JM03 - Red Cat (24 page)

Flores smiled ruefully. “I’ve got to get you in front of my law students, counselor, because that was frigging great. Really, you live up to your reputation. But the sad fact is, after all the magic words, it’s still just a sow’s ear. It’s still Holly Cade blackmailing your client, him hiring a PI— his own brother, no less— to find her, and her turning up dead. It’s still him with motive and opportunity.”

“Are you saying that you consider my client a suspect, Ms. Flores?”

She waved a hand. “This is still just a friendly chat, counselor, and I’m still waiting to hear from your investigator.” There was only a little irony in how she said it. Mike turned to me, and so did everyone else.

“It was a dangerous life,” I said, and I walked them through my investigation, and all that I’d learned about Holly’s anonymous, often extreme, sexual encounters, the secret recordings, the pressure she exerted on her partners, the interrogation sessions, the abusive former boyfriend, the current one who was a violent ex-con, and the possibility that someone had been using her videos for blackmail. I could tell by the glances they exchanged and the notes they took that much of it was news. Rita Flores looked at me again and I felt the weight of her dark eyes.

McCue sighed dramatically and shook his head. “I’ve heard shit about you, and none of it good, but nobody said you were stupid enough for this— jumping into an active investigation with both feet….” He shook his head some more. “We know you talked to the neighbor, and to the sister in Connecticut, but I want a list of everybody else: names, addresses, phone numbers, everything. We need to figure out how bad you fucked things up.”

“I know my business, McCue— I documented everything, and nothing was fucked up.”

“Right.” Vines snorted. “The fact that you’d mess with an open case tells me you don’t know shit. I can only imagine how many witnesses you screwed with.”

I took a deep breath. “Check my notes, talk to the people I talked to. I didn’t screw with any of them. I didn’t lead, coax, or coach anyone.”

Vines ignored me. “And God knows what you did to the evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” I snapped, and Mike cleared his throat. “I was nowhere near any physical evidence.”

“No?” McCue asked. “What about when you tossed Holly’s apartment?”

I shook my head. “That wasn’t me,” I said.

Mike coughed again and looked at Flores. “As John said, we’re happy to share information—” Vines snorted. Mike ignored her. “And it seems we’ve developed some that you haven’t come across yet.”

“It’s not so hard when you know who the vic is,” Vines said.

Mike looked at Flores. “I realize there’s a lot to think about in what John had to say.”

“A lot of speculation,” McCue said, “a lot of guesswork.”

Mike continued. “A lot of reasonable doubt to look into, and we’re pleased to help in any way we can. But we could be more helpful if we knew a little more about the state of the investigation.”

McCue’s eyebrows leapt to his hairline. “You have some nerve, asking—” Flores cut him off.

“We’re all playing our cards close, counselor, and I guess that’s only natural at this point.” She looked at McCue. “On the other hand, Leo, I don’t think there’s harm in a little sharing— provided Mr. Metz is willing to do the same.”

Mike nodded. “Within reason.”

Vines glared and McCue’s jaw tightened. “What do you want to know?” he rumbled.

“The video you showed us— where did you get it?”

McCue looked at Flores, who nodded. “We got a DVD in the mail. The footage was on it, and so was a shot of March’s driver’s license.”

“You know where it came from?”

McCue shook his head. “The envelope was postmarked Manhattan, but it had Holly’s return address on it.”

“Was there anything else inside,” Mike asked. “A note, perhaps?” McCue thought for a while, and shook his head.

“An anonymous tip,” I said. “That’s breathtaking police work.”

Vines nearly came out of her chair. “The fuck was that, asshole?”

“It didn’t strike you as a little convenient? Maybe even suspicious?”

“Which means we’re supposed to ignore it?” McCue’s face reddened. “That’d be fucking great police work.”

“Not ignore it,” Mike said, “but given what you know now, about someone using Holly’s videos for blackmail, I’d expect that you’d look at it a little differently.”

Vines sneered. “Differently how?”

I answered before Mike could. “You ever consider that maybe your DVD came from the blackmailer— who maybe had something to do with Holly’s death, and therefore has every reason to set my brother up to take the heat?”

