7: Bootyful Evidence

Everything we hear is
an opinion, not a fact.
Everything we see is
perspective, not the truth.

Marcus Aurelis

As the phone by her bed shrieked, Em wanted to bury her head and return to sleep, but couldn’t. Not in her position.

Susanna cracked one eye open and peeked at her from the shelter of a pillow. “Are you—?”

Em rolled over, grabbing the receiver. “I’ve got it. It takes me a minute. I’m used to waking at a specific time.” She leaned away from her girlfriend, trying to keep her voice pitched low.

“‘Alo? Detective Rules here.”

“Em, this is Mike Eddleson. I’m calling from my home. You need to get here immediately.”

“Mike? What the hell time is it?” She flicked her wrist, lighting her watch. “It’s only 5:20!”

The commissioner sighed, not ready to discuss nonessential details. “I like getting into the office before anyone else so I can prepare for the day without interruptions. If you knew how many I get, you’d appreciate it. But I discovered a bomb in my car. I’m about to call the explosives removal squad. If you want to examine the evidence before they demolish it, you’d best get here fast.”

Em sat up, her sleepiness flushed from her system. “A bomb? Was it attached to your car? How did you avoid setting it off?”

“It’s a bit involved, but it wasn’t fastened to the car. Instead, it was in the trunk. I’m guessing it was set to go off via remote control rather than through the ignition or a timer.”

Em was up and dressing. Susanna, having caught her outburst, sat up and rubbed her eyes, listening in. Being a detective, Em couldn’t keep from asking essential questions. “How’d you discover it?”

Mike sighed again, clearly not in the mood to humor her. “I was bringing my golf clubs to work. I like to visit Drive 495 near the office to work off my daily frustrations. I figured knocking a few balls would vent some of my annoyances with this case. I planned to take my private car and let Nathan meet me there. While wrestling the clubs in the trunk, I discovered a knapsack which isn’t mine or my wife’s. Not knowing who’d plant something in my car, I decided prudence was the best call and left it alone.”

Em sat while pulling on her pants. “No, playing with bombs is stupid. You did the right thing. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hopefully there shouldn’t be much traffic this time of the morning.”

“That’s why I called. Once you hang up I’ll phone the bomb squad. I’ve already cleared the area. It’s a mid-sized but heavy package. It won’t damage the house, but would have injured me if I was in the car when it went off. Grab a pen, here’s my home address. And use your siren; it’s important you get here before the evidence is compromised.”

He recited his address as Em entered it into her phone so she wouldn’t have to wrestle with a map.

“There’s a bomb? Why would they contact you?” Em was surprised by Susanna’s inquiry, but turned and spoke in low, calming tones, not wanting to awaken or upset anyone else.

“They called because it’s my boss’s car and may be related to my case.”

Susanna scratched her head, still trying to wake up. “Why would a murderer uptown plant a bomb in your precinct commander’s car?”

Em leaned in and kissed her as she finished buttoning her shirt. “I’ll explain when I get home. However, I need to head out. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. The explosives squad handles these kinds of things all the time.”

Susanna shot her a look, but shrugged and snuggled back under the covers. Finished dressing, Em tried to slip out without waking anyone else—which prevented her from turning on the lights.

“Ack!”

“Oops! Sorry Becky,” Em whispered, kneeling beside her niece. “I forgot you were lying here.”

“You stepped on my arm! But when I went to bed, I was over there,” she said, pointing by the couch. “These floors are slippery.”

“Normally, the only ones silly enough to sleep there are too drunk to notice.”

“Em? Is that you? What’s up?” Francine asked.

Sighing, Em fumbled for the lamp and switched it on. “It’s an emergency. A live explosive. I need to be there when they defuse it.”

“A bomb?” Francine asked, covering her mouth with her hands.

“Neat!” Becky exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Can I tag along?”

“Absolutely not!” her mother insisted. As the two argued about how appropriate it was for young girls to monitor explosives at crime scenes, Em slipped out, running down the six flights of stairs.

Em had no trouble locating the commissioner’s house, as it wasn’t far from the city. It was in an upscale set-aside in Astoria, Queens. As she drew near, she noted police cars with their lights flashing, cordoning off the block. Parking in front of a random house, she was exiting the car when an officer approached.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to park elsewhere. This area is closed due to a bomb threat.”

Em flashed her badge. “I’m the detective in the case. The commissioner’s expecting me.”

“Emma Rules? Yeah, he asked us to escort you in. He wanted you to examine the scene before the explosives squad sets it off.”

“They’re not going to defuse it?”

The officer shook his head as he guided her past the yellow tape bisecting the street. “They wanted to, but the commissioner refused. He said no one is gonna be injured on his watch and it’s better being safe than sorry. Lucky for you, the bomb squad is still setting up.”

