Cordite: Cutter Grogan Thrillers, #6

By Ty Patterson

When Jenna Gutierrez asked Cutter Grogan to look into her daughter's death, he thought it would be a simple investigation.
He ended up stirring a hornets' nest.
And wasps sting.

 

Alejandra 'Aleja' Gutierrez died in San Diego. 

 

An accident, the police said. 

Murdered, her mother insisted.

 

Cutter figures she is mistaken. He'll visit the city however, meet the investigating officers and get back to Jenna Gutierrez. 

 

In San Diego, he finds out just how wrong he is and how tangled the web of conspiracy is.

 

There are dark forces, powerful people and lethal killers who will do anything to stop him uncovering the deadly secret behind Leja's death.

And even if he succeeds, will he have the courage to expose it and accept that everything he believed in, all he trained for, was false? 

 

San Diego and Cutter Grogan. 

 

That's an explosion waiting to happen.

 

Set at the relentless pace readers have come to love, Cutter Grogan is back and better than ever. 

'If you like Gregg Hurwitz, David Baldacci and Lee Child, you'll love Ty Patterson'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Patterson
• Release date: Sep 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201790660

Book preview

1

‘C utter Grogan?’

He turned casually to take in the elderly woman in a flowered shirt and dark trousers. She clutched her handbag and smiled tightly at him, but there was no humor in it. Her eyes had no spark in them.

‘Yeah?’

‘I am Jenna Gutierrez. I saw you on TV a few times. I searched for your address and came here.’

He looked beyond her. It was closing time. The neighboring offices had shut. The weekend was starting; he had friends waiting for him.

‘Something I can help you with, ma’am?’

‘You can find out who killed my daughter.’

He blinked.

There was no anger in the woman’s tone. It was flat, as if all emotion had been wrung out of her.

‘That’s something for the cops, ma’am.’

‘I have been to them. They aren’t of any help. They said the investigation is over. They don’t suspect foul play. I know they won’t take me seriously.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the animals who did this are powerful and are well-connected. You really think cops in this country are going to go against them? Where the victim was a Hispanic woman, daughter of a Mexican immigrant? Are you aware of the world we live in, Mr. Grogan?’

I am.

‘Not every officer is like that, ma’am. I have good friends in the NYPD. I can direct you to them.’

‘This didn’t happen in New York. She was killed in California.’

‘I know a few officers there, too. In any case, this is not the kind of case I take on.’

‘Yeah. I watched some of your TV interviews. I read up on you. The Speaker’s daughter. Some billionaire’s kid. Those are the clients you help. I am sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Grogan.’

She turned away, went to the elevator and jabbed the button.

Cutter watched her.

A slight figure who still clutched her bag tightly. She didn’t give any indication she was aware of his gaze.

This isn’t my kind of case, he told himself firmly, even though her words had stung. There are good cops. They can help her.

Zeb and his crew were waiting for him in a midtown bar.

I haven’t met them since Moscow and Mumbai.

Jenna Gutierrez went inside the elevator and disappeared from sight.

---

The bar was in Columbus Circle. It was crowded and noisy, but where his friends were sitting was an oasis of calm.

Cutter hugged Zeb hard. He inspected Broker carefully, who winked and grinned at him.

‘I won’t break. I am fully recovered.’

He shook the older operator’s hand, winced at Bwana and Bear’s hugs, fist-bumped Roger and sat next to Meghan. Beth and Chloe high-fived him and the younger twin slid a glass of juice over to him.

‘We ordered for you. Zeb and you.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘What is that concoction?’

‘It’s good for the soul,’ he said expansively. ‘You wouldn’t know.’

‘I don’t want to know,’ she sneered.

He let the conversation flow, responding automatically until Meghan tugged his sleeve.

‘What is it? You aren’t with us?’

He told her about Jenna Gutierrez.

‘She isn’t wrong, is she?’ Beth slurped her drink loudly. ‘Lately, you seem to be taking rich or celebrity folks’ cases.’

‘All of those clients came to me. And Zeb was responsible for the first case. He referred me to the Veep. Is that how y’all see me? That I work only for rich and powerful folks?’

‘Nope. But that’s how those who don’t know you will judge you.’

