Judgment in Death

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Nice job, Dallas." Feeney rode down with her to lobby level. "Now I'm going to tell you what they didn't. If Bayliss gets back behind his desk, he's going to be gunning for you."

"I can't let a rat turd like Bayliss worry me. I got two cops and one witness in the morgue. Until I work through the layers of that, Bayliss can blow all the hot air he wants."

"Enough hot air blows at you, you get scalded. Just watch your back. I'm going over to your place, switch off with McNab for awhile."

"I'll meet you back there. I want to swing by Kohli's, have another talk with the widow. I'll pull Peabody. You know an Illegals Detective, Jeremy Vernon?"

Lips pursed, Feeney ran through his head files. "Nope. Doesn't ring for me."

"He's got an attitude-and a fat bank account. I'm probably going to pull him in for a chat, tomorrow latest. You want in on that?"

"I always like sitting in on one of your chats."

They separated, with Eve moving through the late-lunch pedestrian traffic to her vehicle. She waited for a maxibus to clear, contacting Peabody as she pulled away from the curb.

"I'm on my way to Kohli's. Meet me there. I want a follow-up with the widow."

"I'll head out now. Dallas, McNab's picked up three more accounts for Detective Vernon. We've got a total of two million six, and still counting."

"Isn't that interesting? Look, Feeney's on his way over there. I want McNab to pick his way through Vernon's financials. Make certain the son of a bitch didn't win some lottery or inherit a bundle from one of those dead relatives. Pin down his income and his outlay. I don't want to give him any wiggle room when I pull him in."

"Yes, sir. I'll report to the Kohli residence as soon as our city's marvelous public transportation system will get me there."

"Take a cab. Put it on expense account."

"Do I have one?"

"Jesus, Peabody, put it on mine. Get moving."

She cut transmission and let her mind wander through the tiers of her case while she cut across town.

There was a corruption problem in the One two-eight. In the Illegals Division and potentially elsewhere. The corruption pointed at Max Ricker, and two of the detectives on the task force formed to take him down were dead. One of them had been in Ricker's pocket.

IAB had conducted an unauthorized and clandestine operation involving the other of those detectives as a plant.

In Purgatory, she reminded herself. Roarke's place. What did Ricker have to do with Roarke's club?

Had Bayliss been fishing there, trying to dig up the old connection? The man struck her as a fanatic, but that was reaching.

Still, IAB had sent Webster, an old connection of hers, to feed her misinformation on Kohli.

The captain of the squad had either let her men get beyond her control or was part of the corruption. She had a problem, or she was one. Either way, Eve had a ranking officer on her short list of murder suspects.

Ricker was a key, maybe the key. He'd lured the cops and most certainly knew which members of the department were on his payroll. His businesses, she imagined, depended heavily on them. If she found enough of them, pulled them out of the loop, would he come out? Come after her?

As much as she'd enjoy that, and emptying the dirty cops out of his pocket, those were second-level goals. Her first was to flush those cops in order to find a killer.

Avenging a loss or betrayal, Mira had said. Not revenge, avenge. And the difference was, in Eve's mind, another key. Scouring off the badge with blood to purify it.

A fanatic? she wondered. On a parallel line with Bayliss. One who tossed the rules aside when it suited his agenda.

She scouted out a parking place, pleased to find one on street level less than half a block from the Kohli residence.

Even as she pulled in, a car rolled up beside her. Distracted, she glanced over. As the doors of the blocking car swung open, her instincts kicked in. She was out of her vehicle on a forward roll and came up with her weapon drawn.

There were four of them, and she saw with one sweeping glance they were better and more heavily armed than the ones Ricker had sent after her the first time.

"No point in making a fuss here, Lieutenant." The man on the far left spoke politely and held his long-nosed laser pistol just under the open flap of a natty spring topcoat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Eve saw the one on the far right begin to circle. She considered trying for a stun-sweep; her finger all but quivered on the trigger.

And a boy of about ten zipped behind the group of men on a dented street bike. One of them plucked him off. The bike skidded down the street, and while the boy yelped, the man nudged his stunner against the young throat at the pulse.

