Forgotten in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “But it happened again.”

  “This is my business, not his. It’s my private business. I take his orders. He wants me to be an engineer, so I study to become an engineer. He wants to … persuade someone to fall in line. I persuade them. He wants me to marry Nadia, I marry Nadia. I give her a good life. But I have my life, too. He wants to control me, and all the while I see him get weaker, draw back from what made him great. From the man I respected. So I took what I wanted. I took what I needed.”

  Disgust covered his face. “The man I respected? It wouldn’t have been so easy to take from him as I did. He plays with his flowers, his trees. But he still holds the wheel, and won’t give it to me. So I took more. What I wanted, what I needed. What I deserved after all the years of doing what he said to do.”

  “Did he order you to kill?”

  He sneered at Eve. “I don’t give you that now. Fuck you for that now.”

  “Move on then. Alva Quirk.”

  “Crazy old woman with her book and paper flowers. She’s nothing. A little mouse in her hole, nothing more. We have business, me and Delgato. To move some material out—we have a buyer, we have the invoices marked as we need. A small shipment, so it’s very quick for the buyer to remove and pay and take away.”

  “Who’s the buyer?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fine. The invoices and your records tell that tale anyway. What then?”

  “We talk, me and Delgato, and arrange for the next shipment, and there she is at the fence with her book. She’s sorry, but she has to report us. We broke rules. Delgato goes over, talking to her, talking about how we’re just doing our job. He’s wasting time, convincing this mouse. I have the crowbar we had to check the shipment, to open the box. I use it.”

  “You struck her with it?”

  “I did what had to be done.”

  “You struck her with it,” Eve repeated. “How many times?”

  “Once—no, twice. To be sure. Delgato loses his mind. I think he might faint, he’s so weak. I slap him to calm him down. He cries, like a baby, but he does what I say. He gets the plastic and we roll her up, carry her to the dumpster. I take her book—that was before we rolled her in the plastic. I think it should be a day, maybe two, before she’s found. And who will care?”

  He shrugged that off. Even now, Eve thought, he shrugged off the murder of Alva Quirk like it was only a small inconvenience.

  “You were wrong there, on both counts. When did you decide to kill Delgato?”

  “Then, but it’s not the time, the place, the way. I’m not stupid. He’s a miserable man, a weak man, a crying man. I have a source for the Dex—and fuck you on that. I know he’ll break. He’ll tell his wife, or maybe go to the police, claim he saw it happen, but wasn’t part. So I took care of it.”

  “How?”

  “You said how. I took the drill, the syringe, the hook, the rope. His window lock is flimsy.”

  He flicked a hand in the air. Dismissing it all, Eve decided. Because it had been just another job.

  Born to kill.

  “He lives in a dump because he’s weak and tosses his money away on horse races. I put the hook in the ceiling, make the noose. He’s a failure of a man. They will say he killed himself. The Dex only lasts a few hours at most. No one will find him before it’s gone. No one should have.”

  “You’ve had a real run of bad luck,” Peabody commented.

  Tovinski ignored her. “When he comes in, I push the syringe to his throat. The bruises should cover the mark.”

  “You’ve done this before,” Eve said.

  “Fuck you on that. His eyes are so wide—he can fear. He knows. I make it quick, and I leave. No one should have found him so soon.”

  “Okay, let’s go over a few details.” Eve paged through her file. “Before that, I have another question. Singer, not long after you arrived in the U.S., owned a second site, had started construction. Also Hudson Yards—they called it South-West. It’s about a block from the site where you killed Alva Quirk. Did you ever visit or work on that site?”

  “My uncle was invested, but he wanted me to get my education, to study the business, yes. But on Bardov projects. We were only invested.”

  “You never went there?”

  He looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would I? If someone there had to be persuaded, or needed a lesson, maybe he would have sent me—like an apprentice. But it wasn’t a Bardov project.”

  “All right. Let’s go back over the night you killed Alva Quirk.”

  When it was done, Eve turned the record off. Two U.S. Marshals came in to escort him out.

