Crime & Counterpoint (22 page)

Part V

Take the “A” Train

The crisp night air clipped away her warmth as she burst out the doors of The Plaza, tears blinding her eyes. She nearly tumbled down the grand crimson steps, but somehow managed to appear perfectly graceful as she made her getaway. But she had no coat and the white-gloved concierge tried to flag her down with genuine concern. Her hair flew behind her in a mahogany sail as she ignored the valets who greeted her with five-star deference and bypassed the string of cab drivers who wrongly assumed the satin doll needed a lift. Cop cars were, of course, lined up along the curb, but she blazed by them all, still striking an aristocratic poise despite fleeing for her life.

From
her life.

Everyone watched her go in bewilderment until she disappeared around the corner, turning left onto Fifth Avenue into darkness.

But a minute later, the gold-framed doors opened again, and an illustrious, black-suited figure appeared, cutting the eminent steps down to size. His eyes, a riveting blue in the mixture of shadows and light, glowed with feral intensity. The steely aura he exuded made the feminine white coat draped over his arm seem more like his recent kill.

None of the cabbies offered
him
a ride as he strode past them, following the scent of a certain runaway rose.

Shelley’s pace slowed at the end of the block. Travelling west, she was now directly across from Central Park’s southern border. She caught glimpses of the large park pond, shimmering black and gold through the tall, naked trees. Stout lamp posts bequeathed a warm glow upon two-passenger carriages lined up, waiting just like the taxis in front of the Plaza, for customers.

She gazed at the dazzling strings of small lights, the snorting Clydesdales, and white breath of a group of carolers – their happy tidings only served to depress her spirits.

Her pace slowed. She wiped at her tears before they could descend too far.

“What did I
do
?” she whispered to herself, now doubly dismal. It was far too cold to continue to the club without her coat. Heads turned to eye her with curiosity as they passed, figures thoroughly bundled up while she was in a strapless dress in thirty-four degree weather.

She clutched at her arms, unwilling to turn back but not wanting to take another step. The strength left her. She felt like melting to the ground in a heap. Life held no joy for her anymore. The one she wanted, she couldn’t have. The one she could have, she didn’t want. And the one she wanted to please more than anybody in the world wasn’t proud of her anymore. How could he be?

Her eyes clouded and blurred her vision again. Therefore, she was doubly shocked when she felt a coat –
her
coat – drape her shoulders. She inhaled and looked over her shoulder, expecting to find Carter. But instead…

“It would’ve been better if you didn’t run,” Zach said in a soothing manner.

She sniffed and blinked rapidly. “Why did you tell him?” she sobbed, unable to stop herself from hiccupping.

“He’s not mad.”

Sick to her stomach, she slipped her arms into the warm, downy material. To her surprise, he turned her around. She met his gaze.

“Carrie wanted you to have this.” He presented her with a small, ribbon-tied bag of light blue satin.

Smiling and sniffling at the same time, Shelley took it and opened the drawstring ribbons. Inside were premium white and dark chocolates, all of them in the shape of music notes and instruments. “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself, taking out a miniature grand piano. “I can’t eat this.”

Zach smirked. “You should see what I got. A Heisman trophy replica made out of painted gold chocolate and a lot of dark chocolate footballs.”

Shelley smiled pleasurably and then her face dimmed. “She’s so sweet,” she said quietly, eyes down as she tied up the special bag. Zach waited for her to be done before he gently took her hand and tugged her along.

Having driven Shelley from The Plaza, Zach pulled up into the wide turnaround of The Purple Gazelle and parked to the left side of the valet zone, leaving plenty of room for other cars. The main entrance shimmered with newly-hung whitish-gold Christmas lights. He shut off the engine. The vents stopped spewing warmth, and cold air lazily snaked around them.

“Thanks for the ride,” Shelley said, removing her seat belt. “Do you mind if I leave the chocolate with you?”

But just then, a black Suburban with a patched-up windshield pulled in – a lumbering bull of a vehicle compared to the sleek predators in the parking lot. For a moment, Zach was back in between a row of shipping containers, running for his life, chased down by a Suburban. Shots firing at him.

“Zach?” Shelley asked with concern. “Are you okay?”

Blinking, he looked over and realized he was gripping her arm. He let go. “Sorry.” Opening the door, striving to stay calm, he ejected from the car, keeping his blue lasers on the SUV as it parked in the darkness of the club’s west end. He rounded his Z4’s snoozing headlights, waved off an approaching valet, and opened the passenger door for Shelley, forcing a smile.

Heart lunging out of the gate, Shelley took his proffered hand and alighted from the vehicle, trying not to focus on his touch. Her breath puffed ashy white in front of her face. Her chest constricted as he unexpectedly pulled her close, burying his face in her neck. “What are you doing, Zach?” she said, barely stable.

