He raced to her position, throwing himself down on the two women, and then rolled with his Glock in position.
The shots had come from the street; whoever had fired them had already moved on.
Craig lifted to an elbow to rise and turned to look into the dark, dead eyes of the knife wielder he had shot.
He could hear sirens on the street; people had heard. The incident had been called in. NYPD would be flooding the area soon.
He pushed himself up.
Riley and Tanya were doing the same.
They were terrified; they were going to bolt and run again.
He leapt up, capturing Riley in a gentle but firm hold.
“No!” he said firmly. “No. The police are coming now. We will protect you. Out there—the shooter will find you. You will die. Stay here!”
She went limp in his arms. Tanya just stood there, shaking and quivering like a frightened terrier. He pulled out his phone. The police were coming, but he needed Mike and Egan.
He didn’t get to dial. A call from Kieran was coming in. He answered.
“Can’t talk now,” he told her. “Meet me at the FBI offices. I’ve just met a couple of your friends.”
* * *
Craig had shot and killed a man. That meant handing over his weapon and going through the proper steps needed to justify a “good” kill.
Kieran knew that Craig hated being forced to kill anyone—even when he was certain that the person was guilty of truly heinous crimes. However, he wouldn’t hesitate if an innocent victim was in immediate danger from that person.
He wouldn’t beat himself up; he’d done what he’d had to do.
But it would bother him.
She knew that now he would have to complete all the paperwork necessary and undergo the questioning that went along with it, as well. And that was all right. Law enforcement should be questioned under such circumstances, or else no one would be safe. But it meant that Craig wasn’t there when Kieran arrived at the FBI offices—at least not where she was led.
Director Egan had brought Kieran to a conference room at the downtown NYC offices of the FBI, along with Mike Dalton and the two terrified women, Riley McDonnough and Tanya Petrofskya.
Egan was a bright man—he’d never pushed away a cop or an agent of any kind or a civilian when they might help with a situation.
Kieran realized that she really did admire Richard Egan—she was also aware that he was the kind of leader that others aspired to be.
She was glad he was Craig’s boss.
When she first arrived, both Riley and Tanya greeted her as if she was a long-lost relative, throwing themselves at her, sweeping her into teary hugs, and speaking quickly with gratitude. The words were in Russian and English but, in Riley’s case, with a brogue so heavy that Kieran couldn’t catch everything said.
She tried to assure the two women.
She saw the bandage on Riley’s neck that covered the red line where the dead man had nearly brought her down with him.
As to him, he was dead, shot in the center of his forehead. His body had gone to the morgue. The two women had recognized him; he’d been known as Paco. He worked with—or for—the man who called himself the King. They were all aware that within the King’s realm, absolute obedience was expected at all times. There was no lesser punishment; those who stepped out of line received a death sentence—so Paco would have known his fate, either way.
“We’re working on the identity of Paco right now,” Egan told Kieran. She nodded.
Riley was going on and on.
All kinds of people—many that they might not recognize—worked for the King. Many were immigrants. Some were not. There was also a Queen. She was scarier than the King. Riley had actually seen the Queen. Tanya had not.
Listening, Kieran thought that the enterprise worked in many ways. The King—and his Queen, and upper echelon, she imagined—collected people. Immigrants from everywhere, most of them terrified that they would be sent back and perhaps face some worse kind of retribution.
“That man, Paco, had to know that Craig would be forced to shoot him when he threatened Riley with a knife,” Kieran said.
“And there’s only one thing that would cause a man to behave that way. Assuming he wasn’t suicidal and wanted to commit suicide by cop,” Egan said. “And that would be a fear of something worse than death. I believe that has to mean that these people are able to threaten the children or families of these people. Or that they promise a death far worse than a bullet to the brain if anyone gives them up.”
“I just know that people wind up dead,” Riley said. “Those who try to escape.” She glanced over at Tanya, fear in her eyes again. “They wind up dead!” she whispered.
Egan reached over and put his hand on hers. “Miss McDonnough, I promise you, we will keep you safe. Yes, this criminal element is organized and serious. But, so are we—we’re even better, because we have all kinds of resources and excellent people on hand. You two will be granted citizenship, and then you’ll enter into our US Marshals witness protection program. You’re going to be safe—and with your help, we will crack this ring.”
“Is it possible?” Riley murmured, tears in her eyes.
Tanya said something; Kieran turned with surprise when her words received a response from a masculine voice speaking in Russian.
“Ah, Special Agent Wolff. Welcome, and thank you!” Richard Egan said.
Wolff was probably about thirty. Like most of the young men and women Kieran had met in the FBI offices, he appeared—even fully clad in his navy blue suit—to be exceptionally fit. There was, however, something a bit different about him. His dark hair was long and shaggy. He had facial hair. She had to wonder if he worked undercover, and was not usually in the office, wearing a suit.
Wolff smiled very nicely, a smile that reached all the way to his bright blue eyes. There was something gentle in his look, and whatever he had said had touched Tanya; she started to cry and to speak swiftly again.
