Shot caller, p.7
Shot Caller, page 7
“You done your research.”
“The best way for me to be able to understand what you need is to understand you. So talk to me. Help me understand. Why was this the response to the COs who entered after the attack?”
“You know about that.”
“How the riot started? Yes. From what I hear, you kicked it off. Tell me about it.”
“No.”
It was crucial right now to start a dialog, to get him talking. If she couldn’t get him to talk to her in this call or the next, a wall could go up that she’d never be able to scale. And Taylor might not manage it either. “You sound angry. Like you didn’t go after him for a petty reason.”
Silence.
Silence could be a useful tool in negotiating because it made many hostage takers uncomfortable and they’d talk to fill the void. But Gemma didn’t let this silence drag on too long because she already suspected Rivas was the tight-lipped type who could easily wait her out. “Then how about the hostages? That wasn’t something you did on a whim. Why did you take them? What do you hope to gain?”
“You have no idea what it’s like to be trapped here.”
“No, I don’t. Tell me about it. Help me understand.”
“Tell you ’bout it? ’Bout the COs who look for any excuse to beat on you? ’Bout time spent in the Bing surrounded by screaming all the damned time that nearly makes you lose your mind? ’Bout sewage flooding up through the floor drains to make you sick? Or the fucking lack of medical care where the docs think any complaint is fake so you can spend time in the wards instead of your cell.” It was like the cork coming out of a bottle as Rivas’s rage overflowed, and Gemma had to write frantically as she tried to note his every point. “Or how ’bout the freezing in winter and sweating in summer? Or the food so bad, you think they’re trying to starve or kill you?” His voice rose even higher. “What part of that d’you wanna understand?”
He was breathing hard by the time he stopped, and Gemma gave him a moment to collect himself so he’d hear her.
“That sounds terrible. More than that, it sounds like something no one should have to live through.” She kept her voice quiet, hoping he could hear her sincerity, because from what she knew about the nightmare that was Rikers, she suspected every complaint was 100 percent true.
“Yeah, but we do. So maybe we took hostages so someone will listen and not think we’re full of shit.”
“I don’t think that. You know, outside, we hear stories. From multiple sources. For years. I know you’re not lying to me. Tell me more. I want to hear your personal experience.”
“No. I’m done.”
“Wait!”
He paused for so long that Gemma was afraid he’d put the phone down and simply walked off. “Why?”
“Because I want this to be a two-way street. I want to make sure you have a way to contact us. Can you write down an extension?”
He hesitated, then, “Yeah.”
She read it out to him. “There will be someone here all day, every day while we sort this out. But Eduardo, I need to make something crystal clear for you. I want to help you resolve this, but the moment one of the hostages is hurt, it’s over. I won’t be able to keep them out. The same goes for the other inmates. Everyone stays safe from now on.”
There was a long pause. “From now on . . . gotcha.” And with that, he was gone.
Gemma slumped over her braced forearms. “Wasn’t sure we weren’t going to lose him for a second there.”
“Once the rage started to spew, I kind of wondered.” McFarland pointed at Chen’s pad of paper. “Did you get all that?”
“Yes.” Chen slowly recited the neat, bullet point list of complaints, then laid down his pad of paper. “It’s quite a list. I’ve seen articles about this place, but never been here myself.”
“That rage was floating close to the surface,” Gemma said. “It didn’t take much of a push for it to explode outward.”
“I think that says something about what it’s like to live here.” McFarland hoisted his thermos off the floor, cracked it open, and poured out another cup of coffee. “Emotions are running high. And likely impulses too.”
“Which tells us more about how a simple fight turned into a riot. It’s not just Rivas’s rage. It’s collective rage.”
“Then layer gang rivalry in the unit over top of that abuse,” Chen said.
McFarland capped his thermos. “Yesterday’s riot was like a match being thrown into a puddle of gasoline. It exploded, and all went to hell from there.”
“Now the question is how do we get a hold of that rage?” Gemma asked. “Knowing you have to go back to that way of life, and probably worse because you just put a giant target on your back as far as the COs are concerned, what would convince you to surrender?”
“If we’re lucky, hunger will start to work on them.”
“Or simply push that rage higher. It’s a fine line to walk. Abused inmates, some who have impulse control issues, many of who are struggling with mental illness and are now officially off their meds. Their first impulse may be to make the hostages pay for any mistreatment they’ve ever experienced. We have to find a way to keep that from happening.”
The door to the hallway opened and Williams slipped silently into the room. Once he saw Gemma’s headphones hanging around her neck, he let go of the door, letting it close on its own. His mouth was a grim line. “We have a problem.”
The urgency in Williams’s voice sent a bolt of alarm through Gemma. “What?”
“Davis came in wanting an update. While I walked to his office with him, I made it clear that this room is off-limits unless one of us brings him in here because we can’t afford interruptions when negotiating unless it’s an emergency. But while I was talking to him, Cartwright called.”
“Is there movement in there?”
