A Woman Was Tied to Train Tracks by a Mafia Boss — Then His Loyal German Shepherd Led the Detective to Expose the Deadly Plot
Chapter 5
Marcus made a note and moved to her landlord. Similar story. Paid rent on time, kept to herself, no complaints, no real interaction beyond the professional minimum. He pulled her financial records with the proper warrant. Regular deposits from her various jobs, modest spending, mostly on necessities. But there was something interesting — significant cash deposits every few months that didn’t correspond to any known employer.
His phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Heard you picked up Moretti’s waitress. Bad news, detective. She’s not what she seems. Sammy.
Marcus’s blood ran cold. Sammy was his confidential informant, a career small-time criminal who’d provided reliable information for years in exchange for protection and the occasional reduced charge. Sammy had his ear to the ground in Moretti’s territory, knew things before they became public knowledge, and Sammy never reached out unless it was serious. Marcus immediately called the number. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again. Nothing. He tried Sammy’s other numbers, his usual haunts. No response anywhere.
A cold dread settled in Marcus’s chest. “Harper,” he called to his partner, Detective Lisa Harper, coordinating with the tactical team for the raid on Moretti’s compound. “Have you seen Sammy today? Anyone heard from him?”
Harper looked up from her planning maps, dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. “Your snitch? No. Why?”
“He got something for us. Texted me about Sarah Morrison. Said she’s not what she seems. Then went dark. All his numbers are dead.”
Harper’s expression shifted to concern. “That’s not like him. Want me to send a unit to check his usual spots?”
“Yeah, do that.” Marcus felt his unease growing. If Sammy had been silenced because of what he knew about Sarah Morrison, it meant they were dealing with something much bigger and more dangerous than a simple assault case.
Marcus pulled up surveillance footage from the train yard, watching the recording from cameras mounted on nearby warehouses. Grainy, fog-obscured, but clear enough. He rewound and watched again and again, studying every frame with the obsessive attention to detail that had made him a good detective. Then he paused the video at the moment just before he arrived on scene. In the far corner of the frame, barely visible through the fog, was a figure standing on a concrete pylon about fifty yards away, watching. Tall, long coat, face completely obscured by fog and low camera angle. But something about the posture, the way the person stood with hands in pockets, seemed oddly familiar.
Marcus enhanced the image as much as the system allowed. It didn’t help. The figure remained a shadow, a ghost. But they’d been watching — watching Sarah on the tracks, watching him rescue her. Why watch if the plan was for her to die? Unless her survival was part of the plan all along. The thought hit him like a freight train. What if this wasn’t an attempted murder that was interrupted? What if it was theater, designed to look like an attempted murder, with him and Rex as unwitting actors in someone else’s script?
Rex suddenly stood, hackles raised, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Marcus’s hand instinctively moved to his service weapon as he turned to see what had triggered his partner’s defensive response.
Vincent Moretti walked into the precinct like he owned the place, flanked by three lawyers in suits that probably cost more than Marcus made in six months. Every eye in the room turned to watch as the city’s most notorious crime boss, a man who’d never spent a single night in jail despite decades of criminal activity, strolled through the police station with the casual confidence of someone who had nothing to fear.
Moretti was in his early sixties but looked a decade younger, silver hair impeccably styled, tailored suit fitting perfectly on his still-athletic frame. His dark eyes swept the room until they landed on Marcus. “Detective Cain,” Moretti said, voice smooth as silk with just a hint of the streets underneath. “I heard you were looking for me. I thought I’d save you the trouble of a dramatic raid.” He smiled thinly. “Besides, I’m curious about these accusations I’ve been hearing.”