  “Do you think Bardov will find him?” Peabody wondered. “Or even try?”

  “He may try.” Reo shrugged. “But I think Tovinski—or whatever name he’ll have now—is going to live a very long life in a cell. Only a finite group of people know where he’s going, the name he’ll have, the background created. And no, I’m not one of them. All I know is my boss and yours signed off on it.

  “We did our jobs. The job’s done.”

  “He didn’t know about the remains—the woman,” Eve said. “I’d’ve seen it by the time I pushed that. Bardov, maybe, but Tovinski didn’t know about it, and he’s killed plenty more than Alva and Delgato.”

  “Let’s take our win, Dallas.” Reo rose. “We’ve put a—what was it, Peabody? A spineless prick of a slug stain away, for a couple of lifetimes.”

  “I’m taking it. I liked the ‘whiny asshole fuckwit’ myself. Good job, Peabody.”

  “It felt good.”

  “Let’s write it up, close it out. We’ll take Bardov and the elder Singers tomorrow. Let’s see if we can pry out anything on our Jane Doe.”

  In her office, she studied the board before she sat at her desk.

  She contacted Alva’s brother.

  “Detective Elliot, it’s Lieutenant Dallas. I wanted to inform you that we’ve apprehended the person responsible for your sister’s death.”

  She told him what she could, then contacted Angelina Delgato and did the same.

  She closed the book, cleared the board. She sealed and labeled the box holding the case files. Instead of calling to have them taken to storage, she lifted the box.

  A walk, she thought, just walking it all down herself felt like putting an end to it. And taking a breath.

  As she walked out to the bullpen, Yuri Bardov walked in with what she assumed was his bodyguard.

  He’d gone a little soft in the middle and carried some extra weight there under a fine suit of apricot linen. The bow tie made him look like someone’s dapper grandfather—especially if you didn’t know he’d run a murderous and merciless criminal empire for a number of decades.

  His hair had gone to silver, and he kept it cropped close. He offered a charming smile. His eyes were as cold as January.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Eve Dallas.” His voice held only the barest trace of an accent, and came rich and full. “I recognize you. What a treat to meet you in person. I’m Yuri Bardov.”

  “I know who you are.” She stepped over to set the box on Peabody’s desk in a bullpen that had gone silent. “I’m wondering if this is the first time you’ve walked into a cop shop voluntarily.”

  Those eyes, ice blue, bored into her for five thrumming seconds. Then they brightened as he laughed as though he meant it.

  “Just as I expected. You don’t disappoint, Lieutenant. I was told, after our very thorough scanning, to address any inquiries I had about my nephew to you. It seems Alexei’s gotten himself into some trouble. I’m hoping he’s allowed visitation so I can speak with him.”

  “Peabody,” Eve said without taking her eyes off Bardov or his companion. “See about a conference room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I hate to take up any of your valuable time.”

  “You’ve gone to the trouble to come in, I can spare the time.”

  “We have room one,” Peabody told her.

  “Want any backup, boss?
”

  She glanced over at Jenkinson, who was currently sending Bardov the hard eye. She did her best not to react to a tie swirling with a series of rainbows that might arc across the sky after a nuclear disaster.

  “We’re fine, Detective. This way, Mr. Bardov.”

  She took the lead and caught a whiff of Bardov’s aftershave. Something citrusy that suited the butter-yellow bow tie.

  “May I say, Lieutenant, how I’m looking forward to Ms. Furst’s new book and reading about your exploits. A terrifying time that was. My wife and I, and some of the family, were in Europe during that episode. I can confess, I was grateful to be an ocean away from New York.”

  “Right.” She opened the door to conference room one. “Have a seat.” She glanced at Peabody.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Peabody asked. “Tea?”

  “I would love some coffee, extra cream. No tattling, Roger,” he said to the bodyguard, who cracked the faintest of smiles. “My Marta is doing her best to wean me off caffeine.”

  He took a seat—the head of the table—and Roger stood at parade rest behind him.

