Judgment in Death

CHAPTER NINETEEN

She needed more coffee. She needed some sleep. Dreamless sleep. And she needed the rest of the data from the search and scan.

But something had rooted in her brain, something that had her leapfrogging over the current data and running yet another search.

She'd just begun when the summons came from The Towers.

"I don't have time for this. Goddamn politics. I don't have time to go running up to Tibble and giving him updates he can pass to the media."

"Dallas, you go up to The Towers. I'll finish the run for you," Peabody said.

Eve wanted to do the run herself. It was personal. And that was the whole damn problem, she admitted. She'd let it get personal. "Vernon's due in an hour. If he's thirty seconds late, send uniforms, have him picked up. Familiarize yourself with his profile," she added as she grabbed her jacket. "Contact Feeney. I want him and McNab in on the interview. I want the room full of cops."

She hesitated, looked back at the computer. No point in wasting time, she reminded herself. No point in it. "Add the data I'm compiling to the file, and run a probability on our three homicides."

"Yes, sir. On who?"

"You'll know," Eve said as she stalked out. "If you don't, you're in the wrong business."

"I live for pressure," Peabody muttered and sat down.

She was going to make it short, Eve told herself. And she was going to make it direct. Tibble might have to be concerned about departmental image, about politics, about the drooling and slathering in IAB, but she didn't.

She had one job, and that was to close her case.

She wasn't going to sit still for having to squeeze another damn press conference into her schedule. And if he thought he could yank her off the investigation to make the proper noises to the media, he could just…

Oh boy.

It wouldn't help matters for her to march into Tibble's office leading with attitude. Any more, she thought, than this underlying pity would help if her suspicions regarding the killer's identity proved out.

Her job was to close the case. And the dead, whoever they were, deserved her best.

As for Ricker, she intended to close that circle as well.

Tibble didn't keep her waiting. That surprised her a little. But it was nothing compared to the jolt she got when she stepped into his office and saw Roarke sitting there, cool-eyed and comfortable.

"Lieutenant." From his desk, Tibble gestured her inside. "Have a seat. You've had a long night," he added. His face was calm, blank. As was that of her commander who sat with his hands on his thighs.

It was, Eve thought, like coming in late to a high-stakes poker game. And she didn't know the price of the damn ante.

"Sir. The preliminary report on Bayliss has already been updated with initial lab reports." She glanced meaningfully toward Roarke. "I am unable to specify regarding the evidence in the presence of a civilian."

"The civilian came in handy last night," Tibble said.

"Yes, sir." She, too, knew how to hold her cards close, and merely nodded. "It was vital to arrange the fastest transportation to Bayliss's weekend home."

"Not quite fast enough."

"No, sir."

"That wasn't a criticism, Lieutenant. Your instincts regarding Captain Bayliss were correct. If you hadn't followed them as you did, we might still, at this point, be unaware of his murder. As I admire your instincts, Lieutenant, I'm about to follow them myself. I've made Roarke a temporary civilian attache as regards the investigation of Max Ricker, concurrent with your investigation of these homicides."

"Chief Tibble-"

"You have an objection, Lieutenant?" Tibble spoke smoothly. If her head hadn't been busy exploding, she might have heard the whiff of humor in the tone.

"A number of them, beginning with the fact that the Ricker matter is not priority. I am on the point of analyzing new evidence and data that I believe will lead to an arrest in the matter of my current investigation. The connection to Ricker exists," she continued, "is key, but it has no bearing on these leads or on the anticipated arrest. The connection is, I believe more emotional than tangible. Therefore, the pursuit of Ricker is secondary, and it is my belief that this pursuit can and will be continued subsequent to interview with the suspect in the homicides. I request that any steps in the Ricker area be postponed until my current case is closed."

Tibble watched her. "You're now a target."

"Every cop's a target. The killer is attempting to shift my focus from him onto Ricker. I don't intend to accommodate him. And respectfully, sir, neither should you."

There was just enough heat in the last of her statement to cause Tibble's brows to lift. Just enough to have the corners of his mouth lift in what could never be mistaken for amusement.

"Lieutenant Dallas, in my observations of your work, I have never perceived your focus shifting one degree once set on course. But perhaps I've missed something, or perhaps these current matters are more than you can reasonably handle. If that's the case, I'll assign the Ricker matter to another officer."

"That's my second ultimatum in the last few hours. I don't like ultimatums."

"You're not required to like it. You're required to do your job."

"Chief Tibble." Roarke, voice quiet, interrupted. "We've taken the lieutenant off guard, after a difficult night. My presence here adds a personal level. I wonder if we might explain the reason I'm here before this goes any farther."

