Jason let himself up the side stairs after Popo buzzed him through the iron gate. Laundry fluttered on clotheslines that stretched between the buildings. Air conditioners hummed from the closed windows, and the humid scent of trash steamed up from the alley below.
Jason reached the landing and knocked on Popo’s heavy steel door. She opened it immediately. Glancing around, she invited him in.
She served him strong Cuban coffee with a piece of sweet bread and ate buttered toast with jam.
“Do you have more information on what happened to my nephew?”
“I might.” Jason set a folder on the table between them. “Did Joselito invite you to the fashion show last year?”
“He invited both me and his mother, but he never brought the passes. He said we should meet him near the Cube.”
The Cube at Alamo Square was a landmark sculpture of a giant spinning square located at the gateway between Noho and the East Village.
“Then what happened? Did he call you to explain?” He already knew that Popo had missed the show. Maybe Joselito knew something was going to go down and didn’t want his aunt and mother in the line of fire.
“No.” The older woman’s lips pursed. “We waited for him until well past the time of the show. He didn’t answer our text messages or calls.”
“So, you never got the passes and couldn’t get into the show?” Jason asked.
Popo shook her head with a frown. “He always returns our calls. We didn’t hear nothing from him, so we left. He never called, and then we heard from a friend he was dead.”
Jason’s scalp prickled at this new lead. “Who was the friend?”
“I think his name is Harv. He’s a dancer and knows some of the models.”
“Harvey Leach?” The prickles sharpened into daggers and dragged themselves down the back of Jason’s neck.
“I only know him as Harv.” Popo’s voice was stiff. “It might have been a stage name.”
“Does he look something like this?” Jason slid out the print of the partially completed painting. He’d stuck a piece of masking tape over the groin region.
Popo frowned. “They all look alike.”
“Who’s they?” Jason’s ears buzzed, and the prickles danced up and down his spine.
“The guys in that Broadway show. They’re like clones. Same height, brown hair, brown eyes. They even have the same haircut.”
“The chorus line of the Schitts of Fifth Avenue. Do you know all of them?”
She shook her head. “Only Harv. He showed me a picture of them rehearsing. He’s a nice kid. He felt really bad about Joselito. My sister gave her DNA, and they matched, along with dental records. It was a big blow.”
“Did they tell you time of death?”
“A range of dates. At first, we figured he never made it to the show, but Harv said he went to the show and the after-party. I don’t understand why he would have stood us up with no contact.”
Unless he was under duress, or someone had threatened him. Or he was in cahoots with Ernesto and gave him one of the passes to the show.
He wasn’t going to cast suspicion on Joselito, so he changed subjects. “Joselito was wearing a reptile-scale collar, like a bearded lizard’s crown. Are you aware of a play or show where he would wear one?”
“No. He wasn’t in any plays or shows. He’s not a dancer. He only modeled clothes. His stage name was Draco.”
“Did he also perform at parties and social events? Were you aware of any parties?”
“I’m sure the young men went to a lot of parties,” Popo said wistfully. “Harv heard I was distraught about Joselito going missing, and he told me to call the precinct about a body they found.”
“Did he tell you how Joselito got into the East River? The after-party for the show wasn’t on a yacht.”
Popo shook her head. “The police speculated that he might have gone to another party or left with someone he met. What did you find out?”
“I’m trying to pinpoint the reason he didn’t call you or your sister. There was a shooting at the show. Perhaps he got wind of it and wanted to keep you safe.” Jason showed her the enlarged image of Ernesto Gomez’s driver’s license. “Do you recognize this man?”
Popo shook her head. “No, not at all. He looks like a kid. Was he the shooter?”
“Yes, and he lived in the same building with Joselito and the other models.”
“If he and Joselito knew each other, he never introduced him to me. Maybe they didn’t like each other?”
“Or Ernesto was in a gang. Did Joselito mention anything about gang activity?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Popo said. “Everyone can tell what a gang member looks like. This boy doesn’t look like one. He looks like a mama’s boy. None of the attitude and swagger.”
“Looks can be deceiving. The official report concluded it was gang initiation, but I’m not buying it. None of the gangs have taken credit, and the venue isn’t typical. Plus, he acted alone.” Jason had to concede the man hadn’t looked confident enough to be a hitman. He’d been sweaty and nervous, and too jumpy, thus drawing Jason’s attention to him.
“Where did he work?” Popo asked. “He looks like a recent immigrant.”
“He was a busboy at The Sting in Soho.”
Popo pushed the picture back at Jason. “Then he gets tipped well, I’m guessing, and he’s rubbed shoulders with the fashion crowd. Maybe someone there hired him to do the hit.”
Interesting theory. The Soho district was close to the Garment District and many models and designers hung out there, as well as artsy types.
Jason lifted his coffee mug and sipped, nodding. “You know you’re brilliant? We completely missed the client mix at the bar.”
Popo picked out the print of Joselito in the circle of models. “May I have a copy of this picture? My sister and I would love it if you can give us pictures of him at the show and any you find.”
“Sure, keep this one,” Jason said. “I can print out another copy. Thanks for the tip and the coffee.”
