Fatal Deception

by Russell Blake

  “What is it now?” his contact asked.

  Ron told him he needed another unofficial glance at the cell records. “Jeremy Glass. I need to know where he was Wednesday night, two weeks ago.”

  “Try asking him.”

  Ron groaned. “Come on. What’s the cost? Dinner?”

  “At McDees? No thanks.”

  “Name a place,” Ron said, and gave the tech Jeremy’s cell number. The tech mentioned a mid-priced steak restaurant. Ron sighed. “You’re killing me here.”

  “You wanna play, you gotta pay. I’ll get back to you later. Maybe tomorrow. It’s almost quitting time, and I’ve got a backlog.”

  “No hurry. I’m only tracking a murderer who could kill again at any moment.”

  “I can almost taste the steak now. But my boss is here, so I’ve got to go. I’ll call when I have something.”

  “If you can tell me where he is right now, that would also be great. I’d throw in a bottle of red for that, if you can get back to me in the next half hour.”

  “Cheapo chianti or upscale cab?”

  “Your choice.”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  Ron’s next call was to Jeremy’s office to ask whether he was in.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Glass has already left for the day,” the receptionist said.

  Ron checked his watch. It was already almost six and would be dark in an hour, tops.

  Ben poked his head around the corner. “You still here?” he asked.

  Ron hung up and nodded. “The Dakota case is reopened.” He told Ben about the call from the sheriff and Gunter’s alibi.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I want to have a chitty chat with Jeremy.”

  “You going to call his cell?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Ron’s desk phone rang. It was his tech buddy. “He’s in the Upper East Side right now.”

  “That’s his home. I’ve got the address. And Wednesday?”

  “His phone was stationary from two o’clock that afternoon until five the next morning. Wall Street tower.”

  “Crap. He must have left it in his office,” Ron said. “Thanks. I owe you dinner. I don’t suppose there’s any way you could keep an eye on it and call me if he moves in the next hour, is there?”

  “I’ll throw that in, free of charge.”

  “You’re a real mensch.”

  “Don’t be a hatah.”

  Ron turned to Ben. “Let’s go pay Jeremy a visit.”

  “You going to fill me in on why?”

  “On the way uptown. Let’s go.”

  “Traffic’s going to be a snarl. Can it wait an hour?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’ll get a car. But we could probably walk there faster than we’ll get there on surface streets during rush hour.”

  An image of Tess, on her bike, wending her way through stalled traffic sprang to Ron’s mind, and he smiled in spite of himself.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Chapter 50

  Tess looked down on the city from her window, lost in thought, replaying her night with Ron, sleepy but satiated. It had been too long, and she’d been like a woman lost in the desert who’d stumbled across an oasis, drinking greedily until her thirst was slaked. He was an unexpectedly good lover – unexpected because he seemed so conservative and polite in his bad jacket and sensible slacks. But in bed…in bed he revealed a different side, and she’d marveled at how well they fit together and matched each other’s intensity.

  She ran her fingers through her mane and closed her eyes, remembering Ron’s touch. He’d pulled the hair at the back of her head and bitten her shoulder as he’d climaxed the first time, triggering her own spasm in a rush – something she hadn’t believed would happen until it had taken her by surprise.

  The sex was a departure from the rough sort she’d enjoyed with Nick, her last boyfriend, which had been satisfying and dangerous, but ultimately emotionally empty. The difference between sex and making love had never been more obvious than in the hours she’d spent with Ron, and the experience had rocked her world.

  Why him? It was just so weird. But she wasn’t in a mood to question it. That the night had been magical was enough. Tess had learned to live in the present rather than making plans in a futile attempt to control the future, and she wasn’t about to deconstruct her time with Ron to figure out exactly what was special about it. That it was, she felt in her core. The why was ultimately unimportant.

  Her cell rang. It was Claire, about her father’s apartment.

