The Crisp Poleward Sky Page 13

  “Then he knew Raul Diaz,” said Zeke. “Raul was housed in the high security wing of that prison for seven years, the same time Ramirez worked there. He was in for selling drugs and participating in a child pornography ring.”

  “Really?” asked Clive. “You remember that?”

  “Well, we are dealing with the Diaz cartel. So I did a little bit of research,” said Zeke.

  “Hmm,” said Clive.

  “There are actually quite a number of child pornographers and sex offenders in that prison. They have a special program for them there,” Zeke continued.

  “Ew, gross,” said Sally. “That’s way too much information.”

  “Back to Ramirez,” said Zeke. “Federal prison guard, then Border Patrol, then ICE and now an Agent in Charge.”

  “Right,” said Clive.

  “So, what did he do in the Army?” asked Zeke.

  “Says here he was a helicopter pilot. Served in Afghanistan,” said Sally. “You were in Afghanistan,” Sally said to Zeke. “Maybe you ran into him there?”

  “I was in counterintelligence. We didn’t spend much time with the fliers,” said Zeke.

  “It does look as if he may have had continuing contact with Raul Diaz, though,” said Clive. “That’s something.”

  Then, to Zeke, “Come on back to D.C. and we’ll sort this thing out.”

  * * *

  A few blocks from the office, Clive had just ordered a Sunday Roast at the Elephant and Castle, his favorite D.C. restaurant. Zeke walked into the restaurant, looked around, and joined him at the table.

  “It’s got to be Ramirez,” said Zeke without preamble. “He’s the common denominator.”

  “Join me for a draft,” said Clive. “I just ordered.”

  Zeke waved the server over and ordered a Black and Tan. When she was gone, he continued. “The key is the location, Phoenix and surrounds.”

  Clive sipped his gin and tonic. He tasted the Boodles and nodded to himself.

  “It did seem like an odd coincidence, the ICE job, Diaz, the refugees and the killer, all converging in Phoenix…”

  “Right? So tracking backwards, there had to be a reason. Then I realized there had to be a connection between Diaz and Ramirez. That connects everyone, the killer Jerry Sebastian, Benito Diaz his boss, the refugees, and,” Zeke paused, “and the WITSEC guy who died in the canyon. I’m wondering whether it was Ramirez or Diaz that had him reassigned to Phoenix after he testified. One of them probably influenced the WITSEC guys to move him there.”

  “Logical,” said Clive.

  The Sunday roast arrived just then, a plate full of roast beef, roasted potato, Yorkshire pudding, sausages, stuffing, vegetables and gravy.

  Zeke scanned the plate. “You must be hungry,” he said.

  Clive, his mouth full of roast, just nodded.

  “It also explains why Ramirez has been so ineffective against the traffickers, and against the MS-13 gang. He didn’t want to catch them in any of the raids,” said Zeke.

  “So he’s Diaz’s man?” asked Clive, as he took another bite.

  “Pretty much has to be,” said Zeke. “He’s been obfuscating the ICE investigation from the beginning.”

  Clive nodded. “It’s time for another conversation with Clark Hall, then.”

  * * *

  “Witness Protection, WITSEC headquarters, says they’ve lost eight people in the past three years,” said Sally without preamble.

  They were seated in Clive Greene’s D.C. office, now, overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue through the wide floor to ceiling windows. Sally had joined Zeke and Clive, and they were discussing their findings about Jerry Sebastian. It was a warm afternoon outside, an Indian summer Saturday, and traffic was light in the capitol.

  “How many people have been in the program? WITSEC?” asked Clive.

  “Hard to say,” said Zeke. “But best guess is about 9,000 to 9,500, plus another 12,000 family members.”

  “And they’ve had eight killings in the past three years?”

  “Yes,” said Sally, nodding.

  “Unsolved?” asked Clive.

  “Totally,” said Sally. She was dressed in blue shorts and seamed nylons that ended in classic pumps. Her short-sleeved blouse was a swoop necked affair that looked as if it were made of beige satin. She wore her hair up.