It was nearly out of her mouth, the pissy little snipe that would tell Roarke in no uncertain terms she didn't need him defending her. But Whitney got to his feet, nodded.

"I think we might take a breath here, calm ourselves down. I'd like some coffee, sir. With your permission, I'll get some for all of us while Roarke outlines the basic plan for Lieutenant Dallas's benefit."

Tibble gave a brief nod, gestured to Roarke, then sat back in his chair.

"As I've told you and have informed your superiors, I once had a brief business association with Max Ricker. An association," Roarke added, "which I severed upon discovering not all of Ricker's dealings were legal.

"We did not have a friendly parting of the ways. My ending of our association cost Ricker a considerable amount of money, and a number of accounts-clients. He's known to hold a grudge over much less, and to bide his time in seeking retribution. I can't say this worried me overmuch, until recently."

He glanced up at Whitney as the commander offered him a cup of coffee. Cop coffee, Roarke thought with an inward wince but took it just the same. "As you know, I purchased, through a representative, a property owned by Ricker. I remodeled, re-staffed, and renamed the club Purgatory. It does good business, legal business, but since the time of the murder of your associate, I discovered that Ricker has been using my property, and some of my staff, to do business of his own."

MacLean, Eve thought. She'd been sure of it.

"Illegals, primarily," Roarke added. "As he hardly needs one of my properties for this purpose, his goal was to build up these illegal activities, essentially under my nose, and eventually connect me to them. Causing me and my wife a great deal of trouble and discomfort."

"She sold you out." Eve felt fury bubbling in her throat. "Rue MacLean."

"On the contrary." He never missed a beat. "She discovered Ricker's infiltration and reported it to me only last night."

That was bullshit, Eve thought, but she'd let it pass for now. "IAB had a tip on it-no doubt through one of Ricker's sources-set Kohli up to sniff it out. He had a good nose. He'd have caught the scent."

"I believe he did. Sooner than Ricker might have wanted. He was only doing minor business. But killing a cop, having a cop killed in my place, changes the level."

"It wasn't Ricker." It was out thoughtlessly, almost defensively; then she made herself consider. "He lit the fuse," she murmured. "Connections inside the department, inside the One twenty-eight. He knew which buttons to push, which wounds to pour salt in. He couldn't have known what he was starting. Couldn't have anticipated that, but he's been sucking it in, just the same."

She paused, then continued at Tibble's gesture. "He'd have been distracted, angry, at the bust last fall. It shifted the balance. Martinez had him, all her data clicked. But Mills moved in and undermined the bust and the subsequent evidence. Ricker slid through, but the whole deal twisted him up."

"And with his need to prove he still had the power, he offset that annoyance by arranging for a cop in my place. His reasoning there will come out eventually. And really, does it matter? I can get him for you. Isn't that enough?"

Too much, she wanted to say. She was afraid it would be too much. "I can get him myself."

"I don't doubt it," Roarke admitted. "However, I can help you do it quickly, without taking your energies and your considerable skills away from your homicide investigation. Or taking them only minimally. Purgatory reopens at eight on Friday night. Ricker will be there at ten."

"Why?"

"To do business with me. Business I'll agree to do because I'm concerned about my wife's safety. Eve," he murmured, "surely you can swallow your pride long enough to let me set him up so you can kick his ass."

"He won't believe you."

"He will, yes. First because it's true, and second because I'll pretend it isn't and let him see through. He expects deceit because he's a liar himself. I'm bored, you see, toeing the line. Want a bit of excitement back. Then there's the money. So much money to be made when you don't worry about the refinements."

"You already own half the universe."

"Why settle for half when you can have all?" He took a sip of coffee, found it just as bitter and bad as expected. "He'll believe me because he wants to. Wants to believe he's won. And because he's not as clever as he once was, or as careful. He'd like me, at least, under his thumb so he can pick me apart at his leisure. We'll lead him to believe that can happen. When the deal's made, you'll have him."

"We'll put men in the club." Whitney picked up the plan. "And Roarke is arranging for his security system to record the entire discussion. His club manager will be acting as liaison, setting up the meet. I need you to brief Roarke on Kohli so that he can steer Ricker in that direction. If he had any involvement in that murder, I want him to go down for it."

"He'll know it's a setup," Eve insisted. "Why should he talk business off his own turf? He'll insist on having his men do a security sweep."

"He'll talk," Roarke corrected, "because he won't be able to resist. Because he still considers the club his turf. And he can do his sweep. He won't find what I don't want him to find."

