Connections in Death (In Death #48)(110)

“He’s got a little skim of polish, and under it, he’s the most vicious bastard I’ve ever had in the box. Anyway, I got the word you wrapped Bolt, Snapper, and Ticker. Jones, too, but he wasn’t—”

She broke off to look at the board. “He wasn’t part of killing Lyle.”

“No. And the ones that did bought concrete cages on Orion. They didn’t kill him because he was your CI, Strong.”

Strong’s head snapped around, then she lowered into the visitor’s chair. “You’re sure?”

“I am. They didn’t know, and that tells me you were both good at it. I gave them every opening, and if they’d known, they’d have taken it. It would’ve made more sense, given them some screwed-up prestige if that had been the motive. It wasn’t.”

“Then why?”

“Jorgenson ordered it to undermine Jones, to take a personal shot at Jones, and because it just pissed him off that Lyle walked away. The others, just following orders, proving their worth. Review the interviews.”

“I will. If it had been because of working with me, I’d have to live with it. I’ve been working on how I would.”

She stared down into her coffee a moment, then looked up. “I really liked him, Dallas, and I respected him. Is it worse that they killed him for nothing? Really for nothing?”

She’d asked herself the same question, and had no answer.

“We’re cops. We live with that every day. His family knows now, but you might want to talk to them.”

“I will. I want to thank you, Lieutenant, for bringing me into this, for giving me a part of it.”

“He was yours.”

“Yeah.” Strong rose. “Yeah, he was.” She started out, stopped in the doorway. “We still have his two-year chip in Evidence. Do you think if I had it put in a nice box, like a memorial, his family would like it?”

“I think they’d appreciate it. I’ll clear you signing it out.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at the briefing.”

Eve took her last few minutes alone, looking out her skinny window at the world.

*

The briefing ran long; then again, any media briefing more than five minutes hit Eve as long. Chief Tibble spoke first after making a point, as was his way, of thanking every officer involved in the arrests. Whitney followed him, speaking briefly, with both of them stating questions would wait until the end of the statements.

When it came to Eve, she took her place at the podium with her PPC in one hand. “The NYPSD, through the work, skill, and courage of the officers here, and with the cooperation and resources of the FBI, have made multiple arrests, confiscated many thousands of dollars’ worth of illegals, of weapons, of fraudulent IDs and the equipment used for creating them. Our EDD has reviewed data from confiscated electronics documenting crimes from murder, the enforced sex slavery of minors, extortion, illegals distribution, destruction of property, fraud, and other crimes perpetrated by members of the urban gangs known as the Bangers and the Dragons.

“These investigations launched with the murder of Lyle Pickering. His murder didn’t get much media attention. He was a former member of the Bangers, an ex-con, a recovering addict. He was also a man who rehabilitated himself, who learned a skill and used that skill to gain employment, who went to meetings, removed himself from his former gang ties and lived a productive life. For these reasons members of his former gang plotted and carried out his murder.

“The investigation into Lyle Pickering’s murder, and the subsequent murders of two others involved in it, led to the arrest of these individuals.

“Kenneth Jorgenson, murder in the first, three counts. Assault on a police officer, one charge; possession of a deadly weapon, two charges.

“Denby Washington, murder in the first, three counts. First degree rape, one charge. Possession of stolen property, two charges; possession of illegal substances, one charge.”

She read them off, every one.

When she finished and stepped back, questions exploded. Tibble held up his hands, moved forward, took the first wave. Kyung caught her eye, nodded, murmured, “Well done, Lieutenant.”

Maybe, she thought, maybe. But she couldn’t yet shake out the sad.

When it finally ended, she let Roarke drive, and sat back, eyes closed. Roarke gave her silence. He thought she needed the quiet, and a bit of pampering. But he had an idea what might help lift that sadness that crowded her.

When he stopped the car, she sat up, opened her eyes. And frowned.

“I wanted a stop before home,” he told her.

“I was just thinking about a really big glass of wine.”

“We’ll get to that, but first.”

He got out, waited for her. She didn’t know how the hell he’d found a parking place, but that was Roarke.

Then as she joined him on the sidewalk, the fog cleared in her brain, and she realized they stood in Hell’s Kitchen.

The building still looked old, she noted, but in a classy, dignified way with its bricks cleaned and repointed, with new windows that would undoubtedly let in light.

He’d replaced the entrance doors with ones of deeply carved wood. Above them, a simple brass plaque.

“An Didean. ‘Haven,’ right? It works.”

“Let’s see what you think of the rest.”