Judgment in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “I see. You decided among yourselves to disregard the chain of command.”

  “Yes, sir.” He said it stiffly, stubbornly. “We had reason to believe that the leaks reached up that chain. By informing other departments, we would compromise that investigation before it began.”

  “Then am I given to understand that Commander Whitney is under suspicion in your division?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Perhaps I am part of your internal investigation.”

  Bayliss opened his mouth, wisely closed it again to give his brain time to engage. “Sir, you are under no suspicion.”

  “Any longer?” Tibble finished silkily. “That’s a comfort, Captain. And having established that neither myself nor the commander were suspected of infractions or crimes that warrant IAB action, you still neglected to inform either of us of this investigation.”

  “Witch hunt,” Roth said under her breath and earned a glare from Bayliss.

  “It seemed unnecessary to do so, sir, until the operation was satisfactorily completed.”

  “Shall I explain to you, Captain, why you are mistaken?”

  Bayliss bore up under the penetrating stare. “No, sir. I regret the oversight. And as ordered, Chief Tibble, all records, all documents, all notes on said operation are now in your possession.”

  “Including, I presume, all data pertaining to the homicide investigations currently under the hand of Lieutenant Dallas?”

  Stubbornness set like concrete on Bayliss’s face. “It is my opinion that the two matters do not connect.”

  “Really? Do you have an opinion on that, Lieutenant, Dallas?”

  “Yes, sir. My opinion is that Captain Bayliss has made another error in judgment. Two police officers, both from the One two-eight, have been murdered in under a week by the same hand. I believe that one, Lieutenant Mills, was under IAB investigation and will prove to be guilty of accepting bribes, tampering with evidence, and conspiring to undermine a criminal case. Detective Kohli, an IAB plant, agreed to pose as an NYPSD officer who was also taking. While this portion of the operation is acceptable, the investigation into his death was compromised and tampered with by the withholding of Kohli’s status. There is no precedent that I’m aware of that gives IAB the authority to compromise a homicide investigation in order to protect one of its own operations.”

  “I am also unaware of such a precedent. Captain?”

  “Our operation was at a delicate point.” He was beginning to ruffle, badly, and swerved in his chair to scowl at Eve. “Look, Kohli went into this eyes open. Nobody pressured him. He wanted the extra duty and the extra pay. We had no reason to believe his life was in danger and every reason to believe that he would, in his position at Purgatory, connect with Ricker.”

  She wanted to ask what Ricker had to do with Purgatory, but she didn’t dare. Not here and now. “And when he was dead, Captain?”

  “We couldn’t change that, but we felt if we maintained Kohli’s cover, let it leak to the primary that he was dirty, it would open opportunities to uncover other leaks in the One twenty-eight.”

  “You used one of my men,” Roth shot out. “Do you think I’ve got the only squad with a Mills? Cops on the take aren’t the exclusive property of my house.”

  “You’ve got more than your share of them.”

  “I was given false information,” Eve cut in. “That’s a violation of code. Above that—above it, beyond it, over it, and under it—trying to push the investigation of a murdered fellow cop into a dead end, using that dead cop as a blind, is contemptible. As far as I’m concerned, Kohli died in the line of duty. He damn well deserved respect.”

  “Lieutenant,” Whitney muttered, but without heat. “Enough.”

  “No, sir, it’s a long way from enough.” When she got to her feet, Tibble said nothing. “IAB has a purpose, because a wrong cop smears all of us. But when some tin desk soldier takes on his own agenda, using his position to order those under his authority to circumvent procedure, tries to twist a homicide investigation for his own purposes, he’s as dirty as the cops he purports to hunt.”

  “You’re over the line.” Bayliss surged to his feet. “You think you can point the finger at me. I’ve spent fifteen years keeping the department clean. You’re not lily white, Lieutenant. Your husband’s link to Ricker may be buried, but it can be dug up. You shouldn’t be on this case.”