She turned from him, got to her feet. "Sir, Roarke lacks objectivity in this matter, and he's not trained. It's probable that under these conditions Ricker will attempt to cause him physical harm. Most certainly a plan along these lines will put a civilian in serious jeopardy and could cause him considerable legal difficulties."

"Let me assure you, Lieutenant Dallas, the civilian has covered himself in all legal areas. He'll have his immunity regarding any information or allegations stemming from any areas discussed, past, present, or future, in this operation. As for physical jeopardy, I imagine he can handle himself every bit as well there as he has in the legal arena. His cooperation in this matter will save the department untold man-hours and financial resources. Objectively, Lieutenant, this is an opportunity we can't afford to miss. If you feel unable to head the team or be a part of the operation, you have only to say so. Under the circumstances, it won't be held against you."

"I'll do my job."

"Good. I'd have been disappointed to hear you say otherwise. Coordinate your schedule. Make time to brief Roarke on Kohli and to be briefed by him on the security setup at Purgatory. I want every member of the team linked and locked within twenty-four hours. There'll be no leak, no mistake, no legal loophole for Ricker to slip through this time. Bring me his goddamn head on a plate."

"Yes, sir."

"Full updates, on my desk, concurrent cases, by sixteen hundred. Dismissed."

When Roarke walked out with her, she said nothing. Didn't dare. Anything that spilled out would be hot and lethal and likely burn them both.

"Noon." She snapped it out when she felt she had some measure of control. "My home office. Have your security diagrams, all data. A list, with all background data on any and all staff members who'll be on duty Friday night. You've already planned to broach some sort of deal to Ricker, I want to know every angle of it. I don't want any more goddamn surprises. Don't talk to me now," she ordered in a hiss. "Don't even speak. You ambushed me. You fucking ambushed me."

He took her arm before she could stalk away, and she rounded, one fist clenched and ready.

"Go ahead." The invitation was mild. "Take a shot if it'll make you feel better."

"I'm not doing this here." It took every scrap of control to keep her voice down. "It's bad enough already. Just let go. I'm late for Interview."

Instead, he simply yanked her into the elevator. "Do you think I would do nothing? Stand back and do nothing?"

She was trembling, and she knew it. What the hell was wrong with her? She was trembling and tired and riding too close to panic. "I think you have no right poking into my job."

"Only when it suits you? Only when I come in handy. Then it's all right for me to poke in. Invitation only."

"Okay, fine! Fine, fine!" She threw up her hands, furious because he was right, and that made her wrong. "Do you know what you've done? Do you know what you've risked?"

"Can you imagine what I wouldn't risk for you? You can't, because there's nothing. There's bloody nothing." He took her by the shoulders, fingers hard and tense.

It was always a weird sort of fascination to see him lose control, to hear his voice take on that jagged edge. But she wasn't in the mood to be fascinated. "I was handling it, and I Would've finished it."

"Well, now we're handling it. And we'll finish it. When you swallow that pride, Eve, take care you don't choke on it." Leaving it at that, he strode off the elevator when the doors opened and left her fuming inside.

– =O=-***-=O=-

It was Vernon's bad luck that she was ready to chew glass. He leaped to his feet when she walked into Interview.

"You had me picked up. You had me picked up and dragged in here like a criminal."

"That's right, Vernon." She shoved him, hard, and knocked him into the chair.

"I want a goddamn lawyer."

This time she grabbed him one-handed by the collar and shoved him against the wall while Feeney, McNab, and Peabody stood aside and watched with varying degrees of interest.

"I'll get you a goddamn lawyer. You're going to need one. But you know what, Vernon, we're not on record yet. You notice that? And you notice how my pals here aren't making any move to stop me from pounding your ugly face in. I'm just going to kick you around the room a few times before we call for that goddamn lawyer."

He tried to shove her, found her elbow hard in his gut. "Get your hands off me."

He took a swing at her that went wide as she sidestepped. Then he was doubled over, retching from the agony of her knee slamming into his crotch.

"I've got three witnesses here that're going to testify that you assaulted me. That's going to put you in lockup, where all the big, bad guys will be drawing straws to see who gets to be your date for Friday night. I bet you know what those big, bad guys do to cops in lockup, don't you, Vernon? They can do a lot of it in the couple of hours it's going to take me, given my physical distress as a result of said assault, to contact your representative."

Every breath he drew cut into his throat like glass.