“Shh,” he warned quietly just as three suited men from the Suburban stepped beneath the dusty glow of a longneck street light. Two of them scrutinized him and Shelley as they treaded towards the entrance. But her hair veiled him to an extent.

He kept his eyes on the men. The one in the middle struck a tense note. Without incident or a second glance his way, they disappeared inside the club. Zach exhaled in relief and lifted his head. But then his attention diverted to Shelley whom he still held.

It would’ve been far too easy to kiss her right now. But it would’ve been a punishment to him more than her, he decided. “I’ll be back to pick you up around midnight.”

She nodded, too affected to reply. He felt her disappointment as he let go.

His was stronger.

But he reminded himself as he watched her walk into the club that he had plenty to keep her off his mind tonight. David Ericson was in custody, and Zach was going to make him bleed.

Zach stood on the viewing side of the one-way glass watching as Detective Valentino conducted a preliminary questioning with the girl named Vienna. She was about 28, built for the catwalk, and came from a high-priced escort service known as La Dame en Rouge – lady in red. Couldn’t get any more obvious. These women came at premium costs to affluent bachelors who could pay. Thus, they knew all the upper-class Johns of Manhattan, Staten, and Long Island. Had all the dirt on them too. Because white-collar criminals just weren’t as hardened and tight-lipped as the blue-collar ones; they needed someone to talk to, someone to love them, someone to say ‘it’s okay, honey, you’re doing your best’ and stroke their egos with a little oral sex.

And usually when these executive types were caught, they confessed right away.

As millionaire playboy Ron Hightower III would. As David Ericson would.

But this girl? She was about as brittle as a slab of marble. Zach got the impression that she had everybody’s stories written in her black diary which was locked up in a six-foot-thick steel safe, and it would take more than a nice-mannered police officer to break into her vault. She had street-smarts on her alright, which just heightened Zach’s conviction that she was in bed with Ivan Kazanov. Thus, he didn’t want her scared away. Not like he had anything incriminating on her yet.

Rick finished up his examination, and Zach turned expectantly as the Italian stepped out. Neither of them spoke until the door closed.

“Well, Zach, it’s your call. She seems dead convinced that we’ve got nothing on her.”

“Because we don’t.”

Rick shrugged. “Like I said. Your call.”

Zach thought about it, arms crossed. “Let her go.”

“Henri, I don’t understand why you’re telling me to confess,” Ron huffed, acting like a spoiled rich kid who’d just been found out. He and his eminent counsel waited in a room for the police to come around.

Carter stood in the corner, wondering why Henri had changed his tune.

“Because,” Henri replied, “in your situation, you have the potential to get off scot-free if you cooperate.”

“They have no evidence,” Ron blubbered. “Nothing to warrant my–”

“Your partnership with David Ericson who was in possession of several million in potentially laundered or counterfeit funds is a liability,” Henri continued, “And the court will be lenient if you show your willingness to be open with details, to help the police and district attorney apprehend the
real
criminals.”

His emphasis on ‘real’ made Ron straighten considerably afterwards. Carter raised his brows but kept silent.

“Okay, Henri,” Ron nodded, acquiescing. “I know you wouldn’t lead me astray.”

Henri’s only response was to smile frigidly.

Carter caught the look and wondered at it, knowing that Henri was, in fact, leading Ron “astray”. Sure, no charges had been pressed, but whatever Ron might confess to would surely be incriminating and a no-sentence deal would be driving a hard bargain. He would have to play a vital role in cutting down Cervenka or Kazanov or both and that all depended on how much he
really
knew.

There was a sudden click as the door to the observation area opened. Carter looked around in time to see Zach and Rick enter. For once, these two were acting like partners.

“How’d it go with Vienna?” Carter asked, unable to quite hold his tone.

Zach shot him a look. “You’re engaged. Try to remember that.” He shifted his focus to Ron. “Mr. Hightower? Are you ready to talk?”

Ron glanced at Henri who gave him an encouraging ‘you’ll be golden’ sort of look and then said, “Yes. I’m prepared to tell you what I know.”

As it turned out, Ron spilled many beans, but they weren’t enough to cook the Czech in question. They were, however, damning enough to put a warrant out for the arrest of Ivan Kazanov – if he could be found. Insider trading with counterfeit money was a serious crime indeed, but the fact that the money was legitimized and then “invested” into The Purple Gazelle did not incriminate Cervenka, unless it could be proved that the man was aware of the fraud and therefore an accessory to the crime. And according to Ron, Cervenka was not.

In a third room, David Ericson sat quietly, far subdued from his earlier behavior. His hands were no longer cuffed, but his palms were sticky with sweat. Fear. High anxiety. It was all over his face.

Zach entered with wrath in his bearing.

