Most Wanted

46

DAN O’REILLY WALKED UP THE STEEP FRONT steps of the Brooklyn row house. He hadn’t been here in years, not since the service for Randall’s son. The block was beautiful like he remembered, but shabbier now. Paint peeled off Randall’s house in strips. Garbage and graffiti were all around, and a bunch of teenage mokes stood outside the bodega on the corner, looking like they were pitching drugs. They checked him out warily, and he nodded back. Not here for you today, fellas. Used to be, a few years back, this city was shiny as a new penny. Even out here in Fort Greene. But not anymore. Fucking economy these days, bringing everybody down.

Randall lived in the third-floor apartment. Dan found the button on the intercom panel and pressed, glancing up at the sky. Looked like rain, any minute. Smelled like it, too.

“Who’s that?” asked a woman’s voice after a moment. She sounded hoarse, tired.

“Betty?” he asked, leaning down to speak into the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Dan O’Reilly. I gotta talk to Randall. He around?”

In answer the buzzer sounded, and he pushed in the heavy wooden door.

Dan always noticed architecture, and he took a second to admire the once spectacular foyer. It smelled like cabbage or some other type of greens boiling. The parquet floor was black with grime and rotting in places, the carved mahogany staircase missing rails, covered with dingy carpeting. Damn shame it wasn’t being kept up. He should offer to come out here some weekend, strip the wood and refinish it. He’d done enough construction in his day to be pretty good at it. Not like he had anything better to do with his time. But who knew? Who knew if him and Randall would even be talking after this.

He heard a door open somewhere above his head and sprinted up the three flights. When he got to the third-floor landing, Betty Walker stood waiting with the door open, her face haggard. It shocked him to see how she’d aged in the past few years. She used to be a good-looking woman. Sharp dresser, hair always done. Now she looked like she never made it out of the old bathrobe she wore.

“How you doing, Betty?”

“Thank the Lord you’re here.” She spoke urgently, in a low voice. “Whatever’s wrong, it’s beyond me to help. Maybe you can talk sense to him.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I have no idea. But he been up drinking all night, and he’s talking all crazy now. Like he might hurt himself.”

“Where is he?”

“In the second bedroom. Used to be Darnell’s room. Straight to the back.”

She held the door open and stepped aside for him to pass. The apartment was laid out front to back like a railroad flat. He entered directly into the kitchen, which boasted gray metal 1950s cabinets and a Formica table that was new back when cars had fins. You could get good money for this shit these days-he should tell Randall that. He continued on through the small living room, which consisted of two plastic-covered recliners facing a large-screen TV, and made his way back to the bedrooms. Behind the door of the farthest one, he heard a ruckus. Sounded like things getting torn apart.

The door was slightly ajar, so he pushed it in. Randall had just ripped a drawer from the dresser and turned it upside down, spilling its contents across the narrow twin bed that occupied one wall, beneath an enormous poster of Tupac Shakur burying his face in be-ringed hands. Randall rummaged frantically through clothing and other objects, oblivious to Dan’s entrance.

Dan stood dumb. He’d come all this way, and he couldn’t think of a word to say.

Randall seemed to have found what he was looking for-a packet of papers in a manila envelope. He sat down on the bed to review them and spotted Dan.

“What the fuck-”

Randall jumped up, and only then did Dan realize he was drunk. Dan had seen Randall drunk only once before-in this house, in fact, at the service for his son. Randall was no drinker. Dan always ragged him about that, about how his own partner was the only cop in the whole PD who wouldn’t lift a pint with him on a Friday night. Now, as he saw Randall’s clothes disheveled and his eyes wild, Dan’s heart sank. Things were as bad as they could be.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Dan said, raising his hands, taking a step toward Randall.

“What the fuck you doing here?”

“Your wife let me in. She’s worried about you.”

“Oh, really? The shoe’s on the other foot for a change,” Randall said bitterly.

“Is this about you and Betty?” Dan asked, confused.

“None of your goddamn business.”

“What’s going on? What’s in the envelope?” Dan asked.

Dan advanced another step, and Randall jerked the envelope around behind his back, as if Dan would try to rip it from his hands.

“I said none of your goddamn business!” he said.

“Hey, come on. We’ve been partners for years. I came here because I know something’s up. I want to help. Whatever it is, whatever you need, I want to help.”

“You wanna help? Go away and leave me alone, then!” Randall shouted, the alcohol from his breath reaching Dan’s nose.