Despite the shortened daylight hours, the sun had risen enough for Em to survey the neighborhood. The heavy rains had finally let up, and while it was still cold, the weather was clearing. The surrounding homes were older brownstones, which meant they were tightly packed and bordered the road. Although it was a side street, it got a lot of traffic. When they closed it to traffic, it attracted attention. There was a single news van as well as numerous gawkers from the community. Several people were milling around, held back by the police barricades, though many had their cell phones out, hoping to record some destruction.

“Commissioner,” Em called once she saw him.

He motioned her in. “I’m glad you’re here. They’re almost ready to go. Here, toss on a blast shield and see what you can spot with the device and the car.”

She waved him off. “No thanks. I’m sure the explosives squad has taken plenty of photos. You realize, allowing them to demolish the bomb might compromise evidence which might prove your innocence?”

“You’re right, but I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed officers to risk their lives just to cover my ass.”

“Your choice. It’s admirable, but I’m not sure how well you’ll do in jail.”

“I doubt anyone would leave anything proving my innocence right under my nose. That’s just too damn lucky to believe. There’s got to be more to this.”

“Maybe, I don’t suppose anyone dusted for prints?”

“No, the explosives technicians and I forbade it. I’m more interested in preventing casualties than preserving evidence. With luck, there will be enough left. My car is fully intact. They didn’t have any problems removing it from the trunk, but as you can see, they have it set to remotely detonate in front of my house.”

“It seems like a brand new generic bag. I doubt they’ll get anything useful from it. The best we can hope for would be chemical residues or pollen which will allow us to track it. With luck we can lift fingerprints from your car.”

“Yeah, but they probably used gloves when planting it, whereas they might not when packing the bomb. Don’t forget, you’re more likely to drop something wearing gloves than you are barehanded.”

“We’re set, Commissioner,” someone from the explosives squad shouted. Mike signaled he was ready. The cops stepped back while the crowd behind the barricades edged forward.

The bomb technician commander pressed a button, there was a bang and the bag popped ... but didn’t explode. Instead, something fluttered above it.

Mike shielded his eyes, staring hard at the scene. “What is that?”

“It seems like paper,” Em suggested. “I think—”

“It’s money!” someone shouted. Suddenly dozens of people behind the barricade surged forward and rushed towards the ruptured bag. The cops hesitated, caught between restraining the other onlookers and chasing after those advancing. The bomb technicians were stuck in the middle, forced to intercept the incoming rush instead of securing the evidence.

Em leapt forward to preserve their evidence. If everyone started grabbing bills, they couldn’t isolate fingerprints. She was wrestling with a couple of young men when the commissioner’s voice bellowed behind her. “Enough!”

Surprisingly, his low gravelly voice caught everyone’s attention and they paused long enough to listen.

“The cash you’re after isn’t lost. It’s part of a crime. Anyone taking it will be arrested for theft, obstruction of justice, hindering a criminal investigation and I’ll toss in being a public nuisance. Now back away and allow the officers to do their jobs.”

Everyone stood in limbo as the police involved considered how ugly the scene might turn, when a few of people backed up a couple of steps. That was the turning point. As others moved back, the others hesitated and more joined them. The first to hesitate shrugged and retreated, going back to their normal activities. Those at the front of the crowd realized they were merely a handful of individuals rather than a nameless mass of humanity. They too, backed down, hunching up inside their windbreakers as they hurried away.

As the citizens edged back, Em left it to the other cops to handle crowd control as she turned to the corrupted evidence. She peeled her jacket off and tossed it over the torn bag and then donned gloves to pick up the bills lying on the ground. She figured grasping for those fluttering in the wind wouldn’t accomplish much and would make terrific fodder for those anxious to humiliate the police. They would drift back to earth eventually. If they lost a few, it was beyond their ability to contain.

“You have this under control, Detective Rules?” Mike inquired as he stepped up behind her.

“Yeah, I think we do. Thanks for assuming command like that. I’m not sure the rest of us could have spoken so convincingly.”

“You can thank my deep baritone more than the public’s respect. The same thing happens when I sing in church. Everyone around me stops mid-sentence until they miss the remainder of the stanza, and hurry to catch up. It must have something to do with pitch shock or something.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute, sir. You’ve earned a lot of trust, or at least a healthy leniency. By getting the different warring factions to work together, you’ve restored the public’s confidence that the city can function. Despite how much everyone wants to get ahead, they have too much invested in a functional government to throw it away too lightly.”

“Maybe, but if those people hesitated a few moments longer, we would have had a full riot on our hands, complete with live video of us bashing civilian heads in. We were lucky. That’s all there is to it.”

Em paused collecting spare bills to consider her boss. “Uh, I hate to ask stupid questions, but why would anyone put a bag of money in the trunk of your car?”

“If I knew that, I’d have called someone other than the bomb squad.”

“You realize everyone will assume this was some kind of pay-off, don’t you?”