But David seemed at least partially relieved when another cop entered, an Italian whom he’d never met. The officer set the silver briefcase on the plastic table with a polite smile. It was clear which one would bring down the hammer and which one would be offering the poultice.

“Mr. Ericson? My name’s Detective Rick Valentino. I apologize for the wait,” the slightly older detective said with congenial intonation. “We’d just like to start by asking you a few questions. I don’t think I have to introduce my partner to you.” Rick took a seat.

David raised his brows. “Partner? I didn’t know you had one,” he said, directing his comment to Zach who seemed disinclined to speak and remained standing, face obscured above the pendant light.

Rick’s mouth tipped wryly. “Well. He doesn’t talk about me much. But we’re tight. Right, Z?”

Zach slowly shifted his cold gaze to Rick, effectively conveying his dark mood. “Get on with it.”

“Okay. So.” Rick shuffled through a file. “Mr. Ericson. Is this your briefcase?” he asked, pointing.

David’s gaze shifted uneasily. “I’m not saying anything ‘til I have my lawyer present.”

Zach, still dressed in his suit, clenched his fist. David tried to gauge his son’s reaction, but couldn’t see his face.

“Alright. Ordinarily, I’d agree, but the thing is,” Rick said, “your associate Ron Hightower has already elucidated your involvement in an insider trading scheme with the Brother’s Circle. So I’d encourage you to be as forthright as possible.” He took a breath. “Now. I ask you again. Is this your briefcase?”

David shook his head staunchly. “I told you I’m not answering any questions without my lawyer.”

Zach swelled, the inside of his neck straining as his blood churned hot.

Rick adjusted himself in the seat. “Sir, the arresting officers stated in their reports that you, in fact, opened this exact briefcase for them and that inside they found approximately five million dollars.” His tone stayed respectful and non-threatening while Zach’s scowl deepened, darkening the small chamber. “Is there something I’m missing?”

“This is ridiculous. I refuse to let you cow me into an admission,” David blustered, face reddening.

Rick opened his hands. “Sir, it honestly doesn’t matter whether you open the case now or with your lawyer or in court. Because we already know you can. Now who gave you the money?”

“Dammit, I know my rights!” David yelled. “I cooperated. I came here, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go!”

Without warning, Zach lunged across the table, feral and menacing. He grabbed his father by the throat. “I was in the hotel room!”

David’s eyes flickered and widened.

“You know why? Kazanov sent three guys to kill you.” Zach growled, every fiber wishing he’d never interfered. “I took them down. I saved your
worthless
life. But after what you did, no lawyer is gonna be able to save you from
me
!”

Furious, Zach roughly released his father and stalked out. David’s face filled with remorse as the door slammed. Meekly, he looked at Rick and pointed to the briefcase.

“I’d like to open it now, Detective.”

Zach emerged from the Central Park precinct building, tired, bitter, hungry but not interested in food. The cold air stung his face, hands, and ears, but he didn’t register the discomfort; the flames inside were all-consuming, bursting forth from his eyes.

Right hand jammed into his pocket, he trudged towards the parking lot, the late-night traffic blistering by, blaring their red and white headlights. But as he neared the spot in which he’d parked his BMW, he caught sight of Vienna. She was still here. Waiting for her ride by all appearances. Or…

Was she waiting for him?

His hackles tingled in warning. She looked his way, and his gut clenched. She was absolutely breathtaking. White-gold hair. Flawless ivory skin. Sadness that hid behind armored blue eyes. If only he could rid himself of the image of her and his father, she’d be a welcome distraction.

“Hello,” she said. “I see you were brought in for questioning too.”

Really? Could it be that she had no idea he was a detective? Or had she been told to play the innocent card? He chose to see how far this would go without lying. “Do you need a ride?”

She looked him over, tilting her head coyly. “Won’t that girl I saw you with at the reception mind?”

“She wasn’t with me,” he replied.

Something in her eyes shifted. “You’re David’s son, aren’t you? I can see the resemblance.”

“If you don’t want me to take you home, just say so,” he countered with more bite.

She stepped towards him. “You don’t like your father. You hate him.” She neared enough for him to smell her rosebud fragrance. Too innocent, too sweet. “It’s not good to hold it in,” she crooned just above a whisper. “Anger’s like poison.”

His stomach churned, and his blood heated.

“You could take it out on me,” she enticed solemnly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He considered her proposal until the prospect of being where David had been sickened him to his core. “But
I
would,” he seethed.

She didn’t seem surprised. “Because you’re in love with her.”

The statement brought on fresh pain. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Actually. I do.” She took a step back and looked away sadly. “Don’t worry,” she continued. “I’ll be fine. You’d better go.”

Zach frowned and checked his watch. She was right. He sent her a terse goodbye and slid into his Z4, worried now that he was going to keep Shelley waiting.