Hooked

by Polly Iyer

  Relax? I don’t think so, Agent Winokaur. But she forced another bite of food into her mouth, even though it had lost its taste. When they finished, he said, “You know something you’re not sharing about Cooper’s place, don’t you? And it concerns Mario Russo.”

  “Give me tonight,” she said. “If I can’t verify my theory, I’ll tell Walsh what it is. I don’t want to do it now. I could be wrong.” She met his gaze. “Please.”

  “As long as you agree to get the hell out of there if you think you’re in any danger.”

  For the second time in a week, she said, “Deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bad Feeling

  Linc slept fitfully and woke tired. For the last two nights, thoughts of Tawny raced through his mind, one on top of the other, leaving him so confused he wasn’t sure what anything meant anymore.

  Lust. He’d come home on Tuesday and looked it up in the dictionary: intense sexual desire or appetite. Uncontrolled or illicit sexual desire or appetite; lecherousness.

  Yes, Tawny Dell incited strong sexual feelings, but there was more. Something internal he couldn’t explain. He needed to step back and consider what she said about her past, study it objectively. It didn’t help when he got to his desk and found a message from Harry mentioning Mario Russo’s two visits to Cooper’s establishment, the second on Monday night―the night Tawny worked there.

  Linc realized at that moment what Tawny was talking about. The part of her history he’d consciously ignored. Tawny Dell engaged in a long-term relationship with the crime boss, among others. Could Linc file that in a folder that read “Never Open”? Could he disregard all the men Tawny had taken money to service over a fifteen-year career? Reality. That’s what she called it, and she was right. Linc didn’t know many men who could put that kind of a woman’s past behind them. Could he? He had no answers. All he knew was he wanted her in ways that defied logic. Tawny, the woman. Not the high-priced call girl.

  He put the conflicting thoughts aside and spent the afternoon working with a rape victim in the hospital. Her information pointed to the same young white male rapist, and she was the only one so far who could make a clear identification. This could be their lucky break. A police artist was with her now.

  After an okay from the captain to stake out Cooper’s place, Linc requisitioned an unmarked car to make sure Tawny went in and came out safely. If she recognized him, she’d be pissed. She had his cell number. If anything went wrong, he’d be there in a matter of minutes. He wanted to call and warn her to be careful, but he didn’t want to bring up what she was doing.

  Reality.

  Six o’clock. He’d grab a bite to eat and get in position by nine. Her appointment was at ten, but he wanted to be there early because he’d bet she’d go early and snoop.

  “Come on,” Dennis said, barreling into the office. “We’re gonna take a ride.”

  “Where to?”

  “Brooklyn.”

  Linc checked his watch. “I’m staking out Upper Eighties tonight. Get one of the other guys to go.”

  “This ties to the Cooper case.”

  “What case?” Linc said. “We don’t have a case.” Not unless Tawny gets something tonight.

  “We do now. Ever hear of a guy by the name of Rick Martell?”

  Why did that name ring a bell? “Sounds familiar. Who is he?”

  “The name would sound an alarm if you were a fed. He’s Mario Russo’s money man, related to the old man by marriage.”

  He remembered now. Harry had mentioned him, suggesting Martell had set up Tawny’s offshore account. Linc’s stomach flipped. He had an ugly feeling he didn’t want to hear what was coming next. “What’s he got to do with us?”

  “Martell’s dead, and he left a suicide note. Couldn’t live with the guilt of killing a couple of hookers. Wanna guess who?”

  Now he knew he didn’t want to hear this. “Sarah Marshall and Cindi Dyson?”

  “You got it, Einstein. That’s why the guys at the 62nd called us. That enough of a connection for you?”

  Linc checked his watch one more time. He could make it back before nine, at the latest ten. Tawny’s leaving was more important than her going in. Mind made up, he grabbed his jacket. How long could this take? He followed Dennis to the car. “I don’t suppose he wrote where he committed these murders, like Benny Cooper’s establishment.”