“You could say that. They just tossed a CO into the hallway.” Williams scanned each face in turn. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER 8
With Davis and Coleman, Gemma jogged down the corridor, past a spacious outdoor recreation yard, deserted during lockdown, and into a hallway leading to the tower that housed the Emergency Segregation Housing units. The taller of the OBCC’s two towers housed the Central Punitive Segregation Unit—solitary confinement, better known on the Island as “the Bing”—but this tower contained some of the slightly less restrictive security areas, including the two ESHs.
The drab, gray hallway could have been any of those Gemma had just traveled, except for the cluster of A-Team officers to her left. Two officers stood with their backs to the crowd, their rifles raised and pointed toward the large steel-and-glass door sealing off the ESH. But inside the circle of officers, a lone figure lay prone on the floor with Cartwright crouched over him.
Gemma had to come. She hadn’t wanted to leave the phone in case Rivas attempted contact, but at the same time, she had to see what he or his fellow inmates had done. She didn’t want to rely on anyone else’s eyes to describe whatever horrors had taken place behind that locked door. To be able to deal with Rivas at the basest level, she needed to know exactly who had died, and how, because it would shape everything from here on out. It would be bad enough if a CO died in the initial riot, but if the inmates killed a CO in cold blood after calm was restored and after Gemma had warned Rivas to stay away from the hostages, it could only have been done to make a point to the authorities outside the facility.
It would change everything. If any of the inmates had hoped for amnesty, it wouldn’t come. Someone was responsible; someone had to pay.
She’d barely started; how could it have fallen apart so quickly? She’d honestly felt like she was making progress, making a germinal connection with Rivas.
Guess not.
Deciding how to proceed in this moment would affect everything else. Cartwright would want to take his men in before anyone else died, and where she would normally argue to the ends of the earth for calm to continue the negotiation, she knew she’d be in the minority. The negotiation team would try to end the standoff peacefully, but when it came down to the wire, it was the A-Team commander who got to make the final call on a tactical resolution.
By and large, tactical officers considered a tactical resolution the most effective way to end a standoff. It was simply in their nature and training.
She’d left Williams at the phone and everyone else in their assigned positions before following Davis and Coleman down the hallway to retrieve their lost officer. She’d texted Garcia as she rushed through the hallway. His one-word answer—Coming—said it all.
This death changes everything.
Davis and Coleman pushed through the A-Team officers, Davis snarling a curse when one officer didn’t get out of his way fast enough. Then they were both on their knees by the body as Cartwright stood to give them room. Gemma circled around to the far side and slid into a gap between officers.
“We got him away from the door so no one could come through at us.” Cartwright threw a glance back to the facility. “Then we checked for a pulse, but he was already gone.”
The officer was younger than Gemma anticipated, his dark hair shorn close and his slack face tipped to the side where blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and down over his jawline. He wore the navy short-sleeved shirt and pants of the correction officers, with twin silver “OBCC” collar insignias and a silver DOC badge with his badge number and his name engraved underneath pinned over his left breast pocket.
Except for the blood on his face, she couldn’t see any sign of the fatal injury.
Davis bent forward to study him more carefully. “I don’t know him,” was his perfunctory judgment. He swiveled toward Coleman. “You?”
Coleman didn’t reply right away, but sat back on her heels, her eyes fixed on his face. “I . . . no.” Guilt and anguish twisted her features. “I thought I knew everyone we had here.” Stiffening her spine, she leaned forward and rested one hand against his unblemished cheek.
With a gasp, she yanked her hand away.
“What’s wrong?” Davis demanded. “You do know him?”
Coleman’s whole attitude changed, grief falling away and determination setting her features in stone as she narrowed her eyes on the man, scanning his face and uniform. She repeated the action, then slid her hand over his shoulder and down his arm to his hand to take his hand in hers.
The dead man’s hand didn’t move easily.
Realization coalesced and Gemma suddenly saw what Coleman was doing. She hadn’t been shocked because of the fresh death of an officer. She’d been shocked because she’d touched a body already cooled with death. A body dead long enough that rigor mortis has already set in.
He’d died hours ago. Maybe yesterday during the initial riot. This wasn’t a sign of rebellion from Rivas.
All was not lost.
Coleman pushed to her feet to tower over the body. “This isn’t a CO.”
Davis staggered upright with considerably less grace. “What do you mean?”
“I was so fixated on his face I didn’t pay attention to the details. His badge says ‘Hoffstatler’ but that’s not Hoffstatler. And this isn’t this man’s uniform. See how it’s too big for him? How they’ve cinched in the belt so the pants stay on? This is one of the inmates.”
Gemma stepped forward to study the badge. “Hoffstatler isn’t one of the names on the hostage list.”
“They had to figure we’d know exactly who’s in there,” Cartwright said. “If that’s not Hoffstatler, how did he get that badge?”
“Hoffstatler was one of the COs who got out of the ESH when the ERSU arrived,” said Coleman. “He was involved in the initial efforts to contain the riot. His badge must have gotten ripped off in the struggle.”
