Day of Reckoning

Flashing red illuminates the night sky, a nightmarish scene unfolding ahead as they drive further into the upscale gated community.  Sweat dots Detective Laura Stevens’ forehead, her heart rate increasing with every inch they draw closer to the emergency vehicles.  The familiar adrenaline rush hitting her veins sharpens her focus as she takes in every detail of this tree-lined street, looking for footprints in the snow, tire tracks, surveillance cameras - anything that may be pertinent to what is sure to be a grueling investigation.  

As they near the estate, Laura snaps at her partner impatiently, “Just find a place to park already, Nick.  We need to get inside before someone screws up the crime scene.  With the amount of attention this is going to get, we cannot afford any mistakes!”

“I’m surprised the bloodhounds haven’t tracked this down already,” Detective Nick Palamino replies as he slides the black SUV into a spot behind a police cruiser.  “This is sure to stir up a shitstorm, and I hope we are long gone by the time the media shows up.”

Laura nods her agreement.  It’s not everyday you get called to a homicide in Chestnut Hill, one of the wealthiest neighborhoods of Philadelphia.

They climb out of the SUV, the cold air immediately hitting their lungs, and stride with purpose toward the brick-lined walkway.  The large stone manor rises up before them, flanked on each side by towering brick fireplaces, and protected by acres of woods beyond.  The large oak trees and evergreens stand sentinel as they walk towards the house, the red lights reflecting off them creating a macabre scene.  Laura finds it ironic that even the gates, the woods, and the imposing manor couldn’t protect him.  Even he couldn’t escape the time for reckoning.

Captain Rodriguez stands grimly at the open front door as Laura and Nick make their way up the porch steps.  “Detectives,” he says, then turns and walks into the house, a silent invitation for them to follow.  Immediately, they enter a cavernous foyer, a sweeping staircase with ornate iron balusters dominating the space.  Activity swarms around them. Officers, crime scene investigators, and forensic analysts scurry back and forth between the front rooms.  Trying not to get swept up in the opulence of the home, they follow Captain Rodriguez into the study, donning gloves and shoe covers so they don’t compromise the scene.

The room is clearly masculine with dark mahogany paneled walls, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a black leather sofa sitting opposite a massive desk that dominates the room.  Faint scents of wood and leather hang in the air, remnants of an expensive cigar.  A metal brass bar cart stocked with crystal decanters of whiskey and vodka sits in one corner.  Everything about the room screams luxury and privilege.  Everything, that is, except for the body lying face down in front of the desk, a dark pool of blood spread out under him, forever staining the persian rug below.

Laura catalogs these details within seconds of entering the room.  “Ok, Smilow.  What do you have for me?” She directs her question to Lilith Smilow, one of the most competent crime scene investigators she’s worked with.  Lilith can recreate a crime scene better than anyone.

“No sign of forced entry.  There were two glass tumblers in the room, one with fingerprints from the victim, the other was clean.  No other fingerprints that we’ve been able to find so far.  Our team is currently combing the place for anything the perp may have left behind, but you know how tedious that is.  Unfortunately, this looks like a pretty clean crime scene,” Lilith grimaces, scrunching her otherwise smooth dark skin.  

“Sounds like he knew whoever the perp was and let him or her into the house,” Nick says.

“Appears that way,” Lilith replies.  “But I don’t like to make assumptions until we have all of the evidence collected and analyzed.  As far as the victim, he appears to have been shot in the back, possibly with a 38.  Pretty fucking cold, if you ask me.”

“Great,” Laura responds, rolling her eyes.  “So we have a spotless crime scene, and our victim was shot with a gun that anyone off the street could be carrying.”

Nick crosses his arms over his chest and looks at his feet, a subtle sign indicating his frustration.  “Doc Rooney, any initial estimates regarding time of death?”  He directs his question to the medical examiner, an older man with heavy eyeglasses and a haphazard mop of gray curls on top of his head.

“I’ve barely been able to examine the body, let alone do a thorough job, and you expect me to give you a time of death estimate?” Dr. Edward Rooney growls, with more than a hint of exasperation.

“Doc, we trust your expertise.  If we at least have a rough idea to work with, that will help us get moving faster on this case,” Laura quickly responds, trying to smooth the crotchety medical examiner’s feathers.

“If I had to guess,” he says, shooting a glare in Nick’s direction, “I would say he died anywhere between the hours of 6 PM and 10 PM.”  Turning his attention to Lilith, he barks, “When can I have the body?”  Laura walks away as he starts arguing with the crime scene investigators.

Staying to the outside of the room, careful not to touch anything, Laura circles around towards the desk.  “Have we found a calendar or appointment book - hell, even a post-it note - anything that could indicate if he had scheduled a meeting with someone?  Has someone asked his assistant if we can have access to his online calendar?  What about checking security cameras around his property?” Laura asks the room at large.  

“On it,” one of the junior officers responds, hurrying away to take care of the task.