“Yes, I understand. A city official found with a large sum of unexplained cash always raises questions, and with good reason. Clearly, I have no clue why it’s there. If I’d put it there myself, why would I call the police to remove and examine it for me?”

Em stared at him for a second before the wind launched another couple hundred dollar bills into the air and she rushed to grab them. “Uh, because you realized you wouldn’t be able to hide it any longer and needed a convenient way to cover your ass?”

“That’s also not an unreasonable assumption,” he conceded.

“You know, I’m guessing this bag is about the right dimensions for fifty-thousand dollars in hundred dollars bills.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption.”

“That’s the exact amount Martha Adams removed from the bank before she went missing.”

“It’s more than a little strange. Seeing as we’ve just discovered it, I haven’t had time to consider a reasonable response. You’d best examine it and find some answers before I have to face a full investigation.”

“About time you showed up.” Doug smiled as he leaned back, swiveling to face his partner. “Must be wonderful having a cushy job where you can show up whenever you want.”

“Hilarious.” Em plunked the coffee she’d bought on his desk. “Were you able to run any of those bill serial numbers I emailed you?”

“Yeah, but as you suspected, nothing showed up. I know where they were printed, but they’re old with no recent accounting of their locations. All I know is that they weren’t stolen from any banks. Most likely, they’ve been used to launder foreign funds so haven’t been through many domestic banks.

“Although Martha’s withdrawal was large, it was electronic and we lost track of it after it was filtered through numerous banks in countries which don’t cooperate with us. We don’t know where the final withdrawal was made. According to Bob Wellis, the trail ended at a couple banks which refuse to comply with our request for further routing information. The banks, as you might guess, are in Russia, so the current political troubles with Washington aren’t helping our case. The serial numbers on the bills you picked up are older, meaning the currency’s been floating around the world for a long time. There’s no way to trace either one.”

“Damn politicians, always making things harder for us rather than getting anything accomplished.” Em sat behind her desk and took a sip of her cooling coffee. “So there’s no way to pin it on the commissioner or clear him?”

“None I can think of, though it’s unlikely anyone would channel money through so many sources only to cash it here in the city. If it was converted into dollars in Russia, it would eat up a huge sum, and shipping it back would be a logistical nightmare. Odds are the funds are separate, but they may be from the same people, essentially shoving the funds in one pocket while slipping an equal amount in the commissioner’s trunk.”

“Well, as well-connected as the commissioner is, he’s unlikely to have access to the Russian banking authorities.”

“I’m not so sure,” Doug cautioned. “He could have established connections with the Russian mobs here who could pull strings for him in Russia.”

Em snorted, waving her cup. “Yeah, I’m sure the New York City Russian mobs would go out of their way to launder cash for a public official with no financial incentive for themselves. Still, try running down the commissioner’s past cases and see whether he had any run-ins with Russian mobsters.”

Doug shrugged as he keyed in some commands into his computer. “They may not be case related. It could have been at a social function or even a fund raiser. We both know the Russian political elite likes to invest overseas. What better investment than purchasing the support of a rising political star?”

“Well, we can’t investigate every possible scenario, so let’s focus on the most logical connections. What about the other potential leads?”

Doug tossed a folder on her desk, almost spilling her coffee. “Frank Macks has a complete forensics report. One interesting finding; there were semen stains in Commissioner Adam’s office, along the staircase and mixed with the blood at the scene. It appears their play was pretty extensive.”

“Cute, but if there was semen in all those locations, it implies the murder was carried out immediately after Mike had sex with Martha. But we know the murderer took his time and was there for hours. It would make sense to toss on some pants or underwear. The fact the semen stains are there at all suggests they’re a clear plant, rather than extraneous evidence. I mean, would you hack someone to death with a machete in the nude?”

Doug squirmed, wrinkling up his face. “No. Aside from the mess, it would be too easy to do permanent damage to my favorite body parts.”

“Exactly, plus, it was freezing that night. The brownstone’s heat was old and couldn’t adapt to the changing temperatures that fast. If he was truly nude for that long, he’d be hypothermic before the actual crime occurred.”

Doug nodded. “Good point, but still, it’s like the cash. Those details don’t clear him, while their mere presence hurts his reputation and implicates him in everyone’s mind.”

“Anything else of importance?” Em pushed.

“Yeah,” Doug lifted and tossed over another manila folder. “The city’s Domain Awareness program provided a list of possible vehicles leaving the areas. Those are the addresses for each. Most are locals. The local cops are tracking down the others. It doesn’t make sense for us to do it, as several of them are across the city and would take us days to track everyone down, especially if they’re not at home at the time.”

“Jared Dubrowsky? Pardon me for being cultural insensitive, but that doesn’t sound like someone from the neighborhood. I’m sure if they were snooping around, someone would have noticed.”