Fare Play (19 page)

“Get him to sign his statement,” Captain Murtaugh instructed. “
Then
tell him.”

Dowd grunted and left to take care of it.

The others followed him out, glad to be free of the confining little room. “Conference,” Murtaugh said.

A change in shift had taken place during the interrogation; the squadroom was filled with night staff just coming on duty. Murtaugh's office couldn't hold more than three or four people comfortably, and Marian's was smaller still. Marian sent O'Toole to fetch Walker and Dowd; they all trooped downstairs to the briefing room, where the patrol cops were given their instructions every day at roll call.

One captain, one lieutenant, one sergeant, and five detectives clustered around the chalkboard at the head of the room. The captain said, “Lieutenant, draw us a picture.”

Marian stepped up to the chalkboard. “It's shaping up to look like this.” She wrote:

client → ? → Virgil → paymaster → courier → shooter

“Hook Nose at one end of the chain, David Unger at the other. We don't know how the client makes contact with Virgil. But imagine more chains radiating out from the paymaster, one for each courier he pays off. And we can't assume that Virgil has only one paymaster. You can get an idea from that how big this thing is.”

Perlmutter said, “Only one buffer between the client and Virgil? I'll bet there's more than that.”

“Hm, that's probably right.” Marian added a second question mark between “Virgil” and “client.” “There could be a half dozen there.”

“A chain is as strong as its weakest link,” Buchanan pronounced sententiously. “And Robin Muller was the weak link. So what's Virgil gonna do? Put in a stronger link.”

“What are you getting at, Buck?” Murtaugh asked.

“Send a female undercover. She could pose as a graduate student, ask around about part-time work the way Muller did.”

“And get killed the way Muller did.” Murtaugh shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

Marian said, “Virgil's already got a replacement, I'd bet on it. The guy's just too organized to leave a gap of any kind in his network. Any other suggestions?”

“Find Hook Nose,” said Gloria Sanchez.

They all nodded. “That's the way we're going to get him,” Dowd said. “Through that end of the chain.”

“This client, David Unger,” Walker asked. “What's the story there?”

“He's not talking,” Marian replied. “And he's not going to, unless we find a way to link him to Virgil. Probably not even then. We'll have a better chance of cutting a deal with Hook Nose, once we find him.”

“If we find him.”

“We'll find him,” Murtaugh said positively. “It's only a matter of time. All right, let's all sleep on it. This has been a good day's work, everyone. Now go home.”

Perlmutter looked at his watch. “My wife's going to kill me.”

Marian said, “Walker, Dowd.” They turned. “That was good work, in the interrogation.”

Dowd tried not to look pleased at the compliment. Walker said, “Thanks, Lieutenant.” They left along with the others; Dowd was asking Gloria Sanchez to come have a drink with him.

“You too, Larch,” Murtaugh said with a smile. “You've put in a long week. Go out, have dinner, have some fun.”

“Dinner!” Marian said, horrified. She checked the time. “I'm supposed to be in Queens in twenty minutes!”

“Good luck!” he called after her running figure.

27

Marian had called from her car to say she'd be a few minutes late, so Mrs. Aphra Yelincic was still smiling by the time she got there. Dinner had gone smoothly. At first Marian had had difficulty making the mental shift from Virgil to small talk; but Mrs. Yelincic had helped enormously by grilling her on whether or not she missed making a home for a husband and children. Claire Yelincic had tried to divert her mother's inquisitiveness to a different subject, but Ivan Malecki hadn't lifted a finger; he'd sat there grinning at her the whole time Mrs. Yelincic was poking and prying. Mr. Yelincic had nodded and smiled.

After dinner they'd once again gone over Marian's responsibilities as best man. Everything was taken care of that could be taken care of before the day of the wedding itself, which was the coming Thursday. Mrs. Yelincic warned Marian at least four times that she'd need to remind the ushers what time the rehearsal started Wednesday evening.

Marian's invitation was for herself “and guest.” “So who're you bringing?” Ivan wanted to know.

“Probably Holland. If we're still speaking.”

