Fatal Deception

by Russell Blake

  “Who were the others you were with?”

  “Besides the girl? You said you have an eyewitness.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  “I forget. The drugs, you know…”

  “Maybe a few days in a concrete cell for possession will clear the fog? I understand withdrawals can be ugly. I might just have to check in every few hours to see for myself.”

  “I have no idea where the drugs you are referring to came from. This is where I ask for a lawyer if you intend to pursue this farce.”

  Ron pushed to his feet. “I’m going to check your alibi.”

  “Yes. Do so. And then, if you’re willing to let bygones be bygones, I might remember who I was with.”

  Ben and Ron exchanged a look. The little weasel had painted Ron into a corner without breaking a sweat.

  “Where were you the weekend before the party?” Ron demanded.

  “I’ll answer, even though I asked for a lawyer, because I have nothing to hide. I was in the Poconos. You know the area? Lovely this time of year. They have Jacuzzis shaped like champagne glasses. A little, how do you say, white trashy, no? Would you like the hotel name?”

  “Yes.”

  Ron led Ben from the room and bolted the door behind them, and then turned to Ben. “He was at the hospital, wasn’t he?”

  “Sounds like it. A call will verify it.”

  “Damn. Make it.”

  “I will. Then what? The dope charge is a nothing, and we both know it.”

  “Yeah. We’ve got no leverage.”

  “Withdrawals seemed to get his attention. Maybe try the soft route?”

  “I knew this was too easy.”

  “You did chase him across a roof.”

  Ron rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna grab some coffee. You want some?”

  “Make mine a double.”

  Chapter 29

  Tess paced her hotel room, her body, like her mind, wound up and revving into the redline from frustration and inaction. Her anger at Ron’s approach was illogical, she knew, but another part of her argued that he should be doing something, anything, to get to the bottom of Dakota’s murder rather than focusing his resources on the prior cases and waiting for the labs to be delivered. She understood he was busy with the highest-profile case in the city’s recent history, but Dakota wasn’t just a statistic – she’d been, until only a few days ago, a living, breathing embodiment of tomorrow’s hopes and dreams.

  All of which had been destroyed. And it felt wrong to do nothing to avenge her. That was the heart of it – Tess not only wanted justice, but vengeance, in a very real, scorch-the-earth, Biblical sense. She wanted Dakota’s killer to suffer in agony, to know death was inexorably approaching, to apprehend that his future was nothing but infinite oblivion.

  She eyed the half-eaten plate of omelet she’d ordered that morning and gagged. She needed to get out of the room, to move. Tess glanced at her bike leaning in the corner, and nodded to herself. She’d ride the fury away, as she’d done so often before.

  Tess pulled on her riding outfit and was tying her hair back in a ponytail when an idea struck her: if Ron wasn’t going to at least talk to her cousin’s friends and poke around, she could. She’d share whatever she learned with Ron and perhaps convince him to prioritize Dakota’s case, or at least put more resources on it. So far it sounded like all he’d done was collect her corpse and ask for lab results, which was to say, precious little. Tess wasn’t constrained by his workload, and she might be able to do some good.

  The thought cheered her somewhat until she realized that it was Sunday. How would she find her cousin’s friends? Was there a show tonight? She didn’t know.

  She sat at the table, tapped her tablet to life, and browsed the web until she found a schedule for the ballet. There was, in fact, a performance that evening. Tess tried to recall what Dakota had said about her routine. Weekdays were full, but what about a Sunday?

  And then she remembered. Sundays, even with a performance scheduled, her cousin and her roommates and friends would get together at the place where they’d eaten and have a long lunch while talking shop. She checked the time and exhaled – two hours to kill, and she knew exactly how she would do it.

  The bellman watched as she carried her bike to the hotel entrance and set it on the sidewalk, which was largely empty on the weekend. She swung a leg over the saddle, snapped her shoe clip into place on the pedal, and with a glance over her shoulder, pushed off and did the same with the other before picking up speed.

