Most Wanted (25 page)

OF COURSE JASMINE LIVED IN BUSHWICK. DAN seemed to know his way around, so Melanie restrained herself from giving him directions. She knew if he went the most direct route, he’d take her old street, drive by the house she grew up in. She planned to keep quiet about it.

She was looking out the window, and, bam, there it was. It’d been years since she’d seen it. The attached brick house looked exactly the same. Maybe a little smaller, but the passage of time played tricks like that. The unisex hair salon that had replaced her father’s furniture store on the ground floor was still there. Through the plate glass, she caught a glimpse of Inez, the owner, sitting in a chair smoking. She looked the same. Heavy, with a big mole on her lip. There were no customers. Amazing how these small businesses could survive year after year on practically no income. Her father’s store had been like that, hanging on, a fixture in the neighborhood, just surviving. Until, one day, it didn’t.
The banners were in English and Spanish
. CASH AND CARRY. NAME YOUR PRICE.
At the end of the day, as the Salvation Army truck drove off with what was left, Uncle Freddy handed her mother a pile of cash. “But where will Papi work when he comes back?” Melanie asked desperately. Her mother just looked at her, then walked into the house
.

“You okay?” Dan asked, glancing at her with concern.

“Sure.”

“I’m really sorry about Jasmine. First Rosario, then her. That’s a lot in two days.”

“Yeah.”

She had no interest in explaining herself. She watched the familiar blocks roll by until they got to Jasmine’s street.

The apartment was what she expected—a third-floor walk-up with peeling paint and the smell of urine in the hallway, but otherwise all right. Could’ve been a lot worse. Standing on the landing, she heard a small child crying inside. She looked at Dan grimly, then pushed the buzzer.

A woman opened the door a crack and peeked out, keeping the chain on. She was short and plump, with dark hair permed into kinky curls, but she had Jasmine’s eyes.

“Yeah, who you?” A dark-eyed toddler clambered about the woman’s legs, sniffling. She reminded Melanie of Maya. The woman shoved the child back from the door.

“My name is Melanie Vargas. I’m looking for Jasmine Cruz’s family.”

“The DCYS been here last week already. Why again?”

“No, I’m not from Children’s Services, ma’am.”

“Oh. You look like the social.”

“No. Are you related to Miss Cruz?” Melanie asked. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“I’m her mother.”

“May we come in? I’m here with my colleague, Special Agent O’Reilly.”

The woman unchained the door and stepped back. Melanie entered the small foyer. It was bare of furniture, decorated with an enormous framed print of the Virgin Mary. The living room beyond was dominated by a large television playing a Spanish-language soap, which faced a battered old sofa. The little girl toddled over and plopped down on her diapered behind in front of the TV. She picked up a plastic bottle filled with apple juice from the floor, put it into her mouth, and proceeded to ignore them.

Jasmine’s mother stared at Melanie with wide eyes. The expression on her face was awful to see. She knew what was coming.

“Mrs. Cruz—”

“Yolanda. Call me Yolanda.”

“Yolanda, I’m so sorry, but your daughter was killed—”

“
¡Ay, Dios mío
!” Jasmine’s mother cried, rocking back and forth and keening. “
¡Dios mío, Dios mío! ¡Mi hija preciosa
!”

As Jasmine’s mother sobbed, Melanie patted her ineffectually. She felt so helpless. There was nothing she could do for this woman, so why had she insisted on coming? To see for herself, to bear witness to her grief? As if she needed any more motivation to find the killer, with her background. As if she didn’t fully understand the consequences of leaving someone like Slice on the street. She understood better than anybody, so well that she had no words now. Dan took control of the situation.

“Let me help you, ma’am,” he said gently, and led the grief-stricken woman to the sofa. Melanie fetched a glass of water and a roll of paper towels from the tiny kitchen.

“There somebody who can come stay with you?” Dan asked.

Mrs. Cruz sobbed into the paper towel Melanie handed her.

“Downstairs,” she choked out, “my neighbor, Carmen.”

“What’s her number?” Dan asked, pulling out his cell phone.

“No, she don’t got no telephone. Just go downstairs.”

Dan nodded to Melanie, then walked out the door. Melanie sat beside Mrs. Cruz on the sofa and put her arm around her shaking shoulders. The woman looked up, her face streaked black with tears and mascara.

