Promises in Death (In Death #28)(77)

“Yes, sir, Mr. Ricker, but I thought—”

“Don’t think,” Alex said, with a kindness in his tone Eve hadn’t expected. “I appreciate it, Carmine, but we’re just trying to clear something up. So you can answer the questions. Unless I say otherwise. All right?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Ricker.”

“When did Rod Sandy ask you about Mr. Ricker’s meeting with Roarke.”

“Which time?”

“All the times.”

“Okay, well, he asked me about it before. Making sure and all that everything was set up. Mr. Sandy makes sure things are set up for Mr. Ricker. So I told him how it was all go, and we had the car ready, and the scanners—” He stopped, looked at Alex.

“It’s all right.”

“And the coffee in the mini-AC. And all like that.”

“He asked you about it afterward, too?”

“He asked, after, how Mr. Ricker was feeling. You know, his state of mind and stuff. And I said how it went okay, and maybe Mr. Ricker seemed a little down on the drive back. But it went okay, and there wasn’t no trouble or nothing. I said how it seemed like Mr. Ricker and Roarke got along pretty good, and how they talked awhile. He worries about you, Mr. Ricker. It’s Mr. Sandy, so I didn’t figure it was talking out of turn or nothing.”

“It’s all right, Carmine.”

“What else did you tell him?” Eve asked.

Carmine’s gaze slid to Alex again, and again Alex gave the assent. “Not much to tell. We had a beer, and we were talking about the game some, and he was saying, sort of thinking out loud, like, that Mr. Ricker and Roarke would do this business deal after all. So I said, I did-n’t think it was any kind of business deal. How I didn’t catch much, ’cause you’re not supposed to listen, but the breeze carried the voices sometimes. How it seemed they were mostly talking about Miss Coltraine and Mr. Ricker’s father, and how maybe—”

“Maybe?”

“Mr. Ricker.”

“Keep going,” Alex demanded, not so kindly now.

“Well, it sounded like maybe Mr. Ricker thought his father might’ve done something. I was just talking to Mr. Sandy, Mr. Ricker.”

“Yes, you were,” Eve said before Alex could speak. “Did you talk to him about anything else?”

“Not really. I didn’t hear that much. I wasn’t trying to hear, I swear. I guess, now that I think about it, Mr. Sandy asked a lot of questions, and he wasn’t exactly happy I didn’t know more than I knew. I just said how at the end you and Roarke shook hands, and that was that.”

“That’s fine, Carmine, thank you,” Alex said. “You can go back to your quarters now.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Ricker. If I did anything—”

“You didn’t. We’re fine.”

“One more thing,” Eve said. “Did you drive Mr. Sandy anywhere yesterday?”

“No. I drive Mr. Ricker, unless Mr. Ricker says different.”

“Did you or anyone drive Mr. Sandy anywhere this week?”

“No. We only got the one car here, and I drive it. Right, Mr. Ricker?”

“That’s right, Carmine. You can go.”

Alex turned, walked into the living area, sat. “You think Rod’s working for my father.”

“And you don’t?” Eve countered.

“We’ve known each other more than a dozen years. We’re friends. Friends. He knows nearly everything there is to know about me. He knew what Ammy meant to me. You can’t expect me to believe he’s part of this.”

“Why didn’t you tell him the details of your meeting with Roarke?”

“It was private. Even friends don’t share everything.”

“I’d say, from the way Sandy pumped Carmine, he doesn’t agree with that.”

Alex pressed his fingers to his eyes. “So he was never really my friend. Just another tool. All these years.”

“Maybe, or maybe one picked up and turned more recently.”

“If he killed Ammy—”

“Could he have left the apartment that night, without security picking it up?”

“There are always ways,” Alex said. “Yes. The son of a bitch. The son of a bitch said to me, that night, he said I should go out, take a long walk, hit Times Square, get some energy from the crowds. So I did.”

“He indicated he thought you were in the apartment all night.”

“We lie, Lieutenant.” Alex clipped out the words. “You know that. I assumed he was covering me, so I did the same and told you I’d gone out when he was upstairs. That he didn’t know I’d gone out. Just a couple of convenient lies. I hadn’t hurt her. I would never have hurt her. So we covered each other. He set me up, my longtime friend, so I’m out walking New York, having a beer, just one more face in the crowd, while he’s killing her. For what? For what?”

“Where would he go?”

“A thousand places. If I knew, I swear I’d tell you. He convinced me to come to New York,” Alex explained. “To come now—for business, for her. Convinced me I needed to see her, talk with her. He knew how I felt, was feeling. I confided in him, like I would a brother. And he used it against me.”