by Steven Henry
“You’re off the reservation a little, Detective,” he said.
“On my way home now,” she said.
He motioned her to move away from the truck, out of earshot of Wayne. “You stay put, big guy,” he told Wayne.
“Not goin’ anywhere, man,” Wayne said.
“What’s the story, O’Reilly?” the trooper demanded in a low voice. “I’m working a tip on a cigarette-smuggling operation here. Now I run into a New York City cop? Why wasn’t I told you guys were in on this?”
Erin shrugged. “I’m working a Major Crimes case on the organization behind the smuggling,” she said. “This guy’s helping me with my investigation.” Both those things were technically true, although they referred to two completely separate cases. He didn’t need to know that.
“So he does have contraband in back,” the trooper said.
“I haven’t checked the boxes myself,” she said. “But yeah, probably.”
“I’m supposed to bring the trucker in,” the trooper said. “My CO thinks we can flip him and maybe get the guy behind it.”
“The trucker’s nobody,” she said. “Just an ex-con they’ve got as a mule. And I’ve already got on the inside with him. You arrest him, it’s going to screw up my investigation.”
The trooper pushed back his hat and scratched his head. “The Lieutenant’s gonna be pissed,” he muttered.
“You’re doing me a solid,” she said. “What’s your name, Trooper?”
“Owen Dunbar.”
“I won’t forget this, Dunbar.” She offered her hand.
He looked at her for a moment, then shook. “I hope I don’t regret this,” he said.
Dunbar walked back to the truck with Erin. “Drive carefully,” he said, handing Wayne his paperwork. “Ma’am,” he added, tipping his hat slightly to Erin before heading back to his cruiser. The dark, predatory silhouette of the patrol car glided onto the highway and lost itself in the southbound traffic.
“Thanks,” Wayne said to Erin. “How’d you manage that?”
“Forget about it,” she said. “Can we get back to my city now?”
“Lady,” he said, “after that, I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. Just name it.”
The rest of the trip was as uneventful as a journey could be when you stuck a couple of cops, a K-9, and a murder suspect in a truck driven by a convicted felon. Erin used the time to think. Webb was right. Stone would lawyer up fast, with a high-powered legal team, and unless they had hard evidence, they wouldn’t be able to hold him. But what evidence was there to find? They couldn’t get the proof they needed without full access to the hotel room, and for that they needed a warrant, which they couldn’t get without more evidence. It was a classic catch-22.
Except it wasn’t. There was one way to get unfiltered access to a room. Erin was astonished she hadn’t thought of it sooner. It was obvious, really. Now she just needed to get back to Manhattan.
“What the hell was that all about?” Vic asked when Wayne opened the trailer and spilled him and Stone onto the pavement.
“Tell you in a minute,” Erin said.
“Where are we, anyway?” he asked.
She cocked her head. He turned and found himself staring at the old brick façade of the Eightball station house.
“Dropped us right at the front door,” he said. “Now that’s service.”
“Yeah,” Wayne said. “Maybe I should get me a taxi instead.” He smiled, showing the gap in his teeth. “Nah, I love the Beast too much. Catch you later, O’Reilly. I got deliveries to make.”
He offered a hand. Erin, surprised, shook. Her slender hand disappeared into his gigantic paw. Wayne’s smile widened into a grin.
“Say, after I unload, I got some time,” he said. “If you wanna grab a drink or something.”
Erin returned the smile. “You know the Barley Corner?”
“Of course. Wanna meet me there?”
“Why don’t you drop by there,” she said. “Ask around. They’ll tell you everything you need to know about me.”
Wayne’s smile faltered a little as he realized he might have stepped in something he didn’t want any part of. He let go of her hand. Then he closed the trailer and walked back to the Beast’s cab. He climbed in and drove away.
“I’d like my telephone call now,” Stone said. “And after that, I will obviously want the benefit of legal counsel.”
“That’s your right,” Erin said. Then, to Vic, “Let’s book him.”
