by J. D. Robb
“I’ve wasted some time. But I’ve got a feeling.”
“Best to follow it then.”
And come back, he thought. To me.
“Couple hours, tops,” she said. She gave him a quick kiss, and he could see her mind was already on her approach as she left.
He stood for a moment, studying the best part of a pizza, and toyed with the button he kept, always, in his pocket. Trust, he reminded himself, was a two-way street. So he’d trust her to do her job, her way. And he’d go do the one he’d agreed to take on, in his.
Eve made the tail in under five blocks.
They were a little sloppy, sure, but she had the advantage of the superlative camera system built into the vehicle Roarke had designed for her.
The tail employed a standard two-vehicle leapfrog, which told her two things. First, she’d worried—or had just pissed off—Renee enough for the woman to order two men to sit on her. And second, Renee wasn’t worried or pissed off enough to delegate a more effective shadow.
Eve engaged her recorder. “I’ve got a tail, a two-point switch-off. Both departmental issues—for Christ’s sake, do they think I’m a moron?”
Really, it was a little insulting.
She read off the makes, models, licenses, then ordered her cams to zoom in on each to document before requesting a standard operator run.
The vehicle currently two blocks behind her was assigned to Detective Freeman. The one breezing by her to circle around the block and take the rear again was assigned to a Detective Ivan Manford.
“We’ll add you to the list, Ivan. Now, let’s play.”
She cut over to Fifth, continued downtown, deliberately falling into a nice little knot of traffic. She faked a couple of attempts to thread through, watched Freeman’s vehicle swing by. Timing it, she pried her way between a Rapid Cab and a gleaming limo, bulled by, and nipped through a light as it went red.
Manford would pass her to Freeman, she knew, until he could move back into position. But that would be a problem as Freeman had cut west. Eve hit vertical, skimmed over a lane, and to the music of angrily blaring horns, flashed east to play her own brand of leapfrog, nipping in front of a lumbering delivery truck whose driver stabbed up his middle finger.
She couldn’t really blame him.
She swung downtown on Lex, punched it, enjoying the speed and the occasional vertical lift, until she headed west again, shoving her way crosstown.
“Chasing your own tails now,” she murmured, and though she preferred street parking, decided on an overpriced lot two blocks from Strong’s building.
She tucked her vehicle between a couple of bulky all-terrains, engaged her security.
Renee, she thought as she strolled through the warm summer night, would be very displeased.
Working-class neighborhood, she noted, with plenty of people also out for a stroll, or hanging out at one of the tiny tables squeezed in front of tiny cafés or sandwich bars. Traffic rumbled by on its way somewhere else. Some of the shops remained open, hoping to entice some trade from the residents who were too busy earning a living to spend their pay during the day.
She followed a Chinese delivery guy straight into Strong’s building, catching the door on the backswing. He angled off on the second floor of the walk-up, but the scent of kom pao chicken lingered while Eve climbed to three.
Outside Strong’s apartment door Eve caught what sounded like a high-speed car chase. Watching some screen, she concluded. Tucked in for the night, security light a steady red. She flicked her gaze up, spotted the dark eye of a minicam.
So Strong took security precautions, which to Eve’s mind made the detective smart enough to guard her own.
Now, she supposed she’d see just what kind of cop Lilah Strong turned out to be.
She lifted her fist and knocked.
14
SHE HEARD THE YAP-YAP-YAP OF WHAT SOUNDED like a small canine, then the slide of bolt, the click of opening locks.
The man who opened the door was big—Arena Ball-tackle big—with massive shoulders, tree-trunk legs, and bricklayer biceps.
He gave her a friendly smile as he stood with his bulk barring the entire doorway.
“Hi. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Detective Strong.” She shifted her gaze down to the puffball with teeth dancing at his feet. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.”
“She doesn’t bite,” he said. “She just wants you to think she’s fierce.” Bending, he scooped the puffball into his hand and made shushing noises. “Lilah! Cop at the door.”
“Yeah? What cop?”
