Promises in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “Mr. Ricker. Detective Baxter. We appreciate you making time to answer a few more questions.”

  His tone was as polite and neutral as Eve’s. “I want to cooperate in any way I can.”

  “As discussed, we’d also like to speak to Mr. Sandy.”

  “Yes. He’s probably in the kitchen, getting coffee. Please sit down. I’ll get him.”

  “Prime digs,” Baxter commented as he looked around. “And they say crime doesn’t pay.”

  “Only idiots say that.”

  “The world’s full of idiots.”

  Alex came back alone. “Sorry, he’s generally an early riser, so I assumed . . . He must be upstairs. Excuse me.”

  As Alex started up, Eve and Baxter exchanged glances.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Baxter murmured.

  “Somebody’s gone rabbit. Goddamn it. Routine follow-up, what spooked him? There’s nothing here to make him bolt, risk his position, turn our suspicions. It’s stupid.”

  “Lieutenant.” Alex came to the top of the stairs, and she saw it in the pale set of his face. “Rod isn’t here. His bed hasn’t been slept in. I won’t object if you want to look for yourself.”

  Damn right they would. Eve started up. “When did you last see him?”

  “Last night, about eight. He had a date. But he knew you were expected this morning. It’s not like him to miss an appointment. And he’s not answering his ’link. I just tried it.”

  Eve walked to the doorway of Sandy’s room. “Who’s the date?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  She moved past Alex to check the closet, then frowned. “His things are still here. Anything missing, that you can tell?”

  “Whatever he wore last night—ah, let me think. He had on a brown leather jacket, black pants, I think. I can’t recall what color shirt. Casual. A casual date. His clothes are here, as far as I can tell. But why wouldn’t they be? He had no reason to leave, and wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

  “Maybe it was a sudden decision,” Baxter suggested with just enough sarcasm to have Alex turn frigid eyes on him.

  “He doesn’t make sudden decisions, and he works for me. He’s my oldest friend, and he works for me. Obviously, the date turned into something more than casual, and he stayed the night. He’s overslept and doesn’t hear his ’link. I’m perfectly willing to answer any questions you have for me now, and I’ll see to it that Rod makes himself available to you as soon as he gets back.”

  He turned to Eve then. “I didn’t contact my lawyers. They don’t even know you’re here. I’m not playing you. Rod just—”

  “Got lucky?” Eve suggested. “Baxter, wait for me downstairs.”

  “Sure.”

  “Rod’s done nothing but be careless about an appointment,” Alex began.

  “Stow it. Who was your driver yesterday?”

  Biting and cold replaced polite and neutral. “And that’s relevant because?”

  “Because I want to know, Mr. Cooperation. Who drove you to your meet with Roarke?”

  “Carmine. Carmine Luca,” he added when Eve simply stared. “He’s downstairs, in an apartment I keep as staff quarters.”

  “Bring him up.”

  “I don’t understand why you want to interview my driver.”

  “You’ll understand after I do. Bring him up, or call your lawyers and tell them to meet you downtown.”

  Eyes, already cool, went to ice. “Maybe I misjudged the situation. I’ll bring him up, and we’ll see if you make me understand. Otherwise, unless you’ve got a warrant, you’re gone.”

  Alex pulled out a ’link as he pointed Eve toward the door. “Carmine, I need you up here.”

  Within minutes, the big, burly Carmine lumbered in. He had, Eve thought, a face like stone that had been battered for decades by wind and water. Tough, pitted, and blank.

  “These officers would like to ask you some questions, Carmine. Answer them, is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Ricker.”

  “When did Rod Sandy ask you about Mr. Ricker’s meeting with Roarke?”

  “I don’t know about any meeting.”

  Eve looked at Alex. “Would you like to make it clearer, or should I?”

  “Carmine, I want you to answer the lieutenant’s questions. I had a meeting with Roarke yesterday morning, on Coney Island. You drove me.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Ricker, but I thought—”

  “Don’t think,” Alex said, with a kindness in his tone Eve hadn’t expected. “I appreciate it, Carmine, but we’re just trying to clear something up. So you can answer the questions. Unless I say otherwise. All right?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Ricker.”

  “When did Rod Sandy ask you about Mr. Ricker’s meeting with Roarke.”

  “Which time?”

  “All the times.”

  “Okay, well, he asked me about it before. Making sure and all that everything was set up. Mr. Sandy makes sure things are set up for Mr. Ricker. So I told him how it was all go, and we had the car ready, and the scanners—” He stopped, looked at Alex.

  “It’s all right.”

  “And the coffee in the mini-AC. And all like that.”

  “He asked you about it afterward, too?”

  “He asked, after, how Mr. Ricker was feeling. You know, his state of mind and stuff. And I said how it went okay, and maybe Mr. Ricker seemed a little down on the drive back. But it went okay, and there wasn’t no trouble or nothing. I said how it seemed like Mr. Ricker and Roarke got along pretty good, and how they talked awhile. He worries about you, Mr. Ricker. It’s Mr. Sandy, so I didn’t figure it was talking out of turn or nothing.”