“Then maybe we can get something to eat?” Vic suggested. They’d burned a good couple of hours with their jaunt to and from Connecticut and it was after seven.
She shook her head. “We’ve got work to do.”
“All work and no play?” Stone said. “That’s not healthy, Miss O’Reilly.”
“Neither is your style of play,” she shot back.
They got Stone booked. Then they had to follow the law and give him access to a phone. Predictably, he called a lawyer up in Boston. It was a very short conversation.
After that they moved Stone into a holding cell. Erin made sure to walk him past Caldwell’s cell so the two men could get a quick look at each other. When dealing with a conspiracy, it was almost always a good idea to let the suspects know their collaborators were also in custody, but to keep them separated. They’d have the chance to sit and wonder what their counterparts were telling the police, and what kind of deal they might be making. Erin had seen crooks turn on each other in those circumstances, confessing when the DA hadn’t had anywhere near enough evidence for a conviction.
Once they had Stone safely stowed, Erin, Vic, and Rolf got on the elevator up to Major Crimes.
“That’s gotta be a new one,” Vic said.
“What?” Erin asked.
“Getting a Mob guy to drop off a couple police hitchhikers with a prisoner on the front steps of their precinct house.”
“You think Wayne’s mobbed up?” Erin asked with feigned innocence.
Vic gave her a look. “I may not be a fancy-pants Detective Second Grade like some of the people on this elevator, but I’ve got eyes and a brain. I saw the jailhouse tats on that guy. And if those boxes only had Snickers bars in them, I’ll field-strip my sidearm and eat it one piece at a time.”
“Now that I’d like to see,” she said. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. “No, you’re right. This is helping me out with that other thing.”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah, I figured. Way to kill two birds with one stone. Speaking of Stone…”
“We need evidence,” she said. “Or he’s going to walk.”
“Okay. But the body was underwater for hours. CSU didn’t pull any fibers or DNA off her. We know Stone took her to dinner, but that’s not against the law. We got no case, Erin.”
“Not yet,” she said. “According to Webb, we’ve got maybe three hours before Stone’s lawyers get here.”
“We’re gonna build a murder case in three hours,” Vic said doubtfully. “How you plan on doing that?”
The elevator arrived at Major Crimes. There was Webb, as promised, at his desk. He had a Styrofoam takeout box and coffee cup in front of him and a sour look on his face.
“You’re back,” he said. “And the lawyers?”
“On their way,” Erin said.
“I’ll break out the ESU gear,” Vic said. “If we barricade the front door, we should be able to hold them off for a while. It’ll be just like Assault on Precinct 13. I love that movie.”
“Not funny, Neshenko. I assume you have a plan?”
“Don’t look at me, boss,” Vic said. “I just work here.”
“I have an idea,” Erin said. “The first thing I need is the victim’s clothes.”
“They’re down in Evidence,” Webb said. “Where are you going with this?”
“Back to the hotel,” she said. “Rolf and I have some searching to do.”
“You don’t have a warrant,” he reminded her.
“All I need i
s permission.”
“You think you’ll get it?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
He stood up. “This I have to see. I’m coming along.”
“Me, too,” Vic said.
“No, you’re staying here,” Webb said.
“Why? What’d I do?” Vic asked indignantly.
“Someone needs to, how did you say it, hold off the lawyers,” Webb said. “Preferably without resorting to tear gas and riot gear.”
“What do you want me to use?” he shot back. “Strong language?”
“I want you to call me and then stall,” Webb said. “Go by the book, but use every page you can. If you get stumped, call Kira Jones. She knows every NYPD procedure.”
“You want me to get the bastards tangled up in our bureaucracy?” Vic shrugged. “Okay, sir, but I think tear gas might be more humane.”
“We’re wasting time,” Webb said. “Let’s go, O’Reilly.”
“Look on the bright side, Vic,” Erin said on her way out. “Looks like you get dinner after all.”