  “Did they share anything else?” asked Zeke. “Anything similar about the killings? The weapons? The locations?”

  Sally said, “They’re not in the habit of sharing much, even when their bosses tell them to share with us. But they did say that almost all the killings were former gang members and their families.”

  “What else?” asked Zeke.

  “All the killings were quiet,” said Sally, she opened her file. “Knives were used in a few, a garrote in one, poison twice.” She looked at her notes. “And one was beaten to death. They thought that one was a mugging, initially, but it wasn’t.”

  “Any others?” asked Clive.

  “The most recent victim fell off a ledge in the Grand Canyon.”

  * * *

  “We’ll need to take this Luis Cruz out of the picture,” said Clive. “He’s too dangerous.”

  Zeke nodded.

  Sally had left the room, and now returned with a serving cart carrying an insulated coffee pot, cups, tea and the appropriate condiments. Zeke was looking through her WITSEC file while she was gone.

  “Former gang members. Silent killings. How about geography? Says here the killings took place in Jackson, Detroit, Oklahoma City, Tuscaloosa, and Portland. That’s Portland, Maine. And the Grand Canyon National Park.”

  “Right. Two killings were double homicides,” said Sally.

  “Where did the fellow live? The one killed in the National Park?” asked Clive.

  “He’d just gotten into the program and had been moved to Phoenix,” said Sally.

  “That seems like quite a coincidence,” said Zeke.

  “Considering the human trafficking work we did with ICE in Phoenix, it still seems unlikely that we’d all end up in that city at the same time.”

  “It does. That’s too big a reach,” said Clive.

  “Unless there are some relationships here that we haven’t seen yet. Some common denominator,” said Zeke.

  “Like what?” asked Sally.

  “Mostly connections in Phoenix. We have the traffickers, the Mara’s. We have Diaz with his house there. We have Ramirez who transferred into ICE. We have Luis Cruz, who’s just arrived and is likely here at Diaz’s request to stop us. And Ramirez knew Raul Diaz in prison. Sally said that Raul Diaz lives with his brother in Scottsdale, now.”

  “So the geography is a common factor?” asked Sally.

  “For some reason, it seems to be,” said Clive.

  “I’ll take a look at the WITSEC killings. There may be something there that explains it,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  “I’ve studied the files, “ said Zeke. “There doesn’t seem to be a lot of overlap in the M.O.’s.” He was talking about the methods the killer had used to dispatch his eight WITSEC victims, his modus operandi.

  “Right,” said Clive. “Different methods, different weapons, and different locations.”

  They were back in Clive Greene’s offices, taking another look at the WITSEC files Sally had acquired.

  “These were all bad guys,” said Clive, leafing back through the crime scene photos. “All criminals and gang members who the Feds turned. They all testified against someone in Diaz’s organization, or an MS-13 member, before they were killed. But they were all involved with drugs and kidnapping and armed robbery at some point.”

  “If we look more closely, I’ll bet we find that some of their distant family members were killed or went missing, too,” said Zeke. “Probably the family members first, to extract the most pain and create the most fear.”

  “Makes sense,” said Clive. “Bloody gruesome, though.”

  “So I ranked the killings a few of different
ways. Chronologically, by weapon, and by city. Looking for patterns and common characteristics.

  “What have you found?”

  “A couple patterns. All of the killings were up close and personal,” said Zeke. “The killer had to be within arm’s length of the victim in every case.”

  “So he likes it personal,” said Clive.

  “Appears to. Also, they took place mostly in the warmer months. April through October. Only two of the eight victims were killed during winter months.”

  “That’s interesting. Do you think it was intentional?”

  “Possibly. The two killed during winter were in Detroit and Portland, Maine,” said Zeke.

  “Coldest cities on the list.”

  “Yes, they are,” said Zeke. “Each of the victims had been relocated to the city they were killed in for between six and eighteen months. Enough time for them to acclimate and get established and familiar with their new cities. And enough time for their Marshal detail to leave them mostly on their own.”