  “You will back away from my officer,” Whitney said quietly. He held up a hand to waylay Feeney, who’d come out of his chair and was moving toward Bayliss.

  “And you will cease and desist any comments on her personal life or her professional abilities. If I were to indulge myself in personal snipes, I would say, with pleasure, that you can only aspire to achieve half the integrity Lieutenant Dallas has. But . . . I won’t so indulge. Chief Tibble, I’d like to make a statement.”

  Tibble spread his hands. “Commander.”

  “After reviewing the documentation belatedly provided by Internal Affairs, it is my opinion that Captain Bayliss seriously overstepped his authority and should face disciplinary action. Further, while said data is being analyzed and confirmed, and until the decision is made whether to continue or abort the internal investigation, it’s my recommendation that Captain Bayliss take a leave of absence.”

  “There are cops feeding Ricker,” Bayliss objected. “I’m on the point of breaking that network open.”

  “Be that as it may, Captain, there can be no law without order.” Tibble watched him. “Particularly with those of us who have sworn to uphold that law. You’ll take leave, with pay and without the suspension of benefits. Disciplinary action will be considered. You are advised to consult your union rep and/or your private attorney. You are dismissed.”

  “Chief Tibble—”

  “Dismissed, Captain. Believe me when I tell you, you don’t want me to indulge myself in personal comments at this time.”

  Bayliss set his teeth, turned on his heel. His eyes burned over Eve before he strode from the room.

  “Captain Roth.”

  “Sir. If I might speak.” She got quickly to her feet. “I request that the documentation on the investigation into my squad be made available to me. My men are under suspicion, my house under the gun.”

  “Captain Roth, your house is a mess. Request denied. You have until noon tomorrow to write a full report and a complete analysis of the status of your squad. I’m making your house my personal business and will expect you in this office with that report and analysis at noon.”

  “Yes, sir. Chief Tibble?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “I accept full responsibility for that status. Mills was under my hand, and I can’t claim to have held that hand steady. If, after this situation is resolved, you wish for my resignation—”

  “Let’s not jump our fences, Captain. Noon tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When she left, Tibble once again leaned on his desk. “Now, Lieutenant. Just how deep into this mess are you, and who is your informant? You are required to give me that name when ordered to do so. Consider this such an order.”

  “Sir, I am hip deep and regret I am unable to follow orders and divulge the name of my informant.”

  Tibble shot a look at Whitney. “I owe you fifty, it seems. Your commander bet me, and I was foolish enough to accept, that you’d hold the name. It’s come to my attention you did a deep search on Captain Roth.”

  “Yes, sir. I initiated the search as part of my investigation into the homicides of Kohli and Mills. It’s my belief they were killed by one of our own.”

  “So I gather. That’s a very serious avenue to walk.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You suspect Roth?”

  “She captains the squad. It would have been negligent not to consider her. I’ve questioned her, analyzed her data, and run a probability.”

  “And the result?”

  “In the sixties.”

  “Low, but troubling. I won’t
take up your time or mine by asking you to go through the steps of your investigation. At this time,” he qualified. “But I will ask you, Lieutenant, if your husband is connected to Max Ricker, on a personal level or a business one, and if that connection should concern this office.”

  “My husband is not connected to Max Ricker on a business level. It is my understanding that at one time, over a decade ago, there may have been some business between them.”

  “And on a personal level?”

  This was tougher. “It was my impression, sir, during my interview with Ricker, that he held a personal grudge against Roarke. He did not specify this, but intimated. Roarke is a successful man, and a glamorized one,” she said for lack of a better term. “Such status invites resentment and envy in certain types of individuals. However, I see no reason why a potential grudge held by Ricker for Roarke should concern this office.”

  “You’re honest, Dallas. Carefully so. Almost politically so. And my saying that, I see, insults you.”

  “Somewhat,” Eve managed.

  “Do you have any conflict of feeling or loyalty in pursuing a killer who may be a fellow officer, even though the victims were dirty or perceived to be so?”

