Flawless (New York Confidential #1)(80)

“I’m sorry,” Wally said. “Wish I could have given you more.”

“You may have given us everything we need,” Craig said. “We’ll just have to find out.”

Craig headed to Marty’s office before leaving. “Hey,” he said, and Marty looked up at him hopefully. Craig felt a moment’s regret for being so hard on the kid; Marty had wanted to be an agent since he was a kid and just wanted to do well. Yes, he was dedicated to doing things by the book, but most new kids were. They had to get their feet wet before they could realize they had to think on their own sometimes.

He realized, though, that he wasn’t afraid of having Marty watch over Kieran.

Marty would die for her.

That was by the book.

He didn’t believe, however, that whoever wanted her dead would hire someone to do something like shoot her in the middle of the street. That would make it too obvious that someone had been after her. The killer, Craig was pretty damned sure, didn’t want her death associated with the diamond thefts in any way. The killer believed that so far he and his cohorts were getting away with what they were doing—and the frustrating thing was that they were.

They wouldn’t complicate that by getting caught knocking off someone who might have heard something that could threaten them. They would want her death to look random, accidental, unconnected to the case she’d gotten herself caught up in.

“Sir, can I help you?” Marty stood up eagerly.

“I need you to guard Kieran Finnegan later today. You wearing a vest?”

“Not at this moment, but I can put one on if you need me to. You think someone might try to shoot Miss Finnegan?”

“No. But I want you prepared just in case.” He ran through his plan for Marty’s afternoon.

Marty nodded. “So after work I get her to Finnegan’s on Broadway. And then...?”

“You hang around until Mike tells you to leave. He’ll be there by seven or so.”

“Yes, sir,” Marty said.

“Marty, you don’t have to ‘yes, sir’ me. We were partners, and we’re still coworkers. Just call me by my name.”

“Yes, sir,” Marty said.

Craig shook his head.

“I mean Craig. Is it all right if I hang around and eat there?”

“Sure.”

“Great, thank you.”

“Do you need the address?” Craig asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve been there a few times before.”

Hell, everyone had been there but him, Craig thought. How had he missed the place?

He left the office and headed to Tribeca, where the pharmacy manager, John Rowe, was quick to help him. He pulled the receipt from the records on the main computer, and he was even able to tell Craig who had sold the phone because each employee had an ID number that was associated with every sale.

The employee in question, however, wasn’t in, and Rowe was unable to reach her by phone. She was due in to work at 4:00 p.m., so in the interim Craig returned to the office to go over his notes on everything they knew—and everything they didn’t.

He decided to return to Rikers Island, and asked Eagan to pave the way for him.

Even with Eagan wielding his considerable power, Craig ended up standing by his car for an hour before he was let in. This time, he asked to see all four men together. That caused a further delay. They had different attorneys, and getting them all to agree to an interview was no easy task. Craig finally got them to agree by pointing out that finding the killers could only be a plus when their own clients went to trial.

Eventually, they were all arrayed before him at a table, each prisoner with an attorney at his side.

Sam Banner, Robert Stella, Lenny Wiener and Mark O’Malley all stared at him with matching looks of suspicion.

“First,” Craig said earnestly, “I want to thank you sincerely for seeing me. I’m not condoning what you did—squirt-gun larceny is still larceny—but you didn’t kill anyone. If you ask me, you should all be furious that these killers imitated you so well that they were convinced that if you were caught, you’d be tried for their crimes, as well.”

The foursome looked at one another.

O’Malley stepped up as their spokesperson. “We’ve talked to you, we’ve talked to the cops and we’ve talked to Miss Finnegan. We would gladly tell you who the killers are, but the truth is, we don’t know.”

“And,” Stella added angrily, “we don’t know how they knew our exact MO, either.”

“None of you spoke to anyone else about any of this?” Craig asked.

“I swear on my mother’s bones,” O’Malley said solemnly.

“All right, you’ve given us a list of places where you met, but now I need more lists from you. Friends, family, even acquaintances you bump into on a regular basis. Anyone with whom something just might have slipped.”

O’Malley’s attorney pointed out that they weren’t required to do any such thing and that it could even work against them, then recommended silence.

Craig didn’t blame the attorney; it was the man’s job to protect his client.

To his relief, though, O’Malley didn’t take the advice. He looked around at the others. “I say we do our best to help nail the bastards.”

The others nodded.