Strong looked around the man’s mass, and her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Detective. Can I come in?”
“Ah, sure ...” Obviously off guard, Strong looked around the room the way people did when unexpected company made them wonder how big a mess they had lying around.
In Strong’s case it was minimal in a simply furnished living area set up for comfort.
“Tic, this is Lieutenant Dallas, Homicide, out of Central. Tic Wendall.”
Tic offered a hand the size of a meat platter, and the careful way he took hers made her think of Mavis’s Leonardo. Big men with gentle ways.
“Nice to meet you.”
“The same. Sorry to interrupt your evening. Detective, I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“Why don’t I give you ladies the room,” Tic began, “and take Rapunzel out for her walk?”
At the word walk the dog wiggled in Tic’s hold and did her level best to lap the skin off his face. He set the dog down. “Get your leash, girl.”
At the command the tiny dog scurried off in a storm of delight.
“Thanks, Tic.”
“No problem.” He took a poop bag out of a box near the door, and when the dog came back with a bright pink leash clamped in the tiny teeth, he clipped it on her jeweled collar.
“Back soon,” he told Strong, and kissed her in a way that told Eve they’d been together long enough to be casual.
Eve waited until the door closed behind them. “You have a dog named Rapunzel that’s the size of a well-fed rat?”
“Tic has the dog. She’s all hair, so, she’s Rapunzel. He takes her everywhere—even to work.”
“What’s he do?”
“He’s a lawyer—tax attorney.”
“I figured him for Arena Ball, plowing the field.”
“Tic lacks the killer instinct. Sweetest man I’ve met in all my life, and I don’t think you came here to talk about my guy.”
“No. Can we sit?”
“Okay.” Strong switched off the screen, pointed to a chair. “Tic does some home-brew,” she said, nodding at the bottles on the coffee table. “Do you want one?”
“Wouldn’t say no,” Eve told her, knowing sharing a couple of short brews indicated the visit wasn’t official.
She took her seat, then the bottle Strong offered. She sipped. “Good. Smooth.”
“He’s got a knack.” Strong dropped down on the couch but didn’t relax. “What are you after, Lieutenant?”
“You know I’m investigating a homicide that crosses with your squad.”
“That’s no secret.”
“Did you ever meet my vic? Keener?”
“Never had the pleasure.”
“Did the squad give him space because he was the boss’s weasel?”
“Maybe.” Strong took a hit of brew. “Myself, I never had any reason to roust him.”
“You’re mostly riding a desk now.”
Her face remained absolutely neutral. “A lot of work gets done at a desk.”
“It can. You’re a street cop, Detective, and your previous record on the street’s solid. It makes me wonder why your lieutenant has you doing follow-ups and writing up reports.”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“I’m asking you.”
Strong shook her head. “If you think I’m going to whine and bitch ab
out my LT, you’re going to be disappointed. It’s no secret either, sir, you and Oberman are butting heads. You want dish? I’m not serving it.”
“You don’t like how she runs the squad. You don’t have to say anything.” Eve gestured casually with the brew bottle. “I’m just stating my personal observations. You don’t like being behind a desk when you know damn well you’d do more good on the street. You think it’s bullshit—the suits and ties, the shiny shoes—and the tone of the squad, that always reflects the boss, precludes any personality, any sense of partnership. You don’t like the closed-door meetings behind the shutters, or her daily fashion parade, or the fact that she acts like a CEO instead of a cop. It’s not a squad, it’s her personal kingdom—and her next stepping stone to captain’s bars.”
When Strong said nothing, Eve nodded, sat back. “I know something else. If another cop slammed me like that to one of my men, there’s not one in my division who’d sit there and say nothing.”
Strong shrugged. “I bet there are a whole bunch of people in the city who don’t especially like their boss.”
“Like doesn’t mean dick. Respect does, and you don’t respect her. Giving her respect,” Eve expanded, “isn’t the same as feeling it. She knows you don’t. It’s only one of the reasons your evals have gone down since you joined the squad.”
The first sign of anger rippled over Lilah’s face. “How do you know about my evals?”