  “None whatsoever. Law and order, Chief Tibble. We uphold the law. We are not allowed to nor are we equipped to judge and sentence.”

  “Good answer. She does you credit, Jack. Lieutenant,” he continued while she dealt with the sheer surprise of his comment, “you’ll report your findings to your commander and keep him closely apprised of your progress. Go to work.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  “One last thing,” he said as she reached the door. “Bayliss would like your skin on a rack—roasted.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m aware of that. He wouldn’t be the first.”

  When the door closed, Tibble went behind his desk. “It’s a fucking mess, Jack. Let’s pick up some shovels and start cleaning it up.”

  chapter fourteen

  “Nice job, Dallas.” Feeney rode down with her to lobby level. “Now I’m going to tell you what they didn’t. If Bayliss gets back behind his desk, he’s going to be gunning for you.”

  “I can’t let a rat turd like Bayliss worry me. I got two cops and one witness in the morgue. Until I work through the layers of that, Bayliss can blow all the hot air he wants.”

  “Enough hot air blows at you, you get scalded. Just watch your back. I’m going over to your place, switch off with McNab for awhile.”

  “I’ll meet you back there. I want to swing by Kohli’s, have another talk with the widow. I’ll pull Peabody. You know an Illegals Detective, Jeremy Vernon?”

  Lips pursed, Feeney ran through his head files. “Nope. Doesn’t ring for me.”

  “He’s got an attitude—and a fat bank account. I’m probably going to pull him in for a chat, tomorrow latest. You want in on that?”

  “I always like sitting in on one of your chats.”

  They separated, with Eve moving through the late-lunch pedestrian traffic to her vehicle. She waited for a maxibus to clear, contacting Peabody as she pulled away from the curb.

  “I’m on my way to Kohli’s. Meet me there. I want a follow-up with the widow.”

  “I’ll head out now. Dallas, McNab’s picked up three more accounts for Detective Vernon. We’ve got a total of two million six, and still counting.”

  “Isn’t that interesting? Look, Feeney’s on his way over there. I want McNab to pick his way through Vernon’s financials. Make certain the son of a bitch didn’t win some lottery or inherit a bundle from one of those dead relatives. Pin down his income and his outlay. I don’t want to give him any wiggle room when I pull him in.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll report to the Kohli residence as soon as our city’s marvelous public transportation system will get me there.”

  “Take a cab. Put it on expense account.”

  “Do I have one?”

  “Jesus, Peabody, put it on mine. Get moving.”

  She cut transmission and let her mind wander through the tiers of her case while she cut across town.

  There was a corruption problem in the One two-eight. In the Illegals Division and potentially elsewhere. The corruption pointed at Max Ricker, and two of the detectives on the task force formed to take him down were dead. One of them had been in Ricker’s pocket.

  IAB had conducted an unauthorized and clandestine operation involving the other of those detectives as a plant.

  In Purgatory, she reminded herself. Roarke’s place. What did Ricker have to do with Roarke’s club?

  Had Bayliss been fishing there, trying to dig up the old connection? The man struck her as a fanatic, but that was reaching.

  Still, IAB had sent Webster, an old connection of hers, to feed her misinformation on Kohli.

  The captain of the squad had either let her men get beyond her control or was part of the corruption. She had a problem, or she was one. Either way, Eve had a ranking officer on her short list of murder suspects.

  Ricker was a key, maybe the key. He’d lured the cops and most certainly knew which members of the department were on his payroll. His businesses, she imagined, depended heavily on them. If she found enough of them, pulled them out of the loop, would he come out? Come after her?

  As much as she’d enjoy that, and emptying the dirty cops out of his pocket, those were second-level goals. Her first was to flush those cops in order to find a killer.

  Avenging a loss or betrayal, Mira had said. Not revenge, avenge. And the difference was, in Eve’s mind, another key. Scouring off the badge with blood to purify it.

