Dead Connection

by Alafair Burke

  “I don’t suppose you know whether it involved hacking into the school computers, did it?”

  “Well, that’s what Edmond said he did.”

  Ellie felt the beginnings of an adrenaline high. Whoever they were looking for had better-than-average computer skills.

  “To tell you the truth,” Suzanne went on, “the rest of us figured it was all talk. But the next thing you know, the rumor is Amy’s letting him cop a feel behind the school fence.”

  “I gather it didn’t last?”

  “Only until she got her college acceptance letters. She blew him off, then started complaining around town that he wouldn’t leave her alone. At first we all felt sort of sorry for him, like she kind of brought it on herself, but then he crossed this line. It was like he was trying to possess her somehow — like if she wasn’t going to be with him, then he wasn’t going to let her move on.”

  “And this continued even when she left for Colby?”

  “Um, yeah, I think so. They pressed charges at one point. I think he got, like, thirty days in jail. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to be thorough, but what does any of this have to do with what happened in New York?”

  “Probably nothing,” Ellie said, trying to keep her voice even, but knowing in her gut she could be on the right track. In a boy who was already unstable, seduction followed by rejection and a jail sentence could be a motive to kill, even years later. The question was whether Edmond Bertrand was unstable enough to take out a few extra people to cover his trail. “We’re just trying to make sure. There have been cases where people carry grudges for decades then reappear out of nowhere.”

  “I don’t think this is one of those cases. Evelyn and Hampton didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” Ellie asked.

  “Edmond Bertrand is dead. He overdosed on heroin. I was probably a junior in college by then. I heard about it at LSU.”

  Ellie looked at all the notes she’d just taken and ran a giant, frustrated scribble across them all. “No, I didn’t realize. They mentioned that things got worse after Bertrand’s arrest but—”

  “They got weird is what they got. Amy always wondered if he would’ve been using drugs at all if it weren’t for her. We tried telling her it wasn’t her fault. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s been dead for ten years.”

  “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry to waste your time,” Ellie said.

  “I’m sorry if you wasted yours. You don’t know who did this to her, do you?”

  Ellie wished she could offer another answer to the question but could think of only one honest response. “Not yet.”

  20

  HE LEFT WORK A LITTLE EARLY. HE WANTED TO SEE MEGAN WHEN she emerged from her building. He wondered if watching her — getting to know the life he would eventually take from her — would be as enjoyable as it had been with Amy Davis. Amy had been special. He had taken his time setting up every last detail. It had paid off too. The plan played out without a hitch.

  With Megan, everything was different. He had nothing against her personally. Not yet. At least not consciously. But following her, tracking her, secretly becoming a part of her life — it could still be fun. He was surprised at how eager he was to experience his own reaction.

  He sat at the front counter of the Starbucks on Forty-sixth, sipping an Oregon chai tea, monitoring the two revolving doors of the office building across the street now ridiculously named the Avenue of the Americas. He had seen seven pictures of Megan by now. The most recent involved little more than a sheer white negligee. Still, this would be his first look at her in person — in the flesh, so to speak. He wasn’t certain he would recognize her.

  But precisely six minutes and ninety-eight departing employees later, there she was. She pushed her way awkwardly through the door, carrying an overstuffed canvas book tote and a Macy’s shopping bag. So much for her claim of being low maintenance, the rare woman who despised shopping.

  That was not the only penchant for consumption she had lied about. The photographs she sent, even the racy one, had all been conveniently cropped beneath her ample chest. There had been one full-length shot, but two rug rats — a niece and nephew, she claimed — obscured her lower body. Watching her plod away from her building, he smiled slightly. Sure enough, she was a chubster. The only “athletic” frame she could legitimately avow belonged in a sumo ring. So predictable. So typical. Such a manipulative little liar.

  Over the years he had learned that everyone lied — not just to others, but to themselves. They convinced themselves that they were good and motivated by decency. They assuaged their own guilt by conjuring excuses for their self-interested actions. Megan, no doubt, persuaded herself that all of her self-indulgences were justified. He could just picture her fat face saying, “I deserve it,” as she shoveled in another piece of chocolate cheesecake.

  That’s how it was with the average person. They were dishonest and stupid, each trait feeding the other. Only a stupid person could believe the lies most people tell themselves. Only a blissfully ignorant person could be so stupid. He, on the other hand, was different. He was honest — at least with himself — and was definitely not stupid.

  Megan had a not unpleasant face, with round, pink cheeks and cheerful hazel eyes — at least she described them as hazel on FirstDate — and framed by bouncy brown curls. She reminded him of a Campbell’s soup kid. Or maybe one of those annoying Cabbage Patch dolls the spoiled girls collected when he was a kid.

  His heart rate picked up slightly as he walked outside and adopted a pace about half a block behind her. This would be the fun part. Spying online was one thing, but he had learned with Amy that he enjoyed the live version even more.

  Early on, he decided that the next victim would have to be a woman who contacted him. That way, the initial step was actually hers. He was just playing along. He had two other rules as well. Somewhere in the communications, he’d tip her off. He would give her a reason to be cautious. And third, if she ever told him to leave her alone, he would. It was that simple. He was empowering her to leave herself out of his game, if that’s what she chose.