“I know a lot of things. I know Oberman isn’t just a lousy cop. I know she’s dirty.”
Strong shook her head, stared fiercely across the room.
“Your gut’s told you the same,” Eve continued. “You’re too good not to have caught a whiff. Too good not to wonder why so many weigh-ins come in light.”
“If there was a problem with the weigh-ins, there’d be questions up the line.”
“Not when she’s got somebody covering the numbers in Property, in Accounting. You’ve got experience, contacts—valuable ones. But who gets the heavy cases? Bix? Garnet? Marcell? Manford? Manford and Freeman tried to tail me here tonight.”
Strong’s gaze snapped back to Eve’s.
“I’m better than they are,” Eve told her. “No worries. They tried because earlier today Oberman finally figured out I’m not going to play ball. Shutting me out hasn’t worked. She has to think about shutting me down, has to figure out where I’m going, and why I’m going there.”
Eve took out her PPC, called up a file—then handed it to Strong. “That’s my vic.”
Lilah studied the crime scene shot. “That’s a bad end.”
“Bix ended him, on Oberman’s orders.”
With some force, Lilah shoved the PPC back at Eve, pushed to her feet to pace away. “Goddamn it. Goddamn it.”
“I know this for a fact. I have a witness who overheard Oberman telling Garnet just that, who overheard her discussing business, the dirty money.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Lilah leaned her hands against the narrow kitchen counter that separated the living space from a kitchenette.
“She’s built her organization over years.” Eve rose as well. “Using her father’s name, sex, bribery, threats, guile—whatever it takes. Including killing other cops.”
At the statement, Lilah’s face went blank.
“Not herself—I don’t know if she’s got the stones for it. Bix seems to be her primary weapon. But she has others. Marcell and Freeman am-bushed Marcell’s old partner. Detective Harold Strumb. I’m moving to prove she was also responsible for the death of Detective Gail Devin, who served under her briefly. Devin’s record, her style—a lot like yours. If she can’t weed out cops who aren’t useful to her, or who start looking too close, she eliminates them.”
“You can’t prove any of this.” Lilah’s throat rippled as she swallowed. “If you could she’d be in a cage right now.”
“I will prove it. Count on it. You’re not with her, Detective. I’m not wrong about that. She’s got a twelve-man unit. Garnet, Bix, Freeman, Marcell, Palmer, Manford, Armand. That’s seven out of twelve I know or am damn close to knowing are on the take—and worse—with her. I put you on the other side. What about the other four?”
“You want me to pimp out my squad, my boss?”
“How many more cops have to die before somebody stands up and takes her down?” The fury edged through now, couldn’t be contained. “You know she’s dirty, Lilah. You were hot when I said it, but you weren’t surprised.”
“I can’t prove anything. No, I don’t like the way she runs the squad. There’s a lot I don’t like. But I worked hard to get into Central. It’s where I want to work. In another six months, I’m going to put in for a transfer to another squad. If I do it now, it looks like I can’t stick.”
Lilah picked up her brew, rubbed the chilled bottle over her forehead as if to cool it. “I want to do the job. I need to get back out and do the job so I know it matters if I get up in the morning. She gives me some raps in my evals, I can take it. I can sit a desk for a year as long as I know at the end of it, I’ll be back doing what I’m trained to do. Who’s going to work with me, Lieutenant? Who’s going to trust me if I turn on my own?”
“Okay. I appreciate the time.”
“That’s it?” Lilah demanded. “You come here, lay all this on me, then you appreciate the time.”
“I’m not going to try to talk you into something that’s against your instincts. Mine brought me here. If they’re wrong, and anything I’ve said here gets back to Oberman, I’ll know where it came from. Otherwise, I’ve got no problem with you. I may not agree with where you stand, Detective, but I understand it. I can’t promise you a damn thing. I can’t tell you if you cooperate here it’ll all be roses when it’s done. I can’t promise other cops will pat you on the back.”
“I don’t give a shit about that.”