  “And, apparently, enough time to let their guard down…”

  “Right. The other thing that stands out is the progression of the weapons used,” said Zeke.

  “Chronologically?” asked Clive.

  “Yes. First was with a knife,” said Zeke. “Took place in Detroit. That was two and a half years ago, one of the winter killings.”

  “OK,” said Clive.

  “Second was in Oklahoma City, eight months later. The vic was bludgeoned to death.”

  “Sounds messy,” said Clive.

  “Yes, but it’s possible that one got out of hand and he had to finish the job without his weapon,” said Zeke. “The third killing was also with a knife, it was a husband and wife.”

  Clive nodded.

  “Seven months after number two, in the spring of the next year, that killing was in Tuscaloosa,” Zeke continued. “Number four was in Jackson. In Mississippi.”

  “Also a knife?” asked Clive.

  “No, that one was the garrote. The vic was strangled with a wire hanger,” said Zeke. “Only five months after the third killing.”

  “Also possibly a weapon of convenience,” said Clive.

  “Then, five months later, in February, another double homicide in Portland, Maine. Another husband and wife. He was on a roll.”

  “Weapon for that one?” asked Clive.

  “They suspect poison. But that file had been closed as ‘accidental deaths’ until we started looking for trends, you know…dying witnesses.”

  Clive nodded. “And then the tumble in the Grand Canyon,” he said. “This summer.”

  “Correct,” said Zeke. “I feel like we’re playing the game Clue. Mrs. Plum in the library with the candlestick…”

  Clive chuckled. “It’s more deadly than that,” he said. “It’s good that you spotted the trend. We’ve had a killer picking off witnesses under protection of the Marshals, and no one connected the dots.”

  “I don’t know how they could have, actually,” Zeke said. “The Marshals’ organization is set up geographically, which works well for most things. But you don’t always get a cross section of related events with that hierarchy, particularly when there are so many differences in the killings.”

  “And you think you’re this killer’s next victim?” asked Clive.

  “He seems to think so,” Zeke said.

  * * *

  “So who were Luis Cruz’s murder victims?” asked Clive.

  “Like we said, mostly bad guys,” said Zeke. “In fact, most of the people in WITSEC are bad guys who rolled over on someone else.”

  “And they got a free pass,” said Clive.

  “That’s the way the Feds work, right?” said Zeke. “OK, so the first one we found, two and a half years ago, was an enforcer. Low level thug, actually. The WITSEC guys say he was a CI, a confidential informant, before he was put in the program. They say he killed two people, but it was never proven. He turned on Benito Diaz, gave up a couple of Diaz’s lieutenants, testified and got the free pass. As you mentioned.”

  Clive nodded. “Was he heavily marked?”

  “No, no Tats on that one. The Mara’s have actually been moving away from that, so that they blend better.”

  “Do you have a name?” asked Clive.

  “Feds say that his real name was Renaldo Juarez, but his street name was Paulo,” said Zeke. He hadn’t looked at his file notes yet.

  “You said he was killed with a knife…?”

  “He was cut several times. Across the forehead, probably to blind him with blood flow, and his vagus nerve was severed at his neck.”

  “That’s pretty extreme,” said Clive. “And an expert move.”

  Zeke nodded. “That move would immobilize him. The kill shot was a slice across his femoral artery. He bled out.”

  “In Detroit,” said Clive. “Seems like a dismal place to die.”

  Zeke thought for a moment. “It seems like it would be difficult for an individual to commit these killings,” he said after a minute. “Especially the double homicides. Too much risk, I’d think. I suppose we need to look into each of these murders. We should see if there’s anything more to it.”

  “Like…?” asked Clive.

  “Like, was Luis Cruz acting alone? Did he kill all the victims, or might there be someone else involved?”

  “An assistant?” asked Clive.

  “Or a second killer,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  “I received an interesting call this morning,” said Clive Greene, in a preface to their discussion. He, Zeke and Kimmy were gathered in Clive’s library-like office after a short break. They were there to discuss Ramirez and the WITSEC killings. And a possible connection between the two.

