by J. D. Robb
Add black boots and a scowl, and there you had it.
When she stepped out to strap on her weapon harness, Roarke lifted his eyebrows. “Going for the kill, are we?”
“That’s exactly right.” She snagged her ’link, read the text from Whitney. “Ten minutes. Shit.”
“Plenty of time.” He rose and went with her to her office.
“You’ll want to stand, I imagine.”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“Ah…”
“With your command center at your back rather than the room itself. Work mode. Order open operations. I could do it, yes, but it’ll stick better if you do it yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah. Dallas, open operations.”
The center flashed on. The D and C unit hummed and then went to waiting quiet.
“I assume Whitney’s still at home?”
“Yeah, it’s early.”
“Then you need to order the holo option, follow that with when you want it to begin, and where you want the uplink.”
She could do that, and did.
“All right then, last, as he’s your superior, you tell it to wait for the uplink from Whitney, then proceed. If you were including others, you’d simply list the names and locations, and when you wanted to bring them in.”
“Got it. Hold for uplink from Whitney, Commander Jack, then proceed with holo communication.”
“Well done.” He cupped her face in his hand, kissed her. “If you’d think of electronics as tools instead of the enemy, you’d have an easier time.”
“They are tools, and the enemy.”
“Well then, I’m in my office if you need help in the battle. When you’re done, just tell it to disengage holo option.”
“Good. Thanks.”
Alone, she walked to her board, gave it a long study, then moved back into place when the comp announced:
Uplink from Whitney, Commander Jack, in progress.
His image formed, real as life. His suit, slate gray, fit well over strong, wide shoulders. The gray threaded through his dark, close-cropped hair read steely.
“Commander, I appreciate you meeting with me so quickly.”
“I’m interested, Lieutenant, to learn how a disgraced lawyer facing charges of tax evasion and fraud connects to two gang murders.”
“That’s what I intend to find out, and why I need to interview Cohen before the feds take over. I believe Cohen and Jones have more than a business relationship, as outlined in my report. And, in fact, suspect Cohen may be acting as Jones’s de facto legal counsel. As such, he may have information on the murders.”
Though she’d sent him a written copy of her report, she laid out her theory.
“There’s no question the murders connect, sir. If Cohen has any knowledge, using the current charges as weight will help break him. In addition, what he knows about the Banger organization will aid concurrent investigations into their illegals trade, suspected identity theft, their protection racket, and other criminal activities.”
“They’re a blight,” Whitney said. “A relatively small one compared to what they were even a decade ago, but a blight. I’ll contact the FBI, relay this information when I arrive at Central.” He glanced deliberately at his wrist unit. “You’ve got a ninety-minute head start before that time, and likely an hour more before they move on Cohen. Make the most of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any and all data relating to the tax evasion will be relayed to the federal authorities, Lieutenant.”
“Absolutely, sir. If possible, Commander, Special Agent Teasdale might be a good FBI contact.”
“She would.” Whitney gave Eve the slightest of nods. “Get moving,” he said, and faded away.
“Okay then.” She started to turn away, remembered. “What was it again? Fuck. Wait. Ah, disengage holo option. And close operations.”
Holo option disengaging.
The center shut down. “Not so hard,” she mumbled, and swung into Roarke’s office.
“Hold a moment, Peterby.” His screen went to quiet blue when he swiveled to her. “Done?”
“Yeah, gotta move. Thanks for the assist.”
“Not a problem.” But he crooked a finger so she rolled her eyes, then leaned over his command center to meet his lips with hers.
“I’ll tag you when I’m ready to sweat him.”
“And I’ll try to juggle things so I can watch and be entertained. If I can’t, take care of my cop, and kick his sorry, cool hoor ass.”
“Affirmative on both.”
Leaving early gave her a head start on morning traffic, and whatever gods decided the vehicular luck of the day smiled down so she hit nearly every green. As a result, she hit the Lower East Side well ahead of the time she’d texted to Peabody.
