Forgotten in Death(25)

“On that side, pure speculation. He’s a relation and employee of Yuri Bardov—Bardov Construction.”

“Ah yes, Bardov. What you’d call a shady sort of character.”

“Would I?”

“You would, yes.” He took out the bowls, handed her one. “A great many of the flops and tenements thrown up post-Urbans are Bardov Construction. He very likely bought the properties, or won the bids by intimidation, bribery, or other means. Just as he’d done prior and during the Urbans. I’ve purchased a few from him over the last decade or so. He tends to divest when the buildings are on the edge of falling down—or condemned. As he has considerable—you could say influence—in some areas of city government, many that should be condemned aren’t. Until after the sale.”

“Do you know if he ever had a part in your property in Hudson Yards?”

“Not overtly, not that I’ve seen. I’ll look closer. But he often, so it’s said, keeps any interest quiet and off record. Make a loan, you see, but off the books. Pull in a tidy profit—or call in an enforcer to persuade the borrower to cough up the vig—or perhaps renegotiate at a higher rate, or take a share of the property itself as payment. His ties to the Russian Mafia are well-known. He likes it that way. It makes him more formidable.”

“Why would Singer partner with him?”

“Ah well, cash flow’s always a sticky point, and Bardov has deep pockets.”

Money always rang a murder bell. “Hold on. Does Singer have cash flow issues? You’d know,” she said before he could answer. “You bought the property from Singer, so you know, because if they were in a squeeze, you could use that to squeeze them down on the terms.”

He ate some pasta, took his time. “And if they have cash flow issues, as you put it, you’d chalk that up on the motive end of the scoreboard. What I can tell you is Singer’s cash flow, their bottom line, and their profit margins have steadied up in the last few years.”

“Because?”

“Better management, top down. A more careful eye on cost overruns, on waste. And the sale of non-profitable properties such as the one I bought two years ago.”

She frowned up at the crime scene pictures on her board. “If it wasn’t profitable, why did you buy it?”

“For one, I was able to buy the whole of it, the plot that had been sold, and sold again, and the section Singer held on to. And that increased the development and profit potential. Bolton Singer, wisely in my opinion, calculated they were already deeply invested in their River View development, would stretch their resources too thin if they attempted to finance yet another major job—particularly when the bulk of the site belonged to someone else.”

“Okay, so sell that, use that take to plow into the other project.”

“Exactly.”

“But they’re still partnering with Bardov on the River View project.”

“I expect the ties there have been in place for some time, and may be difficult to untangle. In any case, Bardov’s well established in New York, and parts of New Jersey. He has his own suppliers, at least for some essential materials.”

“How about substandard materials?”

“I can attest he used them post-Urbans, but then so did many. The push was to get people under a roof, to bring the city back. It was much the same in Dublin when I was a boy, and everywhere, I’d say, the wars hit hard.

“Eat.”

“Right.” She scooped up some pasta, and realized she needed it when it hit her empty stomach. “I have a wit who saw this Tovinski on the Singer site a couple of times, and says the word is Bardov was supposed to be silent partners, and Singer was using their own engineers. That’s what Tovinski’s supposed to be. She also saw a couple of Bardov’s people getting into it—verbally—with some of the subcontractors. She said Tovinski pads invoices—or cuts the quality of materials ordered.”

Like Eve, Roarke studied the board, and wondered as he often did what she saw that he didn’t.

“An easy way to pocket a bit—or more—on a job. I don’t know this particular man, but I can say in the last decade or so, Bardov’s divesting some of his … we’ll call them sidelines.”

“Such as?”

“Weapons, ID theft. He had more global interests in such things well back. Back when I was very young. The old man had dealings with them.”

More bells rang. A cacophony of bells. “Patrick Roarke had connections to Bardov?”

“Back in the day,” Roarke repeated. “He’d have been very low-level, so I doubt Bardov even knew his name. And nothing I can see would thread through to all of this.”

“But they had connections?”

“My word was dealings, which is entirely different.” He reached over, trailed a fingertip down the dent in her chin. “The old man was always looking for an angle, and Bardov’s interests at that time were more global. As I said, long ago, and I was very young. It wasn’t the building trade, as even the shoddy sort requires real work, and the old man was more interested in breaking legs and thieving.”

That calmed the bells.

“You’ve never met him? Yuri Bardov?”

“I haven’t, no. My sense would be Bardov Construction was, for the most part, a front for those sidelines. And in the last fifteen or so years, it’s less a front and more an actual business. Remodeling and the suburbs are more the target these days. It’s a smallish company as compared to Singer’s.”