Vines started to snap back, but Flores cut her off. “We’ll look at all of this, counselor, and very closely, I promise,” she said. Then she looked at David.

“And now, what about you, Mr. March? We’ve talked a lot about you today, but we haven’t actually heard you talk.”

Mike nodded at him, and David looked at Rita Flores. His voice, once he found it, was quiet but even. “Mike and John have laid out the facts, and I can’t add to them. But if you want to hear me say I had nothing to do with this woman’s death, then I’m saying it. I don’t know what happened to her, and I had nothing to do with what happened to her.” Flores nodded vaguely and McCue spoke.

“Do you own a gun, Mr. March?”

David didn’t flinch. “No.”

“Can you account for your time two weeks ago today, Mr. March?” he asked. And David walked them through that day. It was the same story he’d told me, and I knew they would see the same holes.

McCue made notes, and looked up at David. “And your wife can confirm that you were home all evening?” Something in his voice raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Yes,” David said.

“So she was with you the whole time?” McCue asked. Mike caught the bad vibe too and interrupted.

“I think Mr. March’s answer was clear,” he said, before David could answer.

McCue swapped looks with Vines and Flores, but went on to other things. “From what you— or your lawyer— said, it sounds like Holly’s telephone calls were mostly about wanting to see you again.” David nodded. “No other topics of conversation?”

David looked puzzled, and the bad vibe returned. “Only that one, and the…threats.”

McCue nodded. “So she never mentioned being pregnant?”

The silence afterward was expectant, just waiting to be filled by sounds of rending metal and breaking glass. David’s face went from white to gray, and his mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. I put my hand on his back. Mike looked at Flores and tapped his finger on his chin. His face was blank and his voice was icy.

“You want to explain that?”

She shrugged. “ME said she was pregnant, though not by much— four weeks maybe.”

Mike’s brow twitched. “Four weeks. She might not have known herself.”

“It’s hard to ask her, though, so we’re asking your client.”

David took a noisy breath. “She never said anything like that.”

“Then would you mind giving us some DNA,” Flores asked, “to eliminate you as the father?”

Mike answered for him. “The question is whether he knew Holly was pregnant, and the answer to that is no. I think DNA is a little premature.”

“A conversation for another day, then,” Flores said. “But back to who knew what about Holly’s pregnancy…” Flores nodded at Vines, who tapped away on the laptop and turned the screen to face us.

A video played, and this time it was well lit, and the star was fully clothed. It was another hidden camera shot, skewed and looking up from roughly knee height. In the background there were windows covered by a metal gate, and in the foreground there was a woman. She had dark, wiry hair, and big eyes in a pale, pinched face. The sound quality was poor, but Stephanie’s words were distinct.

“Leave him alone, you fucking bitch. Leave my husband alone.”

A haughty laugh came from somewhere off camera, and I knew that it was Holly’s. From across the room, Rita Flores spoke to David. Through the rushing in my ears, her voice sounded much farther away.

“Where is your wife now, Mr. March?” she asked.

28

Something shattered in the kitchen, a loud piece of crockery, and we heard David curse. Mike Metz shook his head.

“I feel like breaking stuff, myself,” he said. His voice was low, and he was staring out of David’s living room window at the white and gray patchwork of Central Park. The bare tree limbs were like a fog over the landscape, and something like a fog had settled over my brain since we left the precinct house on Pitt Street. I rubbed my face with both hands but it did no good.

“We’re exactly where I didn’t want to be,” Mike said. “Off balance, surprised, and playing catch-up.” He sighed heavily, loosened his tie, and pushed his shirtsleeves to his elbows. “And catching up to Flores won’t be easy.”

“What was she doing there, anyway?” I asked. “It’s early for an ADA to show up.”

“She was there to protect her interests,” Mike said. “An ugly killing, a wealthy, high-profile suspect, and plenty of sex, all in a bigtime media market like New York: if this gets to a trial, she knows it’s six months of cable TV frenzy, minimum, and afterward a book deal and God knows what else. But she knows it could just as easily turn into a career-killer, and she can’t afford any fuckups. So she was there to be careful, and to send a message.”

“That being?”