He walked over to Tanya and hunkered down, assuring her.
Kieran looked at Riley.
Riley shrugged.
“I learned a lot of the language, but that’s way too fast for me,” she said.
“It’s all right. She’s going to be fine,” Special Agent Wolff said. “She’s sorry that she hasn’t learned English. She knows please and thank you and little things, but she says she is so grateful to be here, and she should speak English.”
“Oh, she will if she wants—she just needs time to learn,” Kieran said, smiling as she looked at Tanya.
Wolff apparently translated her words. Tanya sniffed and tried to smile. Her mouth seemed to contort for a moment, and then she managed to say, “Thank you. So much...thank you.”
“It’s what we do,” Egan assured her. He leaned forward and was about to speak when Craig walked into the room. Riley stood, staring at him.
“My turn,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“You’re all right? Not cut too badly?” Craig asked her.
Riley shook her head. “Aye, well and good, a wee bit of a scratch. I’ll be fine. Thanks to you.”
Craig smiled at her. “It’s what we do,” he said, causing everyone in the room to let out a nervous laugh. He frowned, confused by the reaction. Egan waved a hand in the air. “Never mind. All is well. But here’s the thing. We really need to speak with these ladies. A safe house is being set up as we speak. The US Marshals office has already started working, too. For now—and we won’t keep you long, I promise—we’re all going to talk. We’ll get some coffee, sodas, whatever in here, and we’ll talk.”
Craig apparently knew Agent Wolff; they shook hands and took seats.
And then the agents asked questions.
Kieran coaxed the young women when she could; she wasn’t always sure just what the FBI agents wanted to draw out
, but she did know how to gently twist a question and cajole an answer.
In her mind, they didn’t get very far.
Paco was one of the King’s men. They believed that he had been Venezuelan—Riley was pretty sure that the Queen had referred to him as such, saying something nasty about South Americans at the same time. Paco had ignored her, apparently ready to take anything she had to say in order to keep in the good graces of the King. Paco had been a watcher, like a bouncer. When men—johns—came in, or when women were sent out on tricks, Paco looked after them. Sometimes he was on guard at night.
Kieran pressed the women to describe where they were held at night.
“It was...almost like a college dormitory,” Riley said. “Except, of course, girls don’t lie in their beds crying all the time at a college,” she added softly. “When a girl was pregnant—very pregnant, about to give birth—she was moved. To another floor, or another place, or... I’m not even sure.”
Tanya must have understood the topic of the conversation. She started speaking quickly, looking at Riley, and then at Agent Wolff.
He listened, nodding his head, and then he translated. “They loved the murdered woman, Alexandra Callas, so much because she looked after them. The mother of the baby stuffed into Kieran’s arms—Yulia—was close with Alexandra. Alexandra didn’t work outside of the place where the women were kept anymore, though she once had. Apparently, she’d never been considered beautiful, and so she had been made to clean for people and do other such things. Then it was discovered that she was good with the girls—she really loved them. And so, when they were going to have the babies, Alexandra was taken with them, as well,” Wolff explained.
“She was especially close with Yulia,” Mike said.
“Go figure. I never knew how well my partner spoke Russian,” Craig said.
“Hey, I don’t really speak it—and it never came up,” Mike said. “You wouldn’t want me translating—I know every fifth word. I could really mess something up.”
Craig laughed, giving Tanya a very gentle smile and reaching across the table to take her hand. “My Russian sucks. Big-time,” he told her. “Your English—as poor as you think it is—is way better. And you will learn.”
“I will learn,” Tanya repeated, and smiled.
“So Paco was more or less an enforcer—an escort and a guard?” Craig asked.
“And a murderer!” Riley said.
“You know this for a fact?”
“I know that he was excellent at throwing knives and at stabbing things,” Riley said. “He used to practice in a space by our beds. He would prove how good he was—he would practice throwing on a board, and he had a mannequin that he would stab. He would smile all the while. We didn’t know that Alexandra had fled with the baby. You see, Yulia knew that they would take her baby. She said she even knew who was the father, that the father wanted the baby, too. They usually waited until the babies were three months old before having the mothers give them up. That way, people knew that they were getting a healthy baby. You see, years back, they let the women use too many drugs, and the babies were born with serious defects and...” She paused, wincing, and then apologized. “I’m sorry. I was a lucky one. I figured out Tanya wanted to escape and determined to go with her. We pretended that we were drugged out—and we were drugged, but we managed to avoid the worst of it. We got out, not knowing where we were, stumbling into a dark alley and hiding, and then moving again by night. But, you see, as I said, Alexandra was someone I came to love. She cared so much for all of us—and for those wee babes. Some were so sick they died, so they said. I wonder if some weren’t helped along a bit. If...if they weren’t perfect. Usually, you see, the children born...they’re quite beautiful. Desirable to those who may not have been able to find such a child through the customary channels. Not even to say that they were bad people, just people who...well, you see, though, if there was a problem, then those people would go for lawyers, perhaps.”
They all fell silent for a minute, the horror of what might have gone on too much to really assimilate.