  As he followed her down the stairway to the 7 train, he wondered why he had settled on Megan. It was true that she’d been assertive enough to e-mail him, satisfying his initial criterion. In her first e-mail, she suggested they had a lot in common because she also enjoyed reading The Da Vinci Code. But his in-box had no shortage of annoying e-mails from other women, each convinced they had found their soul mate in the most generic profile he had been able to create.

  What was it about Megan that had piqued his curiosity? He had plenty of time to figure that out as he got to know more about her — from a distance.

  ELLIE FOUND JESS sprawled across her couch at the apartment. He wore a wide-collared, checked shirt and a pair of weathered blue jeans. Were it not for the change of clothing and the can of aerosol cheese he was emptying directly into his mouth, she would have wondered whether he’d moved at all the entire day.

  She draped her down coat on a hook inside the doorway, kicked off her fleece-lined suede boots, and grabbed a bottle of Rolling Rock from the fridge. Nudging Jess’s legs, she sat next to him and took a long pull from the bottle.

  “New Yorkers are a bunch of wusses,” she declared, blowing her bangs from her forehead as she stripped down further, pulling off her bulky cable-knit cardigan.

  Jess used the remote control to mute a show about motorcycles. “That’s not a claim one hears too often.”

  “It’s the snow. A couple tiny flakes of wimpy pansy snow, and everyone goes ballistic. The drivers can’t drive. The pedestrians keep on with their stupid habit of waiting in the street for the light to change. Then they’re outraged when some dumbass who can’t drive starts to slide right into them through the slush. I must’ve seen three near misses just coming from the subway. And don’t get me started about the crowds on the train—”

  “I hate to break it to you, El, but you sound like a true New Yorker. �
��Yo, don’t gemme started.’”

  “Except I don’t talk like that. And I know how to drive in snow. And walk in it. And dress in it, for Christ’s sake. You know how many women I saw on the train wearing pointy high-heeled shoes? Three days of a Kansas winter, and these people would grow some sense.”

  “In more ways than one.”

  Ellie tipped the bottle at him, then finished it off. “Damn. Two weeks without a cigarette and I’m still craving it. You want something?” she asked, heading to the refrigerator. He passed on the offer, and Ellie settled back onto the couch with another beer and her laptop. She told Jess that they’d cleared Taylor and Mr. Right. “Still no word from Enoch,” she said.

  “What kind of name is Enoch?” Jess asked. “Sounds like some celebrity kid name, like Apple or Blanket.”

  Ellie flipped open her laptop and Googled “Enoch.” She clicked on an encyclopedia entry in Wikipedia.

  “Turns out to have at least one thing in common with Apple. It says here the name is biblical.” She scrolled down the screen. “The name comes up in two contexts. One was a son of Cain, as in Cain and Abel. And one was the son of someone named Jared.”

  “We sure learned a lot in those Confirmation classes, didn’t we?”

  The Hatchers had attended mass at Blessed Sacrament most Sundays, and Jess and Ellie had been raised to say prayers every night. But other than the well-known stories of Adam and Eve, Mary, Job, and Noah, their knowledge of the Bible was limited.

  She clicked on a few other links that popped up from the search. “I guess one of them is the basis of something called the Book of Enoch, which isn’t actually part of the Bible. Who the hell knows? Maybe it was the name of the guy’s first dog.”

  Ellie switched the computer to standby mode and lowered it to the floor.

  “I need a favor, Jess.”

  “Can’t say I recall you ever speaking that particular sentence.”

  “I mean it. It’s not much of an imposition. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’ll find some enjoyment in it.”

  “So what’s the hitch?”

  “Don’t make me regret asking. I need you to go with me somewhere.” She added, “It’s for the case I’m working.”

  Jess paused, obviously fighting the urge to go another round with her about her involvement in the case. “I can’t say anything to change your mind on this, can I?”

  “Nope.”

  Jess shrugged his shoulders. “Well in that case, don’t sweat it. I was being a dick last night anyway. So where are we headed?”

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they stood in the Vibrations parking lot.

  “Classy!” Jess yelled above the sound of traffic on the West Side Highway. He gestured to a life-size purple neon sign of an arched-back naked silhouette.

  “I don’t know. She’s got a little gut, don’t you think?”

  “I never thought I’d be going to a titty bar with my baby sister. It’s so wrong, on so many levels.”

  “I’m sure you won’t be looking at any of the dirty stuff.”

  “Of course not. I’m absolutely repulsed by the mere notion of it. The objectification of these women — it’s reprehensible, is what it is. I’m just doing my civic duty at the request of a police officer in need.”

  Ellie figured she’d have better luck at a club like Vibrations if she had a man with her. Since Flann had personal obligations, Jess would have to do.

  Vibrations earned its name in more than one way. The kinetic bass thump of heavy metal music rumbled through the floor of the building, while women in pasties and G-strings gyrated against poles, the floor, and, to the apparent delight of one drooling man at a front table, each other. The crowd was a bizarre mix of men sitting solo, staring longingly at the dancers, and groups of rowdier men who tried to appear more amused than titillated. Interspersed throughout were a few young women, no doubt fulfilling all kinds of fantasies for their accompanying boyfriends.