“That she’s serious, but that she might be willing to deal; that otherwise this could get seriously ugly for your brother; and— most of all— that she has all the cards.”

“That video…”

“Fuck that video,” he said vehemently. “I don’t want a jury ever seeing that thing.”

McCue and Vines had only played a snippet for us, but it was enough. Holly was doing some version of her interrogation act, and Stephanie was white, and shaking with anger.

I took a deep breath. “Surely we’re a ways from that.”

“Not as far as I’d like,” he said.

Mike turned and paced the length of the room. It was a long walk, across an expanse of bleached hardwood floor and white carpet, and past low, sleek furniture in glass, polished stone, and white leather. Mike’s face was pale and full of concentration.

“The particulars of Holly’s life took them by surprise,” I said. “That had to buy us something.”

“It complicates things for them, so it buys time, though probably not a lot. They’ll run down the stuff we gave them— they have to— but unless something jumps out at them, it’ll be perfunctory. Make no mistake— it’s David they like for this, or Stephanie, or both.”

“I got that.”

Mike’s brows came together. “They’re not so sure about you, either.”

“I got that too. What do you want to do with this time we bought?”

“The first thing I want you to do is find Jamie Coyle.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Coyle’s going to be at the top of McCue’s list of people to talk to.”

“Exactly,” Mike said, “and I don’t want any more surprises. I want to know what he’s got to say, and I don’t want to hear it secondhand from Rita Flores.”

“The cops won’t be happy to see me around.”

“Not in the slightest,” Mike said, “but I don’t think it can be helped.”

“Easy for you to say— it’s not your license they’ll yank.”

Mike squinted at me some more. “Your brother’s skating on some very thin ice right now— it’s not the time to get—”

I cut him off. “I know, I know,” I said. “What if Coyle’s in the wind?”

Mike looked out the window some more. “The best thing for your brother is a Coyle who confesses. Next best is a Coyle who cuts and runs.”

“What about a Coyle who had nothing to do with Holly’s death?”

He shook his head. “Bad news. Without a viable alternative, Flores will keep looking where she’s looking now.”

I stared up Fifth Avenue, and watched a bus slide past the Engineers’ Gate at Ninetieth Street. I wasn’t sure yet what case there was to make against Coyle, or if there was any at all, but I kept that to myself. Mike seemed to read my mind.

“If you’ve got someone else in mind, don’t keep it secret,” he said. “Because Flores is eager, and time is not on our side.”

I shook my head. “You think she’s going to make things more formal soon?”

“Probably. And after that, it won’t keep quiet long. It may not keep quiet as it is. The longer David stays on Flores’s radar, the more likely it is the press will get hold of it, one way or another.”

“Are the cops releasing the identification?”

“Flores said they’ve notified the sister, but they’re not making an announcement just yet.”

We heard the clatter of silverware on tile, and another curse from David. I crossed the room to the hall and looked through the dining room into the kitchen. I saw a shadow move across the floor, but nothing else. I turned to Mike.

“So I look for Coyle; what about you?”

Mike ran a hand through his hair. “The first thing is to sit down with Stephanie, and figure out just what the fuck is going on.” I nodded.

David had been very little help on that front. In the cab uptown he’d been blank-faced and silent. Back at his apartment, he’d sent the maid home and stood in the entrance foyer in a freefall of confusion. I’d guided him to the living room and sat him on a sofa. Mike had asked questions and David had groped for answers.

“What did Stephanie know about your affairs?”

“She knew there were other women, I don’t know how. We didn’t talk about it, not directly. Maybe once…I don’t know. I didn’t think she knew about Wren— she never said anything. I was wrong, I guess.”

“Were you together all night that Tuesday?”

“She was here when I got home, but she left a little while later. She said she was going around the corner, to Eighty-sixth Street, to meet…I don’t remember who, some friend of hers, to see a movie. I’m not sure when she got back— I’d had a couple of drinks, I guess, and I fell asleep. She was here around eleven-thirty, when I woke up, and she seemed fine to me.”

“How would she have met Holly?”

“I don’t know how they met— maybe Holly called her. I have no fucking idea.”

“Do you think Stephanie could have—”

“No, absolutely not. Steph had nothing to do with this. Nothing.”