  The temperature felt warmer than the day before, Indian summer in full blow, and she shifted through the gears until she was speeding along the street, dodging potholes and double-parked cars, constantly scanning her surroundings for unexpected threats, reading the direction of the front tires of the vehicles in front of her for clues that they were going to turn or change lanes. The process was exhilarating, second nature after two years as a messenger, and she reveled in the rush of the wind and her apparent freedom. It felt like she could just keep riding until the end of the earth, and she realized as she pointed her handlebars north how badly she missed that sensation.

  At Central Park, traffic grew denser until she was one of hundreds of bicyclists moving along the paths. Her destination wasn’t in question – Ron had mentioned that Dakota had been found at the boat pond, and she knew the location well. During temperate months, scores of children, faces smudged with remnants of Good Humor ice cream and sundry treats, would float model sailboats on the water, watched over by doting parents.

  Today, the area took on more ominous tones as she coasted to a stop near the boathouse. To her eye the area looked untroubled, no sign of the grisly find remaining in the late morning sun’s glow. She walked her bike along the perimeter of the pond, unsure what she was searching for, but not finding it. A kit of pigeons landed nearby, where an old woman was dispensing bits of day-old bread from a paper bag, and the birds scrabbled for the doughy morsels, wings flapping and chests puffed out. The sight of the woman’s lonely errand filled Tess with unaccountable sadness. What stories could she tell; what triumphs and defeats had she seen in her many years? Tess wasn’t surprised by her melancholy thoughts, but they weren’t helping her focus, so she dismissed them and continued on her circle of the pond.

  Finished with her lap around the water, Tess remounted her bicycle and pedaled north, pushing herself hard, the burn in her legs and lower back a reminder that she’d gotten soft in the intervening months. Used to be she could keep the pace up for eight hours without pause, and now, after forty-five minutes, even after a rest she was straining.

  She looped west near Ninety-Seventh Street, crossed the park, and returned south on Central Park West in anticipation of her lunch. Tess slowed as she rode back downtown, leaving herself half an hour to rinse off, change, and get to the restaurant. She wasn’t worried about running late – she had a feeling the ballerinas weren’t sticklers for promptness, just as she hadn’t been at their age.

  Tess made it back to the hotel and was in and out of the shower in a blink, selecting jeans and a faded Purdue sweatshirt matched with a pair of scuffed combat boots. She inspected herself in the mirror and decided to leave her hair up – she looked younger that way, and anything she could do to bridge the gap that might separate her from the dancers would doubtless work in her favor.

  The restaurant was bustling when she entered, and her heart fluttered when she saw the table with three of Dakota’s friends seated at it, subdued compared to her last meal with them. She approached and smiled when Dianne, one of Dakota’s roommates, caught her eye.

  “Dianne, right?” Tess said.

  “Yeah. Oh, my God, it’s Dakota’s cousin,” Dianne said as she stood. “Tess, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said, and Dianne embraced her.

  “I’m so sorry. It’s such a shock. We’re all floored…” Dianne said, choking on the last word.

  The other two girls looked away, eyes moist, and Tess fe
lt a tear roll down her face. “Yeah, it’s surreal. I mean, we were just here with her, and now…” Tess swiped the tear away. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. Please, here, sit down. Join us,” Dianne said. “You remember Jamie and Kirsten?”

  “Sure. Hi, guys.”

  “Hi.”

  The waiter came, and Tess ordered a lemonade and a salad. Once he had departed, the girls probed Tess for any information on what she thought might have happened, but she had no answers. When the food arrived, she nibbled at it halfheartedly, and Tess waited until everyone had pretty well finished eating to begin her inquiry.

  “You were her best friends in the city, you know,” Tess said. “She was so excited to be dancing with the company and to have such cool people to work with.”

  “Yeah, she was really amazing to hang out with. Always made us laugh,” Jamie agreed.

  “Did any of you ever meet her boyfriend?” Tess asked after a few minutes of easy chatter.

  They all shook their heads. “No. But we heard all about him. That’s all she talked about…other than ballet,” Dianne said.

