The Testing Point

By Eric Collins

When a prostitute is murdered in a seedy motel room, and an eyewitness points his finger at a cop, it seems an open and shut case. But rookie officer Ben Grasso isn't buying the official story and undertakes his own unsanctioned investigation. Fellow officer Dina Greenbaum learns of her partner's dangerous investigation and, despite lessons from her past that should have warned her away, she decides to help. Fighting organized crime, police corruption, and their own demons, the partners find they can't tell friends from foe, and that they may have started something they can't finish.

"An excellent police thriller from a new talent."
- Kirkus Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Collins
• Release date: Apr 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476242224

Eric Collins

Eric Collins grew up the son of a Boston police officer. His father’s stories of the night shift were his favorite entertainment. Eric worked in the educational publishing business for 20 years, but his real love was teaching martial arts and self-defense, which he did for 15 years. He now lives a relatively quiet life with his wife, his two sons, and his writing in the Berkshire Hills of western Massachusetts.

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The Testing Point

By Eric Collins

[e-mail]

www.ericcollinsbooks.com

Copyright 2012 Eric Collins

Smashwords Edition

Cover design by ExpertSubjects.com

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author..

The Testing Point is a work of fiction, and all characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my wife Jane, who faces new testing points daily, and invariably responds with courage, conviction, and integrity.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Having received help in this undertaking from so many talented and gracious people, I feel almost dishonest putting my name alone on the cover. I owe a great debt to Anne, Iris, and Jean Marie for challenging me to write this book. I also would never have succeeded in completing it were it not for the unwavering encouragement of my wife Jane. And then there was my team of editors: Anne, Iris, Jean Marie, Susannah, Martha, and Joyce, who despite their hectic lives, met with me regularly over Guinness, Pinot Grigio, hamburgers, and eggplant parmigiana. I provided the raw and untamed material, and they, with humor and grace, helped me hammer and wrestle it into shape.

Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.

C.S. Lewis

CHAPTER 1

Thursday, May 15

Ben Grasso turned his cruiser into the parking lot of the Downtown Villa Motel. He flipped on the siren briefly, and the onlookers parted to let him through. The blue lights from his rack added to the carnival atmosphere created by the lights from an ambulance, two local black-and-whites, a trooper’s cruiser, and the dashboard-mounted beacons of two unmarked cars. Further down the lot, another black-and white was in a parking space, its lights off. Ben left his cruiser in the middle of the lot and went inside. This wasn’t his usual sector for patrol, but the night was slow so far, and dispatch sent him for prisoner transport; a fight in one of the motel’s guest rooms. As he walked into the lobby, he wondered how many units they would have sent for a real problem. Must be a slow night for everyone, he thought. Moreno was standing by the elevator talking to a couple of girls who couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Hitting on them? Probably. It was Moreno.

Where am I goin’? Ben asked.

Second floor. Can’t miss ‘em. Hey, no partner yet?

Not yet.

Ben walked past the elevator and took the stairs. He knew this place pretty well. The elevator was always slow arriving and slow moving, and somebody upstairs might be needing it more than he did right now.

It was clear which room he was going to. Two EMTs were wheeling a stretcher out of the room at the far end of the hall. They moved quickly to the elevator, its door held open by a trooper. As the stretcher passed him, Ben looked down at a young woman, maybe in her twenties, unconscious, her face badly beaten. The girl's blond hair was matted with blood that had not yet dried. A macabre combination of blood and lipstick covered her face. The sheet that draped her body was stained red where it touched her abdomen. A saline IV and its tube swung from its holder as the stretcher turned into the elevator where the tinny sounds of a low-budget, instrumental rendition of Strangers in the Night faded as the gray metal doors slowly shut.

As Ben walked down the hall he saw that a second door, diagonally across from the end room, was open. He looked in as he passed and saw Sergeant Padino questioning an elderly couple.

Two other Tremont cops, Taylor and Tedesco, stood in the doorway from which the stretcher had emerged, observing whatever was going on in the room. Rob Taylor was a massive 6' 3", six-year veteran of the force. A military-style buzz cut reinforced a perpetually stern and humorless expression. In Ben's mind, Taylor was the kind of person who recognized only two kinds of people; useful and useless.