  “My wife, my Marta, is very upset about Alexei,” he continued. “Her sister’s boy, you see, and like a son to both of us. Dima—that is, Mr. Ilyin—would only tell me Alexei dismissed him. Very rash. I’d very much like to speak with him and make sure he’s properly represented.

  “Ah, thank you,” he added as Peabody set the coffee on the table. After one sip, he laughed again. “Some things don’t change. Police house coffee is dreadful. And yet…” He took another sip. “Still coffee. Now, about Alexei.”

  “Alexei Tovinski was charged and has confessed to the murders of Alva Quirk and Carmine Delgato.”

  “I must insist on seeing and speaking to him immediately. I’m his family.”

  “You can insist, but you won’t see or speak with him. Mr. Tovinski, on record, signed a deal with the prosecutor’s office, by this time will have been arraigned and sentenced and transferred to the prison where he’ll remain, without possibility of parole, for the rest of his life. Times two, consecutive.”

  “Under duress a man might agree to anything.”

  “The only duress he may have felt came from your direction, Mr. Bardov, and his fear you would take action to punish him for systematically stealing from your construction company, your partners.”

  “You expect me to believe that Alexei, a man as close to me as a son, would steal from me?” He waved a hand in the air—a calloused hand, Eve noted. A working hand. “You’re mistaken, and if there is action—legal action—it will be taken against you.”

  “I’m assuming a man of your contacts and experience would have verified the facts by now. You trusted him; he betrayed you. And killed to cover it up. He betrayed his wife and stole to keep the other women and children secret.”

  She leaned forward a little. “If he’d rolled on you, if he’d given us anything on you, trust me, Mr. Bardov, you’d be in cuffs right now.”

  “You’re a bold one,” Bardov stated.

  “I’m a cop. We’re the cops that took the man who betrayed you, betrayed his wife, stole from you, stole from your partners, and killed two people so he could keep on doing it.”

  “You ask me to believe terrible things about a cherished member of my family.”

  “You already believe it. You know it or you wouldn’t be here now. You wanted a last look at him, a last word. You won’t get them. He’s out of your reach—and you’ll find that’s solid truth. We made sure of it because death is too easy. It’s the end. He’s going to pay for a very long time. That’s justice.”

  He studied her as he drank more coffee. “Perhaps we view justice differently.”

  “No doubt. He refused to implicate you in any crime or illegal activity. Take that for what it’s worth. He worried about the other children and their mothers. How they would get by.”

  “The children are family, however they came to be. Their mothers are their mothers. They will be supported properly.”

  He paused a moment, frowned into his coffee. “I wasn’t aware before this time he had killed the woman, the homeless woman. You may think what you think, but I don’t approve.”

  “What about a young woman, a young pregnant woman at another time, in another place?”

  His shoulders drew back, and that cold look in his eyes went fierce. “Are you saying Alexei took such a life? For money? To hide his thievery?”

  “Someone did.”

  “I?” He tapped a fisted hand to his chest. “A woman with child is sacred. Sacred. For all my many sins, as you would see them, this is one I would never, never commit. The life that holds life? Sacred. What does this have to do with me?”

  “Another time, another place,” Eve repeated. “You can waste your time, money, and resources trying to find Tovinski, seeking your sort of justice. Even I don’t know where the cage he’ll stay locked in is, but I do know I’ll hear if he meets a fatal accident, or gets himself shanked. I’ll hear, then, as much as I think he’s scum, he’ll be mine. And I’ll come for you.”

  “A bold one,” he repeated.

  “He fears you, and that fear will live in him every day, every night. He’ll never stop looking for your revenge. I think that’s plenty of justice, even your kind.”

  “You may be right.” He set the coffee aside. “I’m older than I was. I take pleasure in simpler things than I once did. And as the years accumulate, I have less to prove.”

  He got to his feet. “Thank you for your time, and a very stimulating conversation.”

  “Detective Peabody will escort you out.”