‘This is a police investigation. You know my relationship with the NYPD. Gina wants to nail my ass.’

‘You’re scared of cops? When has going against police forces stopped you?’ Chloe retorted.

‘Are you worried about her fees?’ Meghan taunted.

He flushed. ‘That’s a low blow. You know I only charge rich folks. I don’t want to give her false hope by agreeing to help her. This looks as cut and dried as they come. There isn’t anything to investigate, here.’

‘Hear her out. Make some calls. What do you lose in that?’ Zeb told him. ‘What she said about her and what happened to her daughter … that’s exactly the kind of case you take. As for raising her hopes … she can handle that. You said she came to our country. Think of her journey. You think she wouldn’t know how to deal with disappointment?’

Cutter felt Zeb’s words resonate deep inside him. He raised his glass in a toast and nodded wordlessly.

---

Jenna Gutierrez signed out from work the next day. She deposited her coat in the locker and went out onto the street.

She blinked at the sight of Cutter Grogan lounging against a fire hydrant.

‘I have a table for us, over there.’ He cocked his head at an outdoor café down the street.

‘You will take my case?’ Hope bloomed in her chest.

‘I will hear you out,’ he told her.

‘That’s good enough for me. Have you heard of Paul Kastelli?’

‘The senator?’

‘Yeah. It was his son who murdered my daughter.’

2

Cutter leaned back. He sized her up. A small woman, around five feet four inches, hunched over her coffee. Tired lines around her mouth, worry in her eyes.

They were at a table on Broadway’s sidewalk. The Flatiron Building to their left, Madison Square Park behind them, the setting sun lighting up the city and painting the high-rises in red and orange hues.

A car honked angrily. A skateboarder glided past them smoothly, his head bobbing to a beat.

New York. It was Cutter’s home. He firmly believed it was the greatest city on the planet and in most circumstances, he would have enjoyed the familiar sights and smells, but Jenna Gutierrez held his attention.

‘Paul Kastelli.’ He repeated the name.

Tech billionaire who had gotten into politics after he resigned as CEO of the high-profile startup he had founded. He had interests in a space-exploration company, mining firms, renewables research, he contributed to worthy causes, and there wasn’t a day when he wasn’t in the news.

He was a popular politician who had won his senatorial race by promising to reduce income and social inequalities in California, his home state. He was in his second term and it was widely believed he would remain in office as long as he chose to. He had that kind of support.

He's one of the richest and most influential politicians too.

Cutter mentally counted the committees the senator sat on and then gave up. They were numerous.

‘Yes, him.’ The mother nodded, sensing his thoughts. ‘His son, Rick—’

‘Isn’t he in the Navy?’

‘Yes. A fighter pilot. Rick Kastelli. They call him Slider.’

That’s his call sign, Cutter recalled from the media coverage the senator’s son had received. F35 pilot. His squadron was deployed to Syria on board an ARG. A Marine Corps fighter pilot.

The US military very rarely revealed the identities of its personnel in combat operations. However, such was Senator Kastelli’s celebrity status that his son’s involvement in carrying out strike operations against the Taliban had leaked. It had happened while his squadron was onboard the Amphibious Ready Group—ARG.

It was a story that was made for the media.

A billionaire father who served the country as a politician. His son, an F-35B Lightning pilot, who also served the nation.

Even his call sign, Slider, was leaked, Cutter snorted inwardly.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘Alejandra, Aleja, was bartending in a pub in Coronado. She worked the late shift. The joint closed at twelve am. Her body was discovered at two am, Friday night.’

‘Saturday morning?’

‘Sí. This was two weeks ago.’

To the day, Cutter thought as the café got busier. The weekend had begun.

‘She was found near a trash bin—’

‘Assaulted?’

‘No. She wasn’t raped, if that is what you are asking,’ Jenna Gutierrez said flatly. ‘The pathologist said her heart stopped working. That’s all. The ME, the medical examiner, ruled out murder.’

‘My daughter ran every day,’ she continued. ‘She did 30K a week. She was very athletic. There was no way she had a weak heart. Aleja didn’t just drop and die at the back of the pub. She was killed.’

‘Why are you saying that?’

