Chapter Ten

Because of Luisa’s announcement about enlisting in the Marines, I didn’t get a chance to talk to Jack last night. We all sensed that Mom and Dad wanted us to leave, and Jack wanted to get Austin in bed by nine. So Wednesday I had my work cut out for me.

Jack wasn’t the only cop I knew, but I trusted him to be discreet. I texted him and asked if he was at his office—most detectives in Phoenix worked out of the main headquarters on Washington, but were often in the field.

Fortunately, Jack wasn’t downtown—he said he’d be at the Cactus Park precinct all morning conducting interviews on one of his cases. Cactus Park was a long, narrow corridor of Phoenix west of I-17 and where Jack had worked before making detective last summer.

When’s a good time?I texted. I’ll bring coffee.

I’ll be done with interviews around 11, I want lunch, not coffee, especially since you clearly want a favor.

I neither confirmed nor denied the favor, but texted a thumbs-up.

I bought him a large Italian hero from Tony’s Italian Deli, one of Jack’s favorite places—which was also convenient to my house.

When I arrived at the precinct, I was escorted into the bullpen where Jack sat at a very tidy desk in the middle of the room typing on a computer from his notes.

“Tony’s?” he said with a smile. Then he glared at me. “You must really want something.”

“Naw, just your brains for ten minutes.”

I put the sandwich on his desk. He immediately put it in the drawer. “If anyone sees this, they’ll steal it.”

“At a police station? I’m shocked.”

“Give me one sec,” he said and turned back to his computer, typing as fast as I could—which was pretty fast.

Jack was born to be a cop, and no one was surprised that he made detective early in his career. He’d had his fair share of scrapes and punishments growing up for doing—as he said—”stupid shit,” but he’d always been the guy to go to if you needed help, whether it was moving or fixing your car or getting an ex-boyfriend to leave you alone. In high school, Jack was voted Most Likely to Rescue a Family from a Burning Building, and it fit him to a T.

“Okay!” he said and pushed his keyboard under the monitor. “I’m all yours.”

Now I was nervous. Jack could read me better than most anyone, and lying to him would be difficult, if not impossible.

“I’m looking for a quick, down and dirty explainer of gangs in Sunnyslope,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“You want a week-long class in ten minutes? Why?”

“Fair.” How did I get the information I wanted without giving up Andy? “Did you hear about the shooting at the Cactus Stop off Camelback? Two Saturdays ago?”

“The one where the clerk was killed? Yeah. Not my case.”

“Was there any talk that it was gang related?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Yes, Jack was suspicious about my motives.

“I have a client. I can’t really tell you more than that, confidentiality and all, but it’s someone who thinks that the guy who confessed might have been pressured to do so.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you working for the defense? You’d do that to me, try to get me to talk about an arrest for a defense attorney?”

“No, I am not working for the defense.” And I couldn’t very well tell him I was working for the prosecutor. “I’m not looking to jam anyone up. Just that the shooter had some movements and mannerisms that seemed gang-like.” That sounded so flimsy.

Jack leaned back. “You’ve seen the recording? How?”

Damn. I was going to have to work on being sneakier.

“I can’t tell you,” I said. “I’m not going to lie to you, okay? But I can’t talk about my client.”

“At least you have a client.”

I frowned, suddenly hurt.

“Hey, that’s not how I meant it.” Jack leaned forward. “You got your license last year but haven’t talked about any case you’ve worked, so I didn’t think you were going to go through with the career change. But I’m glad you are. You’re going to make a great PI.”

“You haven’t seen me work.”

“Don’t have to. I’ve known you your entire life. I think I’m a pretty good judge. Okay, tell me everything you can, I understand about confidentiality. Just don’t burn a cop, or I won’t be talking to you again about any case.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Yes, I had access to the video. There were several other robberies that fit the same MO as the Cactus Stop, except that no one died. Is there a gang operating in the area? Or just a group of kids acting out? Because the three that went into the Cactus Stop all looked like minors to me.”