  “Sweetie, we’ve got an offer.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes, and it’s for your asking price! How’s that for an early Christmas?”

  “Wow, really? That’s awesome. What do I have to do?”

  “We should meet as soon as possible so you can read the terms over and sign it. Pretty straightforward, though. No surprises. A nice couple from Hong Kong, looking for a vacation home in the city.”

  “How long will it take to close?”

  “Assuming there are no hitches, thirty days or so.”

  Tess sighed. “My sister will be happy.”

  “You too, I hope.”

  They made arrangements to meet the following morning, and Tess returned to her window as daylight faded. The news about the apartment was bittersweet. On the one hand it signaled the end of an era, and on the other, the last of her obligations fulfilled, so she could be completely free of her past – and her sister, Chrissy.

  She hadn’t heard from Ron yet but was confident she would. He was no doubt buried with cleaning up his big case. That he was married to his job was obvious, but she didn’t mind. Tess had the feeling that he was so consumed by it for lack of anything more meaningful in his life. Perhaps that was about to change.

  She debated calling him and decided against it, and as she was placing her cell on the bedside table, was startled by the hotel phone’s jangle. She reached for it and heard a series of clicks, and then a woman’s voice.

  “Tess Gideon?”

  “Yes?”

  “Oh, thank God. Tess, my name’s Rachel. I was a friend of Dakota’s.”

  Tess sat up straighter. “You were?”

  “Yes. It’s awful what happened to her. I’m with the company too.”

  “It’s been a huge shock.”

  “To all of us, but especially you, I imagine.”

  “It has.” Tess wondered where this was going.

  There was a brief pause before Rachel spoke again. “I don’t know how to start. I’m sorry.”

  “Start what?”

  “Were you close to Dakota?”

  “Reasonably. Why?”

  “She told you about…her boyfriend? Jeremy?”

  Tess frowned. “Yes. Of course.”

  A longer pause this time. “I knew him too.”

  “Knew him?”

  “We…we were involved for a while.”

  Tess waited for Rachel to continue.

  “How much did she tell you about him?” Rachel asked.

  “What are you driving at, Rachel? I don’t mean to be rude, but this call…”

  “I know.”

  “Where did you get my number, anyway?”

  “One of the other girls said you were staying at the hotel.”

  “Dianne?” Tess asked.

  “Right. Listen, Tess, whatever you’ve heard about Jeremy…he’s not what he seems to be. I…I think he might have had something to do with Dakota’s death.”

  Tess absorbed the bombshell in silence. She could hear Rachel’s breathing on the line. “Why do you think so?” Tess finally asked.

  “He…I broke it off with him when he started hitting me. He’s seriously twisted. Into some really weird stuff.”

  “Why didn’t you warn her?”

  “Jeremy said he’d kill me if I told anyone.” Rachel paused. “I believed him. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to get
mixed up with the police, but if he…if he’s involved, they need to know everything.”

  “Fine. Why call me?”

  “I…damn. I can’t talk much longer. Hang on a second.”

  Tess could hear a hand placed over the phone, and a muffled discussion on the other end. When Rachel came back on the line, she sounded out of breath.

  “Can you meet me tonight? Before the show? We have a performance at Lincoln Center – the Met. Curtain’s at eight, but I could meet you at the backstage door. I’ve got some pretty incriminating stuff on him. If you could get it to the police, it would probably put him away for life.”

  Tess glanced at her watch. It would take her twenty minutes to get to the theater, maybe a bit more. “I could make it by seven thirty.”

  “You know where the backstage door is?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been there.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Just knock.”

  “I know. I remember.”

  Rachel hung up, and Tess nodded to herself. Jeremy was a creep, and probably a killer. She’d known it all along – and now someone had been brave enough to come forward. She considered calling Ron, but waffled. He’d told her to stay out of the case. But if she could get evidence that would help him…Rachel had made it clear that she didn’t want to deal with the cops, and that she was scared. She had certainly sounded afraid. Tess knew the feeling – all she had to do was remember what it felt like to be stalked by the crazy who’d been after the bike messengers.