  “It’s all right, Carmine.”

  “What else did you tell him?” Eve asked.

  Carmine’s gaze slid to Alex again, and again Alex gave the assent. “Not much to tell. We had a beer, and we were talking about the game some, and he was saying, sort of thinking out loud, like, that Mr. Ricker and Roarke would do this business deal after all. So I said, I did-n’t think it was any kind of business deal. How I didn’t catch much, ’cause you’re not supposed to listen, but the breeze carried the voices sometimes. How it seemed they were mostly talking about Miss Coltraine and Mr. Ricker’s father, and how maybe—”

  “Maybe?”

  “Mr. Ricker.”

  “Keep going,” Alex demanded, not so kindly now.

  “Well, it sounded like maybe Mr. Ricker thought his father might’ve done something. I was just talking to Mr. Sandy, Mr. Ricker.”

  “Yes, you were,” Eve said before Alex could speak. “Did you talk to him about anything else?”

  “Not really. I didn’t hear that much. I wasn’t trying to hear, I swear. I guess, now that I think about it, Mr. Sandy asked a lot of questions, and he wasn’t exactly happy I didn’t know more than I knew. I just said how at the end you and Roarke shook hands, and that was that.”

  “That’s fine, Carmine, thank you,” Alex said. “You can go back to your quarters now.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Ricker. If I did anything—”

  “You didn’t. We’re fine.”

  “One more thing,” Eve said. “Did you drive Mr. Sandy anywhere yesterday?”

  “No. I drive Mr. Ricker, unless Mr. Ricker says different.”

  “Did you or anyone drive Mr. Sandy anywhere this week?”

  “No. We only got the one car here, and I drive it. Right, Mr. Ricker?”

  “That’s right, Carmine. You can go.”

  Alex turned, walked into the living area, sat. “You think Rod’s working for my father.”

  “And you don’t?” Eve countered.

  “We’ve known each other more than a dozen years. We’re friends. Friends. He knows nearly everything there is to know about me. He knew what Ammy meant to me. You can’t expect me to believe he’s part of this.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him the details of your meeting with Roarke?”

  “It was private. E
ven friends don’t share everything.”

  “I’d say, from the way Sandy pumped Carmine, he doesn’t agree with that.”

  Alex pressed his fingers to his eyes. “So he was never really my friend. Just another tool. All these years.”

  “Maybe, or maybe one picked up and turned more recently.”

  “If he killed Ammy—”

  “Could he have left the apartment that night, without security picking it up?”

  “There are always ways,” Alex said. “Yes. The son of a bitch. The son of a bitch said to me, that night, he said I should go out, take a long walk, hit Times Square, get some energy from the crowds. So I did.”

  “He indicated he thought you were in the apartment all night.”

  “We lie, Lieutenant.” Alex clipped out the words. “You know that. I assumed he was covering me, so I did the same and told you I’d gone out when he was upstairs. That he didn’t know I’d gone out. Just a couple of convenient lies. I hadn’t hurt her. I would never have hurt her. So we covered each other. He set me up, my longtime friend, so I’m out walking New York, having a beer, just one more face in the crowd, while he’s killing her. For what? For what?”

  “Where would he go?”

  “A thousand places. If I knew, I swear I’d tell you. He convinced me to come to New York,” Alex explained. “To come now—for business, for her. Convinced me I needed to see her, talk with her. He knew how I felt, was feeling. I confided in him, like I would a brother. And he used it against me.”

  “I want all the data on his financials. All his financials. You understand me?”

  “Yes. You’ll have it.”

  “He takes trips, vacations, and so on without you. Time off where you wouldn’t keep tabs on him.”

  “Of course.”

  Times he could’ve visited Omega, Eve thought. “Do you know who your father has in Coltraine’s squad?”

  “No. I don’t know that he has anyone, not that I can confirm. He was always proprietary about that kind of thing.”

  “What did you and your father talk about when you visited him on Omega?”

  “Nothing that applies to this.”

  “Everything applies to this.”

  Anger flashed across his face. “Understand I’m under no obligation to answer you, or to cooperate in this matter. But I’ll tell you that I made it clear to my father I wouldn’t be back, wouldn’t communicate with him in any way. That I’d come to see him only because I wanted to look at him—this last time—and know he was exactly where I wanted him to be.”

  “And his response?”

  “He didn’t need me, or want me. He promised to bring me down, and when he was done with me I’d have nothing. As nothing was what I deserved. That was the gist.”

  Alex closed his eyes, fought for control. “What could he have offered Rod to have him do this? What could he have promised him he couldn’t have asked me for?”