“Randall, you’re gonna have to tell somebody sooner or later. At least me, you can trust to put your interests first.”

“Oh, is that so? The hell I can. I know you better than that,” Randall said, words slurring slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Randall backed away a step, muttering something inaudible.

“What’s that you’re saying? Speak up,” Dan demanded.

“You and your goddamn code!” Randall said.

“What code?”

“I used to have a code, too,” Randall said, his eyes glazed as if he were talking to himself. “Fucking lot of good it did me. You don’t know shit about my life nowadays.”

“Try me. Explain to me. Maybe I’m more understanding than you think.”

Randall thrust the manila envelope at Dan. “You wanna know what’s in here? My life insurance. I’m reading it to see if it got an exemption for suicide. Because if it don’t, I’m thinking I’m gonna eat my gun so Betty can get the money.”

“They all do. Exempt suicide, I mean,” Dan said.

“Even the cop ones?”

“Yeah, sure. Especially the cop ones. Those insurance companies are smart. They’d be paying out left and right.”

Randall looked at Dan for a minute, then started to chortle. He sat down heavily on the bed, laughing uncontrollably until tears streamed down his face.

“Cop ones exempt suicide! Oh, boy, that’s a good one!” Randall screamed, holding his sides. After a moment, though, he stopped, straightened his shoulders, and looked up at Dan, wiping the tears off his face with the back of his hand.

“I know there’s an explanation why you left the hospital,” Dan said soberly. “Tell me, and we’ll take it to the right people. We’ll work it out so it doesn’t affect your pension. I know you’re worried about that.”

“Oh, I’m worried about more than that right about now.”

Dan studied Randall’s face gravely.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“I was sent on an errand.”

“On purpose?” Dan asked.

“Did I realize it was to get me out of the way? No. But maybe I didn’t let myself think about that.”

“Who sent you?”

“Ramirez.”

“Jesus. What’s he got on you?” Dan asked incredulously.

Randall’s face was sunken like an old man’s.

“Long story, my friend. Long story, from a long time ago.”

Dan pulled over a plastic chair from the desk in the corner and sat down straddling it, looking at Randall.

“Might as well get started,” he said. “Once I know the extent of the problem, I’ll figure out how to handle it.”

SARAH VAN DER VERE PACED AROUND THE MAIN entrance to the U.S. Attorney’s Office, sucking a final drag off her cigarette. It was about to pour, and she just had to be wearing her favorite outfit. She shared the space grudgingly with a tacky-looking secretary on afternoon break, who apparently hadn’t heard that teased hair went out thirty years ago. The woman smiled at her, so Sarah flashed a condescending smile and turned her back. Damn antismoking laws-they really threw you in with the riffraff. If she needed a hit of nicotine before she did this, wasn’t she entitled to some privacy? Even when they planned to execute you, they let you have your final cigarette in peace.

She threw the butt down and stamped on it but still didn’t feel ready to go inside. She stalled for a bit, contemplating the passing traffic. Taxis and trucks sped by, spewing black exhaust into the humid air. All those people, going about their pathetic lives. At this low moment in her personal history, Sarah still thought highly enough of herself that she didn’t envy them. Even if she was possibly about to get arrested, it was still better being her. Arrested. Now, that would be upsetting. But there was no way to turn Dodo in without incriminating herself, and she’d come to the conclusion that she needed to turn him in for her own protection.

But she’d take an extra moment, think it through one more time. Had she missed anything? Any out, any escape valve? She wasn’t in a rush. It wasn’t like she had an appointment. Melanie Vargas might not even be in her office.

If only she didn’t have to worry about Dodo killing her. She’d been worried about that ever since Jed’s murder. It was why she’d approached that prosecutor in the elevator in the first place. But when Melanie Vargas came to her apartment, she’d chickened out. It suddenly occurred to her that giving evidence against Dodo would reveal her own involvement in Securilex. So she made a major scene to get the woman out of her apartment. Sob, sob, like she’d ever let herself cry like that over a man. Hah, fat chance. But it worked. The prosecutor had left her alone. Only now Sarah had changed her mind, after seeing how angry Dodo was yesterday.