Ivan snorted. “Better get a back-up.”

“Who's Holland?” Claire asked.

“Marian's on-again, off-again boyfriend.”

Marian had to smile at the thought of how Holland would react to hearing himself called a
boyfriend
.

“What is Mr. Holland's first name?” Mrs. Yelincic asked Marian sweetly.

“Curt.”

“And he is,” Ivan said with a nod.

“And what does Mr. Curt Holland do for a living?” Mrs. Yelincic continued.

Next she'll be asking me if his intentions are honorable
. “He's a private investigator—runs his own agency. He used to be with the FBI.”

The older woman's face lit up. “An FBI man!”

“Former FBI. Very former. Holland hates the FBI.”

Unexpectedly, Mr. Yelincic said, “Oh, that's too bad.” Everyone looked at him. He quickly retreated to nod-and-smile.

Mrs. Yelincic was not to be diverted. “And what are your plans with Mr. Curt Holland?”

Marian smiled. “To get him to come to the wedding. Beyond that, no plans.”

That was not the answer the older woman wanted to hear. “Please don't take this the wrong way, Marian, dear—but you're not getting any younger, you know.” Claire groaned. “If you are serious about Mr. Holland,” Mrs. Yelincic went on, “you really mustn't delay much longer. So long as you're sure he would make a suitable husband.”

Ivan sniggered. “Oh, he suits her all right!” “Ivan!” Mrs. Yelincic remonstrated. “You mustn't make personal remarks. It's not polite.” She looked surprised when everyone burst out laughing.

Claire said, “Kelly Ingram sent an acceptance. Can you imagine? Kelly Ingram! At
my
wedding!”

“Hey, I'll be there too,” Ivan teased.

Marian listened to their cheerful chatter and felt herself relaxing from the day's tensions. Mrs. Yelincic was a wonderful throwback, the kind of professional mother you didn't much see anymore, thank goodness. But Marian was able to like the woman, because she knew she wouldn't have any sustained contact with her. She would
not
like having her for a mother-in-law. But Ivan seemed to have no problem with the prospect; he kidded Mrs. Yelincic and took no offense at her ways. It would be all right.

When the evening drew to an end, Marian's thanks were sincere; she'd enjoyed the hominess of the scene. She left with one last warning ringing in her ears about reminding the ushers of the rehearsal Wednesday evening.

At home she got ready for bed feeling bone-tired … but it was the good kind of tiredness, the kind that would let her sleep. She crawled into bed thinking of Holland. The last two nights, she had shared a bed with him. She felt a little sad that he wasn't there now.

The phone rang.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh yes.”

“When?”

She concentrated. “Noon. Do you mind coming by the stationhouse?”

“I'll be there.”

She heard the click as he hung up.

Saturday was not one of her workdays, but Marian couldn't stay away from the station after yesterday's breakthroughs. No sign of Hook Nose yet, but the word had been sent out to double the effort to find him. Marian had one bad moment when she saw Captain DiFalco walking through the detectives' squadroom at Midtown South; but he was there to see Murtaugh, not her. A lot of brass around for a Saturday morning.

Oddly, DiFalco didn't stay long. And when he left, he was clearly in a hurry to get out of the place. Marian shrugged and turned to a pile of reports she hadn't had time to read yesterday. But before she could get started, Captain Murtaugh loomed in her doorway.

“I just got a call from the Commissioner's office,” he said. “I'm to report immediately and explain why we've not yet caught this hired killer who's quote running rampant through the city unquote.”

“Oh boy.”

“The Commissioner himself is coming in to hear what I have to say.” He gave her an ironic grin. “Your former captain was in my office when the call came. I suggested that since this was now a joint Midtown South/Ninth Precinct investigation, he might wish to accompany me to the Commissioner's office. DiFalco declined.”

Marian gave a short laugh. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“I suppose it's too much to hope for, but if anything comes in about Hook Nose while I'm there—let me know immediately.”

She said she would. He left; Marian had noticed that he didn't appear anxious about the upcoming interview. She supposed that yesterday's breakthroughs would be enough to convince the Powers That Be that the police were on top of the investigation. She turned back to the reports.