  “Said he killed both women in some motel in Brooklyn. Dumped Marshall in the harbor and put Dyson in a suitcase and dumped her in the East River near the Main Street section of Brooklyn Bridge Park. This time he weighted it down so she wouldn’t pop up.”

  “Man, I hate to hear that.”

  “Why?” Dennis asked, getting behind the wheel.

  “Don’t you find that a little too convenient?” Linc buckled his seatbelt. “Guy leaves a suicide note, confesses to one murder we haven’t been able to pin on anyone, then he tells us where to find the body of a second woman we only suspected was dead. Sounds like someone wanted to tie up all the loose ends with a big pretty bow. I bet the note’s written on a computer too. Not in Martell’s handwriting.”

  “Don’t know. We’ll find out when we get there.”

  “Brooklyn,” Linc said. “This stinks.”

  Dennis groaned. “I hate when you’re logical. Fucks up everything.”

  “Mario Russo’s all over this. Listen to this. It’s hypothetical, but it could have happened this way. Tawny found out that Cindi Dyson worked at Cooper’s. That we know for a fact. Suppose Martell killed Dyson there. Could have been an accident, rage, who knows? Russo finds out and tells Cooper to keep his mouth shut. Meanwhile, someone dumps the girl’s body. What if Melody Carnes was involved or found out about it? She takes off but finds out the cops were knocking on her door. She panics and calls Cooper. Then Cooper calls Russo.”

  “Why? Cooper isn’t the kind of guy who’d call a mob boss. He’d pack the girl off, give her a bundle, and tell her to keep her mouth shut.”

  “Right, but he’s covering up a murder, accidental or not. That’s enough to put him in prison.” Linc thought for a minute. “Okay then, what if Martell confesses what happened to Russo. They’re tight, he’s Russo’s accountant, connected by marriage. Russo calls Cooper to make sure this isn’t going anywhere. Cooper assures him it isn’t, but after we try to question Carnes, the cat is slowly creeping out of the bag. If she’s involved, she’ll make a deal to save her ass, and in the process flip on Martell.”

  “And if she flips on Martell,” Dennis said, “Martell might flip on Russo.”

  “Right,” Linc said, drawing out the word as the scenario fell into place. “And Martell knew where all the dirty money is.”

  “Why not take out Melody Carnes and solve everyone’s problem?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe by the time Russo found out, she’d flown the coop. Hmm,” Linc said, leaving the sound hanging.

  “What?”

  “Maybe there’s something more. What if Russo wanted to get rid of Martell?”

  “You mean for other reasons?”

  “Yeah,” Linc said, “why not?”

  * * * * *

  The forensic crew was already at the scene when Linc and Dennis arrived. They put on protective shoe coverings and the detective in charge, Ron Shute, waved them inside. The familiar smell of death hung in the air.

  “Thirty-eight to the temple,” Shute said after they exchanged names. “Martell is supposed to pick up his kid from school on Thursdays to take her to dance class while his wife gets her hair done. When he didn’t show, his kid called the mother, and she called over here. When Martell didn’t answer, she drove over, probably to tear into his ass. Martell’s Caddy’s parked outside, and the door to the office was unlocked. That scared her because it’s always locked. That’s the way she found him.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She gave a statement and one of our guys took her and the kid home. They were pretty shook.”

  “No wo
nder.”

  Martell’s massive torso spread over his desk like a beached whale, one hand holding the gun, the other outstretched. A Mont Blanc pen lay to the side of the gun. Linc took in the office. “Where’s the computer?”

  “Gone, and there’s nothing here to connect him to the mob. Our computer specialist said his files are most likely backed up and stored somewhere, ’cuz they ain’t here either.”

  “This is as phony as that end-of-the-world charlatan,” Dennis said.

  Linc studied the body. “Time of death?”

  “M.E. said sometime late yesterday morning.

  “Anyone check on Russo?”

  “First thing. He was having a chemo treatment, not that he’d leave himself without an alibi.”