The situation was truly maddening. If she hadn’t felt the need to defend herself by launching a preemptive strike against him, she’d be enjoying a normal afternoon. At her desk sipping an iced cappuccino and doing some research, or sneaking out to do a little lingerie shopping. Something pleasant and unremarkable like that. Instead she was about to go confess to a major fraud. Which was rather interesting, admittedly, but damn upsetting. Although maybe it would get her on television. She would like that. She should give a little thought to what she’d wear on her perp walk, maybe get her hair blown and makeup done beforehand. She’d find herself a lawyer with good press contacts, somebody well known-cute, hopefully. Maybe there was even a book deal in this somewhere.

But she should at least consider the possibility that she was overreacting. After all, her fear that Dodo might harm her wasn’t based on much. Only on the belief that he’d ordered Jed killed. Otherwise she had no reason to think he was capable of murder. In his treatment of her personally, he’d never been violent. Okay, maybe when they played S &M games, but that was consensual. And even then he was pathetic. She’d known a lot worse. In fact, she liked worse, she liked rougher. That’s why she’d ended up making him be the bottom, because she couldn’t stand the squirrelly way he whipped her. Earlier, in his office, he’d actually seemed like he might hit her. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. Disappointed, but not surprised. Even when he was so upset, he couldn’t. Poor thing, she really did treat him mean. She couldn’t help it, though. He was so tiresome sometimes.

So okay, what made her think Dodo had Jed killed? What was the basis for that belief? She had to admit she didn’t have one shred of proof for it. It boiled down to someone had Jed killed, and who else could it be? Dodo had motive, he had money, and he hated Jed enough to do it. But did that prove anything? Knowing Jed, she was sure that plenty of other people probably wanted him dead, too. Jed was deliciously corrupt, the only person Sarah had ever met whose aura was darker than her own. She was quite broken up by his death. But just because she didn’t happen to know who those others were didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Maybe Dodo was innocent.

If only there were a way to find out, before taking the drastic step of incriminating herself. Maybe she should just ask Dodo whether he’d killed Jed. He’d probably tell her. It was the sort of thing she could imagine him bragging about, if he’d actually done it. Of course, she could imagine him bragging about it even if he hadn’t done it. But no, Dodo was a lawyer at heart. He didn’t like needless exposure to liability, any more than she did. She didn’t really think he’d confess falsely.

She opened her bag. It was that Louis Vuitton one with the pink flowers and the little gold lock that Dodo got for her. She loved pink. Come to think of it, he did buy her some nice things. It was worth giving him another chance. She pulled out her cell phone.

“Dodo. Cell,” she said, enunciating clearly so the voice recognition would register. It rang three times. She was just about to hang up when he answered.

“Sarah,” he said. The way he said her name, he sounded terribly upset. But she wasn’t interested in his mental state right now.

“So, Dodo.”

“Yes?”

“I have a question for you.”

“What?” he choked, almost as if he were crying.

“Did you or did you not order Jed Benson killed?”

The snorting and grunting emanating from the other end of the line was Dodo sobbing, she decided. Really. Couldn’t he just answer the damn question? Crying could mean guilt, or it could just mean he was a pathetic fool. Now she was going to have to coax it out of him, and she was tired of standing out here already.

“Now, Dodo, please. Don’t be so upset. Dodo?”

“I’m going to kill myself,” he sputtered. “I’m driving to the country. I’m in the car right now. And when I get there, I’m going to shoot myself with my hunting rifle.”

“Why on earth would you do a stupid thing like that?” she asked with true bewilderment. Sarah couldn’t imagine suicide. Her survival instinct was much too robust.

“Because,” he choked out, “I hate you. I hate you, and I want to hurt you.”

She laughed, a light, trilling giggle.

He stopped crying instantly. “Why is that funny?” he asked.

“Because, silly. There’s a logical fallacy there. What makes you think it would hurt me if you killed yourself? It would actually solve a lot of my problems.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt you, all right, you ungrateful whore. I’ve made damn sure of that.”

He spoke with such utter conviction that she got nervous.

“Oh. How’s that?” she asked.

“Maybe I did order Jed killed. But maybe it was at your insistence.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Melanie Vargas is about to receive an interesting package in the mail. It’s going to lay out for her how you persuaded me to put out a contract on Jed, so he wouldn’t expose what we did on Securilex. What we both did, Sarah. And I have proof. Very persuasive proof.”

“That’s ridiculous, Dodo. I had nothing to do with Jed’s murder.”

“Neither did I. But once the prosecutor reads what I sent her, she’ll think otherwise. Happy landing, Sarah! I’ll be waiting for you in hell.”