  “What was that?” asked Kimmy.

  “George Farmer, head of the U.S. Marshal’s Service here in D.C. called. He mentioned that they’re looking into the Grand Canyon killing—the WITSEC guy, the last one—and noticed that we were already investigating. It was noted in the file that we’d been given copies.”

  Zeke sipped his cup of Ethiopian coffee and waited for Clive to explain. The coffee was very hot, and he blew across the surface lightly.

  “Said they have an agent, a Marshal David Brown. He’s with their internal investigators. He’s looking into the killing, also, and Farmer suggested that we share information,” Clive continued.

  “Where is Marshal Brown?” asked Zeke.

  “In Phoenix, well, central Arizona right now. Do you want to join up with him?”

  “Probably be a good idea,” said Zeke. “I’ll get Sally to book a flight out tomorrow. Let me have Brown’s phone number.”

  “OK, will do,” said Clive. “Luis will be looking to connect with you soon, I’d think.”

  “Most likely. He thinks I’m on Cape Cod now, but he’ll want to take his shot. He’s been courting me long enough,” said Zeke. “I’ll work that out.”

  “There’s overwhelming evidence that Ramirez is on the inside for Benito Diaz,” said Clive, getting the meeting back on track. “The question is, how implicated is he in the WITSEC killings? And, was he directly involved?”

  Chapter 12

  “You can take care of this problem, then?” asked Benito Diaz. “I’m growing impatient with these interruptions.”

  Luis Cruz looked at him across the table and slowly nodded.

  “I’ve suffered raids on my warehouses and my ranch,” he said, referring to Susie’s Ranch in Pahrump. “It is a nuisance.”

  “Yes,” said Luis Cruz, respectfully. “We’re very close to finishing, to eliminating the problem.”

  “I don’t know why it takes so long to kill someone,” said Raul Diaz, sitting next to his brother. “Just bang and they’re gone. What’s wrong with that?”

  Luis looked at him patiently. He noticed that Benito Diaz was ignoring the interruption, so he did the same.

  “Very well. We need to reestablish our operation in Nevada quickly,” said Benito.


  “I agree,” said Luis Cruz. “I would prefer another week or two, but my target is leaving town soon and I believe it will be prudent to act quickly.”

  “I also received a call from Freddy Hanson in Boston,” said Benito Diaz. “We do business.”

  Luis waited.

  “Apparently, they’re having some sort of trouble with this Zeke Traynor up there, too. He’s looking into one of Hanson’s client’s operations, I think.”

  “Why did he call you?” asked Luis.

  “He’s a buyer in my supply chain, so to speak,” said Diaz.

  “Yes?” asked Luis.

  “And there are only so many places you can find your kind of talent,” said Diaz, referring to the killer. “Only a few. And we’ve helped Freddy Hanson before, when the problem was too large for him.”

  “So he also needs a permanent solution?” asked Luis.

  Benito Diaz nodded. “We would like this done before the end of this week,” he said. “I have another shipment arriving soon.”

  Luis Cruz said nothing while maintaining respectful eye contact with Benito Diaz. Then he nodded.

  Diaz watched him carefully, as if reading the man’s thoughts. Then he said, dismissively, “The end of the week.”

  “Yes,” said Cruz. He stood to leave.

  * * *

  “I do not trust him, Benito,” said Raul Diaz, once he had shown Cruz out.

  “Good,” said Benito. “You should not trust anyone. You’ll live longer if you follow that rule.”

  Raul, again sitting at the table, nodded. “I know,” he said.

  He knows very little, thought Benito Diaz. He is too emotional and too proud. He’s lucky that he’s my brother.

  “When do you expect the next shipment?” Raul asked, referring to Central American refugees. Benito Diaz’s organization reached from the slums of El Salvador and Nicaragua, along the escape routes that wound through Mexico and into the southern Estados Unidos.

  “It is supposed to arrive this weekend on Saturday night,” said Benito Diaz.