  “What did she have to say? I know nothing about him.”

  “Oh, that he was super successful and handsome and basically rode up on a white unicorn and swept her off her feet,” Kirsten said with an eye roll, and then her face fell. “He must be devastated. I shouldn’t talk like that.”

  “I don’t know whether anyone’s even told him. I have no way of getting in touch. Did…did Dakota leave her phone or anything in her room that could help?”

  “You’re totally welcome to check if you like. Nobody’s gone in there yet,” Dianne offered.

  Tess felt a flash of annoyance. She knew the police were busy with leads on the other victims, but it felt like they were ignoring Dakota. Nobody had even sealed off her room? Or checked her things? “I don’t know. The police will probably want to look through her stuff.”

  “I can take a quick peek, if you want. Without disturbing anything,” Dianne said.

  Tess brightened. “That would be awesome. I’ll give you my number.”

  “Cool. Anything I can do to help.”

  “Did she mention his last name or where he works or anything? Maybe I can track him down.”

  “Not really,” Jamie said, shaking her head.

  “No,” Kirsten echoed.

  “Oh, she did mention his company once,” Dianne said. “But I’m terrible with that kind of thing. It was something with two words, though. Names.”

  Tess mentioned a couple of the big brokerages she used to deliver packages to, but Dianne frowned at each one. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, think about it. If you remember, tell me. I mean, he could be traveling or something and not have heard. Imagine how that would feel…” Tess paused to let it sink in. “Got a pen?”

  “Sure,” Dianne said, and offered Tess hers. Tess wrote her number on a paper napkin and handed it to her with the pen. Dianne looked at the number and tucked the napkin into her dance bag.

  Tess shifted on her seat. “I’m staying at the Envoy hotel downtown. If you find anything or if anyone else can help, let them know.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you have a performance tonight?” Tess asked.

  “Yeah, company barre at six, curtain at eight.”

  Jamie made a face. “It’s really hard to go on knowing that some crazy killer’s out there. It just makes you wonder if you’re next, you know? Like, is he connected to the company or something? It’s totally freaked a lot of us out.”

  “Yes, I can understand how tough that’s got to be. But the other two victims weren’t in the ballet, were they?” Tess asked.

  The ballerinas looked at each other. “No, I don’t think so,” Kirsten acceded.

  “Then I’d try not to let it throw you. Hard as that is,” Tess finished. She eyed the plates, noticing that she’d eaten more than any of them. “How do you keep your energy up on that few calories?”

  Jamie giggled nervously, and Dianne and Kirsten looked away. “A lot of coffee and diet cola,” Dianne said.

  “Yeah. A lot,” Kirsten echoed.

  Tess noticed a distinct cooling of the mood at that, and Dianne signaled for the check. Tess grabbed it when the waiter brought it. “This one’s on me. For Dakota.”

  The girls nodded and allowed her to pay and, once their drinks were finished, rose from the booth. Tess touched Dianne’s arm as they walked to the exit.

  “Will you call me if you remember anything about Jeremy?”

  “Sure. And I promise I’ll look for Dakota’s phone.”

  “Or anything else that could help.”

  “Right. I’ll call either way tomorrow. But I won’t get home till one or so tonight.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “What did you say?” Dianne asked, an odd expression on her face.

  “Um…that’s perfect?”

  She stared at Tess’s boots and then into her eyes with a shy smile. “That’s the name of the company. That Jeremy works for!”

  “What?”

  “Regis and Perfect.”

  Tess nodded. She’d done deliveries to the firm, just as she had every bank and hedge fund on the Street. She smiled at the younger woman in return and nodded. “Regis and Prefect,” she corrected. “I’ve heard of them.”

  Chapter 30

  Ron grudgingly released Sato, with the caveat that he’d need to make himself available should the police have any further questions, and Sato agreed, his composure never once cracking. Ron had returned the antibiotics but discarded the heroin with the warning that the Japanese would have to write off the loss as an occupational expense.