“Yes, you do. We all do. Because if we can’t count on each other, we can’t count on anyone, or anything. And that alone makes Renee Oberman the worst of the worst.
“Thanks for the brew.”
“Asserton’s not in it.”
Eve paused at the door, turned back. “Why?”
“She gives him mostly bullshit assignments—which is more than she usually gives me. Has him doing a lot of PR with schools, playing Officer Friendly. He’s a street cop. He’s riding it out. His wife had a baby a few months ago, and the assignments, the hours make it easier to deal. But he’s starting to get itchy. I know he’s thinking about transferring—out of the squad and Illegals.
“He sneaks pictures of his kid in to show me. He hates Oberman’s guts.”
“Okay.”
“If Manford’s in, so’s Tulis.” On a sigh, Lilah pressed fingers to her temple. “They’re practically joined at the hip. Tulis likes to hassle the street LCs into giving him free samples. He tried to cop a feel on me in the break room.”
“How long before he could use his hand again?” Eve wondered.
Lilah’s smile flickered, but died. “I punched him in the face, and I reported the incident to Oberman, immediately. The upshot was Manford swore he was in there, too, and Tulis never touched me, only told a dirty joke and I overreacted.”
“Tulis makes eight.”
“Brinker’s sleeping his way through until he gets his twenty. He’s looking at private security so he can sleep his way through that. I’d say Oberman’s setup is too much effort for him. Sloan, she keeps her head down and her mouth shut. She wants the desk. She got roughed up pretty good during an altercation with a couple dealers last year. The fact is, Lieutenant, Sloan lost her belly for the street.”
“It happens,” Eve agreed.
“Maybe she knows or suspects, but I don’t think she’d be involved. I don’t think Oberman would trust her.”
“I agree. That’s all good to know.”
Lilah sat, rubbed her hands over her face. “She carries a disposable’link. I opened her door once, poked my head in without waiting for her come-ahead, and she was on
it. She reamed me—you’d’ve thought I’d walked in on her having sex with the commander.”
Lilah dropped her hands. “I think she’s got a hide in her office.”
Interesting, Eve thought, as she suspected the same. “Why do you think that?”
“She keeps the place locked like a fort most of the time. The only reason I could poke my head in that day was because Garnet had just come out, and she hadn’t locked the door again. That door is locked more than it’s not, and the blinds are always closed. Always. But I think maybe she’s got eyes and ears on the squad room.”
Blinds down so she can’t be seen, Eve mused, but wants to keep the hawkeye on her men.
“Back when I first transferred,” Lilah told her, “I got a couple prime tips. Before I could move on them, she dumped a bullshit assignment on me. Both times I told her I had something hot, and she ordered me to pass the heat to Garnet. One time? Maybe. Not twice.
“Same deal for Asserton,” she added. “She’s dumped him into something crap just when he hit on hot. I’m pretty sure the break room’s covered, too. Asserton showed me a picture of his kid in there, right after he was born. Ten minutes later, Oberman’s calling him in to remind him of her policy against personal items in the squad.”
“Will he talk to me? Asserton?”
“I think he will. But ... I know he’ll talk to me. We grab lunch together sometimes. He’s the only one in the squad I feel a connection to.”
“You be sure, absolutely sure, before you do. You don’t talk in the squad room, or in Central. You don’t talk by ’link or e-mail. Face-to-face, somewhere you can be sure nobody’s listening.”
“You already figured he wasn’t in it. You wouldn’t give me the go like this just on my take.”
“He was my next stop if you said no. But you confirmed my take on him. Don’t be so sure Brinker’s sleeping—he’s still an unknown for me. People who look like they’re not paying attention are often the ones who are.”
“I wouldn’t put him with her. I can’t see it.”
“Maybe he’s not,” Eve said. “But he’s been in the squad nearly as long as she’s had command. Nobody lasts that long unless they’re in it, or she has another use for them. Sloan, she’s probably going to be clear because Oberman doesn’t like to work with women—but we’re not moving there as yet either. Sloan took a hard knock. Hard knocks can convince people to go along.”