Forgotten in Death(78)

When it was done, Eve turned the record off. Two U.S. Marshals came in to escort him out.

“Do you think Bardov will find him?” Peabody wondered. “Or even try?”

“He may try.” Reo shrugged. “But I think Tovinski—or whatever name he’ll have now—is going to live a very long life in a cell. Only a finite group of people know where he’s going, the name he’ll have, the background created. And no, I’m not one of them. All I know is my boss and yours signed off on it.

“We did our jobs. The job’s done.”

“He didn’t know about the remains—the woman,” Eve said. “I’d’ve seen it by the time I pushed that. Bardov, maybe, but Tovinski didn’t know about it, and he’s killed plenty more than Alva and Delgato.”

“Let’s take our win, Dallas.” Reo rose. “We’ve put a—what was it, Peabody? A spineless prick of a slug stain away, for a couple of lifetimes.”

“I’m taking it. I liked the ‘whiny asshole fuckwit’ myself. Good job, Peabody.”

“It felt good.”

“Let’s write it up, close it out. We’ll take Bardov and the elder Singers tomorrow. Let’s see if we can pry out anything on our Jane Doe.”

In her office, she studied the board before she sat at her desk.

She contacted Alva’s brother.

“Detective Elliot, it’s Lieutenant Dallas. I wanted to inform you that we’ve apprehended the person responsible for your sister’s death.”

She told him what she could, then contacted Angelina Delgato and did the same.

She closed the book, cleared the board. She sealed and labeled the box holding the case files. Instead of calling to have them taken to storage, she lifted the box.

A walk, she thought, just walking it all down herself felt like putting an end to it. And taking a breath.

As she walked out to the bullpen, Yuri Bardov walked in with what she assumed was his bodyguard.

He’d gone a little soft in the middle and carried some extra weight there under a fine suit of apricot linen. The bow tie made him look like someone’s dapper grandfather—especially if you didn’t know he’d run a murderous and merciless criminal empire for a number of decades.

His hair had gone to silver, and he kept it cropped close. He offered a charming smile. His eyes were as cold as January.

“Ah, Lieutenant Eve Dallas.” His voice held only the barest trace of an accent, and came rich and full. “I recognize you. What a treat to meet you in person. I’m Yuri Bardov.”

“I know who you are.” She stepped over to set the box on Peabody’s desk in a bullpen that had gone silent. “I’m wondering if this is the first time you’ve walked into a cop shop voluntarily.”

Those eyes, ice blue, bored into her for five thrumming seconds. Then they brightened as he laughed as though he meant it.

“Just as I expected. You don’t disappoint, Lieutenant. I was told, after our very thorough scanning, to address any inquiries I had about my nephew to you. It seems Alexei’s gotten himself into some trouble. I’m hoping he’s allowed visitation so I can speak with him.”

“Peabody,” Eve said without taking her eyes off Bardov or his companion. “See about a conference room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hate to take up any of your valuable time.”

“You’ve gone to the trouble to come in, I can spare the time.”

“We have room one,” Peabody told her.

“Want any backup, boss?”

She glanced over at Jenkinson, who was currently sending Bardov the hard eye. She did her best not to react to a tie swirling with a series of rainbows that might arc across the sky after a nuclear disaster.

“We’re fine, Detective. This way, Mr. Bardov.”

She took the lead and caught a whiff of Bardov’s aftershave. Something citrusy that suited the butter-yellow bow tie.

“May I say, Lieutenant, how I’m looking forward to Ms. Furst’s new book and reading about your exploits. A terrifying time that was. My wife and I, and some of the family, were in Europe during that episode. I can confess, I was grateful to be an ocean away from New York.”

“Right.” She opened the door to conference room one. “Have a seat.” She glanced at Peabody.

“Would you like some coffee?” Peabody asked. “Tea?”

“I would love some coffee, extra cream. No tattling, Roger,” he said to the bodyguard, who cracked the faintest of smiles. “My Marta is doing her best to wean me off caffeine.”

He took a seat—the head of the table—and Roger stood at parade rest behind him.

“My wife, my Marta, is very upset about Alexei,” he continued. “Her sister’s boy, you see, and like a son to both of us. Dima—that is, Mr. Ilyin—would only tell me Alexei dismissed him. Very rash. I’d very much like to speak with him and make sure he’s properly represented.

“Ah, thank you,” he added as Peabody set the coffee on the table. After one sip, he laughed again. “Some things don’t change. Police house coffee is dreadful. And yet…” He took another sip. “Still coffee. Now, about Alexei.”

“Alexei Tovinski was charged and has confessed to the murders of Alva Quirk and Carmine Delgato.”