  “You’re going to tell me everything you know about Sandy, everything not on his official data. And you’re going to get me those financials. While you do, Detective Baxter’s going to turn his room inside out. Record on,” she ordered. “Mr. Ricker, do we have your permission to search the quarters of Rod Sandy on this premises, at this time?”

  “Yes, you do. You have my permission to search his room, my permission to hunt him down like a dog. My permission to do whatever it takes to take him down. Is that enough?”

  “It’s a good start. Baxter.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Eve sat. “Tell me about Rod Sandy.”

  16

  EVE PUSHED, SHOVED, AND BULLIED HER WAY through Saturday morning traffic. Beside her, Baxter worked furiously on the in-dash auxiliary computer.

  “We need an e-man if we want to get into some of these accounts,” he told her. “I can pull up the standard ones. No major activity over the last ten days. But the others are trickier. It’s going to take me some time.”

  “I’ve got an e-man. Recheck the transportation.”

  “He didn’t get on any public transpo out of the city, not using his legit ID. Private’s going to take longer. And private’s the way he’d go. He could’ve taken a cab or a car service out of New York and picked up a private any damn where with the lead he’s got on us.”

  “He’s got to tap one of his accounts.” There was always a trail, Eve thought, and money was the biggest breadcrumb. “And he’ll contact Ricker on Omega. He does what he’s told. He’s a drone, just a goddamn drone. He’ll follow instructions, if not direct from Ricker, then from whoever Ricker’s got working him.”

  “He panicked, left with the clothes on his back, whatever cash he had, probably some files. But the panic’s working for him.”

  “Not for long. He may get out, get away, but he’s already a dead man. Jesus, Baxter,” she said when he turned to her. “Ricker’s not going to let him run loose. His value just bottomed out. He’s worthless. We find him first or Ricker’s going to shut him down.”

  Too impatient to wait for the gates, Eve hit vertical and soared over them. Baxter said, “Yee-haw.”

  “We find which account he tapped.” Eve tore down the drive. “When he tapped it, and backtrack to where he was when he tapped it. We search on private transpo, starting in the city, working out. And we call in the locals on all of Sandy’s and all of Alex Ricker’s residences. He’ll want a place to catch his breath, to pick up more of his things. If he’s got any brains, and he does, he’ll be quick about that and he’s already gone. But we find out where he was, and we’ll start tracking where he goes from there.”

  She swung out of the car, strode up the steps.

  “You.” She jabbed a finger at the lurking Summerset. “Be useful. Contact Feeney and McNab, tell them I need them here. Now. Baxter, call in your boy,” she added as she headed upstairs.

  “You recall,” Summerset called after her, “you’re hostessing a bridal shower in approximately six hours.”

  The sound Eve made was perilously close to a scream.

  “Bridal shower?” Baxter repeated.

  “Shut up. Shut up. Never speak of it.” She rounded toward her office and nearly ran into Morris.

  Baxter pulled up short. “Ah, hey, Morris.”

  “You’ve got something,” Morris said.

  “Got someone, lost him, now we’re going to find him.” She pushed past him, then let out an oath when she saw the connecting door between her office and Roarke’s was closed. The red light over it indicated he was working.

  She’d owe him, she told herself. Big-time.

  She knocked.

  When he opened the door, irritation sparked in his eyes. “Eve. Closed door. Red light.”

  “I’m sorry, I’ll grovel later if you want it.” Beyond him she could see several suited figures. Holo-meeting, she realized, and figured the groveling would be major. “I need your help, and I’ve got a ticking clock.”

  “Ten minutes,” he said and shut the door in her face.

  “Man, am I going to pay for that. Baxter, use the auxiliary to keep on the transpo. We need to start pushing through Sandy’s friends, relatives, contacts, acquaintances, girlfriends, boyfriends, his fucking tailor. This guy’s not a loner. He’s tagged someone, somewhere.”

  “I can help.” Morris stood in the center of the room. “Let me help.”

  She gave him a quick study. He looked rested, and that was a plus. Summerset must have dug up a shirt and pants for him—somewhere. “Morris, I’m going to have to bring my murder board back in here. Can you handle that? Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have to fill you in as we go. For now, go in there.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “Program a whole buncha coffee. It’s not just scut work. It’s necessary.”

  “I don’t mind scut work.”

  She went to her desk as he walked to the kitchen. “Computer, all known data on Rod Sandy, on screen one. Priority run authorized, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve
.”

  Acknowledged. Working . . .

  “He gets worried,” she began as the data began to scroll. “It sets off a little tingle when Alex tells him he’s going to meet with Roarke. He’s supportive, sure, that’s his job. But he worries about it. He chews on it. Pumps the driver because he’s not sure—not a hundred percent—that something in that conversation didn’t set off a bell that rings too close to him. Can’t pry too deep with Alex, and have that bell ringing any louder. The driver’s not too bright. Loyal, but not too bright, and hey, it’s Mr. Sandy and he’s got some prime brew.”