“Where is she? I want to see her! I want to go to her!”

Melanie explained the procedure for identifying and claiming Jasmine’s body. Mrs. Cruz resumed crying loudly.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” she asked, between sobs. “Junior? I tell Jasmine, that one is gonna kill you someday. But she don’t listen.
¡Ay, de mí
!”

“You mean Slice? Yes.” Melanie took a business card from her wallet and held it out. “Look, if he comes by, or if you see him, act like you don’t know, okay? But then call me. Here’s my number. Will you do that?”

“Yeah, sure. I call you,” she said, taking the card and examining it through her tears. “Prosecutor?”

“I’m investigating Slice for a murder. I think your daughter knew something about it, and that’s why he went after her today. So you’ll call me if you see him?”

“Yes, believe me, I wanna get that bastard.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Dan returned with a thin middle-aged woman, who wore a denim skirt, white athletic socks, and plastic sandals.

“
¡Ay, Yolanda, qué terrible
!” she shouted, and ran into Mrs. Cruz’s arms. The two sat sobbing together on the sofa. Dan and Melanie left quietly, pulling the door shut behind them.

In the car neither of them wanted to talk about what they’d just witnessed.

“What’s our next move?” Melanie asked, pushing the images from the apartment out of her mind.

“I have Slice’s description out to the PD and all the federal agencies. Plus, I’m shaking down every snitch in Brooklyn.”

“All good, solid police tactics, but just not fast enough. What’s to stop him from striking again while you’re doing all that? The city is so big. There are so many places for him to hide. And we don’t have enough resources to follow up every lead.”

“Those are the constraints we have to work with. None of that’s gonna get better anytime soon.”

“We’ve been saying all along he’ll probably hit Amanda Benson next. So I vote we set up on her room and don’t move till we get him. I’m not leaving that animal out on the street to kill again.”

WHEN IT CAME TO ANTICIPATING WHERE SLICE would strike next, Amanda Benson was the obvious choice. The only choice, in fact. Anybody else they could think of who he might go after was already dead. Except Melanie, of course, but she tried not to think about that.

Dan dropped Melanie at the hospital entrance and went to park the car. Riding up in the elevator, she realized she’d been here just about this time yesterday. Seemed like light-years ago.

Amanda’s hospital room was situated approximately halfway down a long hallway. As Melanie turned the corner, it popped into view, its door unattended, gaping open. No crew-cut cop, no private guard, no Randall. Wasn’t he supposed to be here checking on Amanda? Astonished, Melanie broke into a run, terrified she’d find yet another dead body. But when she reached the door, she saw Amanda lying in bed, alone and unharmed, sleeping peacefully as a soap opera played with no volume on the television set affixed to the wall.

The open door, the missing guard, the vulnerable, sleeping girl. Melanie’s scalp prickled with fear, and she turned uneasily to look over her shoulder. Was somebody else using Amanda as bait to lure Slice? Or was she—Melanie—the target? Because this sure felt like a trap, and here she was, standing inside it, right in the bull’s-eye. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Dan’s pager with trembling fingers, putting in all sevens. Let him come as fast as he possibly could. She had a bad feeling about this. She found a buzzer attached by a cord to Amanda’s hospital bed and pressed it repeatedly, hoping she’d attract somebody’s attention. She needed reinforcements. A nurse, an orderly—anybody who would improve the odds and make an attack less likely.

The buzzing noise roused Amanda. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes bleary and bloodshot, but a startling green against her pale waif’s face. When she saw Melanie, she floundered against her pillow, struggling to sit up.

“Are you the nurse?” she asked, sounding disoriented, even frightened.

“No, I’m a prosecutor. Melanie Vargas. I’m working with the police to catch the people who hurt you. How are you, Amanda? I’ve been worried about you.” She kept her voice calm so she wouldn’t alarm the girl further.

Amanda’s eyes darted around the room anxiously. “Where’s my mom?” she asked.

“Nobody was here when I came in a minute ago. Let me help you with the bed,” Melanie said. She played with the electronic controls on the side panel and raised Amanda to a sitting position.

“Thanks,” Amanda said thickly. “Painkillers. You know, I’m so…uncoordinated.” She gestured vaguely with her unbandaged left hand.

“What happened to your bodyguard?” Melanie asked.

“That guy? I don’t know. He was skeevy, though. I’m glad he’s gone.”