“You don’t have to be eighteen to be trouble,” Jack said. “I’ve never worked the gang unit, but I know basics. Most of the Hispanic gangs are affiliated in one way or another with the Mexican Mafia. As you probably know, they consider themselves family. The men—most of the gang leaders are in their twenties—build rapport with young teens, sometimes younger kids. They act like big brothers or father figures. Give them money, phones, attention. Most of the kids who get recruited into gangs have no male role model in their life. Their dads are AWOL or in prison or dead. The gangs know exactly who to target and how to bring them in. These kids crave family. They want to feel like they belong, and then at some point, the gang requires a loyalty oath—an initiation.”

“Like murder.”

“That, or selling drugs, or—depending on the gang—trafficking girls. Most of the gang activity is in the 800.”

Jack was referring to the police precinct.

“Maryvale?”

“Yeah. And downtown to a certain extent. They are known mostly as Westside, Southside, like that, though some have adopted names.”

“What about the area around 19th and Camelback?”

“There are some smaller gangs in that area, but I don’t know the boundaries, and if a call comes in as expected gang activity, the gang unit responds.” Jack looked at me and said, “Margo, if you start asking questions about gang activity, you’re going to put a target on your back.”

“I won’t go that far.”

“See that you don’t.”

“What about robberies? If there’s a small group, maybe not in a gang, just some kids without supervision, making bad choices. Who handles things like that?”

“If it’s a repeat?”

“Yeah, like three kids who no one knows either because they wear masks or they’re not from the neighborhood, walking in and taking shit.”

“The violent crimes bureau has a robbery unit. They’d be called out to something like that.”

“One detective?”

“There’s several, but because of staff shortages, many detectives have been called back to patrol.”

“Who’s in charge?”

“These questions are becoming very specific, sis.”

“Humor me.”

“I feel like I’m going to regret this.” He shook his head. Jack worked in the Family Investigation Bureau, but he would know who was in charge in Violent Crimes. Finally, he said, “Detective Ambrose is who you want. He’s not in charge, but you wouldn’t want to talk to the brass, and they wouldn’t talk to you. Ambrose is a supervisor in the VCB, and he also works cases.”

“Can I drop your name?”

“It’s your name, too.”

Meaning no. That was okay, I didn’t want to get him into hot water for helping me.

Rick Devlin approached Jack’s desk. I knew Rick well—he and Jack had been in the academy together and had become best friends. Last year when Jack took the detective’s exam, Rick took the sergeant’s exam.

Rick looked like crap, but I didn’t say anything. “Hi, Margo,” he said.

“Hey,” I said.

Rick said to Jack, “One of my guys is coming in with a possible DV victim. Can you sit in, assess the case?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. They’ll be here in five.”

He walked away and I said quietly, “Something happen with Rick?”

“Caroline isn’t coming back from France.”

“What about Samantha?” Rick had a little girl he was head over heels about. “She’s not taking her, is she?”

“No. She gave Rick full custody and she’s asking that Sam be allowed to spend one month every summer in France. It’s all very civil, but he’s devastated.” He glanced around to make sure no one else was listening, then said, “I knew this would happen. As soon as Caroline said she was going to France for six months with her company, I knew she wasn’t going to come back. She’s only seen Sam once since she left.”

“Poor Rick.”

“It really sucks,” Jack said, not looking at me. I followed his gaze—he was looking at a photo of him, Whitney, and Austin at the Phoenix Zoo during the Christmas Lights celebration last month. My heart sank. No matter how much I didn’t like his wife, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to his marriage. It would kill him.

He turned back to me. “I need to get back to work. But Margo, call me if you find yourself in a pickle, okay? I know you can take care of yourself, but some situations are harder to get out of than others.”

“I hear you,” I said. “I’ll call. Promise.”

“I’m holding you to that, sis.”