Rich Tedesco was as unlike Taylor as a partner could be. He had an almost frail-looking 5' 9" frame, dark, curly hair and a perpetual childlike smile. There was a hint of a newly forming mustache over Rich's upper lip; grown in response to all those people, Ben included, who commented that Tedesco looked too young to be a cop.

Hey, Tedesco! Ben called, Pay attention. The two cops turned.

Hey, Grasso, Tedesco said, with no trace of his trademark smile. You here to pick him up?

I guess so. Dispatch sent me for transport. What’s going on?

We just arrested McGill. That’s who you’re transporting.

McGill? Andy McGill? You got to be kiddin'. What did he do?

Did you see the girl on the stretcher? Taylor responded, motioning toward the elevator with his head. You better go talk to the Captain, he added, pointing into the room.

Taylor and Tedesco moved aside to let Ben enter. The room had two double beds. The one farther from the door was in disarray, the sheets stained with blood. A forensics officer was taking pictures of a small table at the foot of the blood-stained bed. On the table were two empty glasses and a not-quite-full bottle of Scotch. Ben could tell from the partially melted ice and the film of Scotch on the side of the glasses that both had been used.

Ben recognized Billy Montano, a local small-time fence, in the room. Montano filled a niche in the local crime scene. He was always there to take the fall for the up-and-coming or for the already-made, and he never knew that was what he was doing. He had a scar down the left side of his face, and had bragged to Ben once that he got it doing a favor for Tony Cagiano, the crime boss.

Ben wasn’t surprised to see Billy at a crime scene, but this just wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Billy was standing there, his stance wide and self-assured, his demeanor almost arrogant, with his arms folded across his chest.

OK, Billy. Get out of here, the Captain said. But don’t go far. I need to be able to find you if this sorts out different than what you’re tellin' me.

Billy started to leave the room, but then stopped and turned. He looked at a young cop who was sitting on a chair, his head bowed, his body heaving from silent sobs. Billy pointed at the cop and then turned his head to look at the Captain.

You just keep this fuckin’ low life away from the rest of the world! With that, Billy made his exit.

Ben had been keeping Andy McGill in his peripheral vision, trying hard not to make eye contact. Everything was wrong here. Ben had an urge to find a compass somewhere and see if it still pointed north. Somehow, Billy Montano and Andy McGill had switched places; except that nobody had ever heard Andy curse. Ben could hear his father say, He wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful.

Ben remembered Andy as Tremont High School's star athlete without the jock attitude. He had been in the honors section of every class in Tremont Public Schools. He played the lead in almost every play the High School ever staged, even the musicals. He was the all-American kid. Got his Masters degree in Political Science from Columbia. In fact, Ben never understood why Andy ever wanted to be a Tremont cop. But here he was. And Andy took the job seriously, as anyone who had ever known him would have predicted.

The Captain turned to Ben.

Grasso! Take him in, he said, glancing over at McGill and then down at the notepad in his hands.

What’s going on, Captain? What did he do? Ben asked.

The Captain glared at the young cop who had just dared to question him.

He got himself arrested, that’s what he did. Now just get him the fuck out of here.

Captain Dale Richards was nearing retirement, but was still one of the biggest and toughest cops on the force. As far as Ben was concerned, he was also one of the dirtiest.

Andy got up and walked slowly toward Ben. His hands and shirt sleeves were stained with blood. The holster where his gun should have been was empty. He began to walk out of the room with Ben following close behind.

Wait! It was Captain Richards again.

Ben and Andy looked back at him.

He’s under arrest. Cuff him.

Jesus Christ, Captain! He’s still in uniform. Is that really necessary?

That’s standard procedure, Grasso. And more than that, I just told you to do it. Now put the fuckin' cuffs on him!

Ben gave Andy an apologetic look as Andy turned around and put his hands behind his back. Ben snapped the cuffs on him, grasped his upper arm, and led him out.

The ride down the elevator was awkwardly silent. Ben had an urge to take out his gun and shoot the small speaker that was playing You Light Up My Life. When the door opened, there was Carl Bonner, a news photographer from the Tremont Journal, with his camera already up and ready.

Ben moved Andy out of the elevator and toward the exit quickly, but not before Carl got a couple of good shots. Ben guided his prisoner into the backseat of his cruiser, and sped off with him toward the station.