‘She had bruises around her neck, as if someone had strangled her. But’—her face hardened—‘the cops said that was because she was into some sexual acts which involved choking. She had sex the day before. Her date confirmed that he had gripped her neck when he was …’

She trailed off and looked away. She swallowed and drank her coffee angrily. A few drops spilled on her wrists, but she didn’t wipe them away and didn’t seem to notice their burn.

‘Who is he?’

‘A Navy man. A fighter pilot. Chad Steppany. She had been seeing him for a few weeks.’

‘She told you about him?’

‘Yeah. He’s close with Rick. Do you know any rich people?’

Lots.

She didn’t wait for his reply. ‘Of course, you have rich clients. You know how they are. They have this inner circle they hang out with. Chad is part of that.’

‘Rick Kastelli. Why are you accusing him?’

‘Because he wanted to sleep with Aleja. He was persistent. He was rude. He even assaulted her a few times.’

‘Assault?’

‘He grabbed her shoulders and tried to kiss her. He crowded her against the bar and groped her. Look!’

She pulled out her phone and showed him a series of messages from her daughter. They went back several months. Some of them were one-liners, like, Creep is here tonight. I’m gonna avoid him.

Others mentioned her interactions with him. A few described how he had roughed her up. The most recent message described how he had invaded her personal space and taunted her that he would have her.

That’s the same week she died.

‘You showed these to the cops?’

‘They found them on her phone. They spoke to him and cleared him. Of course, they would!’ She laughed bitterly.

‘She reported him to the police?’

‘No. She needed that job. Coronado and San Diego aren’t that big. She was worried he would get the pub to fire her. His father has influence. She thought Kastelli, the dad, would ensure no one else hired her.’

Cutter rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. He knew billionaires. They have that kind of juice.

‘No one saw these interactions?’

‘No. He was very careful. He confronted her when she was alone in the bar or when she ended her shift.’

‘Cameras?’

‘It’s an ordinary pub. They have one that covers the front entrance and the parking lot. There’s one inside that covers the counter. Just those two.’

‘Was Rick in the pub the day she died?’

‘Yeah. But Chad wasn’t.’

‘You spoke to him? The boyfriend?’

‘Yeah. He didn’t have much to say. He apologized a lot. He said he was with her the previous night. He confirmed he and she were into those …’ She swallowed and finished her coffee angrily.

Cutter toyed with his mug. He looked at the phone, which was between them. He raised his eyes to her.

‘Rick Kastelli killing her is quite a reach.’

‘You think I’m making this up? That if I make enough of a racket, the Kastellis will pay me to keep quiet?’

‘No, ma’am. But there just isn’t enough here to think the son killed her. I can see why the cops aren’t checking out that angle.’

She stared at him for a long while and nodded once. She stuffed her phone in her bag, removed a few bills and threw them on the table.

‘Thank you for your time,’ she said stiffly, and walked away before he could respond.

Jerk! Cutter swore at himself as he stood up. You could have said that better. You could have let her down gently.

He looked at the bills on the table and felt shame. He added a generous tip and hurried to find her, but she had disappeared into the crowd.

He cursed himself savagely and began walking back to his apartment in Lafayette Park.

He jammed his hands in his pockets, thinking furiously.

I can make some calls and go back to her.

No, you fool. Go to San Diego. Make the effort. Talk to the cops and then you go back to her.

He nodded to himself. That made sense.

He sensed the men coming out from the alley. Felt their aggression.

Turned, but he was too late.

The baseball bat swung at him.

3

Cutter’s training and experience took over. He dropped to a crouch and spun but even so, he was late and the weapon crashed into his head.

He staggered. His vision darkened. He shook his head, groaning at the agony that lanced through him, but the pain sharpened his mind.

He saw the flash in one assailant’s hand.

Knife!

His hand came up to block the attack. He saw the second man raise the bat again and then rage took over and he threw himself at the men, going beneath the blade, body-slamming them, sending them crashing backwards.

The bat landed on his back. Someone punched his ribs viciously.

‘HEY! STOP THAT. BACK OFF. I’M CALLING THE COPS!’

The men sprinted away, but not before kicking him one last time.

Cutter groaned. He sat up on the sidewalk and waited for the world to stop spinning.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he told the African-American woman who was looking down at him.