  Alone, Eve sat, thought through that stimulating conversation.

  She expected Bardov would at least put out feelers to try to find the nephew. He’d do that for form, or from habit. But she doubted he’d expend much time or energy. As he would have if she’d told him his nephew would have rolled on him for immunity.

  And he’d told the truth about a woman with child being sacred.

  He hadn’t put those bullets in her victim, nor had anyone done so on his orders.

  More, he hadn’t known about the body behind the wall.

  So until DeWinter came through, she had nothing.

  16

  As Eve started back to her office, Peabody hurried in her direction.

  “Wow. I have to say wow! Maybe Bardov looks like your great-uncle, the friendly librarian, but you know he’s a criminal overlord and you so totally handled him.”

  “Did I?”

  “Oh yeah, you did. Wait. Wait.” Catching the tone, Peabody snatched at Eve’s arm. “You did. Sure, maybe he’ll do a little poking around to satisfy himself, but he listened to you, Dallas. I watched him listening, taking it in. And maybe it’s not the straight line, but you telling him Tovinski’s going to live a long time not just caged up but living in fear? That hit the right mark with him. Because it’s true, and he knows it. Just like he knows it’s true you’d go after him if he takes Tovinski out.

  “That’s handling,” Peabody insisted, “and that’s keeping Tovinski alive, that’s nailing down justice for Alva and Delgato. That’s a fucking win.”

  “Well.” The fire in Peabody’s eyes burned away the weight on Eve’s shoulders. “I’ll return the wow.”

  “Fucking A!”

  “Do me a solid and write it up. I want a copy in the case file I left on your desk and another for the unidentified remains. Then contact Bolton Singer and let him know his site’s clear.”

  “Got it. He was telling the truth about the sanctity of pregnant women. Or he doesn’t remember making an exception in this case.”

  “Oh, he’d remember. Whoever she was, however she ended up behind that wall, it wasn’t on his orders.”

  When she stepped back into the bullpen, she caught Jenkinson’s long stare. Despite the tie, she walked to his desk. “Do you figure I can’t hold my own with an eightysomething-year-old gangster, Detective?”

  “Y
ou hold your own, LT. Some of us are old enough to remember when Yuri Bardov wouldn’t have shown his face in a cop shop unless he was in cuffs.”

  Jenkinson looked around the detectives’ bullpen. “Well, one of us is old enough.”

  “Did you ever tangle with him?”

  “Not directly. When I was still in uniform, back when you were still in diapers, I had a weasel. An asshole, liked to play big shot, but he had his ear to the street. So he tells me he’s hearing about a big one coming up. Weapons deal. Now, back then, Bardov was all over the weapons trade, had a pipeline going up and down 95. Weasel says he’s got a meet on it and he’ll pass on what he gets, how it’s going to cost me big. Next day, he’s floating in the East River, throat slit with a dead rat tied around it.

  “Guy was an asshole.”

  “But he was your asshole.”

  “Yeah. His hands look clean, Dallas. They ain’t. Never have been.”

  “No question of that. What’s his deal with women and kids?”

  “Never touched the sex trade. Word was he felt it was beneath him. Gunrunning, cybercrime, booze, the protection racket, all that, but no sex trade and no kiddie porn or exploitation.”

  “Okay, so he’s got a code, or a line he won’t cross.”

  “You could say,” Jenkinson agreed. “I remember—my gold shield’s still shiny—there was a task force working on a child porno ring. Getting close, that was the buzz. Before they nailed it down, every one of the ringmasters ended up dead.

  “Organized hits,” Jenkinson said, “coordinated, professional hits. It had Bardov all over it, Loo. Couldn’t pin it on him.”

  Now he shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t try so hard.”

  Jenkinson gave her that long stare again. “You would’ve. You don’t have to mourn the fucking perverts to do the job. Are you looking at him for something?”

  “He doesn’t fit. Pregnant woman, shot, maybe thirty-five to forty years ago, as yet unidentified. Walled up in the wine cellar of an old building—old restaurant.”