It took a while before Andy could bring himself to speak.

I didn’t do it, was all he said. Ben knew these were the standard words everyone said in the back of a patrol car. It was as if it was written on the back of the seat in every car, Say this! ‘I didn’t do it!’

I don’t know anything about this, Andy. You shouldn't talk to anybody until you have a lawyer. Ben couldn't help still thinking of Andy as the kid in 10th grade geometry class who helped everyone with their homework, and as the kid who would always place himself between schoolyard bullies and their prey. Ben wondered if there had always been a dark side to Andy that nobody knew about.

Oh God, Ben. I don’t know how this happened. I got a call to go to the Villa. The dispatcher said there was a report of a disturbance. I pulled up to the door and went inside. The desk clerk told me some guests were complaining about a fight in a room. Dispatch had said backup was already rolling, so I…

Andy, enough! Wait for your lawyer. You know better than this.

God. I can’t believe this is happening. This can't be happening. Ben heard Andy trying to catch his breath. Ben, my gun was never fired tonight!

Hey! Telling me the story doesn’t help you. Wait for your lawyer.

That was the end of the conversation, and now Ben found himself wishing to be saved from the uncomfortable silence that followed. Even You Light Up My Life would have been welcome relief.

Ben signed Andy over to holding and went upstairs. Moreno had already returned and was telling a couple of off-duty cops the story. Ben listened in.

Yeah, nobody dispatched Andy to the motel. He was there before the first call even came in. Billy Montano tells the Captain he's in the room bangin' away at this hooker when he hears pounding on the door. 'Police! Open up!' So Billy puts his pants on as fast as he can, and when he opens the door, there's Andy McGill, his face red he's so fuckin' mad.

God, Andy's timing sucks, one of the cops said with a smile.

No shit. So then Andy pushes his way past Montano and starts yellin' and cursin' at the girl, who's sittin' there scared shitless. Andy's goin' fuckin' crazy. He's hitting her and punchin' her. Finally he draws his gun and shoots her.

Holy shit! With his service weapon?

Yeah. That's when Taylor and Todesco arrived. They run into the room and see Billy in handcuffs and Andy standing by the bed, leaning over the girl.

That's just so unreal. Did McGill say anything?

Yeah, he gave the Captain some lame bullshit story. He said when he arrived, he found the girl already beaten and shot. He cuffed Billy and then was trying to stop the girl's bleeding.

So who did McGill say shot the girl?

He said it had to be Montano.

Did Montano have a gun?

No. The only gun in the room was Andy's. And Andy tries to tell the captain that his gun hadn't been fired. 'Really?' the captain says to him. The captain puts his hand out. 'Taylor. Give me Officer McGill's weapon.' Then the Captain asks Andy, 'Has your gun been out of your possession tonight, Officer McGill?' 'No, sir,' Andy says. So the Captain asks him, 'Has it been fired recently?' Andy racks back the slide, sees that the chamber is clear, and puts the gun near his nose. I have to admit, he did a great job of acting surprised. Cuz that gun had definitely been fired very recently, and he knew it.

Ben turned away and walked out the door to the back lot. Something was really wrong. Ben could feel it.

He told himself to let it go, that it wasn't the same thing. Or was it? Could the same thing be happening all over again?

He sat in his cruiser thinking about what he had just seen. He couldn’t shake the image of the girl on the stretcher. But he had seen murder victims before. Why was this one getting to him? Ben knew why. She was young, blonde, and a hooker. This was the scene he had missed long ago, but that he had created and replayed in his imagination so many times. His thoughts went back to a time when he was 16 years old. He was sitting in a booth at a Friendly's Ice Cream Shop waiting for his order to arrive. His best friend, Bobby, slid into the seat across from him.

Bobby's family had moved into the neighborhood four years earlier. The Searles were the first black family to even attempt to buy a house in what Ben, from his limited experience, considered the most racially prejudiced community in the country. Ben and Bobby connected almost immediately, and the two had stuck together through some very difficult times.

Hey, You hear the news? Bobby asked.

What news?

You know that girl, Kathy? The hooker?

What about her? Ben had tried not to look too interested.

