Chapter Seventeen
Detective Sloan kept walking around his desk as he replayed the audio tape of the call reporting Alyson’s situation. The sound coming out of the speaker was hoarse. He could tell it wasn’t one that came from aging. More like a pretend job by someone who didn’t want to be known.
“Hello,” the sound had begun. That was the first clue. Who in an emergency situation would be composed enough to utter greetings?
After patiently listening to the greeting from the dispatcher, the voice stated in a clear and concise manner.
“A girl is in trouble. She is unconscious. Her name is Alyson. Alyson Crawford. She was with Andre Palermo. Please help her.” The voice proceeded to give the address and cut off the call.
Detective Sloan couldn’t place the accent. He would need a sound expert to find that out. After the tenth listen, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt this person had to be involved in the case. To give out the exact location, exact name of the girl, and to be naming a person of interest, without much of panic in his voice, this had to be a professional. He knew immediately the police were stupid to rush to the conclusion about Andre Palermo and based solely on this one evidence. He knew by not instantly going after the caller and digging into the person’s identity, they had lost valuable time.
“Yes,” he picked his phone up impatiently. He couldn’t understand why the police were a whole bunch of idiots.
“Sloan, I’m sorry I have nothing,” said Cory, the sound analysis expert at the Crime Lab.
“Don’t give me that shit. Nothing?” Sloan coughed into the phone.
“This was a pro, my friend. No trace of the call. My hunch is the receiver was muffled, and the individual was doing something to change his voice.”
“Any wild guesses?”
“From the timber of the voice, I would say 25-35 years old. Caucasian.”
“Well, that is helpful, isn’t it? It leaves us with millions to sift through.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”
So, Sloan was left with a bad taste in his mouth. A call placed from the girl’s apartment by someone who couldn’t easily be identified. The only way he could take a step forward in the case was if he could talk to Andre Palermo and clarify the situation. These fucking idiots have probably scared him off, he thought. He knew he would be lawyered up by now.
Unless he had probable cause to go by, he wouldn’t have the slightest chance of getting the truth out of him. And when it came to the Palermo family, he has had his frictions with them too many times to count. Always coming on the losing end of many dead-end cases. And having to deal with Roberto DelPero wasn’t his definition of a good day at work. A smart and stubborn adversary who has given him so much headache in the years past.
“Roberto? Sloan here.”
“Sloan, what can I do you for?”
“Done good for the day, I tell you, Roberto. I hear these idiots ruffled your client for no reason.”
“Tell them that. They need to hear it instead of wasting everybody’s time.”
“They were at least trying to do their job. That’s more than can be said for many on the government payroll, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s none of my business, Sloan. Busy here. What can I help with?”
“You see, I was listening to the tape…” Sloan slowed down. It was a bit of investigative trick.
“What are you talking about?!” Roberto answered. Knowing the trap that was being set up for him, he knew the only way to counter it was being belligerent.
“The 911 call about Alyson Crawford. I also had our sound expert listen to it. I don’t know if you have heard it, but it sounds pretty clear to me.” Sloan said, goading Roberto into hopefully cooperating with him.
Roberto had been given the transcript of the call but hadn’t heard it. He worried for a moment there maybe something incriminating in the call. Andre had sworn to him he didn’t make the call.
“Stop your fishing expedition and get to the point, Sloan.”
“Well, I want to have a word with Andre Palermo. Some basic questions.”
“You can go ahead and ask me. Until you have something more than you trickeries, you are wasting my time here, Sloan. I need to get back to work.”
The truth of the matter was Sloan didn’t have anything. He ended the call with despair. If he was going to beat Roberto at his own game, he was going to have to be more creative and resourceful. Any other lawyer would have fallen for his trick, eager to prove their client’s innocence. Not Roberto DelPero. Decades of practice protecting criminals had given him insight into the true meaning of innocent until proven guilty and burden of proof. Boy oh boy, he had milked those concepts to death coming up with one trick after another to free his clients from the claws of justice. It wasn’t going to work this time, Sloan concluded.
