Deadly Sins (26 page)

“Lieutenant Frank Griega,” she affirmed. And then waited several minutes for Shepherd’s call to the man to end.

“We were right.” The other agent slipped his cell back in his pocket. “Griega checked their database, and a Luis Sanchez with this address has been in and out of trouble since he was fourteen and took up with a gang. This is not a nice guy. He’s been suspected of armed robbery and aggravated assault, among other things. Every time they haul him in he alibis out.”

“No doubt because fellow gang members vouch for him.” It was an all too common occurrence with bangers. Unless there was positive witness identification, they could be maddeningly elusive until they got caught in the act of committing a crime.

“Perhaps his friends aren’t the only ones shielding him,” Adam murmured. “Look over there.”

Jaid twisted in her seat to see a midtwenties Hispanic man on the Sanchez porch, in the act of leaving. Maria was in the doorway, and they appeared to be having a heated argument. He whirled away, slamming the storm door so hard that the window in it shuddered.

Without a word all three of them got out of the vehicle. Jaid rounded it, caught up with Shepherd. “Luis Sanchez,” she called. “FBI. We’d like a word with you.”

He threw them one quick glance before dashing down the street. Jaid and Shepherd gave pursuit.

He had the advantage of knowing the neighborhood. They chased him to the corner. Around it. He dodged into a small bodega. They charged in after him, glimpsed him running out the back door and followed. They were led down a long, dark passageway between two apartment buildings. When they came to the end of it, they were in a deserted alley.

Dammit. Wariness surging, Jaid drew her weapon. Saw Shepherd do the same. Scanning the space, she saw that it was boxed in on both sides. Sanchez knew his way around this area. He wouldn’t have deliberately chosen this setting if he thought it would effectively cage him.

“Ambush,” Shepherd muttered and Jaid nodded. With a gesture she indicated they should separate. She moved left around the corner into the space. The other agent went right. There were three shadowy doorways in this direction. A pull-down fire escape folded against one building. An overflowing Dumpster. Scanning the space, she saw no sign of Sanchez. Adrenaline tap-danced up her spine.

She swung around the first doorway, crouched in a shooting stance. Found it empty. Continued to the next. Her nape prickled. Her breathing slowed.

Casting a look upward, she didn’t see a place Sanchez could have scaled. The fire escape was out. She’d never seen one that didn’t release without a clatter, and the one in the alley was rusted. It probably hadn’t been used in years.

The third doorway was approached. Found empty. She glanced over her shoulder at Shepherd. Looking her way, he shook his head. Both of their gazes were then drawn to the Dumpster.

They found Sanchez’s hiding place an instant before he showed himself.

He stepped partly out from behind the hulking garbage bin. Fired several shots from a semiautomatic. Jaid returned fire, diving for cover. They were exposed here, while the banger had decent concealment. She ducked into a doorway. Heard Shepherd shooting. She waited, barely breathing, until Sanchez popped out again, spraying the area with bullets. He turned his weapon in her direction, edged farther out from the Dumpster to get a better shot. And she saw her chance.

Stepping out from the doorway she fired twice before dodging back inside it again. There was an exclamation of pain. Then silence.

The lack of sound was eerie after the burst of violence. She glanced toward Shepherd. Saw him step out of a doorway farther down the alley and watched his silent motions. Nodded.

Moving in an arc, weapon ready; she crept toward where the man had concealed himself. The other agent approached from the opposite side. Was Sanchez dead? Or was he trying to lure them closer? They’d have no cover once they got near enough to see him.

Unless he showed himself first.

She took the final step that placed her in direct line with the space behind the Dumpster. Saw Sanchez slumped there, still holding his weapon.

“Throw the gun out, Luis,” she ordered. He didn’t respond. For a moment she thought he was dead, but then he opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Throw out your weapon,” Shepherd repeated the order from the opposite side of the opening. “Do you want to die in a garbage heap, Luis? Do it.”

The gun skittered over the pavement in Shepherd’s direction. “Now crawl out. Slow and easy.”

A spate of angry Spanish greeted Jaid’s words. “
Puta chingada
, you shot me! I’m dying. Get me an ambulance.”

“We’re not coming in after you.” She kept her weapon trained on the man. He wore jeans. An oversized coat. There was plenty of room for a second weapon inside it.

“Puta.”
He spat the word. But slowly he inched his way toward her. When he was in the open, she ordered, “Facedown on the ground.”

“I’m wounded,” he snarled. One hand was cupped to his shoulder, and blood seeped through his fingers. Her quick duck for cover had marred her shot. She’d aimed for center mass.

“Somehow I’m devoid of sympathy.”

He assumed the position as ordered, and Shepherd quickly frisked him. Found no other weapons. Once he’d cuffed the man, she reholstered her weapon. Reaching for her phone, she called for an ambulance. But before the man was taken away, she damn well was going to get some answers.

“He claims he was contacted by a white man, late twenties or early thirties.” Jaid and Shepherd had rejoined Adam in the vehicle. Watched the DCPD officers they’d summoned drive off after the ambulance. Once Sanchez was treated, he’d be headed for lockup. “Said it was last week.”

“How was he contacted?” Adam squelched the frustration that had been building since Jaid and Shepherd had taken off after the punk. He’d long ago made peace with the physical limitations he was left with. Knowing how close he’d come to losing his leg completely, most days he could even muster up a little gratitude.