"Now, I came in here in the mood to dance with you, but I'm losing the urge. You don't want to talk to me and my pals, we'll just book you on the assault, then finish up by slamming you with corruption, misuse of authority, accepting bribes, collusion with suspected members of organized crime, and top it all off with conspiracy to murder."

"That's bullshit." He had most of his breath back, though his face was still white and sheened with sweat.

"I don't think so. Ricker's not going to think so, either, when it leaks you're in here squealing like a pig. And it will leak, because I've got a warrant out on Canarde."

Not yet, she didn't, but she would.

"If we let you out, you're going to wish you were in a cage playing house with some guy named Bruno."

"I came in to make a deal."

"Yeah, but then you didn't show up on time."

"I got sidetracked."

"And I don't like your attitude. Fact is, Vernon, I don't need you anymore. I'll have the case wrapped by end of day, and I'm going to take Ricker down, just for my own amusement. You're what they call superfluous."

"You're bluffing. You think I don't know how this works? I'm a fucking cop."

"You're a fucking disgrace, and don't you call yourself a cop again in my presence, or I will kick your ass."

If she had Canarde, he thought, if she was that close to Ricker, he was done. And he'd better save himself, quick and fast. "You want to make your case, you're going to want what I know. I know plenty. You haven't scraped the surface at the One twenty-eight."

"I've scraped it, and I'm busy mucking out the slime on the bottom. That's where I found you."

"I can give you more." Desperation had him trying out a shaky smile. "I can give you a promotion. Names, Dallas, not just in the One twenty-eight. Names in the mayor's office, in the media, and right on through to East Washington. I want immunity, a new ID, and the seed money to relocate."

She yawned, hugely. "Jesus, Vernon, you're boring me."

"That's the deal."

"Here's mine. Peabody, dump this piece of garbage in lockup. And see if Bruno's back in town."

"I believe he is, and he's lonely."

"Wait, Jesus. What'd you bring me in for if you didn't want to deal? I gotta have immunity. You put me in, I don't come out. We both know it. What's the point in my talking if I'm going to get stuck in the heart?"

"Gee, Vernon, now you're breaking mine. Immunity, for everything up to conspiracy to murder. You get hooked to that, you go down. As for the new name, face, location, that's your problem."

"That's not enough."

"That's it; that's all. And even that leaves a taste in my mouth it's going to take weeks to get out again."

"I didn't have anything to do with killing cops."

"Then you don't have to worry, do you?"

"I got a right to my union rep." He whined now, in a voice that reminded her of her father's in the flashback.

"Sure you do," was all she said and turned to the door.

"Wait. Okay, wait. Reps just complicate things, right? We'll do it straight. You put the immunity on the record, and we do it straight."

She turned back to the table. Sat. "Interview with Vernon, Detective Jeremy, conducted by Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Also present are Feeney, Captain Ryan; McNab, Detective Ian; and Peabody, Officer Delia. Subject Vernon has agreed to give statements and answer questions in return for immunity on any related charges of corruption and misuse of authority. Do you give these statements and agree to answer these questions of your own volition?"

"That's right. I want to cooperate. I want to make things right. I feel-"

"That's enough, Vernon. You are a ranked detective in the NYPSD, correct?"

"I've been a cop for sixteen years. Been a detective in Illegals at the One twenty-eight for the last six."

"And at this time you are prepared to admit that you have accepted financial bribes and other favors in exchange for passing information to, aiding in the illegal practices of, and generally following the orders of Max Ricker."

"I took money. Fact was, I was afraid not to. I'm ashamed of it, but I feared for my life and well-being. I'm not the only one."

Once he got started, Eve thought, you couldn't shut him up. In the first hour, he reeled off streams of names, activities, connections.

He brought down the One twenty-eight, even as he doggedly treaded water to keep his own neck above the swamp.

"Captain Roth?"

"Her?" Vernon, feeling perkier, sneered. "She didn't see. Didn't want to, you ask me. Has her own agenda. Wants to make commander. Plays a good game of politics, but she's got this problem. She don't have a dick and wishes she did. Always going off about how some of the men didn't like taking orders from her 'cause she's a woman. Then she's got that useless husband screwing around on her. She drinks. She got so hot on this op to take Ricker down, she didn't watch her back or look down at her feet neither. Made it easy to pull the rug out, you know. We just passed the data along, lost some key evidence, skewed a couple of reports, and that was that."

"Yeah, that was that."

"Listen." Vernon leaned forward. "Ricker's smart. He knows he doesn't need the whole squad. He gets key men, and they keep a look out for him, and for other recruits. You know who's up for a take and who's not."

"Kohli wasn't."