“If Joselito was murdered, please let me know straight out,” Popo said. “I want the jerk who did it brought to justice.”
For her sake, he hoped Joselito wasn’t killed because he’d worked with the killer. But now, it looked more than likely that Ernesto had not acted alone.
“That’s what I aim to do,” Jason said firmly. “Find out exactly what happened to Garm, Hugh, and Joselito. I don’t believe they overdosed accidentally, and I’m not going to let the killers get away.”
Popo clasped her hand over Jason’s. “I believe you. You’re a cop with a good heart. Most of them don’t think our people are important. After we identified his body, they washed their hands of it. Just another addict fallen into the river and drowned.”
“I care about all people as individuals,” Jason said. “No one should be brushed under a rug.”
And no evidence should have been kept from him. He was going to have a beatdown with Blade over this. Blade had been the lead officer in investigating Ernesto Gomez, since Jason was put on desk duty after firing his gun and killing the suspected shooter.
Blade had also failed to update him that the man found in the East River with the dragon collar had been identified.
What else was his partner keeping from him?
Suppressing his rising fury, he told Popo he had work to do and thanked her for her time.
“Oh, before I forget, here are two passes to the show.” Jason pulled out the two tickets Avery left on her table for Popo.
“Keep them,” Popo said, looking at the picture of Joselito in the circle of models. “I don’t think I can stomach going now. If you come across a picture that’s especially good, please let me have a copy.”
“I sure will.” Jason kissed Popo on both cheeks. “I’ll bring Avery back, too.”
“That young lady admires you. I can tell,” she said at the door. “She’s a keeper.”
With a wry smile tickling his lips, Jas
on jogged down the staircase and exited the alley gate.
A whiff of cologne was his only warning. Jason ducked, but not fast enough as a blur of a steel pipe slammed over his raised arm and shoulder. The blow glanced the side of his head, and he hit the other side against the brick wall.
Jason reached for his service revolver, but by the time he drew it, the assailant was gone. All he saw when he was ducking was the silver and black flash of the fancy cross-trainers with the serrated-edge soles and the mirrored finish on top.
“Remember, the show has to go on.” Alida’s voice grated every one of Avery’s nerves. “We put on a big campaign with Matt Swanson. The man with the golden arm is not going to be canceled. Not when we have The Garden reserved for this.”
The Garden referred to Madison Square Garden, the round sporting arena in midtown Manhattan. The fashion show would take place on center court, and the front-row seats at courtside, with the photographer’s pit underneath one of the basketball hoops.
“Don’t worry, we’ve put in too much publicity to waste it all,” Avery reassured her. “With Ivanna out, I need to contact all the models directly. Were there any changes to the lineup?”
“No, we got you a great bunch,” Alida said. “You mentioned your friend, Kerry Mills, appearing. I penciled her in, but make sure Matt is given prime billing. Make sure he’s the grand finale. Let him stay on stage a few seconds longer, then join him there.”
“It might not be safe, if we think someone’s targeting him.”
“It’s under control,” Alida said. “The president called, and his daughter is off the roster. Your friend, Kerry, will have her position. Ivanna knew about all of this, so I’ll forward you all the emails and contacts.”
“Then I’ll have to get the dress refitted for Kerry. She’s more athletic than the president’s daughter.”
“You’ll have to use another dress. Miss Steele claims exclusivity to the one you designed for her. I’m sure you can do up a sportier one for Miss Mills. It goes with your hero theme. Sports heroes are just as heroic as first responders,” Alida said. “It wasn’t easy getting bigger and bulkier male models.”
“I owe you,” Avery said. “By the way, could I ask you about last year’s male models?”
“They were a cheaper bunch. Why would you want any of them back?”
“I’m curious where you found them.”
“Here and there, but seriously, it’s irrelevant for the upcoming show. I got you the most athletic bunch. You’ll be pleased.”
“Could you send me the list from last year? I want to make sure we don’t have any repeats.”
“We always have last-minute substitutions, so the list may not be up to date,” Alida said. “I’ll ask my assistant to dig it up, but I doubt you’ll find anything interesting. Gotta run. Ciao!”
After she got off the phone with Alida, Avery made a schedule of the remaining days to the show. She ran her fingers through her hair and felt the rising tide of anxiety. Even with Kerry’s help, she had too much to do.
There was no way she and Jason could do the private show for Professor Leach. For one thing, she hadn’t taught Jason how to strip, knowing it would result in her falling into bed with him.
Add to that, Jason would balk if the professor requested the same kind of show she’d done with Brando.
It was unfortunate, but with everything going on, she’d have to postpone. He should be understanding. He was her mentor. With Ivanna out of action, she couldn’t spare a minute.
Picking up her phone, she called Larry.
“Hey, you heard what happened to Ivanna?” Avery spilled out as soon as he picked up.
“Ivanna? Not sure who she is,” Larry’s smarmy voice oozed over the line. “What’s going on?”
Avery was sure Larry knew Ivanna worked for her, but she didn’t have the energy to spar with him.
“She’s my model wrangler and accessorizer. She was attacked outside her apartment and hospitalized.”