Most of them were from Campos's squad; Buchanan's was a little behind because of the sergeant's involvement with the Robin Muller case. Police detectives were always behind in their reports. Marian had been in the same position long enough herself to know what it was like, trying to keep up with all the paperwork. If the sergeants in charge of the squads didn't keep after the detectives, some of those reports never would get written.

Two hours later Marian had finished the reports and Captain Murtaugh was back; he gave her the okay signal on his way to his office. It was eleven-thirty. Holland wouldn't be there for another half hour. She might as well wait for him downstairs, save him the trouble of getting a visitor's pass.

But at the head of the stairs she veered and went to Murtaugh's office instead. He looked up when he saw her standing in the doorway.

“We're putting all our eggs in one basket,” she said.

He knew what she meant. “Gambling everything on picking up Hook Nose. What else can we do if David Unger is a dead end? He's not going to incriminate himself.”

“I'm putting Perlmutter and O'Toole on a deep background check Monday. Everything they can find about Unger. Tax fraud isn't good enough—the man ordered a murder. There must be some way we can link him to Virgil.”

“I'm open to suggestion.”

Marian had half an idea, not completely worked out. “Whatever O.K. Toys is a front for, it was Oliver Knowles who set it up, not Dave Unger. So our kindly little old toymaker was a criminal. Do you think it's likely that the toymaker's son never knew what Daddy was doing?”

“Austin Knowles?” Murtaugh chewed that over. “Get him for guilty knowledge?”

“Austin must be ready to jump at the chance to put away the man who killed his father. Offer him immunity in exchange for spilling the beans about what was really going on behind that toy company front.”

“That would help the feds' tax fraud case, not our murder case.”

“Maybe, but it's the only cage we've got to rattle. There's a chance Austin knows something that will let us link Dave Unger to Virgil.”

The captain thought it over, and then decided. “All right, go for it. But check with the DA's office Monday about immunity before you approach Austin Knowles.”

“Right. Thanks, Captain.” She turned to leave and almost walked into Holland.

“Yes, I'm early,” he said. He looked coolly at Murtaugh and said nothing.

But Murtaugh did. One word. “Holland.”

Holland nodded. “Murtaugh.”

Murtaugh roused himself to further effort. “I understand we owe you thanks for doing the computer work tracing our missing Rosalind Bowman.”

“You understand incorrectly. You owe me nothing.”

The captain glared but kept his civil tone. “Nevertheless, I do thank you for helping the police.”

“You're welcome,” Holland said icily. “Your gratitude means a great deal to me.”

“I had a feeling it would.” Murtaugh now matched Holland's iciness.

“How reassuring, to learn your ‘feeling' is so reliable.” Holland smiled a slow, sarcastic smile. “That must be a great comfort to you.”

Murtaugh's face was glacial. “More than you can possibly know.”

Impasse.

Both men looked away, toward Marian. “Don't look at me,” she said blandly. “I'm not going to smooth things over for you. You got yourselves into this, you can get yourselves out.”

It was Murtaugh who laughed. “Go on, go. I'll see you Monday.”

On the stairway down, Marian fretted. “Why don't you and the captain get along? I know why he doesn't like you—you're rude and arrogant every time you speak to him. But why don't you like him?”

“Because he's not rude and arrogant,” Holland answered blithely. “Now, where would you like to go for lunch?”

28

They managed to avoid the point of contention between them all through lunch. Afterward, neither of them wanted to go anywhere. The weather was foul; the moisture falling from the sky had stopped pretending to be snow and was coming down in a cold, steady drizzle. They ended up in Holland's apartment.

Marian stood at the glass sliding door that led to the balcony, looking out over a gray Central Park. A rainy Saturday afternoon ought to be the perfect time for a good snuggle, she thought unhappily. Yet they could barely talk to each other, tiptoeing around the subject as if it were a bomb.

She decided to bring it out into the open; they were too old to be playing Let's Pretend. Without turning around from the glass door, she said, “You obtained an investigator's license through fraudulent means. That's a felony.”