Since she saw no point in waiting, she edged into a slot and hiked a couple of blocks to the four-stack in the cool March breeze.
Privacy screens engaged, she noted. Most likely Vinn was still sleeping. It never hurt, to Eve’s mind, to catch somebody before they’d had their morning caffeine and started thinking clearly.
She buzzed, waited, watched a teenage type walk a trio of yap dogs who trotted along on stubby legs with ears flapping. Buzzed again, longer.
The door opened a crack, and an eye peered out. Not Vinn’s brown one, but green and bloodshot.
“Do you know what the freak time it is?” The voice, rusty with sleep, matched the annoyance in the bloodshot eye.
“Yes.” Eve held up her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. I have a warrant to enter and search.” Now she held up the copy she’d printed out.
“Man, hasn’t that fuckhead caused El enough trouble and heartache? Whatcha want to mess with her for?”
The door opened a few inches wider so Eve studied the woman with sleep-tangled blue hair, wearing a wrinkled tee that skimmed just south of her crotch that identified her as an OFF-DUTY STRIPPER.
“I’m here to mess with the source of her trouble and heartache.”
“Didn’t ya get the cop memo, sister? Asshole’s in jail.”
“I know. I put him there.”
The woman fisted a hand on her hip, which shifted the shirt a dangerous fraction north. “I’m liking you better.” She opened the door fully, stepped back to let Eve in. “El tagged me up last night for some emotional support, and that included a couple bottles of wine. She’s still out. What’re ya searching for?”
“I’ll know when I find it. If Ms. Vinn’s sleeping in the room she shared with Cohen, I’m going to have to disturb her.”
“Well, shit.”
“Can I have your name?”
“Me? The real’s Lisa Killagrew. Onstage I’m Tequila.”
“Ms. Killagrew, if you could inform Ms. Vinn I’m here, with a duly authorized search warrant, we could get this done as quickly as possible.”
“Should she, like, pull in her lawyer?”
“Has she hired an attorney?”
“Yeah, she hired Pete. He’s a lawyer. He hired us a couple years ago for a private—his brother’s stag party. He said she oughta— I’m probably not supposed to tell you what he said she oughta.”
“Leese, who are you talking to?”
Eldena appeared at the top of the stairs looking impossibly young and pale in a little black nightie—sheer as air, with three red hearts strategically placed.
To add a touch of mystery? Eve wondered.
Staring at Eve, Eldena let out a gasp that ended on a choked sob.
“Oh God, are you here to arrest me?”
“No. I’m not—”
Bursting into tears, Eldena dropped down to sit on the steps. “I’m sorry. I’m a wreck.”
“Now, you stop that crying.” Lisa used a stern mother’s tone Eve admired, and had Eldena sucking up the sobs. “Didn’t Pete tell you everything was going to be all right?”
“I just feel so stupid.”
“Then don’t be stupid. You need coffee, that’s wha
t. Christ knows, I do. You want?” she began, turning to Eve, then shot a finger in the air. “Shit. Dallas.”
Eve felt her stomach sink.
“El told me and all that, but my brain’s not working all the way yet. Me and El went to a matinee to see the vid. I like how you kick ass. I’m going for coffee. El, remember what we said last night?”
Eldena gave a firm nod, even if she did sniffle with it. “Tough, strong, mean. It was easier with the wine,” she said with a half smile as Lisa walked up to her.
“You don’t wanna get walked over, don’t be a doormat.” After a pat on Eldena’s shoulder, Lisa continued upstairs.
“I asked Lisa to come over. We were supposed to work last night, but she said we’d take a mental health break, and we drank a lot. Before that, I made Sam leave. I said he had to go somewhere else last night so I could think. We had a big fight about it, but I made him leave. Later, Pete—he’s a lawyer—he said that was good because possession is nine-tenths and all that. And how I should have the locks changed.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Eldena rose, scrubbed her face with her hands as she walked down to Eve. “I’ve got a locksmith guy coming this morning. Sam, he tagged me and said how he’d been arrested, and I had to help. How he’d need me to post bail, and … I told him to suck it.”