  The bouncer apparently assumed that Ellie and Jess were a similarly adventurous couple, throwing Jess a look that said, You scored, dude. His look turned guarded when Ellie asked for Seth Verona, the manager who was on duty the night Tatiana Chekova was shot.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “The New York Police Department.” Ellie flashed her shield.

  “He’s a little busy right now. We don’t have no problems here.”

  She took a look around the vast club. “You mean to tell me that the pasties and G-strings always stay on in those back rooms? I won’t find a guy copping an extra feel during a private lap dance? Something like that would cause you big problems with your liquor license.”

  “Yeah, all right. Hey, Crystal. Crystal. Get your skinny ass over here.” A tall woman with long, dark auburn curls and full red lips came their way. She wore four-inch plastic heels, a nine-inch leather miniskirt, and a purple halter top that barely covered her enormous breasts. “Take these guys back to Seth. Make sure you knock first.”

  “I’m sure Crystal’s her real name,” Jess said to Ellie as he eagerly took his place behind the towering woman.

  Following a knock and a quick conversation through the cracked door, Crystal delivered them to a plain-looking man sitting at his desk surrounded by ordinary off-white walls adorned with metal-framed Monet prints. Seth Verona, with his striped, collared shirt and horn-rimmed glasses, could have been anyone working anywhere. He invited them to take seats, like a travel agent about to book a trip for the happy couple.

  “We’re following up on an old case. Tatiana Chekova.” Ellie handed him a photograph to refresh his memory, but he shooed it away with a wave of a hand.

  “I remember. Not every day we have an employee shot in the parking lot.”

  “What do you remember about her?”

  “Dark blond hair. Pretty. Kind of a sweet girl, really. A lot less screwed up than most of them around here. She only worked for me a couple of months.”

  “She wasn’t a dancer?”

  “Not here she wasn’t. Maybe before, at another club. I got the impression she was trying to pull her shit together. Only wanted to wait tables, even though the money’s a pittance compared to the other girls. She was broke, I know that. I gave her some small advances here and there.”

  “You make a habit of handing out money before the girls have earned it?”

  “I wouldn’t be in business long if I did. Like I said, Tatiana was different. She was like a lost little puppy finally starting to make her way. And when I did front her some cash, she always caught up.”

  “Did she have any friends? Family?”

  “Now that I don’t know about. The way girls go in and out of this place, I try not to get too personal. You know what I mean?”

  “What about a boyfriend? A customer who might have shown a little more than the usual interest?”

  “Guys like that, they get taken in by the dancers — some girl who gives them a little extra knee time in the back rooms. The waitresses are just eye candy. There was this one guy, though. Not our usual type. Real straightlaced. Like an accountant. He’d come in by himself, but didn’t come off as lonely, you know? And he never sat near the stage. Always toward the back. I only saw him in here a few times, but every time I did, he was talking to Tatiana. Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing him since what happened.”

  Taylor Gottman had described the man lurking near Amy Davis’s apartment as tall and dark-haired. Ellie wondered if it was the same man who came to mingle with Tatiana. “Do you remember anything else about him? Age? Height? Hair color?”

  “Nah. Could be you for all I know,” Seth said, gesturing to Jess. “Okay, maybe not you. You, I can tell, aren’t straightlaced. But I can’t give you any details. I only remember the guy because I told the cops about it back then, the night she was killed.”

  Another piece of information that failed to make it into Becker’s reports.

  “What about that night? Do you remember anything unusual?”

  He chuckled. �
�Unusual? Every night at this place is unusual. But, no, nothing stood out about that night. Just like I told the cops then, Tatiana seemed fine. Worked her shift, served her drinks, and left. Next thing I know, a couple of guys come running in, yelling for 911.”

  “These are the members of the bachelor party?”

  “One of the bachelor parties, yeah. That sounds right.”

  “What about them? Did you notice any of them paying special attention to Tatiana? Or acting strangely afterward?”

  “Are you kidding? Those guys? Totally harmless. Now, you tell me a girl gets grabbed a little, maybe roughed up — I’ve learned by now a lot of guys you’d never suspect, they’ve got it in them. But a gun? No way were these guys packing.”

  Becker and his partner had had the same instincts.

  “I’m about to see Tatiana’s sister, Zoya. Her married name’s Rostov. She lives in Bensonhurst. You don’t happen to know anything about her, huh?”

  He shook his head. “Like I said, I don’t get personal. But send her my way if she’s looking for work. If I had more girls as good looking and reliable as Tatiana—”

  Ellie thanked Seth for his time, and then Jess spoke up for the first time.

  “Hey, I don’t suppose you’re hiring any guys, are you? Bar work, no dancing,” he said with a smile. “No drugs, no convictions.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  Jess wasn’t kidding. He made Ellie wait while he filled out an application.

  21

  ELLIE RODE THE SUBWAY TO BENSONHURST ALONE. NOT literally — as she shared a seven o’clock train with the crowds of nannies, housekeepers, and other workers finally making their way home from Manhattan — but she was unaccompanied.