Chapter 14
Armed with a paper bag containing a pair of underwear worn by the late Sarah Devers, Erin set off for the InterConti-nental. Webb was in the passenger seat, Rolf in his compartment. The Lieutenant fingered an unlit cigarette and brooded. The K-9 panted excitedly.
“So what’s your plan?” Webb asked.
“You’re the ranking officer,” she said.
“I’m aware of that, O’Reilly. And as such, I’m ordering you to tell me what you want to do here.”
“As ranking officer, sir, you’d obviously be the one who’d request access to information from the hotel.”
Webb waited and said nothing.
“So I think it’d be good for you to do just that.”
“While you’re doing… what, exactly?”
“Getting a room for the night.”
He blinked. Then he actually laughed. “A particular room, I assume. 503, maybe?”
“Exactly, sir. That’ll give me all the access I need.”
“While I’m distracting anyone who might recognize you as a cop and worry about what you might be up to,” Webb said. “All perfectly legal, of course. But there’s a few problems. What if they’ve already rented out that room?”
“Stone checked out a day early,” she said. “But he left after the usual checkout time. I’m guessing they haven’t had long to get it ready for the next occupant.”
“If they’ve cleaned the room, you may not find what you’re looking for,” he went on. “And if they haven’t, they won’t let you have it.”
“Let me handle it, sir.”
“By bribing hotel staff?”
“I plan to encourage their civic impulses,” she said with a straight face. “I have a question for you, sir.”
“Shoot.”
“If this works, can I expense the room to the NYPD?”
“I don’t see why not. And list any payoffs to the staff as payments to unnamed confidential informants. It’s only bribery if they pay us.”
At the hotel, Erin and Rolf split off from Webb. The Lieutenant led the way.
“Give me about a minute,” he said.
Erin obediently hung around outside the front door, sneaking a quick glance inside. She saw him approach Mr. Feldspar and start talking to him. She waited, trusting her commanding officer. Sure enough, after a moment, the two men walked away from the front desk and disappeared into the manager’s office.
Erin sauntered in with Rolf, trying to appear nonchalant. She’d moved her Glock to the small of her back under her blouse, where it wouldn’t be visible to a casual search, and had pocketed her shield. Rolf wasn’t wearing his K-9 vest. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too conspicuous.
The clean-cut young man behind the counter gave her a bright, friendly smile. “Good evening, ma’am. How can I help you?”
Erin gave him her best, warmest smile in return. “Hi! I just got in, a last-minute business thing. I didn’t have time to make a reservation. Can you help me out?”
“Sure thing, ma’am. I know, that can be a real hassle. Name?”
“Erin O’Reilly.”
“How many guests? Just you?”
“And this guy,” she said, twitching Rolf’s leash.
The man’s face fell. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but there’s a weight limit on pets of twenty-five pounds.”
“Oh, he’s not a pet,” Erin said. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Service dogs aren’t prohibited, are they?”
“Of course not, ma’am. I’ll just need to see his certification.”
Erin cursed inwardly. She made a show of pulling out her wallet and searching for something she knew damned well wasn’t there. Then she decided the hell with it. She palmed her shield and flashed it to him.
“I’m undercover with the NYPD,” she whispered. “He’s a K-9. We’re working a big bust.”
“There aren’t drugs in the hotel, are there?” he whispered back, looking both alarmed and excited.
“No, nothing like that,” she assured him. “But I need to keep this on the down-low. I can’t discuss it, but can you make an exception to your policy?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’d say he looks like he’s about twenty-five pounds, ma’am.” He didn’t quite wink or lay a finger alongside his nose, but his eyes twinkled.
Rolf, who weighed every ounce of ninety pounds, was unimpressed.
“I’m afraid I do have to charge you the extra two-fifty for him,” he said. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Two hundred fifty dollars?” Erin hissed, appalled.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s the rules.”
“Okay, whatever,” she said, glad she’d cleared it with Webb for departmental reimbursement. “One other thing. Can I request a specific room?”
“Certainly, ma’am, if it’s available.”
“I’d like 503, please.”
“Just a second.” He worked his computer. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“It hasn’t been rented out, has it?” she asked.
