The Bitter Season (Kovac and Liska, #5)(92)

“So, Mrs. Chamberlain was killed with that sword, Einstein,” Kovac lied. The sword Sondra Chamberlain had been killed with had yielded no usable fingerprints. “And your prints are on it. Do you see how, despite the fact that you are annoying as hell, you’re making my job easy for me?”

Verzano’s eyes went wide, and he threw his hands up in the air. “I didn’t kill anybody! She seemed like a real nice lady. The husband was a prick, but I didn’t kill him, either. I’m not a violent person!”

“You have a conviction for assault in New Jersey.”

“That’s because I’m stupid, not violent!” he said earnestly. “I got into it with a guy over a girl. We were in a bar watching a hockey game. I had too much to drink! I was shit-faced, and here’s this hot chick, and she’s all smiles and batting her eyelashes,” he said, smiling and batting his eyelashes in his best imitation of a pretty girl. “And here comes this * in a Rangers jersey—and I’m a Devils fan—and he’s all ‘Fuck off, dude.’ Well, she never said she had a boyfriend, so naturally I took a swing at the guy.”

“You did more than take a swing.”

“I landed a couple of lucky punches. You know I used to box a little,” he said, pantomiming a flurry of jabs and hooks. “And then I was going to switch to MMA and do the whole UFC thing, but then this Brazilian dude kind of f*cked up my shoulder ’cause I owed him some money, and then this thing happened with the Rangers fan, and the guy was a dick about it, and he pressed charges.” He shook his head and looked away, speaking to an unseen audience. “The girl wasn’t even good-looking after I sobered up!”

Like that should be considered a mitigating circumstance.

“Franken told me he does background checks on his guys,” Kovac said. “How’d you slip under the radar?”

“He married my sister.”

So Franken, who could have been looking like the mastermind of a burglary ring, was really just a guy trying to do the right thing, hiring his wife’s hapless idiot brother and trying to help out vets and addicts with cash-under-the-table jobs.

“Tell me about Gordon Krauss.”

“What about him? I wouldn’t say I really know the guy. I’ve worked with him a few times, but he’s not one to socialize, you know? I mean, I guess he’s not exactly gonna hit the bar and hoist a few brewskies with the guys after work—him having a substance issue and all,” Verzano said. He sucked in a quick breath and shrugged. “He’s quiet. It’s that Minnesota thing, you know? Like the Vikings—the warriors, not the football team. You know, they don’t say much, but don’t f*ck with them.”

“Don’t f*ck with Krauss?”

“No, man, the dude knows karate and shit. He was some kind of top-secret Black Ops agent or something in the army.”

“He told you that?”

“Dan told me. Gordon doesn’t talk about it. Like I said: a man of few words. I wouldn’t mess with him. He gets mad, he goes cold, you know? Internal. Scary.”

“How did he react that day when Professor Chamberlain was unhappy with the work?”

“He didn’t like it. The professor or whatever was running his mouth, calling names, calling us idiots and this and that.”

“What did Krauss do?”

“Nothing. He just went cold. I could see it in his eyes. Me? I told the dude he was a douche and he should go f*ck himself with his stupid f*cking storm windows. Who the hell has storm windows in this day and age anyway? Cheap bastard.”

Kovac pulled a picture of Diana Chamberlain out of a file folder and shoved it across the table. “Have you ever seen her?”

Verzano’s eyes went wide. “Wow! She is hot! Do you know her? Is she crazy? She looks a little crazy. Totally my type.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Kovac muttered. “Are you high?”

“No, not really. Well, I smoked a little weed after the other detective this afternoon, because he made me nervous, you know. I shouldn’t have told you that, should I? I’m just nervous.”

“Why are you nervous if you didn’t do anything?”

“Because I’m a f*ck-up,” Verzano admitted. “And I’ve got bad luck. I mean, I didn’t do anything bad, and here I am, see? You’re telling me I put my fingerprints on a sword that killed somebody. Who has that happen? Me, that’s who.”

Kovac rubbed his hands over his face. He should have given this idiot to the kid, and gone home to bed. He leaned over and snapped his fingers in Verzano’s face. “Focus. Have you ever seen that girl?”

Verzano looked at the picture again. “Yeah, sure. She was there that day.”

Kovac sat up straighter, suddenly wide awake. “The day you were at the Chamberlain house, she was there?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Dude, seriously?” Verzano said. “I’m stupid; I’m not blind.”


*



TAYLOR PARKED IN A LOADING ZONE in front of Charlie Chamberlain’s apartment building, got out, and took a slow walk around. He was supposed to be on his way home to catch some sleep. He’d lost track of the hours he had been going on nothing more than catnaps. But the questions tickling the back of his mind needed to be addressed. If he could get Charlie Chamberlain to speak to him for just a couple of minutes, he could sleep on the answers and let his subconscious mind work while his body recharged.