She’s dead. Someone strangled her. One of her johns I think. Ben. Hey, Buddy! You there?

Ben wasn’t there. He was a million places at once, but not one of them was right there.

He pulled out onto the street and headed back to the Downtown Villa. The Villa was a small hotel of about a hundred rooms. Half of its clients were business travelers who cursed their bosses for sending them there, and tourists who realized their mistake too late. The other half of the clientele was made up of locals who booked party rooms by the pool or took advantage of the cheap hourly rates. These locals were the customers who made sleep impossible for everyone else. The business model worked for the Villa. And like so many of the other successful businesses in the area, the motel had strong organized crime connections. As he drove, Ben thought about the fact that he would have to tread carefully at the Villa – especially since this was an unsanctioned visit.

Ben wasn’t sure what he was going to look for at the motel. He didn’t have any specific ideas, but he felt he had to do something. He wasn't an investigator; he was a patrol officer. He had joined the force less than a year ago, although the fact that his father was a retired Tremont cop gave him insight other rookies lacked. And Ben wasn't just street smart. Like Andy McGill, he had been in most of the honors classes at Tremont High School, many of them with Andy, and had left home to go off to college. And, as with Andy, nobody would have predicted that Ben would end up as a cop in Tremont. But the similarities between Ben and Andy ended there. Ben hadn't participated in school sports. He had always preferred pick-up games. He had never tried out for any school plays. The daily dramas on the streets of Tremont and nearby Chelsea and East Boston were enough for him.

At 5'10" and 150 pounds, Ben had never been one of the biggest guys on the street. In an all-Italian neighborhood, his sandy blond hair, inherited from his mother, made him stand out, and an ever present, genial smile made him look like an easy mark to those who didn't know him. But Ben had a reputation for being good with his fists and quick to use them. It wasn't that he was a better fighter than the rest, but he was fast, and he was tenacious. He would come back at an opponent until he didn't have an ounce of strength left. He could wear anyone down. This had earned him the respect of the few big guys he knew he couldn't handle.

By the time Ben got back to the Downtown Villa Motel, the only sign of the earlier excitement was a group of four motel employees standing in the lobby, discussing what they knew and what they didn’t know. From the little that Ben overheard, he knew they couldn’t tell the difference. One of the maids pointed surreptitiously in Ben’s direction to give the others a heads-up that the police had returned.

Ben walked up to the reception desk and waited for the desk clerk to finish taking a reservation over the phone. The desk clerk was clean-cut, about 20 years old, very professional sounding, and not somebody that Ben knew. The clerk finished his call and asked Ben if he could be of assistance.

As a matter of fact you can. I was here earlier on police business, and I think I may have left my cell phone here. Has anyone turned in a lost phone?

No. I’ve been on since before the trouble started. Nobody turned in a phone. Are you sure you lost it here?

No, but I checked every other place I could think of. Could I get the keys to the rooms we were in earlier? I think they were 212 and the three rooms closest to it.

You can take the key to 212, but 211 and 210 are both vacant. I don’t think any of you guys even opened those rooms. And room 209 is occupied. I think the people in there may be asleep by now. I can have someone check for your phone first thing in the morning though.

Are you sure the two rooms near 212 are empty? When I drove in, your ‘No Vacancy’ sign was on.

They’re being held for late arrivals.

Ah. Somebody held ‘em with a credit card?

Cash deposit.

Cash? Someone local come in?

No. The manager put down the deposit.

Is there a name on the rooms?

The desk clerk smiled. You know, I’m starting to think you didn’t lose a cell phone. Here’s the room registration. The name on it is Giardino, but that’s the manager’s name. That’s all I’ve got.

Ben examined the room registration and gave it back to the clerk.

Say, tell me something. When the first officer came in the door, and you sent him up to room 212, how long was it before the next two officers arrived and went up there?

I didn’t send anyone up to that room. I think one of the guests must have called the police. The first policemen who came in ran right past me. They already knew where they were going.

Policemen? You didn't see a policeman arrive alone? You didn't give anyone directions to the room?

No. There were two cops, I...

Do you remember another cop coming in a while before them?

No.

And you didn't call the police?

No. I didn't call you.

And the two cops didn't stop and ask you for directions to the room?

No. They just ran right on by.