‘Honey, are you alright?’ She brought out a bottle of water from her bag and gave it to him.

‘I am now,’ he said after drinking deeply from it. He wiped his lips and felt his head gingerly. He winced at the swelling.

No bleeding.

His ribs hurt, his belly was sore from the kick, but it didn’t look like he had suffered any serious damage. He felt the rip in his tee and remembered the blade.

It didn’t cut me.

‘Go away! Shoo!’ The woman gestured at the onlookers. ‘You think this is some kind of show? You see us selling tickets?’

She stared at them angrily until they dispersed.

Cutter hurt and ached but couldn’t help grinning. He got to his feet and took several deep breaths.

‘Honey, you shouldn’t—’

A cruiser rolled up.

An unmarked car followed and parked behind it.

Cutter groaned when he recognized its occupants.

Gina Difiore, Detective First Grade of the NYPD, looked at him unsympathetically.

‘You’re still alive.’

4

‘W hat happened?’ Peyton Quindica, FBI Special-Agent-in-Charge, her partner, asked before he could retort.

‘He was attacked! What do you think?’ The African-American woman said angrily. ‘Two masked men beat him up. One of them had a knife. They would have killed him if I hadn’t arrived. What happened, you ask? Can’t you see his state? And you,’ she whirled on Difiore. ‘What did you mean by that? Is this how officers conduct themselves? I’ll report you to—’

‘Ma’am,’ Cutter touched her elbow. ‘I know them. We’re friends.’

‘Yeah, right!’ Difiore said it softly enough for him to hear.

‘We are friends, ma’am,’ Quindica stepped up smoothly. ‘What went down?’

Cutter described the attack. His savior corroborated it. A uniformed cop from the cruiser went to neighboring establishments to take witness statements.

‘They came out of that alley?’ The SAC frowned at the small passage between East Fourth Street and Great Jones Street. ‘There’s nothing there. Trash bags and rubbish.’

Cutter looked over her shoulder. Dead-end alley that didn’t go deep. A service entrance for a takeout joint. A server looking at them curiously through a window.

‘Seven pm. There’s still light. Traffic and pedestrians. They attacked you despite that.’

‘Yeah.’

‘No one else came to help,’ The African-American woman said. ‘What is this city coming to?’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Cutter gripped her hand. ‘If you hadn’t—’

‘Don’t think of that, honey. Leora Williams.’ She introduced herself, scribbled her number on a card, and gave it to him.

She glared at Difiore. ‘I’m on the Citizen Liaison Committee in the Bronx. We deal with the cops every day. Let me know if you get any grief from them.’

‘I will, ma’am,’ he replied solemnly and watched her leave regally.

Difiore’s face was expressionless when he turned to her.

‘You’d better treat me right. Or else I’ll get Leora on the case.’

She rarely smiled at him, but her lips twitched.

‘Of all the people passing by, they picked on you.’

‘They were waiting for me.’

‘How did they know you would walk down this route?’

‘I must have been followed.’

‘The Cutter Grogan we know would have sensed any tail.’ Quindica smiled.

‘I was preoccupied.’

‘With what?’

He felt his temple again as he considered his reply and then shrugged inwardly.

They are among my closest friends. There’s no reason to keep my meeting from them.

He looked at the takeout joint and saw that it had a drinks menu stuck to the window.

‘We are done here?’ he asked them.

‘Give me a moment.’ Difiore conferred quickly with the uniformed cop who had returned. He nodded several times and got into his cruiser and drove away.

‘Witnesses couldn’t identify the men. We have got some camera footage. NYPD’ll track it. Here—’

She removed a pair of nail clippers from her purse and handed it to him, along with a plastic baggie.

‘Cut your nails. There might be some skin transference.’

She labeled the pouch when he returned it and slipped it back in her purse.

‘Inside.’ He gestured, and over another round of coffees he told them about his meeting.

‘You get attacked within minutes of her mentioning the Kastellis.’

‘I am sure there isn’t a connection. No one knew I was going to see her. Heck, I myself wasn’t sure.’ Cutter responded to Difiore. ‘I wasn’t tailed on my way to the café. I’m sure of that. As to Aleja’s death, the way she described Rick Kastelli … I am convinced he had nothing to do with Aleja’s death. I agree with the medical examiner’s report.’

