Connections in Death (In Death 48)

As she thought it through, Eve drummed her fingers on the wheel. “But how does the junkie whore come up with a plan to get into the apartment, when Lyle’s alone, and distract him enough to get all that muscle in there—with the tranq, with the illegals. And why, if she set it all up, doesn’t she hang around and watch it go down? If this is her payback for him cutting her off, wouldn’t she want a bigger piece of it?”

She glanced over at Peabody’s thoughtful face. “Don’t you want to stay, make sure it’s done right? And where did she get the illegals, or the money to buy them?”

“All good and valid points,” Peabody conceded, “but we’ve got enough to confirm that’s how it went down.”

“We’ve got enough to confirm she got him to open the door, then she let in the killers. What all this says to me? She’s the bait. Maybe she wanted him dead, too—but then again, why did she leave?”

“She didn’t want to see the rest.”

Eve waved that off. “I’m not giving her the credit of actual feelings. She left, I think, because she’d done what she came to do. What someone with enough punch—and access to illegals—ordered up. Add in, they don’t kill him in a fight, don’t beat the crap out of him in payback or to teach him a lesson. Because it wasn’t so much payback. It was … business,” she decided.

“Sloppy, poorly planned, but business. Personal business. With Duff as the bait. And once that business was done, they—what is it?—cut off bait.”

“Just cut. Cut bait.”

“Whatever.” Eve pulled up in front of the apartment building on the edge of Tribeca.

“Yeah, and ‘whatever’ makes sense.” Peabody angled in her seat. “Duff whines to the right person—or the wrong one—about Lyle’s cutting her off, even threatening her. And that person sees an opportunity. Take the ex-Banger out—who does he think he is?—and use the junkie who can’t keep her mouth shut to do it, then take her out. The gang-war angle, Dallas,” she continued as they got out of the car. “Jones said he’s not looking for that, but maybe he is—the property-value angle you played with. Or maybe one or more of his lieutenants are trying for a coup.”

“Dissention in the ranks, very possible. Or Jones saw this as a way to cement his authority.” She needed to think about that, the ins and outs of that.

They went inside, started up. “Sacrificing an ex-member and an easy lay isn’t much of a sacrifice.”

“Like pawns in chess.”

Eve considered, rolled it around. “Yeah, like that.”

They found Rochelle already on her apartment level, in the arms of the witness across the hall.

A young man Eve recognized from the ID shots as the younger brother stood a few steps away.

“I’m so sorry, Ro, just so sorry. When I think I watched those awful people go right in there…”

“If you hadn’t, we might not know what they did. So I’m grateful. We’re all grateful.”

“He was a good boy. He’d come back to you a good boy,” Ms. Gregory said as she moved back. “You let me know when you’re having his memorial. I’m going to be there.” She let out a sigh as she nodded toward Eve. “I’ve got to get to work. You let me know if you need anything.”

“If I could have just a minute, Ms. Gregory? Peabody, why don’t you take Rochelle and her brother inside?”

“I just feel sick about all this,” the woman said when she and Eve stood alone in the narrow hallway.

“I just want to confirm what you told us yesterday. You saw the woman we’ve identified as Dinnie Duff on the stairs.”

“I did, and heard her knocking on Lyle’s door. Calling and crying.”

“Do you recall what she said?”

“Something about needing help, asking him to help her, crying her crocodile tears and saying she couldn’t keep on, was ready for help.”

“‘Couldn’t keep on.’”

“‘Can’t keep on like this’—something like that. Saying how he promised to help. I didn’t hear it all. I was heading down, like I said. Trash night.”

“Yes. But you also saw the three she let in—through your peep. You’re sure they were males?”

“Big guys. I saw ’em from behind, but you don’t see many women with those builds.”

She thought of the female Strong had mentioned—built like a tank.