"Him or you."

It was said almost offhandedly, and it enraged her.

"Let him go." Deliberately, she clicked the power up on her weapon.

The boy's eyes were wide and terrified. He made sounds like a small cat being choked. She couldn't risk looking at him.

"Get in the car, Lieutenant. Quietly and quickly, before innocent civilians are injured."

She had a choice to make and made it fast. The weapon seemed to leap in her hand as she fired it, struck the man holding the boy between the eyes. She saw the kid fall, heard with sweet relief his screams of terror and, diving for cover, fired again.

She rolled under the car, grabbed the boy by the foot, and scraped off a few layers of his skin when she dragged him under. "Stay. Shut up."

Even as she rolled again to block his body with hers and come out on the other side, she heard the whine of another weapon.

"Drop it! Drop it, fucker, or what's left of your brains'll be leaking out of your ears."

Webster, she thought, then came out from under the car like a lightning bolt, hit her target mid-body with a full tackle, and sent him crashing to the street. She lifted his head, bounced it smartly off the pavement, then looked up to see that Webster had the only remaining problem standing, unarmed, with his hands lifted.

"You trailing me again, Webster?"

"I needed to talk to you."

She got to her feet, winced a little, and glanced down to see a long, nasty gash in her knee. "You sure run off at the mouth a lot lately. You got that one?"

"Yeah." He smiled a little at the sound of sirens. "There's the backup. I took the liberty of calling for some."

She limped over, picked up weapons, scanning the three unconscious men. Then she went back, crouched, and peered under the car.

The kid had shut up, she gave him that. And big, fat tears ran down his freckled face. "Come on out. It's okay."

"I want my mom."

"Can't blame you. Come on."

He crab-walked out, swiped his hand under his nose. "I wanna go home."

"Okay, in a minute. You hurt much?"

"No." His lip trembled. "Did I wreck my bike?"

"I don't know. We'll get somebody to look at it for you."

"I'm not supposed to ride in the street. My mom said."

"Yeah, well, next time, listen to your mother." She gestured to a uniform the minute the black and white pulled up. "Send somebody after the kid's bike. Give your name to this policeman," she told the boy. "He's going to take you home. If your mom wants to talk to me…"

She dug in her pockets, mildly surprised when she discovered she'd remembered her cards. "Tell her to call me at this number."

" 'Kay." He sniffed again, studying her with more interest than fear now. "Are you a policeman, too?"

"Yeah." She pulled her restraints out of her back pocket. "I'm a policeman, too."

She rolled the first man over, checked for a pulse, lifted one of his eyelids. She wasn't going to need restraints for this one.

"You couldn't risk a stun," Webster said from behind her. "You had to take a kill shot to insure the safety of the civilian."

"I know what I had to do," she said. Bitterly.

"You'd been slower, less accurate, or if you'd lowered your weapon, that kid wouldn't be going home to his mother."

"I know that, too. Thanks for the help here."

He nodded, then stood back and waited while she organized the scene and had one of the uniforms disperse the small crowd that had gathered.

The MTs rolled up, and right behind them a cab. He saw Peabody leap out, rush to her lieutenant. To his surprise, she shook her head when Eve gestured her aside. What appeared from his viewpoint to be a short, snarly argument took place. In the end, Eve threw up her hands, then hobbled over to one of the MTs to have her leg treated.

Amused, he wandered up to Peabody. "How'd you manage that?"

She was surprised to see him, and it showed, but she shrugged. "I threatened her with Roarke."

"What do you mean?"

"Reminded her that if she went home without having that gash seen to, he'd be pissed, treat it himself. And pour a pain blocker into her. She hates that."

"So, he handles her."

"They handle each other. It works for them."

"I noticed. Will you give me a minute with her?"

"It's not up to me." But Peabody walked away to oversee the transportation of the suspects.

Webster strode over to the medi-van, crouched down, and studied the gash being treated. "Not so bad, but those pants will never be the same."

"It's a scratch."

"Got grit in it," the MT stated.

"Got grit in it," she mimicked and scowled at him as he closed the cut. "I hate you guys."