‘What do you plan to do?’

‘Go to San Diego, interview the cops and report back to her.’

‘San Diego.’ She said it flatly.

‘Yeah, why?’

‘We’ll be there as well,’ Quindica chuckled. ‘Our Task Force is helping out San Diego PD with some cases.’

Peyton Quindica and Gina Difiore had met when the FBI and NYPD had set up a Joint Task Force to tackle terrorist cells in the city. The success of that assignment had led to the JTF being a permanent unit. Its closure rate in critical, highly sensitive and high-threat cases had gotten it tremendous latitude and juice from both organizations.

PDs and law enforcement authorities across the country, and internationally as well, welcomed the opportunity to work with the elite group.

Both Quindica and Difiore had been promoted, and were considered to be the future leaders of their respective organizations. However, they chose to use their SAC and detective titles in their daily work.

‘We don’t need to impress anyone,’ the FBI agent had drawled when Cutter asked them about it.

They became romantically involved as well. Many law enforcement relationships didn’t last long. The absences, the risks, the continual worry took a toll on couples. Theirs had not only endured but had strengthened.

‘I knew it!’ Cutter crowed, looking at Difiore.

‘Knew what?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘There’s no work in San Diego. You’re going there because you’re missing me. You want to stay close to me.’

If looks could kill, her gaze would have turned him to charred ash.

‘Keep dreaming,’ she snorted and flipped him the finger.

Gina Difiore was like that. She cared deeply about him, but didn’t show or acknowledge it. There were only a few occasions when the mask had slipped.

Iraq was one.

He cleared his mind when Quindica began speaking.

‘You’re aware Coronado has its own police department?’

‘Yeah.’ It’s a city in its own right. ‘But it relies on San Diego PD or the Sheriff’s department for forensic help, doesn’t it?’

‘Correct. We were planning to drop by your apartment later on.’

He lifted his eyebrow questioningly.

‘Have you heard of Felix Kravchuk?’

He thought quickly and shook his head.

‘Who’s he? Why?’

‘Russian bratva. Vicious gang. They don’t do drugs or traffic women. They are into muscle and wet work. Someone needs to be roughed up or threatened, they are the go-to. You want someone offed, Kravchuk’s your man. They’re thugs and killers for hire. He fell out with some Russian politicians and fled to New York several years ago. He established his business here and by all accounts, it’s going well.’

‘Why haven’t you arrested him?’

‘There’s a thing called evidence. Proof.’ Difiore mocked him.

‘We don’t have any, other than speculation and rumors,’ Quindica cut in hastily before he argued with the detective. ‘We had a few snitches, but they couldn’t offer anything conclusive. His gang isn’t big. About a hundred or so. But they are lethal.’

‘Okay.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What about him?’

‘He’s looking for you.’

He stared at her and then at Difiore, who nodded.

‘What have I done to him?’ he asked, astonished.

‘Someone has put a hit on you,’ the detective replied.

‘How do you know?’

‘Those snitches we mentioned. One of them had your name and address on his cell phone. They were in a message along with other names. The rest of those men are dead. The sender’s number was a burner.’

‘You asked him who sent it?’

‘He was dead,’ Difiore said bitterly. ‘Tortured and killed. The bratva must have found out he was our informer.’

‘Who were the other victims?’

‘There were three of them. Two of them were other gangsters. South American mobsters. The third one was a construction company owner. We are investigating his death. It looks like he owed money to the underworld.’

‘Those two men,’ he twisted around as if he could see his attackers. ‘They—’

‘Could be from Kravchuk’s gang,’ Quindica said. ‘But his soldiers are more competent.’

Cutter rubbed his jaw as he considered their revelations.

‘You don’t seem worried,’ Difiore said.

‘It’s not the first time organized gangs have tried to kill me. I’m still here.’

‘Be careful. Don’t take Kravchuk lightly.’

‘Gina Difiore, are you worried for me?’

She glowered at him and sidestepped his question. ‘What will you do about him?’

‘I’ll ask him what his interest is in me.’

5

Cutter walked home after Quindica and Difiore left. He checked frequently for tails but didn’t spot any.

He checked the security camera feeds in his apartment, using his phone’s app.