  A fanatic? she wondered. On a parallel line with Bayliss. One who tossed the rules aside when it suited his agenda.

  She scouted out a parking place, pleased to find one on street level less than half a block from the Kohli residence.

  Even as she pulled in, a car rolled up beside her. Distracted, she glanced over. As the doors of the blocking car swung open, her instincts kicked in. She was out of her vehicle on a forward roll and came up with her weapon drawn.

  There were four of them, and she saw with one sweeping glance they were better and more heavily armed than the ones Ricker had sent after her the first time.

  “No point in making a fuss here, Lieutenant.” The man on the far left spoke politely and held his long-nosed laser pistol just under the open flap of a natty spring topcoat.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Eve saw the one on the far right begin to circle. She considered trying for a stun-sweep; her finger all but quivered on the trigger.

  And a boy of about ten zipped behind the group of men on a dented street bike. One of them plucked him off. The bike skidded down the street, and while the boy yelped, the man nudged his stunner against the young throat at the pulse.

  “Him or you.”

  It was said almost offhandedly, and it enraged her.

  “Let him go.” Deliberately, she clicked the power up on her weapon.

  The boy’s eyes were wide and terrified. He made sounds like a small cat being choked. She couldn’t risk looking at him.

  “Get in the car, Lieutenant. Quietly and quickly, before innocent civilians are injured.”

  She had a choice to make and made it fast. The weapon seemed to leap in her hand as she fired it, struck the man holding the boy between the eyes. She saw the kid fall, heard with sweet relief his screams of terror and, diving for cover, fired again.

  She rolled under the car, grabbed the boy by the foot, and scraped off a few layers of his skin when she dragged him under. “Stay. Shut up.”

  Even as she rolled again to block his body with hers and come out on the other side, she heard the whine of another weapon.

  “Drop it! Drop it, fucker, or what’s left of your brains’ll be leaking out of your ears.”

  Webster, she thought, then came out from under the car like a lightning bolt, hit her target midbody with a full tackle, and sent him crashing to the street. She lifted his head, bounced it smartly o
ff the pavement, then looked up to see that Webster had the only remaining problem standing, unarmed, with his hands lifted.

  “You trailing me again, Webster?”

  “I needed to talk to you.”

  She got to her feet, winced a little, and glanced down to see a long, nasty gash in her knee. “You sure run off at the mouth a lot lately. You got that one?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled a little at the sound of sirens. “There’s the backup. I took the liberty of calling for some.”

  She limped over, picked up weapons, scanning the three unconscious men. Then she went back, crouched, and peered under the car.

  The kid had shut up, she gave him that. And big, fat tears ran down his freckled face. “Come on out. It’s okay.”

  “I want my mom.”

  “Can’t blame you. Come on.”

  He crab-walked out, swiped his hand under his nose. “I wanna go home.”

  “Okay, in a minute. You hurt much?”

  “No.” His lip trembled. “Did I wreck my bike?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll get somebody to look at it for you.”

  “I’m not supposed to ride in the street. My mom said.”

  “Yeah, well, next time, listen to your mother.” She gestured to a uniform the minute the black and white pulled up. “Send somebody after the kid’s bike. Give your name to this policeman,” she told the boy. “He’s going to take you home. If your mom wants to talk to me . . .”

  She dug in her pockets, mildly surprised when she discovered she’d remembered her cards. “Tell her to call me at this number.”

  “ ’Kay.” He sniffed again, studying her with more interest than fear now. “Are you a policeman, too?”

  “Yeah.” She pulled her restraints out of her back pocket. “I’m a policeman, too.”

  She rolled the first man over, checked for a pulse, lifted one of his eyelids. She wasn’t going to need restraints for this one.

  “You couldn’t risk a stun,” Webster said from behind her. “You had to take a kill shot to insure the safety of the civilian.”

  “I know what I had to do,” she said. Bitterly.

  “You’d been slower, less accurate, or if you’d lowered your weapon, that kid wouldn’t be going home to his mother.”