But on days like today, it burned like a bitch.

She turned in the seat to face him. “On the street. He says the guy was a stranger.”

“So this stranger Sanchez claims approached him knew who his mother was. Knew she had access to the cardinal’s security system.”

Jaid interrupted Adam’s words. “Easy enough to learn that simply by watching the people coming and going from the house. See which ones do the locking up.”

He inclined his head. He’d had the same thought. “So what’d he offer Sanchez to get the code for him?”

“According to him, a thousand.”

“Little cockroach probably would have done it for a hundred,” Shepherd muttered. “Didn’t care why, didn’t matter to him how the information was going to be used.”

“I assume he claims he has no knowledge of that either.”

“He sure wouldn’t tell us if he did.” Jaid responded to Adam’s words wryly. “But there was no need to tell him, so he’s probably telling the truth there. Knowing him, the price would have gone up significantly had he been told. In any case we can’t be completely certain he isn’t just blowing smoke. Surely, he would have met the cardinal before, with his mother working for the man for fifteen years. Maybe he had reason to hate him.”

“He’s got violent assault on his sheet,” Shepherd agreed.

“Garroting someone is a skill that takes practice,” Adam pointed out. “You might try Griega again. Have him check the database for unsolved crimes using the same method. If Sanchez was a suspect in any of them, we lean on him hard for this latest murder. But I’m guessing there’s no way to tie the actual killing to him. He was likely just a tool.”

Jaid’s cell rang then. She listened for a time before saying, “Yeah, you’re right. We don’t work that way. First, he tells us what he’s got, and if it pans out, maybe there’s a bone we can throw his way at sentencing.” She was silent several minutes before Adam saw her expression change. “Would you repeat that? Thanks. He’ll have to have his lawyer contact us after we check this out.”

She looked at Adam, excitement shining in her eyes. “The ambulance ride must have jarred Sanchez’s memory. He’s telling the DCPD officer that he once saw the car the stranger drove away in. Dark colored, newer. He wasn’t sure of the make. But get this. There was a bumper sticker on it for reelecting Senator Newell.”

Mara Sorenson’s tidy brick duplex was on a quiet street with well-manicured lawns and little activity. If Jaid had bothered to picture the woman’s residence, her mental image would have closely resembled the reality.

Adam had called ahead to make sure the woman would be home. But he’d given her no reason for their visit over the phone, and Sorenson’s expression was worried when she pulled open the door and allowed them inside.

“Agents. Mr. Raiker.” She searched their faces carefully. “Is there . . . have you caught the man who killed Byron?”

“Not yet.” They stood in a small vestibule papered in muted, soothing colors. Adam reached inside his coat to take out two sheets of paper, tri-folded. “We’d like you to take a look at these copies of photos and see if either of them match the man who bumped into you that night when you spilled your purse.”

She studied the sheets he handed her showing Joseph Bailey and Scott Lambert. Her eyes lit with recognition. “Yes, that’s him right there.” She brought one picture closer to study it more carefully. “He seemed like such a nice young man.” There was a slight tremble in her hand when she handed the sheets back to Adam. “Do you think he’s the one who killed the judge?”

“No.” He folded the sheets again and tucked them back into his coat. “But we’re hoping maybe he can tell us who did.”

They had to do a bit of research to come up with the next address. After a few minutes of discussion, they thought it wisest not to call ahead. And fate was smiling on them. Because when they knocked on the door of the cookiecutter condo unit, it was only a few moments before Scott Lambert opened it.

He wasn’t quite able to mask the flicker of alarm that flashed across his expression at the sight of them. “Agents. Mr. Raiker.” He gave a shaky laugh. “This is a surprise. How can I help you?” Unlike Mara Sorenson, he didn’t invite them inside.

“You can answer some questions,” Jaid said unsmilingly. “We know you’re somehow involved in the deaths of Oliver Patterson, Justice Reinbeck, and Cardinal Cote. Tell us the extent of your involvement.”

“What?” His eyes bugged. But there was a sheen of fear in them as well. “That’s ludicrous. I just heard about Cardinal Cote less than an hour ago on the news. Horribly tragic. How could you think I’d know anything about that?”

“Oh, we more than think it.” Adam gave him a long, unswerving stare. “We have a positive ID from a witness. Mara Sorenson, Byron Reinbeck’s personal assistant? ‘Bumping into her’ at that restaurant gave you the opportunity to swipe her phone, get her and the justice’s numbers. Which then allowed you to spoof her number and send him a link designed to—”

“She’s lying. Or mistaken.” Lambert folded his arms over his chest, but not before Jaid noticed his hands were trembling. “I wouldn’t recognize the woman if I saw her. In any case it’s her word against mine.”

“For now,” she said. “At least until we show your picture around that restaurant. Maybe check your bank records and see if there’s a transaction for that particular place on the night in question. Barring that, we can head over to the DCPD jail and let Luis Sanchez take a look at your photo.” Lambert’s expression froze. “He saw you twice, Sorenson only once. He also got a look at your car. You drive a 2010 navy Lexus, right?” Which would fit the general description Sanchez had given. “I’m guessing when we take a look at it, we’ll find a Newell reelection bumper sticker on it, just like he said.”

The man’s face seemed to crumple. “It’s not like that. You don’t understand.”