Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) Gary Ross (most popular novels txt) 📖

“Chief?” Ramos said.

“Nobody your age does it once the first time out.” I smiled at them, hoping to relieve the tension. “In my day it was two or three, maybe even four. Right?”

“Yes,” they said softly, together. Cissy’s eyes were downcast in embarrassment and Ramos’s nervous half-smile was caught between his teeth.

They followed me back to the living room, where I shook hands with the Donatellos. Cissy sat beside her sister at the computer station. Yvonne frowned at her before handing me the printout and the business envelope I had left on the table. That she did so without looking at it suggested she’d read enough of LJ’s attachment to know I would cover it in the briefing.

“Let’s start by talking about how last night raises our stakes.” I took the papers and moved to the center of the room. “My godfather thought one of the clowns was in the gang that put him in the hospital. Drea believes C.J. Lansing, the man who did all the talking, helped Wally Ray Tucker kill her husband.” I paused, pleased at the gravity in everyone’s expression. I said nothing about my suspicion that Clown Four was Wally Ray himself.

“What do you need us to do?” Ramos asked.

“First, understand the danger to Drea, to all of us, is no longer theoretical,” I said. “There’s no mentally ill lone wolf with a hard-on. That media cliché lets too many people off the hook after a mass shooting. These people are organized and not as stupid as stereotypes suggest. Underestimating them could be your last mistake. But thanks to a friend in the FBI, I have names and some backstory on these guys, especially the one who calls himself Dr. Lansing.” I held up the printout. “He did time twice for misdemeanor convictions but one was a plea to avoid felony assault. Lansing has numerous social media postings on right-wing sites. He advocates flash squad attacks on gays, immigrants, persons of color.”

“Flash squad?” Ramos asked.

“Like a flash mob, except these guys don’t organize a song and dance routine for the internet. They get together to put a beat down on a stranger who meets their criteria. So, yes, I think this man is violent enough to kill with his bare hands, as long as he has help.”

“How can one heart hold so much hate?” Bishop’s bewilderment looked genuine.

“It can’t. Releasing the hate, spreading it, is a kind of safety valve.” I looked at Cissy and Yvonne. “Which brings me to a change in your job descriptions. While we’re out this morning, I need you two to set up alerts for certain phrases associated with white supremacy. We can brainstorm suggestions after I cover everything else.”

“Like Google alerts,” Yvonne said.

“Yes. A lot of these guys post manifestos before an event and investigators find their statements afterward. Getting a heads-up can’t hurt and might even give us a clue to what and when. But let’s get back to Lansing.” I passed around the business envelope, which held printed photos of a sullen man with cold eyes. “Everybody take one. His real name is Carter John. Notice his hair was shorter last night and he wore black glasses.” As everyone studied the photo, I looked again at the cover page of LJ’s report, which had John, C. centered near the top.

“Son of a bitch!” I said.

“What is it?” Mark Donatello asked.

“Drea, I think we’ve found Mars.”

27

The uniformed cop who met us at the library and shook Pete’s hand before mine was Ty Moss, the older of the two officers who’d responded to Phoenix’s call when Joey Snell and his friends confronted us outside the Chophouse.

“Word came down a PI named Rimes was looking for some peace-keeping backup at the public library so I raised my hand,” Moss said, grinning. “I figured if you had anything to do with it, it’d be way more interesting than driving around the district all day. Didn’t expect to find old Pete here padding his pension.”

“The nursing home gives me green beans and Salisbury steak every day,” Pete said. “This mashed potato volcano with gravy in the crater.” He shuddered and gagged as if about to vomit. “Only way to eat a decent lunch is to get a day pass and hang out with my buddy here.”

Moss laughed. “Why you think I’m still working?”

After summarizing her reasons for being in Buffalo, I introduced Moss to Drea. Then I gave him a picture of Carter John. “He may have committed murder in another state,” I said. “But there’s no evidence yet to justify arrest and extradition. If he shows up with his Nazi clowns and starts trouble, can you lock him down long enough for me to ask him a few questions?”

Moss shrugged. “He does something that warrants removal, I can stick him in the back of my cruiser to calm him down. His crew gets out of line, I can call it in and get four or five cars here in a couple minutes. If he doesn’t make a fuss, though, there’s not much I can do.” He shrugged again. “Maybe seeing a cop is all he needs to make him behave.”

“Hope so,” I said. But part of me wanted an excuse for two minutes alone with him.

My earbud crackled.

“Bishop here, position one. Three men are checking out the police car out front. All white, all early thirties. I’m not close enough to be sure but the one wearing glasses looks like our target, Mars. My cell is recording everything.”

“Good,” I said. “Hold your position. Keep filming but hold your phone like you’re playing a game. Ramos, report.”

Bishop was where I’d stationed her, on a bench facing Washington Street in the Buffalo Reading Park on the stretch of lawn beside the library’s entry plaza. Ramos was supposed to be at a small orange patio table farther up the ramp to the front door. I had left both holding open books and wearing sunglasses we had picked up at the hotel gift