“That’s awful. Crime these days is out of control,” Larry huffed. “Give her my regards.”
“I will, but the reason I’m calling is to postpone the private show. If we can do it next week, it’ll help a lot. I have to do two jobs and train a new model wrangler.”
“That’s not possible. We had a deal. My dad gets first sight.”
“I understand, but please? Can you ask him for me? He’s been such a supporter.”
“Then you know why he lives for the first look.”
“My model isn’t trained.”
“That’s okay. He loves fresh blood. I trust your judgment.”
“He’s good-looking, yes, maybe a little rough on the edges.”
“As long as the chemistry explodes.” Larry’s voice sounded like he was leering.
Avery wondered if Larry not only knew what his father’s strange tastes entailed, but if he could be the one enabling them. Could he also have done similar private shows with the dead models?
“We’ll put on a good act,” Avery said. “But this new model won’t be dressed like a firefighter.”
“That’s so last year,” Larry agreed. “Just make it good.”
“I have to warn you, though. I haven’t told the model the lengths we’ll go. I suggest we tone it down this time.”
“He’s not the football star, is he?” Larry asked hopefully.
“Definitely not.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s a surprise,” Avery said. “Since he’ll be wearing clothes I’m not showing, what’s the big deal for us to do the private show next week?”
“Dad’s feelings will be hurt. He’s working so hard fundraising for your dad’s congressional run. Doesn’t he deserve a bit of R&R?”
“Of course, he does. But this model might not follow the script.”
“That’s your problem, not mine.” Larry’s voice was dismissive. “You understand how important it is for his ego that you put him first.”
“I understand, but …”
“Great. Don’t disappoint him.” The call ended.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jason ran Harvey Leach through the system. The guy was relatively clean with minor drug and shoplifting offenses. All charges were dropped, no doubt due to his father’s influence. He was the ne’er do well, or black sheep, between the two brothers. Where Larry graduated from Yale, Harvey never made his way out of the chorus line of various Broadway shows. He made a note of Harvey’s last known address in Hell’s Kitchen and went by to question him.
No luck. No one answered the buzzer, and the neighbors minded their own business. He’d have to find probable cause to get a warrant on Harvey, but that required Ivanna to finger him as her attacker or a witness to place Harvey at the scene of a crime.
Frustrated, he returned to the Melbourne Building. His heart was still thudding when he rushed to Avery’s doorway. What if Harvey or Larry had gotten to Avery while he was out investigating? Could one of the brothers have jumped him while the other one ingratiated himself with Avery?
Avery opened the door to his frantic knocks. “Where’s the fire?”
Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were rosy. True, one brow was slightly furrowed, and her breathing was uneven.
“I needed to know you’re okay.” He grabbed her and held her close. “We have a lot to go over, but I uncovered a connection between your models and the ones who died. Also, I think your barista friend knows the shooter.”
She gasped and pushed from his embrace. “What makes you say that?”
“They live in the same building. I should have followed up after that night I spent with Saul, but things went crazy.”
“Wait, wait, slow down.” Avery’s hands guided him to the couch. “Sit, take a deep breath. What’s going on?”
He slumped onto the sofa, but his muscles were too amped to relax. The pain from the near miss of the lead pipe throbbed over his neck and shoulder.
Avery rubbed his shoulders, causing him
to wince.
“What happened?” She peeled back his shirt to take a look. “Did you fall?”
“I’ll explain later. But we need to go over your model lineup from last year. Do you remember booking Draco, the dragon man?”
“Yes, dimly. I mean, my memory of that day was wiped out by what happened. Alida’s assistant sent me a list, and I was looking over it.”
“Pull it up and also your images from the show,” Jason said. “Draco is Popo’s nephew, Joselito.”
Avery’s hands shook as she put her laptop on her upper thighs. “Are you saying he was one of my models?”
“He was. Did Ivanna design a bearded dragon collar for him?”
“We didn’t incorporate any of the animal effects in last year’s show. Professor Leach told me not to. He said it was too theatrical.”
“Be prepared. This isn’t an easy picture to look at,” Jason said, drawing out his phone. “The body was found weeks later and decomposed. We couldn’t ID it because the face was missing. The only things of note were the metallic scales and thorns around the corpse’s neck.”
He put his thumb over the face that had been eaten by marine life.
“The reptile collar is one of my designs,” Avery said. “I never showed it to anyone.”
“Apparently, the collar is being sold online. I contacted the seller, but there’s no response yet.” Jason had tried to place an order, but the collar was out of stock. The seller was supposed to notify him when one was available. “Do you know who AlleyCat is? That’s the seller’s screen name on Shopahol.”
Avery looked like she drew a blank. “Ivanna runs my online sales. I’ll have to ask her. But I’m not AlleyCat. My store’s name is TheBurn. That was Brando’s idea.”
He refrained from commenting on the name. It wasn’t a good idea to criticize a beloved ex’s idea.
“How is Ivanna doing?” he asked. “Any update?”
“Her vitals are stable, but she hasn’t woken up,” Avery said. “They want to keep her brain quiet to give her a chance to recover.”
Triggered by Love Page 25