“Wise words.”
“I was so mad, and I’d had wine, and Leese was here helping me stay mad. Should I contact Pete? It’s really early.”
“You can do that. I’m going to tell you…” Eve trailed off as the buzzer sounded. “That’s going to be my partner and an e-detective.”
“Oh God.”
“We have a search warrant.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded and went to open the door.
McNab’s eyes popped—Eve gave him credit for keeping his tongue from landing on his airboots.
“This is Detective Peabody and Detective McNab,” Eve said. “Detective McNab will access your electronics. If you have the passcodes, that would save time.”
“I only have my ’link and my PPC—and the separate tablet I use for working on choreography. They’re not passcoded. I—I—I don’t know Sam’s passcodes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Detective Peabody, why don’t you go upstairs with Ms. Vinn, get those devices while she gets dressed. She has a friend upstairs getting coffee.”
“Sure. Ms. Vinn?”
“Okay, ah, the tablet’s back in my studio, but the rest is upstairs. I think maybe I should contact Pete, even though it’s early.”
“Go ahead. Detective McNab and I will start down here.”
“All right. Oh, Sam’s office? He locks it. I don’t have the key or the codes or any damn thing.”
“I have a master.” Eve waited until Peabody escorted Eldena upstairs. “If you drool, I won’t wait for Peabody to kick your ass.”
Deliberately, McNab swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His grin was as bright and shiny as the range of hoops along his earlobe.
“You gotta look. Where do you want me to start?”
“We’ll take the office.” Since Cohen had come from the back, she gestured.
McNab pranced along beside her in his airboots, his knee-length electrified blue coat flapping over his egg-yolk-yellow baggies.
“She-Body caught me up. You figure the guy’s linked to the murders, and right now you’ve got him on fraud and shit.”
“And it’s a lot of shit.” Eve glanced toward the studio—two mirrored walls, a shelf holding bottles of water, a few rolled-up towels, and a little table.
“Her tablet’s there on the table. We’ll wait on that.”
She turned instead to the locked door, mastered her way through.
Workstation, she noted, holding an upscale D and C unit, a nice fake leather desk chair. Office AC, friggie, wall screen. She spotted a half bath through an open door.
“He’s got a lot more space than she does,” McNab commented.
“He’s a dick as well as a crook. Go ahead and get started. I’ll take the upstairs first.”
14
She met Peabody on the steps.
“She’s getting dressed,” Peabody said. “Her friend’s with her.”
“Did she contact the lawyer?”
“She said she wanted to get dressed first, have the coffee, take a blocker for the hangover. Up there, you’ve got a good-sized master suite, a hangout room, and two other bedrooms, another bathroom, the kitchen, an eating area. Nice place.”
“Yeah. Take those to McNab. You can handle the office while he’s digging into the e’s. Let’s keep it moving.”
“On it.”
Eve continued up, glancing in the hangout room. Obviously from the empty wine bottles, glasses, remnants of the Chinese, the women had used the room for drinking and that emotional support.
She wandered the rest of the second floor, noted everything was neat except the kitchen, which showed recent activity.
She went back to the closed bedroom door, knocked.
“Yeah, come on in.”
Eldena sat—skin pants, loose top, hair brushed and pulled back in a tail—while she drank coffee and ignored the bagel her friend had probably brought her.
Lisa had pulled on sweatpants and sat with her, chowing on her own bagel.
“I’m going to call Pete in a minute, but you should go ahead and look for whatever since you have a warrant. I was just saying to Lisa how the rent’s due next week—Sam always handles it—but I have enough to cover it. I just need to find out where to send it.”
Eve decided she could take a minute. “Eldena, you should inform your attorney that your name, along with Cohen’s, is on the mortgage for this property.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re currently co-owners of this property, this building,” Eve explained, since Eldena looked mystified. “I can tell you, he used what he told you was rent for his personal gain. Just as he used the rent from the tenants in the other half for his own gain. If your lawyer’s any good, he should be able to secure this place for you.”