Several photographs are displayed on the wall behind the desk, almost as a tribute to the victim’s power and influence in this city.  In one of the pictures, his arm is slung over the shoulders of the police commissioner, both of them mugging for the camera like the leaders of the good ‘ol boys club that they are.  Or were, Laura supposes.

Police Commissioner Mack Daniels is a large, formidable presence, and his alliance with the victim created an indomitable force to the drug rings operating in the city.  About six months ago, Laura’s best friend, Andie James, was invited to be part of a task force set up to crack down on drug trafficking.  It was believed that one cartel was housed in Philadelphia, and that specific cartel was the hub responsible for supplying drugs all up and down the east coast.  If the task force could nab this cartel’s leader, they could make a huge impact on drug trafficking wreaking havoc in the United States.  

Thinking about Andie now makes Laura’s chest tighten, so she shoves her grief in a box that she’ll deal with later.  Right now, she needs to focus.

“Detective Stevens.”  Laura glances up as the junior officer walks back into the study.  “I just got off the phone with his assistant, Glenda.  She said there was nothing indicating a late meeting on their shared calendar, but she mentioned he hustled out of the office at 5 PM saying he was meeting Commissioner Daniels for drinks.”

“What about the security cameras?” Laura asks.

“Unfortunately, those are a dead end.  It looks like the video feed was cut,” another officer says, looking warily at Nick, sensing the detective’s tether on his frustration was quickly unraveling.

“Fuck,” Nick mutters, shoving his hand in his hair, mussing the dirty blond strands.

“Ok.  Let’s focus on what we know.  We know he left work at 5 PM to meet Commissioner Daniels.  Doc Rooney puts the time of death between 6 PM and 10 PM.  Let’s pay our commissioner a visit to see if he knows anything.  Perhaps he mentioned needing to meet someone later,” Laura reasons, trying to defuse her partner’s mounting tension.

“Well, if you guys are hoping to get out of here without being hounded by the media, you might need to slip out the back door,” Lilith mentions as she peeks past the curtains of the open window.  “Every media outlet in the area is out front, probably salivating at the opportunity to announce Mayor Evans was murdered in cold blood in his own home.”

***

Mayor Anthony Evans had run on the platform of cleaning up the drug problem in Philadelphia.  With the escalating numbers of overdose deaths in the city and surrounding counties, this was a top issue influencing most voters.  His long-term friendship with the police commissioner, along with his charisma and All-American good looks, made him a shoo-in for the mayoral position in last year’s election.

Laura is embarrassed to admit that she was first taken in by his charm, not to mention his athletic build, inky black hair, dark eyes, and photogenic smile.  But beneath the easy-going facade, she had caught glimpses of coldness in his onyx gaze.  

About three months ago, her friend, Andie, working tirelessly on the task force, told Laura she suspected there was a mole in the police department who was feeding information to the drug cartel.  Every time they planned a raid, the targeted building would be emptied and abandoned.  She had also stumbled upon financial information unveiling a pattern of large anonymous donations to the police force following each of the thwarted raids.  Equally perplexing was the lack of a paper trail indicating how that money was being allocated.  Andie confided that she felt like she couldn’t trust anyone on the task force anymore.  She was ready to go straight to Commissioner Daniels with the information.   

As Nick pulls into the driveway of Commissioner Daniel’s house, Laura is roused from her unsettling thoughts and squares her shoulders.  Without speaking, they walk side-by-side toward the front door of the large brick home.  Nick glances at Laura before ringing the doorbell, cringing slightly given the overnight hour.

Light spills out of the house as footsteps pound the hardwood floors inside.  Commissioner Daniels flings the door open, his fiery red hair sticking up on end, and stops short when he sees them standing outside.  “Detectives.  Come on in.”  He leads them to the kitchen, switching lights on as they go, a heavy sense of dread slumping his posture.

As they sit down, Nick cuts right to the chase.  “Mack, Mayor Evans was murdered in his home tonight.  His assistant told us he was meeting you for drinks after work.  We’re hoping you can answer some questions for us so we can put together some sort of timeline.”

Mack’s large hand slides down his freckled face with a slight tremor, his skin paling to an ashen gray.  “Tony’s dead?” he shakily asks.

Laura nods.  “Can you tell us where you went for drinks and how long you were together?”

After a few moments of silence, Mack staring down at the table, unseeing, he responds, “We actually decided to meet at his house.  There was something he wanted to talk about privately and didn’t feel that a public setting was appropriate.  I arrived around 5:30 PM and left about an hour later.”

“What was the nature of the discussion?  Did he mention meeting someone afterwards?” Nick asked.

“He wanted an update on the task force’s findings, which of course is classified information, so I can’t share more than that.  He said he had a date later, which is why I didn’t stay long.”

“Doc Rooney’s initial estimate for time of death is as early as 6PM.  I’m wondering if whoever shot him might have gotten there shortly after you left,” Laura surmises, studying Mack.  “Who was he meeting for his date?”

“I wouldn’t know.  When I left, Tony was in his study.  I didn’t see anyone as I was leaving the house.  Afterwards, I came straight home.  My wife can corroborate that if needed.”