"Oh, we know. My partner paid me twenty so I'd treat you instead of him." He finished the job while she sat and stewed, then stepped back. "There now. Want a lollitape?"

Because her lips quivered she didn't risk cursing him but simply got to her feet. "Easiest twenty you ever made, pal."

She walked away, still limping a little, and Webster fell into step beside her. "Now that we've had our little party, can I have a minute?"

"I've got a follow-up to do, then I've got to go in and hammer these guys, write a report…" She sighed. "What do you want?"

"To apologize."

"Okay. Accepted." But before she could walk away he took her arm. "Webster."

"Just a minute." Cautiously, he removed his hand, put both in his pockets. "I was way over the line last night, and I'm sorry for it. I put you in a bad spot. I was pissed, at myself a lot more than you, but it gave me an excuse to… Okay truth, goddamn it. I never got over you."

He could probably have given her a quick roundhouse kick in the face and shocked her less. "What? What was to get over?"

"Well, ouch. That should have my ego limping for the next couple of weeks. Let's just say I got hung up. It's not like I thought about you every waking minute for the past few years, but there were moments. And when that shit came down on you last winter and we had a few face-to-faces, it got stirred up again. It's my problem, not yours."

She considered, strained for something, but her mind stayed blank. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"Nothing. I just wanted to clear it up, get it out of my gut. Roarke has every right to kick my teeth in." Experimentally, Webster ran his tongue around them now. "Which he damn near did. Anyway." He tried a shrug. "I'd like to set that aside if it's just the same to you."

"Yeah, let's do that. I've got to-"

"One more thing while I'm clearing my conscience. I was following orders when I came to you on Kohli. I didn't like doing it. I know you had a meet at The Tower, with Bayliss."

"Your captain's an asshole."

"Yeah. Yeah, he is." He sucked in a breath. "Look, I went into IAB because I wanted to do good work, because I believed in keeping a clean house. I'm not going to give you a song and dance on abuse of power, but-"

"Good, because I could sing a hell of a tune about your captain."

"I know it. I didn't come to you last night just because I was hung up on you. This operation, the direction it's taken, has stuck in my craw. Bayliss says look at the big picture, but if you don't see the details, what the hell's the point?"

He looked back as the medi-vans and their police escort headed out. "I'm adding up the details, Dallas, and they're making a whole new pattern. You're going after a cop killer, and it's going to swing you right into Ricker's face."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Okay, I will." He looked back at her. "I want in."

"Forget it."

"If you don't think you can trust me, you're wrong. And if you think I'll give you any personal grief, you're wrong there, too."

"I'm not worried about personal grief. Even if I wanted you in, I don't have the authority to sanction it."

"You're primary. You pick your team."

She stepped back, hooked her thumbs in her front pocket, and measured him with a deliberately insulting up-and-down glance. "When's the last time you've been on the street, Webster?"

"Awhile, but it's like sex. You don't forget the moves. I just saved your ass, didn't I?"

"I was saving my own, thanks. Why the hell should I bring you in?"

"I've got information. I can get more. It may be my last duty in IAB. I'm thinking about transferring out, maybe putting back in for Homicide or Violent Crimes. I'm a good cop, Dallas. We worked together before. We did all right. Give me a shot. I could use some redemption."

There were a dozen reasons to refuse. But there were one or two offsetting those. "I'll think about it."

"Good enough. You know how to reach me." He walked away, then turned, walking backward as he grinned at her. "Don't forget. I share the collar for these assholes."

She stood frowning after him, trying to figure the angles.

"We're cleaned up here, Lieutenant." Peabody, curiosity burning, walked up to her. "The uniforms are taking the single subject who was still standing into booking. Weapons are confiscated. The dead guy's on his way to the morgue, the other two en route to the hospital under guard. I have the name and address of the little boy. Should I notify child services so a rep can be present while you take his statement?"

"Hold off on that. Let's have a female uniform take his statement later today. Since maximum force was used, it's better, cleaner, if I don't take it myself. I'll write it up when I get back and report to Whitney after I talk to the scum who's still standing. Let's go on and do what we came for."