“It worries me that you’re left unattended like this, Amanda.”

Amanda looked confused. “Do you have a cigarette?” she asked.

“A cigarette? No, sorry.”

“It might help me, like, wake up. Clear my head.”

“I honestly don’t have one. I don’t smoke.”

“Oh.”

“So your mother was supposed to be here, but she left?” Melanie asked.

“I guess so.” Amanda shrugged feebly, but she was obviously upset.

“I’m sure she never would have left unless something really important came up. She was so protective of you when I was here yesterday.”

Melanie looked toward the door again. She was beginning to wonder why Dan was taking so long, and why the hospital staff hadn’t responded to her buzzing.

“My mom tried to protect me?” Amanda asked, eyes wide and vulnerable. She was still just a kid, a kid going through a terrible ordeal.

“Oh, yes. She wouldn’t even let me near you to talk about…about what happened.” Melanie glanced involuntarily at Amanda’s right hand, swathed in bandages.

“Oh, you mean when she wouldn’t let you interview me and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I heard that. I was kind of, like, half asleep.”

“I apologize for being so aggressive with your mother.”

Amanda flushed, shaking her head bitterly. “Don’t apologize to me about
her
,” she said with sudden vehemence. “My mom’s a total witch. I hate her guts.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Amanda. I know you’re upset, but I’m sure she had a very good reason for leaving.”

“It’s not about that. You have no idea. She doesn’t care about me at all. First she ships me off to the loony bin to get rid of me, then she abandons me here when I’m, like, in majorly bad shape.” Amanda’s voice cracked. Tears welled up in her eyes and brimmed over. Melanie handed her a tissue from the box on the nightstand. Amanda mopped at her tears, but they kept coming and coming, rolling swiftly down her cheeks. This poor girl was a mess. Who could blame her?

“I’m sure your mother loves you very much, sweetie,” Melanie said gently.

“No, she
doesn’t
!” Amanda insisted, breaking into sobs. “You’re not
listening
. Only my dad loved me, and now he’s dead. I’ll never see him again. Do you have a fucking clue what that’s like?”

“Yes,” Melanie said, hearing echoes of another time. “Yes, I do.” “
The bullet is lodged in the right frontal lobe,” she heard the doctor tell her mother. “If we try to operate, we risk destroying sensitive speech centers.” “Will he ever walk again?” “The paralysis on the left side may resolve with time. But I have to be frank, Mrs. Vargas. It could take years
.”

Melanie moved closer and began to stroke Amanda’s shoulder. “I hate my mom,” Amanda choked out. “She had my dad killed, I know it!”

“Amanda, you’re distraught, and you’re on painkillers. You don’t know what you’re saying. Gang members killed your father. It had nothing to do with your mother.”

“You’re wrong. Why do you think she won’t let you talk to me? It has nothing to do with protecting me. She’s afraid I’ll blab.”

“What the
fuck
do you think you’re doing? Get away from her!”

Melanie spun around. A large man in a rumpled suit loomed in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him come in, so intent was she on Amanda’s words. He advanced toward her, his features contorted with fury, tiny red veins popping out on his nose and cheeks. The smell of alcohol rolled off him in waves, filling the room.

“I’m from the U.S. Attorney’s Office. This is official business. Who are
you
?”

“I’m her bodyguard, and I don’t give a shit if you’re the queen of England, lady. Nobody talks to her without my permission. Now, get outta here!” He closed the gap between them and grabbed Melanie’s arm. Amanda cowered in her bed.

“Get your hands off me, or I’ll have you arrested for interfering with a federal officer!” Melanie shouted, trying to twist out of his grasp. His fingers closed tight as a vise, pulling her toward the door.

“Yeah, just try it and see how far you get. I got friends in high places.”

“Get your hands off her, Flanagan!” Dan yelled, charging into the room.

“Fuck off, O’Reilly. This is my gig.”

“I
said
let her go!” Dan lunged for him and shoved him hard, pinning him against the wall next to Amanda’s bed. Melanie leaped out of the way, rubbing her throbbing arm. The two men were about the same size, but Dan was much stronger. As Flanagan struggled, Dan slammed him back against the wall.

“Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you,” Dan said, his voice shaking, holding Flanagan immobile until he stopped thrashing and went limp in Dan’s grasp.