Laura continues to look at him thoughtfully.  “There has been a lot of criticism lately of the task force being unable to produce any leads, some of that criticism even coming out of Mayor Evans’ office.  Did you guys get into an argument earlier?  Was he pressuring you to show some results?”

He glares at Laura.  “What exactly are you insinuating?”

“I’m just trying to understand your frame of mind when you left the mayor’s house earlier.”

Mack stands abruptly from the table, eyes narrowing and spittle flying from the corner of his mouth as he roars with indignation, “This is unbelievable!  You come to my house in the middle of the night to tell me my best friend has been murdered, and then insinuate that I had something to do with it!”

“I’m just following the evidence, which I’m sure you can appreciate, Commissioner,” Laura stands, holding her ground, desperately trying not to show an ounce of fear.

Nick stands, shooting Laura a look, “We aren’t making any accusations.  Like Laura said, we are just trying to get a timeline of events and understand what happened when you met with him earlier.  Thanks for your time, Commissioner.  We can see ourselves out.”

Laura says nothing and follows Nick to the front door.

Once they get back in the SUV and drive away, Nick shouts, “What the fuck were you thinking, Laura?  Insinuating Commissioner Daniels had a role in this?  Have you lost your mind?  Un-fucking-believable!”

“Look at the information we have!”  Laura shouts back.  “Mack was at Tony’s house during the window of time that Doc Rooney has estimated time of death.”

“What about motive?  Mack and Tony were best friends,” Nick volleys back.

Laura faces forward, taking a deep fortifying breath.  She needs to tread carefully.

Nick pulls over and slams the SUV in park.  Turning toward her, his rage barely contained, he says,  “I know you wouldn’t make this kind of accusation without having a reason.  What are you not telling me?”

Shakily, she responds, “I haven’t told you everything about what Andie uncovered.  Do you remember the anonymous donations she found?” Nick nods.  “She was able to trace where they were being wired from.”  Laura looks Nick directly in the eyes so that he can’t mistake her meaning.  “The funds were being wired from an LLC that was under a larger umbrella of businesses owned by Mayor Evans’ family.”

Nick’s mouth hangs open, speechless.  “Fuck.  So, allegedly Tony was wiring large sums of money to the police department following each thwarted drug raid as some sort of payment?  For what?  Supplying information?”

“That would be my guess.  Someone was leaking information about the raids so the cartel could be prepared, and somehow Mayor Evans was profiting off of it.  When Andie confronted Commissioner Daniels about it, she was killed less than a week later.”  Andie was hit in a shootout during a drug raid that turned violent.  “I think Mayor Evans was being paid by the cartel to keep their operation running.  The task force was a front.  I also think Mack was caught up in this as well, possibly even being the one leaking information about the planned raids, in exchange for a cut of the money Tony was getting,” Laura theorized.

“Then why kill him?” Nick asked.

“Maybe Mack found out Tony was keeping a larger percentage of the payout?  Maybe Tony was threatening to pin the entire operation on Mack, especially given his criticism of the task force recently?  There’s a million different scenarios that could’ve led to this.  The indisputable fact was that Mack was there last night.  Ballistics will give some information about the murder weapon, but Mack has access to the evidence warehouse where he could’ve picked up any random gun that would be untraceable to him.  I have all of the documents Andie gathered while working on the task force, which will help with a motive.”

Nick slowly pulls the SUV away from the curb and turns toward Laura’s apartment.  “Alright, we’re going to have to keep this quiet for now as we gather evidence.  God, I can’t believe I’m going along with this.”

Laura looks out her window, contemplative, her mind swirling.  She opens the door as Nick slows to a stop in front of her apartment complex.  “I’ll pick you up in the morning.  Try to get some sleep,” Nick says before pulling away.

In her apartment, Laura paces restlessly.  There’s no way she’s going to be able to sleep anytime soon.  Grabbing her leather purse, she walks out the front door and heads toward the paved running path along the Schuylkill River.  Normally packed with people during the day, the path is deserted and dark now, the light posts casting an eerie glow.  Laura walks out over the bridge spanning the river and leans up against the railing.  

Thinking back to the crime scene, she smirks.  It really was spotless.  Being a homicide detective, she’s been to many scenes, knows what to look for, is aware of how any little detail left behind by the killer can lead to an arrest.  She hopes there’s enough circumstantial evidence to pin this on the commissioner.  After showing up to her “date” early this evening, which she orchestrated in order to get closer to the mayor to gain more information, and overhearing Mack and Tony’s conversation while she hid outside of the study’s open window, she doesn’t mind seeing them both go down.  It would be poetic justice given how they described the drug raid as a convenient way to silence Andie and keep their corruption covered up.  She can still hear Tony’s laugh and shivers with disgust.

Glancing around, Laura opens her leather purse, pulls out a heavy black plastic bag that holds the gun she stole from the evidence warehouse, and drops it into the river below, watching the black current carry it away before swallowing it into the murky depths below.