"How's the leg?"

"It's fine." Because Peabody was eyeing her, she made a concerted effort not to limp.

"Sure was handy Webster was around, huh?"

"Yeah, handy. Let's leave it at that for now."

"You're the boss."

"Try to remember that next time," Eve said with some heat as they entered Kohli's building. "And don't nag me about medical treatment in front of a bunch of uniforms and gawking civilians."

Got the job done, Peabody thought, but she was wise enough to button her lip.

A woman Eve didn't recognize opened the door of the Kohli apartment.

"Yes?"

"Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD." Eve held her badge to eye level. "I'd like to speak with Mrs. Kohli."

"She's indisposed."

"I'm sorry to disturb her at this difficult time, but I'm in charge of her husband's case. I need to ask Mrs. Kohli some questions that may aid in my investigation."

"Who is it, Carla?"

Patsy came to the door, peered out.

"It's you." She wrenched open the door while the other woman made helpless, soothing noises. "How dare you come here? How dare you show your face in my house."

"Patsy, come on now, Patsy. You should go lie down. Go away," the woman said to Eve. "Just go away."

"No, no, let her in. I have things to say."

As Eve stepped in, Sergeant Clooney hurried to the group by the door. "Patsy, you have to stay calm."

"I'm supposed to stay calm when I'm burying my husband tomorrow and this woman is trying to smear him? To ruin his reputation? Everything he worked for."

There were no tears, but there was fury. Eve preferred it. "Mrs. Kohli, you're mistaken."

"You think I haven't heard? You think I don't know?" She sneered as Eve's glance shifted to Clooney. "No, not from him. He says you're doing your job. But I know what you're doing."

"Patsy." Clooney laid a hand on her back, kept his voice low and calm. "You don't want to upset the children."

And there were plenty of them, Eve noted. A couple of babies, and one of those bigger babies who waddled around on shaky legs and made her nervous. The young boy Peabody had taken to the park on their first visit sat on the floor with a girl of about the same age. Their eyes were wide and focused on her.

She much preferred the four men with guns she'd just dispatched.

"Carla." With rigid control, Patsy turned to the woman Eve now identified as her sister. "Would you take the children to the park? Would you do that for me?"

"I don't like to leave you alone."

"I'm all right. Just take the children. They've been cooped up too long."

Eve stood where she was and watched what appeared to be a well-rehearsed if chaotic circus. Babies were packed into some sort of rolling cart where they wiggled and shook pudgy fists. The one who could walk, more or less, tumbled onto his padded butt, laughed uproariously, and was hooked into a safety harness.

The older children were ordered to hold hands. There was a short but desperate moment until the little boy's jacket was discovered. The noise level reached a dangerous peak, then cut off abruptly when the entire contingent trailed out the door.

"I will not ask you to sit down," Patsy said stiffly. "I will not offer you refreshment. My husband was a good man." Her voice trembled, nearly broke. But she continued. "An honest man. He would do nothing to shame his name, or me, or his children."

"I know that, Mrs. Kohli," Eve said and stopped what promised to become a tirade in its tracks. "Everything I've learned in my investigation of your husband's death confirms that he was a solid cop."

"Then how can you spread vicious lies about him? How can you let people think-his own co-workers believe-he was taking money?"

"Patsy." Before Eve could speak, Clooney took the woman's arm. "Lieutenant Dallas is doing her job, just as Taj did his job. Come sit down now."

"I want answers." But she went with Clooney now, let him guide her to a chair. "I deserve answers."

"Yes, ma'am, you do. I'm only able, at this time, to tell you that I've learned Detective Kohli was working under cover, and part of that cover involved the pretense that he was accepting illicit funds. He was part of an operation formed to expose corruption in the department. His death, Mrs. Kohli, was, in my opinion, in the line of duty. And that will be stated in my official findings."

"I don't understand." Tears threatened as she lowered her face into her hands. "I don't understand any of this."

"I can't explain it to you in detail at this time. Mrs. Kohli, I intend to find your husband's killer. You can help me."

"I don't know how to help. I'm sorry, please sit down. I'll get coffee."

