The scene was exactly as grim as Lewis had indicated. The corner of Meserole and Lorimer was a transitional neighborhood—old industrial buildings being slowly converted into lofts and studios, the kind of area where someone could dump a body in a storm drain and not expect it to be found for days or even weeks. Lewis and Joshua had gotten lucky, or perhaps they'd been thorough enough to check every possible location within Benjamin's last known operating area.
The street was blocked off now, yellow crime scene tape strung between lampposts. Two patrol cars sat with their lights off, providing a visible police presence without the media-attracting flash of active emergency response. A crime scene van was parked near the storm drain access point, and several techs in white coveralls were setting up portable lights.
Noah parked a block away and walked to the perimeter. Lewis spotted him immediately and ducked under the tape to meet him.
"ME's on her way," Webb said. "Scene is locked down tight. We've got uniforms canvassing for witnesses, but at this hour last night, this area's pretty dead."
"Show me."
Lewis led him to the storm drain. The metal grate had been removed and lay to one side, revealing a dark opening that led down into the city's subterranean drainage system. Portable lights had been set up, illuminating the concrete shaft and the crumpled form at the bottom.
Benjamin lay face-down in about six inches of foul water, one arm twisted beneath him, the other stretched out as if reaching for something. His clothes were soaked and stained, his dark hair matted with blood and debris. Even from ten feet above, Noah could see the exit wound at the back of his skull—catastrophic damage from a close-range shot.
He'd been executed and discarded like garbage.
Noah stood at the edge of the opening, looking down at the body of a man he'd sent to his death. His expression remained perfectly neutral, but something cold and sharp settled in his chest—not quite anger, not quite grief, but a crystalline certainty that demanded action.
"Single shot?" he asked.
"Looks that way," Webb confirmed. "Entry wound probably in the face, based on the exit trauma. We'll know more when Martinez gets here and we can extract him, but my read is professional hit. Someone walked up to him and put one in his brain."
"Execution."
"Yeah."
Noah crouched at the edge of the opening, studying the scene with the practiced eye of two decades in law enforcement. The storm drain was an effective body dump—out of sight, protected from casual discovery, and the water would have washed away a lot of trace evidence. But it also suggested a certain pragmatism rather than sadistic cruelty. HTBB had identified a threat and eliminated it efficiently.
"Any indication this is where he was killed?" Noah asked.
"No blood trail leading to the grate, no signs of struggle topside. My guess is they killed him somewhere else—maybe even in a vehicle—and brought him here for disposal."
That tracked with HTBB's operational profile. They were businessmen first, criminals second. Violence was a tool, not a passion. When they decided someone needed to die, they did it cleanly and moved on.
Noah straightened. "I want every security camera within a six-block radius pulled and analyzed. Traffic cams, business security, residential doorbell cameras—everything. If they transported him here, they had to use vehicles. I want to know what moved through this area between eight PM and four AM last night."
"On it."
"And I want Garcia running a full analysis on Perez's last known locations and contacts. Someone burned him. I need to know how."
Webb nodded, his expression grim. Behind them, another vehicle pulled up—the medical examiner's van. Dr. Jacy Martinez stepped out, a compact woman in her fifties with steel-gray hair and the no-nonsense demeanor of someone who'd seen every variety of human mortality.
She walked up to Noah and Jim, her equipment bag slung over one shoulder. "Noah. I hear it's one of yours."
"Yeah."
She looked down into the storm drain and sighed. "Alright. Let's get him out of there and see what we're dealing with."
As Martinez and her team began the careful process of body recovery, Noah stepped back from the scene. Coe had arrived and was coordinating with the uniformed officers, establishing a wider perimeter and organizing the canvas teams. The machinery of a major investigation was grinding into motion—dozens of people, hundreds of man-hours, all focused on reconstructing the last moments of Benjamin Perez's life.
Noah pulled out his phone and composed a carefully worded message to his supervisor, Assistant Director Helen Corso. She'd want to know immediately, and she'd want a plan of action. Noah gave her both: Asset compromised and killed. Initiating full investigation and operational response against HTBB. Will have preliminary report by 0800.
The reply came back within two minutes: Approved. Full resources at your disposal. Keep me updated.
He pocketed the phone and watched as Martinez's team carefully lifted Benjamin's body from the storm drain. In the harsh glare of the portable lights, the young man's face was visible for the first time—pale, slack, eyes half-open and clouded. The entry wound was exactly where Webb had predicted, a small dark hole just above the bridge of his nose.
Someone had looked Benjamin Perez in the eye and pulled the trigger.
Noah committed that image to memory, filed it away with all the other motivations he'd accumulated over twenty years. Then he turned away and walked back to where Coe was briefing the canvas teams.
"Anything?" he asked.
"Not yet. Area's industrial, not a lot of late-night foot traffic. We're checking with the businesses that are open twenty-four hours—couple of bodegas, a diner—but so far no one saw anything."
"Keep pushing. Someone always sees something."
Coe studied him for a moment. "You should go home, get a few hours of sleep. This is going to be a long haul."
"I'll sleep when we have them in custody."
"Noah—"
"The team meeting is at oh-six-hundred," Noah said, his tone brooking no argument. "I want a preliminary forensic report, a timeline of Perez's last forty-eight hours, and a complete workup on HTBB's current operations. By the time everyone walks into that conference room, I want to know exactly how we're going to take these bastards down."
Coe nodded slowly. "You'll have it."
Noah looked back at the crime scene one last time. Martinez and her team were loading Benjamin's body into a transport bag, sealing it with the careful reverence that the dead always received from those who worked with them professionally. Soon Benjamin would be in the morgue, reduced to measurements and evidence, a case number in the system.
But before that happened, Noah would make sure his death meant something.
He turned and walked back to his car, his mind already racing through operational scenarios, resource allocations, legal strategies. Somewhere in New York, Eliot King and his organization were celebrating the elimination of a threat, confident in their safety and their power.
That confidence would be their downfall.
Noah started the engine and headed back to the office. He had four hours until the team meeting, and he intended to use every minute of it.
The hunt had begun.