  She shivered even though it was warm in the room. So old Jeremy had a thing for ballerinas. That made sense – he probably staked out the watering holes where he knew they hung out, looking for new meat. And Dakota would have been perfect. Clueless, young, new to the city, naive, her douchebag alarm insufficiently developed to trigger over a smooth Wall Street type who oozed charm. The ideal target for a sexual predator who’d gone off the deep end and wasn’t content with only hitting his women any longer.

  The thought made her stomach tighten into a knot. She remembered Ron’s description of the sex parties, and she wondered if that could have been the connection. Jeremy traveled in a similar crowd. Perhaps he was part of the inner circle of rich lowlife deviates whose mission in life seemed to be debasing their fellow humans for their own amusement? The possibility hadn’t occurred to her, but now it all fell into place. The killer Ron had nailed was only one of a group. And Jeremy, when told Dakota was pregnant, had seen a way out that wouldn’t be traced to him.

  If her suspicion was correct, Ron needed to know.

  She dialed his cell as she collected her things and made for the door, but his phone went to voice mail. Tess waited for the tone and left a message.

  “Ron. Tess. Jeremy’s your guy. I just talked to one of the dancers who also used to date him. She says he beat her up and threatened to kill her. Call me as soon as you can.”

  Tess disconnected and stepped into the elevator, her jaw set and her emerald eyes flashing with determination.

  There was no way the bastard would get away with it.

  Chapter 51

  Ron was fuming, impatiently checking his watch every block as the sedan inched toward the Upper East Side through a gridlock of growling steel. Homeless beggars worked the procession at each stoplight, and Ron had the uneasy feeling that his town was slowly slipping into a Neverland, a purgatory somewhere between the capital of the first world and a Calcutta free-for-all.

  Ben stood on his horn and whooped the siren with a jab of his finger, but there was nowhere for the vehicles in front of him to go. He’d driven half on the sidewalk when he could, his emergency light strobing on the roof, but there was a practical limit, and he’d reached it.

  “This is a nightmare,” Ron said, glaring at the airport limousine in front of them. “We should have taken the subway.”

  “Hindsight.”

  “Screw it. Park where you can and let’s do it. It’s going to take two hours at this rate.”

  Ben glanced at him. “You serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  Ben nodded and began scouting for a spot. There was an emergency zone ahead, painted dull red, where a chestnut cart was blocking half the area with a small crowd around it. Ben hit the siren again and eased into the space, and the old vendor glared at him with enough intensity to melt steel.

  “What the hell are you doin’? I got my permit,” he said as they got out of the car.

  “Ease off, old-timer. We aren’t rousting you. Watch the ride, will you?” Ben asked. The old man rolled rheumy eyes and gave them the finger as they walked toward the subway.

  “Think it’ll still have hubcaps when we get back?” Ron asked.

  “Better question is whether it will even be there. That guy’s already calling his Guido nephews to boost it.”

  Ron shook his head. “Such a racist. Don’t make me report you to internal affairs for sensitivity training.”

  “I’m half Italian. It’s okay.”

  “Which half?”

  “Mom. Makes the meanest cannelloni this side of Sicily.”

  They descended into the subway and stood on the platform, waiting for the uptown train among a throng of weary workers, their faces the unhealthy gray of city dwellers who rarely saw the sun. Ron wondered whether he was starting to look like that and flashed again on Tess, who radiated animal magnetism and tanned, tawny appeal. Had he really awaked to her taste and smell that morning? Had it truly only been a few short hours ago?

  “What?” Ben asked.

  “What do you mean, what?”

  “You look like you just had a moment. Like you were maybe passing a kidney stone or stroking out or something.”

  “That’s reassuring. That it would show on my face.”

  Ben regarded him with a serious expression. “I think one side’s sagging a little.”