"There's no need-"

"I have to settle myself." She drew herself up. "I need a moment to think. Excuse me."

"She's been holding up so well," Clooney muttered when Patsy left the room. "Almost too well. For the children, I imagine. Then this."

"What this, Clooney?" Eve didn't sit but turned her full attention on him. "What have you been telling her?"

"That her husband was a good man," he shot back. "And that you're doing your job."

He paused, held up a hand as he took the time to compose himself. "Look, I don't know where she got the information that you were heaping dirt on him. She won't tell me. All I know is I got a call from her a few hours ago. She was close to hysterical."

He picked up a little toy truck from the cushions of the couch, turned it over in his hand. "Kids," he said, as if to give himself a moment to calm down as well. "You never know what you're going to sit on when you've got kids in the house."

"What did she want from you, Sergeant?"

"Reassurance. That's all survivors want in the end. And that's what I've tried to give. I'd heard the talk around the squad the last day or two but didn't put much credence in it." He paused another moment. "I don't know you, so I didn't discount the talk, either. But it's not my function here to stir up the survivors. I've been working to calm her down since I got here."

"Fair enough. Can you think of any reason I'd decide to smear an honest cop I didn't even know?"

"No." Clooney sighed. "That's what I've been telling her. That's what I've been telling myself." What, he thought it would be unwise to admit, he'd been telling his captain. "But you've stirred up a lot of bad feelings in the One two-eight. It's hard to ignore that."

Patsy came back with a tray, set it on the table. "Taj would want me to try," she said quietly. "He'd want me to cooperate. I didn't know about this… operation. He never told me. I know about the money now, the other accounts. I… I thought you'd put it there. You have a rich husband. I was so angry."

"Now we both are." Eve sat. "I don't like being used to bring you pain or to damage the reputation of the man I've sworn to stand for. Who told you I put the money there?"

"No one told me, exactly." She looked tired again, and embarrassed. The heat of fury had burned away and left her empty and confused. "It was just one of the things some people were saying in the heat of the moment. He had a lot of friends in his squad. I didn't know he had so many. They've been so kind. His captain came here herself, to assure me that Taj would have an official memorial."

"Did Captain Roth tell you I was going after your husband's reputation?"

"No, no, not really. Just that no matter what anyone said, I could be proud of Taj. It meant a lot to me for her to say that, to my face. Most of the squad's come by, to pay their respects, and to offer to help in any way."

"But someone contacted you today?"

"Yes, but he was only trying to help. He only wanted me to know the squad was behind Taj a hundred percent. I didn't understand at first, then he said that I shouldn't let any of the trash coming out of your office concern me. It was all a setup. He even backed off when he saw I didn't know anything, but I pushed. Then he told me."

"Who told you?"

"I don't want him to get in trouble." She clasped her hands together, all but wrung them as she weighed confidentiality against justice for her husband. "Jerry Vernon. Detective Vernon. But he was only trying to help."

"I see. Was he a close friend of your husband's?"

"I don't think so. Not particularly. Taj didn't socialize a great deal with his co-workers. There were a few who came here to dinner, and some whose wives I got together with now and then."

"It would help me to know who his friends were."

"Oh, all right." She listed off a few names, seemed to relax a little more as she spoke.

"You're going to hurt my feelings, Patsy," Clooney said.

"Of course, you, Art." She took his hand, seemed to anchor to it.

"Taj was friendly with my son," Clooney explained. "Now and again they let the old man tag along for a beer on a boys' night out. For the most part, Taj was a homebody."

"Mrs. Kohli, you told me Taj called you that night, told you he was meeting someone after he'd finished at Purgatory."

"Yes, but he didn't tell me who, and I didn't ask. I guess I was getting a little tired of the long hours he was putting in. I was a bit short with him at first, but he brought me around. He always could," she said with a smile. "He promised it wouldn't be for too much longer, that he was close to having what he needed. I thought he meant the extra money for the new place we wanted. Then he told me to kiss the babies for him, and he said, 'I love you, Patsy.' It was the last thing he said to me. It was like him for that to be the last thing."