  Back in his cubicle, the floor largely unoccupied, he reviewed all the information he’d collected so far, and decided that out of the ones he’d spoken with so far, he still liked Stibling for the murders. He had no idea how the old douche might lure a youngster like Tess’s cousin into his scheme, but money had a way of lubricating even the most obstinate of hurdles, and Ron was pragmatic enough to understand that it could buy just about anything.

  His desk phone rang, and he answered on the second ring.

  “Stanford.”

  “Ron, it’s Amy. I got the results back on the DNA match for the hair, as well as the latest girl’s autopsy. As we saw on the second girl’s labs, the last one also had methamphetamine in her bloodstream. Lower concentration level, so probably her last hit was a few days before she was killed.”

  “Wait. Dakota Reed? The dancer? She was doing meth?”

  “Correct.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. And now for the good news. The hair match. We got a hit on one Paulo Bollo. Thirty-three, Italian, did some time for dealing.”

  “You send his jacket over?”

  “Already emailed.” Amy paused. “He’s no construction worker, Ron.”

  “I read between the lines. Can you also forward me the results on Dakota? Anything else stand out in terms of time of death?”

  “I told you it would be more difficult. Best I can do is an eight-hour period. The night before you got the video. Thursday, from ten p.m. to seven a.m. It’s all in the report. I’m still waiting for a couple of tests to come back, and then I’ll shoot it off to you.”

  “Thanks, Amy. You’re a genius.”

  “Not really, but flattery never hurts. Just don’t lay it on too thick.”

  Ron hung up and turned to his monitor. He pulled up his email and opened the attachments Amy had sent. First was Paulo’s record. His last address was not that far from the station, near the river. Ron studied the booking photograph – this was no doubt the Latin that Stibling had seen Dusty with. Long dark hair, a sparse five-day growth of goatee, pockmarked face, the gaunt features of a habitual hard-drug user.

  He turned to Paulo’s arrest log. Busted several times for possession of stolen goods, but charges dropped for insufficient evidence. Then a weapons charge that had pled down to a m
isdemeanor with time served and a fine. Followed six months later by the drug arrest – ecstasy, just enough to make it dealing. Did nine months upstate, no arrests since. That was five years ago. He’d shown up for parole on time and straight, and hadn’t had any further entanglements with the system.

  Until a fragment of his pubic hair had been found on Dusty.

  Paulo’s Sunday was about to take a marked turn for the worse.

  Ron read the notes in the file that identified Paulo as suspected of being mobbed up – specifically with the Italian mafia family that ran most of the waterfront and collaborated with the newly arrived Russian mob on prostitution and protection. It was unknown whether he was a made man or one of the constellation of wannabes who did the grunt work for the higher-ups, but he was definitely connected in a big way.

  Ron reached for his phone and dialed Ben’s extension. When the younger detective answered, he relayed the information about Paulo and suggested they bring him in.

  “What about a search warrant?” Ben asked.

  “We can have Larraby deal with it. He’s hot to get this cleared, and he knows a lot of judges.”

  “Got it. I’ll get the car.”

  Ron gave him the address and next called the captain at home to report on the new development and request that he begin the process of obtaining a warrant. Larraby agreed and wished him luck, and then Ron was trotting to the elevator, a tremor of anticipation in his chest at the possibility that Paulo could be their man.

  The drive took ten minutes. When a surprised and somewhat hungover Paulo answered his door, he was unsettlingly calm when they took him into custody. Ben read him his rights and he grunted an affirmation that he understood them, and remained silent.

  “You’re being arrested for murder one, big boy,” Ron said.

  “You kidding me?” he asked.

  “Look like we are?” Ben said as he twisted cuffs closed on his wrists.

  There was nothing in his pockets but his apartment keys and a few hundred dollars, which Ben signed into evidence as Paulo was processed at the precinct. After his mug shots had been taken and he was fingerprinted, Ben escorted him to an interview room and cuffed him in place. Ron entered behind them and switched on a voice recorder.