"Straight as a damn arrow, Kohli. One of the guys in the One two-eight, see, he'd heard something on an op from say, the Six-four. Easy to poke around, talking shop. Then you got a guy knows how to hack data, and you get the deets. Pass that to Ricker, and you get a nice fee."

He lifted his hands, actually smiling. "Smooth. Simple. If the op was after one of Ricker's connections, he had time to change locations, pull out, whatever, so the op's a bust. If it's one of his competitors, he can sit back, wait for the shit to fly, then pick up the clients, maybe even the merchandise, after. He's got key men in Evidence when he needs them. Then the media guys to spin stories his way, the politicians to keep the heat off. Thing is, I've been noticing, last couple years the guy's getting erratic."

"Ricker?"

"Yeah. He's starting to dip into his own stock a little too heavy. Slurping that drink of his, laced with illegals, every time you turn around. He's a damn addict now, half gone to a funky-junky. I mean he's slipping and sliding in a big way, making some bad moves. Then offing a cop. I mean, Jesus."

Eve's hand shot out, gripped his wrist. "Do you have knowledge that Max Ricker arranged for the murder of Taj Kohli?"

He wanted to say yes. Somehow, it had all taken on the shining sheen of bragging. But if he didn't play it straight, she'd catch him up and find a way to hang him. "I can't say as he ordered it, but I heard some talk."

"Give me the talk, Vernon."

"Now and again I'd maybe have a drink or share an LC with one of Ricker's guys. Lemme tell you, I wasn't the only one noticing he was losing his touch here and there. So this guy, Jake Evans, he was telling me about a month ago that Ricker was playing games with IAB, getting his jollies turning cops on cops. He knew IAB put a man into that club, looking for cops doing deals. Only there weren't cops doing deals. Get me?"

"Yeah, I get you."

"Right. Ricker'd put that out, playing his games. Ricker, Evans tells me, has this bug up his ass to cause trouble there, in that club, and that's why he's having some of his men channeling illegals through it. But seems he got a better idea, and he thinks he's found a way to put a cop on a cop, all the way. Some psychological shit, Evans said. Ricker, he's big on mind games. He's feeding skewed data to this other cop on the first cop. The second cop… You following this?"

"Yes. Keep going."

"Okay, the second cop's got some problems. Personal problems or something, and Ricker's chewing away on them, making them raw, giving this cop lots of little nudges so he'll think the first cop, that's Kohli, did something dirty. But it was more than that, like whatever the dirty was went back on the first cop. Evans said it was complicated and risky, and Ricker wasn't saying much, but he, Evans, didn't like it. Then Ricker's man in IAB… he's got one there, too. His man there was supposed to make sure all this shaded data sort of fell in the second cop's lap. I guess it worked."

Vernon had the good sense to take the excitement off his face. "I figured when Kohli got hit, and it came around he got hit by another cop, I figured Ricker'd worked it."

"What's the name in IAB?"

"I don't know. Swear to God," he said when her eyes narrowed. "We don't all know each other. Mostly we found out, but not every one, every time. Probably Bayliss, right? Bayliss is dead. Come on, Dallas. I've given you close to twenty names. You put a fire under some of them, you'll get more."

"Yeah, I'll get more." She got to her feet. "But I can't stomach any more from you. McNab, get this thing into a safe house. Two guards at all times, on eight-hour shifts. Feeney, can you hand-pick them."

"Can do."

"I gave you a hell of a lot, Dallas. You could go to bat for me on the new ID."

She didn't so much as look at him. "Peabody, with me."

"Dallas, hey!"

"Count your blessings, jerk," Feeney muttered as Eve walked out. "You only got your balls bruised. Another little while in here with you, if she didn't cut them off, I would have."

"I can't even get mad." Peabody stood in the hallway, turned away from Interview. "I'm too sick to my stomach to get mad. I love being a cop, and he's made me ashamed of it."

"That's the wrong take. He's beyond shame. You just do the job, day after day, and you've got nothing to be ashamed of. I need you to make a copy of that record and get it to Tibble. That's going to be his problem, thank Christ. I've got another meet at noon. I'll fill you in on it when I get back."

"Yes, sir. What about Canarde?"

"We hold there. I'm saving him for later."

"Do you want the results of the search and scan and probability you had me run?"

"Is it enough to pick him up?"

"Probability's under seventy-six percent with known data. But-"

"But," Eve repeated, "the computer doesn't count grief or mind games. Or Ricker playing cop against cop. We'll bring him in. We'll do it quiet, when I get back."

"He may try another hit."

"No, he gave his word. He won't break it."