz takes the exit at Fifth and pulls up at an abandoned lot in Fentonville…” His voice slowed for effect. “Three congested city miles from where they started. Oz’s initial statement was that they had decided to confront the individuals in a neutral area.”
I cleared my throat. “Going to a police station didn’t occur to them?”
“Evidently not.” Gowder eased his way around a slowpoke, and I noticed we were approaching ninety again. “Oz states that, after a brief but heated discussion punctuated by rapid small-arms fire, he saw the passenger’s head thrown back on impact and then the Toyota sped away.”
I had to ask. “What was Oz…?”
“A Hummer.”
I nodded. “I heard that Osgood also stated that they might have been KKK?”
“Yeah, his statements were a little confusing. Then Toy Diaz showed up at Temple University Hospital with numerous shotgun pellet wounds and a wounded Ramon Diaz, who had just done a three spot at Graterford.”
“Ramon any relation to Toy?”
He inclined his head to indicate I was a good student. “Brothers.”
“So it was revenge?”
Katz answered. “Well, that was the tack the U.S. District Court took, but Toy Diaz continued to state, with a great deal of emphasis, that it was an independent capitalistic venture that took a surprising turn.”
“Osgood didn’t want to pay for the drugs?”
“That was Diaz’s story, but since he is from El Salvador, and a four-time loser on assorted drug charges, his statements were taken with the proverbial grain of judicial salt.”
“Where is Toy Diaz?”
“Good question.”
“What’d Devon Conliffe say?”
Gowder laughed. “He said whatever Osgood said, and whenever Oz’s story changed, he said that, too.”
Katz studied me. I glanced up and watched the lights of Penn’s Landing reflect from his glasses. “So, Osgood was suspended?”
It was quiet in the Crown Vic as we took the off-ramp just past the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. “Yes, but he has a lot of friends in the city.” There was a moment’s pause as we stopped at a red light. “I assume we’re taking you to your daughter’s place, but if you need to go to the hospital we can drop you there.”
“Actually, as much as I’d rather go to the hospital, I need to go to a gun shop up on Spring Garden.”
They were both looking at me now.
When we got to Tactical Training Specialists, I had Gowder pull into the secured and packed parking lot and waited as he released the locks. There were no handles on the inside, so I waited for them to let me out. “Graterford.”
Gowder was looking at me, and it was a relief to see his entire face. “What?”
“It might be nothing, but there was a pro bono case that Cady was working on when we went through the