  “Symmetry’s way overrated.”

  The train arrived with a screech of steel on steel. They crammed on with the rest of the unfortunates and swayed their way north in fits and starts, everyone studiously avoiding eye contact with the other passengers – a survival skill acquired early in New York. Engaging could invite danger, so you learned to tune others out in the hopes that you could create a force field of indifference around you for protection.

  At their stop, the station was appreciably cleaner, lacking the lingering perfume of hobo urine and desperation the midtown station had. Even the workers going home after a long day’s toil were better dressed, evidence of at least a modicum of trickle-down effect. It was dark when they emerged from the station and walked the three blocks to Jeremy’s brownstone, and Ron fished his cell from his pocket and called his tech friend as they neared.

  “You still tracking the phone?” Ron asked when the man answered.

  “Yes. No movement.”

  “You earned the vino, my friend.”

  “I’ll say. And now I’m clocking unpaid overtime for it.”

  “Your sacrifice is noted.”

  Bob sat in the brownstone living room, his evening’s supply of malt liquor and vodka spread on the coffee table before him and the video game of his current fascination on the screen of the television. He’d been living with his sister for three weeks now, and hated her husband and his smugly superior attitude. Bob’s way of exacting his petty, passive-aggressive revenge was to render the downstairs his domain, secure that his sister would protect him.

  She’d told Jeremy that he had gotten out of jail and needed a hand, but the truth was that he was wanted in New Jersey, where he’d robbed a liquor store at gunpoint while high on crack, and been ID’d as a suspect from the security camera footage. Because New Jersey was a three-strikes state, and because he had two prior convictions, one for battery, one for a robbery where he’d used a knife, that would mean prison for life.

  Fortunately for him, the system had holes you could drive a truck through, and unless he screwed up in New York, the warrant out on him should cause no problems. He could wo
rk under the table, staying off the official radar, and eventually hightail it to Mexico for a new start. For now, living off his sibling in the lap of luxury appealed to him, and he was waiting for her to cut him loose with a hundred grand so he could start his new life south of the border, maybe operating a small beachfront bar, like in that movie, Shawshank. He’d researched Mexico – the dope was cheap and the living easy. An enterprising man could recreate himself there and achieve anything he wanted, within reason.

  He’d extracted a promise from Elizabeth for the hundred, and once he settled, occasional chunks of cash here and there as was practical. Her husband was a frigging millionaire and wiped his bottom with ten grand, Bob was sure, so he’d never miss slivers wired via Western Union. For now, though, collecting that amount of cash without raising Jeremy’s or the bank’s eyebrows was proving tedious, and she’d been withdrawing every few days, accumulating it slowly.

  Bob understood the universe to be unfair, and nowhere was that more apparent than with his sister and himself. She’d fallen into riches by virtue of her gender and a willingness to put up with a guy like Jeremy, whereas he’d had the odds stacked against him from the beginning. Older than Elizabeth by five years, he’d first done time at eighteen and then again at twenty-two, his appetite for drugs and alcohol and reluctance to work a recipe for disaster. But his sister breezed through life with the casual indifference of the blessed, and he figured that she owed him at some cosmic level – she had so much it meant nothing to share the wealth with him.

  A squeak from the front gate drew his attention, and he rose and moved to the window to see who was there. Two men – and to Bob’s eye, trained by a lifetime of crime and incarceration, cops.

  Bob swallowed hard and looked wildly around the room. How had they found him? Had Elizabeth given him up?

  He cursed. Might have been the car he’d stolen in Jersey and parked nearby. He should have known better.

  The sound of pounding on the front door galvanized him into action. He couldn’t be captured – it was certain imprisonment. And with Jeremy and him the only ones in the house, he would be. There was no way Jeremy would lie to the cops and claim he had no idea what they were talking about. He’d probably dance a celebratory jig to see Bob hauled away in cuffs.