“So they took a uniform off one of the COs in there and put this badge on it to confuse us?”
Gemma looked from the fury radiating from Davis at being tricked to the relief on Coleman’s face that this wasn’t one of her officers. “They had to know it wouldn’t work for long. It’s a high-security prison. All employees check in and out daily. No one is a nameless face.”
“What was the goddamned point, then?” Davis nudged the body with the toe of his boot. “And who’s this?”
“The point was to twist the knife, which they succeeded in doing. They had us convinced they’d killed a hostage.”
“Then they’ve got a death wish,” Cartwright stated. “This could’ve been enough for us to go in and end this.”
“I agree it wasn’t thought out. And, trust me, this will be the first thing I discuss with the inmates when I get them on the phone. For now, we need to call the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, but this man has been dead for a while. It takes hours for rigor to set in, then hours to ease off. I bet this man was killed yesterday and he was just a handy way of ratcheting up the tension. Of showing us that they still have ultimate control of the situation.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” Davis spat out. “And now whoever is responsible for this man’s death will have charges coming his way.”
Gemma studied the inmate’s face, completely devoid of life and spirit. “I need to know who this is. I can work this into the negotiations, but I need to know his name and gang affiliation. There’s a good chance he was killed yesterday when the riot took place, or immediately afterward. If there were any long-standing grudges or gang disagreements, yesterday’s riot was the perfect time to take advantage of the chaos to quietly settle a score.”
“Or two. Or three,” said Cartwright. “Who knows how many are dead in there.”
“I can get you all the information you need.” Coleman pulled her radio off her belt. “Let me contact a couple of the unit COs. They’ll recognize this man and we can go from there.” She pushed her way through the ring of officers.
“I’m going to call this in.” Gemma didn’t want to overstep the authority of the jail, but this was now a crime scene and whatever evidence was left needed to be preserved. “He was moved because you needed to get him away from the unit when you thought there was still a chance to save his life. But now we need to look at who’s responsible for his death.” She turned to where Cartwright stood on the opposite side of the body. “We need to step back and not touch him. You and your officers will be able to preserve the scene while still maintaining surveillance on the ESH?”
Cartwright gave her a sharp nod. “Affirmative.”
“Thank you. I need to get back in case they call through.” She spun to weave through the officers and found herself standing chest to chest with Logan.
“Excuse me.” Without making eye contact, she slid past him and through the men to stride toward the corridor leading to the negotiating room. She’d just made it to the main hallway when her phone buzzed. She pulled it out to find a text from Joe.
Here. Just about to go through security.
She quickly typed a response.
Wait once you get through security. I’m on my way.
Williams would have to hold the fort a little longer. She’d go meet her brother and find out what was so bad he needed to come to the most godforsaken spot in New York City.
CHAPTER 9
Gemma found Joe waiting in the hallway past security, his back against a wall, his ankles crossed, and his head bent over his phone. Tall and thin, he had the Capello olive skin tone, but unlike their youngest brother, Alex, who left his hair long enough to curl like Gemma’s, Joe kept his cropped short. He was off duty, so he was in jeans, a three-button Henley, and his brown leather jacket. His shield was clipped to his waistband and visible through his open jacket, so there was no mistaking his affiliation.
The oldest of the Capello siblings, Joe was part of the Organized Crime Control Bureau, and more specifically was a lieutenant in the Manhattan Gang Squad. His knowledge of the players could make or break how she played this case.
She waved her hand in greeting when he looked up from his phone. “Thanks for coming all the way out here.”
“No problem.”
“I have to admit, you caught me off guard when you didn’t want to discuss this on the phone.”
“We could have, but I think I’ll do more for you coming in, especially since I took the time to quickly review their files before I left this morning. The two you discussed are bad enough on the surface, but knowing the personalities and how many other inmates have to be involved, you have a very sensitive situation in there.”
“If I didn’t know that before, I do now. Follow me.” She led him down the hallway.
He cast her a sideways glance. “Why do you know that now?”
“Because they just tossed a body out of the ESH, dressed in a correction officer’s uniform. But the deputy warden figured out quickly that the name on the badge didn’t match the face. It’s one of the inmates. And from the state of the body, we think he was killed yesterday.”
“Got an ID on the body?”
“Not yet. But I have a full roster of the inmates involved, including what we know about their gang affiliation. He has to be one of them.”
“How many are in the ESH?”
“Forty-two inmates, but they also have eight COs.”
Joe whistled. “I knew there were hostages, but I didn’t know how many.”
“We’re trying to keep a lid on that for the media, but those numbers are going to get out. Any time, I suspect.”
“And if you’re looking at a bunch of gang members in there, you need to remember that they have one obvious go-to when it comes to solving problems.”
“Violence.”
“Got it in one. They’re not inventive—they don’t need to be. It’s the method that works for them, and most of them have been at this for so long that they aren’t bothered by cumbersome things like ethics. It’s a means to an end.”
“Someone’s end is the means to an end, you mean.”
“Pretty much.”
“Capello!”