“No, but it was just recently vacated and hasn’t been changed over yet. Housekeeping will get right on it, but it’s just not ready.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” she said. “I’m not going to be sleeping just yet. Tell you what, Stu,” she said, looking at his nametag. “I’ll just go on up there and you can send housekeeping up. When they arrive, I’ll get out of their hair.”
“But ma’am, 504 is right across the hall and it’s vacant,” Stu said. “It’s no hassle, really.”
She tried to up the wattage on her smile a little bit more. “I have some memories of 503. It’d mean a lot to me.” She put a hand on the counter and tapped her finger, drawing his attention to the twenty-dollar bill under her hand.
Stu nodded. “Absolutely, ma’am. I’ll make sure they get right on it.”
Erin slid the keycard into its slot and opened the door to Room 503. There was no reason to believe anyone else was there, but she still cleared the bedroom and bathroom with as much care as if she was entering a drug den or gang headquarters. The fact that she’d been ambushed in her own apartment less than two weeks earlier was very much on her mind. She and Rolf checked their corners, opened the closet, and looked under the bed.
Nobody was there, of course. Erin relaxed and holstered her Glock. Then she got to work. She opened the paper bag, extracted the scrap of satin inside, and presented it to Rolf.
“Such!” she ordered.
Rolf sniffed at the undergarment. Then he stood in the middle of the room for a few moments, snuffling the air and turning around. His tail wagged uncertainly.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t smell Sarah Devers, Erin knew. It was that Sarah had been in the room and wasn’t there anymore. She’d come and gone and probably wandered around a little. Rolf was trying to pick up the freshest scent.
He trotted into the bathroom and stood in front of the toilet. He got in close to the porcelain and inhaled, nostrils twitc
hing.
Erin knelt beside the K-9 and peered at the toilet. She didn’t see anything at first, but she caught a faint acidic tang on the air. Then she took a breath and leaned over the bowl, holding her hair back by its ponytail so it wouldn’t fall in the water. She saw what she’d thought she might find. Little spots of something that looked and smelled like bile were splashed up under the rim of the toilet bowl.
“Thank God for slow housekeeping,” Erin muttered. Rolf was telling her Sarah had been in here and had probably thrown up, likely as a result of being drugged or drinking too much. CSU could get DNA off the toilet, and if they were lucky, traces of Rohypnol. That would prove she’d been drugged before leaving Stone’s room.
Rolf wasn’t finished. The Shepherd’s feet danced impatiently. He tugged on his leash. Erin stood up and followed her dog out into the bedroom. The bed was rumpled and unmade, which made sense. Stu shouldn’t have let her have this room in its current state, cop or no cop, tip or no tip. But she had no complaints. He was helping her preserve evidence.
Rolf nosed his way across the carpet. Erin saw little bits of discoloration, probably from residual vomit. Then the Shepherd abruptly stood on his hind legs and put his paws on the bed. He thrust under one of the pillows with his snout. Then he pulled back and looked at Erin, cocking his head.
“It’s okay, kiddo,” she said, scratching his ears. “I know she’s not here.”
She pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and picked up the pillow Rolf had sniffed at. Under it, next to the headboard, she saw a glint of color against the white sheets. She bent closer and saw a broken piece of fingernail.
“Gotcha,” she said. She saw a faint gouge in the wood of the headboard near the nail fragment. She also smelled more hints of vomit on the sheets.
“Sarah came in and shared a drink with Stone,” Erin told Rolf, who watched her attentively. He liked when Erin talked to him.
“But there was more in the drink than booze,” she went on. “She got dizzy, but she didn’t completely pass out. He tried to get at her on the bed, but she still had a little fight in her. She struggled and broke a fingernail. Then she started gagging. That probably made him let go of her. Even a rapist won’t try to kiss someone who’s puking. She made it into the bathroom. I think she passed out in there. He pulled her out onto the bedroom floor. She was unconscious and unresponsive. He tried to do CPR, but it was too late. She died right there.”