  “Where’s the note?” Shute pulled a plastic bag from a folder. Linc glanced at Dennis. “What’d I tell you?”

  “Printed, but it’s signed.”

  Linc looked closer. “It’s an accountant’s stamp. Still, it doesn’t add up. All these years, everything Russo’s been involved in, including murder, hasn’t bothered Martell. Now, all of a sudden, he grows a conscience? I don’t buy it.”

  “How the hell did they think they’d get away with this?” Dennis said.

  “Who?” Shute asked.

  Dennis shrugged. “That’s the question. Russo has to be involved. No one takes out one of his people without his consent unless they want to start a war.”

  “Any bruising on the body?” Linc asked. “Martell wouldn’t put a gun to his head and shoot himself because someone told him to. They’d have to put him out first.”

  “Have to wait for the medical examiner for that one,” Shute said. “But I’d guess you’re right. Someone caught him off guard, knocked him out, and set him up while he was unconscious.”

  Linc circled the body. “It’d have to be some blow to put this guy out. Whoever did this was big and very strong.”

  “That lets out Cooper,” Dennis said. “I can’t see him tackling Martell.”

  “Neither can I.” Two men came in with a gurney and body bag and started to move Martell. Linc turned to Shute. “Have the M.E. check for Taser marks. That’d be one way to put this guy down.”

  “If they’re there, the doc will find them. Divers will start the search for the girl’s body around the park area in the morning,” Shute said. “Won’t find anything tonight. With the currents, maybe never. Whoever dumped her would have to drive into the circle. Might find something there.”

  “If the note is the way it happened,” Dennis said.

  Linc moved toward the door. Dark shadows covered the street as dusk turned into night. “You ask around if anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Couple of my men are doing that now, but it’s after hours. Most of the shops are closed.” Shute pointed to the street. “Here they come.”

  The three detectives met the two uniforms outside. “What’d you find?” Shute asked.

  Linc listened, but it took a minute for him to register what he heard. When he did, cold sweat sprouted from his pores. He turned to the detectives. “Can we keep a lid on this for a few hours?”

  “Jeez, I don’t know. Probably already leaked, with the M.E. and everything.”

  “Try. Someone’s life could be at stake.”

  Shute shifted his gaze from one man to the other, then shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”

  Linc turned to Dennis. “We need to get back to the city,” he said, pulling out his cell. “Now.”

  As they walked to the car, Dennis said, “Both the taxi driver and the store owner described Tawny Dell.”

  “Sure as hell sounded like her. And I didn’t like the sound of the other person they described. I’m getting a bad feeling.”

  “Shit, I hate when you get those.”

  “Me too,” Linc said. “This time more than ever.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Digging Deeper

  That morning, Benny picked up two other children and took them all to day camp. Thursday was Eileen’s day to carpool, but she’d pulled her back playing tennis and didn’t want to miss a massage appointment. After he dropped off the kids, Benny returned home to enjoy his morning coffee and newspaper in solitude before heading for the city. Instead of going to Upper Eighties, his chauffeur dropped him off at Gruber’s Deli for lunch. He schmoozed with Sam, devoured a pastrami on rye, and drank his cream soda. He ordered a coffee to go. Today would be a great day. At least he thought so until he arrived at Upper Eighties and Colin waved him into the office.

  The day was sunny, no clouds in the sky, perfect temperature. Couldn’t be better. Then why did Benny have this feeling of doom? If he kept going to his apartment, ignored this needless distraction, nothing could spoil his day, right? But Benny responded to Colin’s beckoning finger and stepped into the office in spite of the urge not to.

  “I shouldn’t tell you this,” Colin began.

  Benny put up his hand. “Then do us both a favor and don’t.”

  “Something’s going to happen today that might upset you. You should be prepared.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Benny pulled the cover off his coffee. “Let me drink first. I might need the jolt.”

  “Then I suggest you get the scotch.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  What could be worse than two dead women, a psycho mob accountant, and a crime boss breathing down his ass? Colin appeared smaller somehow, pinched, and he looked scared. The only time Benny saw Colin scared was the night Rick Martell pulverized Cindi. Nothing could be that bad. Or could it?