“The thing is,” Egan said quietly, “they must be stopped. With the two of you now helping us, we can make it happen.”
“How?” Riley whispered. She crossed herself. “My God, they managed to kill a nun.”
“We don’t know that yet,” Egan reminded her gently.
Kieran suddenly heard herself speaking, passionately. “Riley, Tanya, you don’t realize it yet, but you do know so much. Maybe enough to bring them down. We’ll do sessions, and I’ll lead you through everything that you might possibly remember. We’ll...”
She broke off; she wasn’t the boss of any of this. Here, it was Egan.
At her office, it was Drs. Fuller and Miro. But she was going on and on as if she did control things.
But she had to do whatever she could. They might have murdered helpless infants, for God’s sake!
“Yes,” Egan said. “You’ll be amazed at the things that will come back to you. And you’ll be amazed by what might help—sounds and smells, overheard snippets of conversation. We’ll find them—we will.”
Tanya said something.
Wolff translated. “She says they’ll be on the move. They may not know exactly how he died, but they’ll learn soon enough that Paco is dead. And when they do, they’ll move everything—and everyone.”
“And it’s worse,” Riley whispered.
“What do you mean?” Craig asked her.
“I’m just so afraid that if they begin to feel cornered...”
“What?” Kieran asked.
“They’ll kill her,” Riley said softly. “They’ll kill Yulia, and that way, she can never escape and come for her baby, and they’ll hide again and disappear forever!”
CHAPTER TEN
“She died of a heart attack, that much is perfectly clear,” Dr. Andrews said.
“So natural causes. She died because she was old and her body gave out?” Mike asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Andrews told them. “I said she definitely died of a heart attack.”
“There’s a but in there,” Craig said to Mike.
“Exactly—and here it is,” Andrews said. “I don’t know what brought about such a massive heart attack. She might have been terrified, she might have been threatened... I just can’t say. She might have even been given a tiny dose of some kind of drug to bring on a heart attack. At her age, it wouldn’t take much. Do they know if anyone was anywhere near her or not? Yes, she was old. Yes, the body faces wear and tear and yes, it can give out. Yet she wasn’t overweight, she hadn’t been doing anything more extreme or stressful than she did every day... I don’t know if I’m helping you out or making matters worse.”
“She was dearly loved,” Craig said, looking at the body on the gurney. There would always be something empty and tragic about seeing the dead at autopsy. What had been physical remained, and yet there was really nothing of humanity left in a corpse. A corpse was simply sad; it was a memory of a loss.
“I will get her fixed up just as quickly as possible. She’s to be taken care of by the folks at Murphy and Sons—they remain members of the church and take care of all the nuns and clergy. I believe the funeral is planned for Saturday. They have asked me to release the body by Friday, if at all possible, and I have agreed. That amount of time allows for my tests and for the official announcement of her death and for her extended family and friends to get here. She was loved. Her funeral, I understand, will be quite an event. A life well lived,” he said softly.
Craig thought that even Andrews—who spent his life working with the dead—had feelings about the degradation suffered after death, as well. But Andrews was a passionate man. He was fighting for humanity—this was his way of doing it, and as an ME, he seemed to do a damned good job of speaking for the dead.
A hell of a way to start the morning, th
ough. He and Kieran hadn’t left the office until the wee hours of the morning.
She hadn’t even wanted to go then.
But the Marshals office was involved now, and they were good at protecting people. There was a solid understanding between the agencies and the cops at the moment. Human life—civilian life—needed to be protected. Especially when it came to innocents like Riley and Tanya. They were also witnesses; they were needed. Hopefully, they could help.
“She will be granted all honors. She’s going to be interred in the crypt at the church. That is high regard, indeed,” Dr. Andrews said.
It was Tuesday. Four days until the funeral. And at that event, they would need to have eyes everywhere. If Sister Teresa had indeed been murdered, her killer might attend. If the trafficking network had such broad reach, they might want to see for themselves who came to say goodbye to the woman.
But there were days between now and then. And since everything to do with the gang who had been working well beneath the notice of the city for years now had suddenly been brought to the surface, anything could happen in a number of days.
They needed to move—and quickly. It was frustrating when finding a direction in which to go was like finding a needle in a stack of needles.
“And now...to the next,” Andrews said.
He moved down a gurney and pulled back the sheet. Like Sister Teresa, this corpse had already received an autopsy. The rapid pace the ME’s office was working at was almost unheard of, but with so many law enforcement agencies involved and the city on edge—involve a baby or a dog and the masses always went wild—Andrews had worked through the night.
“Any ID on the man yet?” the doctor asked.
“All we have is Paco,” Craig said.
“Well, Paco’s prints are in the system,” Andrews said. “Our system. Problem is, we have his prints in connection with a number of unsolved crimes. Files have been prepared and emailed to you. We don’t have a full name for Paco. Oh, and he never went to the dentist. Horrible teeth. Don’t see how he stood it... As you can see, and as you know, death was from a bullet directly into the brain. You had pretty amazing aim there, Special Agent Frasier.”