Eldena held up a hand, and once again looked as if she needed to find her breath. “Are you saying this is my house?”
“I’m saying Cohen used your income and your name on the application to secure the mortgage for this property.”
“Oh God, he’s a lying liar.” She pushed up, hands waving as she stalked around the room. “He said how I had to work in the club, just a few more months, then when it was a few more, he’d say just a few more. To pay the rent and everything. I gave up my dream because I loved the lying son of a bitch. I was in Swing on Broadway, twice! I made it to Swing, but he said how we needed the money.”
She held her hands out, breathed deep. “But this could be my house?”
“Talk to your lawyer. It should be easy enough to prove your income is what’s been paying the mortgage. Tell him we’ll be happy to share any relevant information when we can.”
“Thank you.” She squared her shoulders. “Lisa, let’s take this downstairs, get Pete on it, and leave Lieutenant Dallas to do what she has to do.”
“That’s the way, El.”
Shoulders still squared, Eldena looked at Eve. “Sam’s going to prison, isn’t he?”
“I think you can count on it.”
“I want to know, because even now I can’t really believe he would. But I want to know if he had anything to do with those people dying. Come on, Leese.”
Lisa rose, picked up the coffee and bagels as Eldena sailed out. “Kick his ass, and kick it hard.”
She intended to, Eve thought. She fully intended to.
* * *
She found nothing of interest on the second level—and wasn’t surprised Cohen used chemicals to get it up for his young lover. His business interests he kept locked in his office, and McNab hit a gold mine.
“It’s all here,” he told her. “He kept good records, didn’t even try to hid
e them. I mean, you’d think he’d have tried a wipe or something when she kicked him out.”
“He figured he’d talk his way back in. And I don’t think she gave him the time or the space before she booted him out to try the wipe anyway. So he figures to get back in, then cover up whatever he can cover up once he is. He’s stupid, and he figured she was naive and dumb and soft.
“Copy everything,” she told McNab. “The feds’ll roast him, but we’re going to start the fire.”
“Already copied.”
“Good work. Let’s move out. I want to hear anything you found on Jones and/or the Bangers when we’re out of here.”
She headed to Central with Peabody riding shotgun and McNab in the back. “Can I do the coffee thing?” he asked.
“Do it while you report.”
“First, there’s nothing that implicates Vinn re Jones. Oh, and I just want to say, skimming through her tablet—she’s good.” He only grinned at the cool look Peabody aimed over her shoulder. “Not just the sexy moves—which my She-Body has plenty of.”
“Do not,” Eve warned as her eye twitched. “Do not.”
“She’s got other stuff she recorded on there. Like, ballet stuff and tap and all that. And she’s not stupid. On her PPC I found a small personal account. It’s not a lot, but it looks to me like maybe she culled out some of her tip money—that’s how it reads—and set up her own nest.”
“Great. Can we move on to criminal behavior?”
“You bet. He keeps a calendar—appointments. And he has regular meetings with Jones. Once a month. And that coincides with deposits he makes. Meets Jones, stashes money.
“You said to keep it moving,” McNab added, “so I didn’t stick, more got an overview, right? And part of that is him also moving product for Jones. Illegals.”
“Is that so?” Eve mused.
“Like I said, good records. My take? Jones skims some of the product, passes it to Cohen, Cohen sells it to his contacts, and they split the profit. Or they did.”
“What does that mean?”
“That end’s been falling off—from my skim—the last eight, nine months.” From the back, McNab gestured with his coffee, downed some. “Less product passed, so less profit for Cohen. He has a client list—disbarred or not—and he lists Jones as a client, and the share from illegals as part of his rolling retainer for legal advice. About six months ago, he took on a client he names as Bang-Two, and it looks like he’s working the same kind of deal. Smaller, but the same sort of deal, and with this one, he’s pulling some from their sex trade.”