  His chest tightened. “What? Tell me.”

  “Mario Russo hired Reggie to do Rick Martell.”

  “Do? What does “do” mean? You mean like a gay thing? Martell’s gay?”

  Colin made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a snort. Maybe a guffaw. “No, Benny. Reggie doesn’t cheat on me, and if he did, he wouldn’t butt-fuck a hippo like Martell.”

  Benny made a yech sound. “That’s disgusting, Colin.” He took another sip of coffee. “If that’s not what you meant, what did you mean?”

  “Do. Like off. You know, kill, murder.”

  “Kill, mur―” Benny’s ears started ringing. He wished he’d stayed home, wished he’d never left the frenetic pace of Wall Street. Wished he’d been on a steady diet of saltpeter. “Mur―” Colin’s voice became otherworldly. The office zoomed out until all Benny saw was a tiny square in a field of black with teensy Colin in the middle, right before he hit the floor like a sack of cement. He barely felt the spilled coffee burn the shit out of his pecker.

  * * * * *

  Benny woke with a start. Colin held a glass of scotch to his mouth, and the liquid dribbled down his chin onto his shirt. Gurgling, he shook off his tech.

  “I hope that’s not the good stuff,” Benny muttered.

  “You don’t leave that in the office.”

  Benny pulled himself up. His pants were coffee-stained. Good thing he kept clothes in the apartment. He jiggled himself. “God, that coffee was boiling hot.” He jiggled himself again. “Hurts like hell. Bet I’ll have a blister.”

  “Forget your dick. This is serious.”

  “What were you saying before I had a low blood sugar attack? Something about m-mur―, mur―. I can’t even say it. Tell me that was part of my blackout. Like a hallucination or a dream sequence. Tell me, Colin.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Benny got up and brushed himself off, wincing as he felt the raw spot rubbing inside his boxers. “What in the hell was Russo thinking? Why do that?”

  “I’m gonna tell you what Reggie told me. He wasn’t supposed to tell me, but he did. Russo figured if the cops came down hard on Melody, eventually she’d talk. She’d roll on Martell, and Martell would roll on Russo to cut himself a deal.”

  “Russo’s going to be dead in a few months. What would it matter?”

  “Martell knew everything, an
d not only about the Russo Family. He’d have been the biggest catch for the feds ever because he knew where all the money is. Russo couldn’t afford that. If he didn’t take care of business, someone else would.”

  “So let them. Why get Reggie to do his dirty work? No offense, Colin, but Reggie isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

  “I do take offense, Benny. Reggie’s my partner. And he’s loyal.”

  “Loyal,” Benny shrieked. “He told you. How loyal is that to Russo?” Benny rubbed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. “Who else have you told?”

  Colin blinked a few times. “Um, no one. Only you. I figured when Martell’s death hit the news, you’d give everything away. You’re not the cool guy you think you are, Benny. You get too excited. You could flip out in front of people. They’d be suspicious. You’re not supposed to know a guy like Martell.”

  “Okay, okay.” Colin was right, but that didn’t make anything better. This disaster was like an infection immune to medication. Every action to cover up one sore required something stronger to cover up a much worse disease. Pretty soon they’d need to amputate.

  “Oh, and here’s the best part,” Colin said, although Benny couldn’t imagine there was a best part. “Martell left a note saying he killed both Serena and Cindi in a fit of passion in a Brooklyn motel. He wrote where Reggie actually dumped the body. It’ll all work out. You’ll see. They won’t be able to connect Serena or Cindi to us, and the cops will get off our backs.”

  Benny wanted to say he didn’t think the cops were on their backs till now, not really. One phone call from the Walsh cop and a visit to Melody when she wasn’t even home hardly constituted harassment. She’d keep her mouth shut. It didn’t make sense for her to do anything else. Everything was fine. No need to get rid of Martell unless Russo had another reason to dispose of the fat man.