Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense by Fynn Perry (popular romance novels TXT) 📗

to the profile that had been produced from the chef’s blood at the crime scene. The second machine announced it had completed Hernandez’s DNA profile. Again, there were no matches with the police database, but there was a decisive match with the DNA profile from the blood found in the tooth.

“We’ve got Manuel Hernandez. These machines are state-of-the-art, and the results are incontrovertible,” announced Genna.

“That’s the guy with the scratches to his fingers! We got El Gordito’s number two!” Lazlo said triumphantly. There was a moment of punching the air and high-fiving, which John wished he could have participated in, but then Lazlo got back to business. “Run the samples from El Gordito and the others. Maybe one of them will turn up!”

Lazlo called Alan Carlisle, the assistant prosecutor for the State of New York. He didn’t answer his mobile, so Lazlo called his secretary and John listened in. Carlisle was out for lunch at the exclusive Amber Rooms Club in Manhattan.

The maître d’ at the Amber Rooms requested proof of club membership with a well-cultivated, snooty tone.

“This is my membership card. It’s official police business,” said Lazlo, showing him his badge as he pushed his way past the man. John followed, but not before he had shown his own disdain for the man by causing a ghostly flutter of some papers on the maître d’s podium, causing them to fall to the floor.

Lazlo looked through the glazed doors into the restaurant. He saw that Carlisle was sitting with his boss, Mark Gamble, the district attorney for the State of New York. He knocked on the glass, and they and a few other diners, who were indignant at the interruption, looked at him. John took the opportunity to check if any of them were possessed. None of them were.

Carlisle made a gesture of apology to Gamble and walked over to the doors.

“This better be good, Lazlo. Gamble is crazy about the sanctity of his club.”

Lazlo showed New York’s assistant prosecutor the police report, the photos of the murdered victims and, lastly, the DNA profiles not only placing Hernandez at the scene but also proving he had been involved in the murder.

“Shit! You know what this means?” Carlisle quirked an eyebrow and smiled. “At last, we have something substantial! Wait here,” he said and went back to Gamble.

Lazlo could see Gamble at the men’s lunch table, thumbing through the documents. He said something to Carlisle, who then immediately returned.

“All evidence collected in line with procedure?” Carlisle inquired, eying Lazlo suspiciously as he handed back the file.

“Of course,” lied Lazlo.

“This is just the kind of win that the mayor needs right now regarding crime. Fine work! We’re running with it! I’ll get the arraignment set for tomorrow or the day after. My office will send you the documents charging him with first-degree murder.”

As John let out a silent sigh of relief, Lazlo called Markle. “We’ve got a positive on Manuel Hernandez. Charge him, and keep the others detained for the full thirty-six hours. And start working on Hernandez to get him to implicate the others.”

Lazlo couldn’t put it off any longer. He called his captain. It took just under twenty minutes for the captain to concede that there could no longer be any doubt that El Gordito was involved in the double homicide of the chefs. The DNA match conclusively placed his henchman, Manuel Hernandez, at the scene of one of the murders related to the DNA club. El Gordito’s lawyer, Gomez, had already called several times threatening that the captain would soon receive a call from Judge Dwight over the legitimacy of the detention. However, with Hernandez now charged, there was nothing that Gomez could do except wait for the arraignment. The captain even agreed to put out a BOLO to all units for Alberto Gonzalez and Victor Sanchez to be brought in for questioning.

John now understood that Lazlo’s plan, at this stage, was simply to keep Hernandez out of action until the arraignment in order to further weaken El Gordito’s organization. However, keeping Hernandez locked up, awaiting trial, was looking increasingly unlikely given that sooner or later the inadmissible nature of Lazlo’s evidence against him would come to light.

Twenty-Four

At around 7:00 a.m., Daniel Lazlo got an unexpected call, waking him from a restless night of sleep. John caught up with him on the landing, outside his bedroom, to listen in.

“Dan, it’s Lee Chapman. I’m guessing you’re already up. I hope I haven’t caught you on vacation?”

“Lee! It’s been a while.” Lazlo’s tone wasn’t as welcoming as it might have been. “No, working as usual, same job, same shit! How’s it going at the FBI?”

John couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Lazlo has a contact at the FBI? And yet he isn’t using him?

“Got promoted last year. Now I’m leading a group of special agents,” Chapman boasted.

And a team leader? This just gets better! thought John.

“That’s great, and Teresa and the kids, all good?”

“We got divorced before the promotion. I guess being married to an FBI agent is hard.”

“Being married to anyone is hard,” Lazlo said knowingly. “What can I do for you?” he asked, starting to get impatient.

“There’s been a seizure of four hundred fake IDs at San Ysidro. A Mexican national was trying to get them through in a pickup truck.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Lazlo replied, his annoyance starting to increase.

“Four hundred driving licenses, but only one hundred people pictured in them, meaning four fake identities, with different biographical data, per person. We’re running the photos through facial recognition. The true identities of the people shown in the photos are mostly New York City residents with no criminal record or just small misdemeanors and petty offenses to their name. Working and middle-class folks of all races. There seems to be no pattern other than they each have had the fake identities made for them.

“I still don’t get what this has to do with me. New York is full of ID scams,” Lazlo