“Agreed.” He waited a moment, inclined his head. “You don’t ask if I intend to grant Captain Roth’s request.”
“There’s no tactical reason to do so, and if you’d decided to put the investigation in Captain Roth’s hands, you’d have told me up front.”
Whitney pursed his lips, then turned back to the window. “Correct on both counts. The investigation remains on you. The case is emotional, Lieutenant. For Captain Roth’s squad and for every cop on the NYPSD. It’s difficult when one of us goes down, even though each of us knows the risks. But the nature of this killing takes it to another level. The excessive violence doesn’t smack of a professional hit.”
“No. But I’m not discounting that angle. If Ricker’s involved, whoever he hired may have been using or may have had instructions to make it messy. I don’t know what kind of cop Kohli was yet, Commander. Whether he was foolish enough or cocky enough to put himself in a vulnerable position with one of Ricker’s hammers. I have Peabody digging into his record and case load. I need to know who he was close to, the names of his weasels, and how involved he was in the Ricker investigation and trial.”
“It’s not the first time Ricker’s suspected of arranging a cop killing. But he’s generally more subtle.”
“There was something personal in this, Commander. Whether for the badge or for Kohli, I don’t know. But it was very personal. Roarke owned the club,” she added.
“Yes, so I’ve heard.” He turned back, skimmed his gaze over her face, and walked to his desk. “Personal all around, Lieutenant?”
“It will be easier and quicker to obtain data on the club and on its staff and clientele. The manager’s already come in voluntarily for interview. The fact that Kohli concealed his attachment to the NYPSD makes me wonder if he was on the job—on his own. He deliberately misrepresented himself and went so far as to arrange a cover. There’s no indication he was working in soft clothes for the department, so it would have been unofficial.”
“I have no knowledge of any investigation, official or otherwise, that required Detective Kohli to go under in Purgatory. But I will pursue that matter with Captain Roth.” He held up a hand before Eve could object. “It’ll be smoother if that particular inquiry comes from this office rather than from you, Dallas. Let’s keep it smooth.”
“Yes, sir.” But it grated. “I want a warrant to open Kohli’s financials. They’re jointly held with his widow. At this time, I prefer not to request permission from Mrs. Kohli.”
“Or alert her before they’re open,” he finished. He spread his h
ands on the desk. “You think he was taking?”
“I’d like to eliminate that angle, sir.”
“Do it,” he ordered. “And do it quietly. I’ll get your warrant. You get me a cop killer.”
Eve spent the rest of the day poring over Kohli’s record, familiarizing herself with his case load, trying to get a handle on the man. The cop.
What she saw was an average officer who’d performed steadily, if slightly under his potential. He’d rarely missed a shift and just as rarely put in any overtime.
He’d never used his weapon for maximum force and therefore had never undergone extensive Testing. Still, he’d closed or been in on the closing of a good number of cases, and his reports on those closed and those open were efficient, carefully written, and thorough.
This was a man, Eve thought, who followed the book, did the job, then went home at night and put his day away.
How? she wondered. How the hell did anyone manage that?
His military record was similar. No trouble, no glow. He enlisted at the age of twenty-two, served six steady years, the last two in the military police.
Every t was crossed, every i dotted. It was, to her mind, a perfectly ordinary life. Almost too perfect.
The call to Nester Vine from Purgatory got her as far as his harassed-looking wife, who informed Eve that Vine had come home before the end of his shift the night before, dog-sick. She herself had just gotten in from the hospital where she’d taken her husband at three that morning for what turned out to be appendicitis.
As alibis went, it was a beaut. The only tip she pried out of Mrs. Vine was that she should get in touch with some stripper named Nancie, who’d apparently stuck around after Kohli had urged Vine to go home.
Still, she contacted the hospital and verified one Nester Vine had indeed had his appendix removed, in emergency, early that morning.
Scratch Nester, she thought, and put the stripper on her talk-to list.
Calls to Lieutenant Mills and Detective Martinez went unreturned. In the field and unavailable was the response. She left one last message for each, gathered the files, and prepared to go home.
She’d take a hard look at Kohli’s financials that evening.
She caught Peabody in her cubicle in the bullpen dealing with the follow-up paperwork.
“Leave the rest of that until tomorrow. Go home.”
“Yeah?” Peabody’s face lit up as she glanced at her wrist unit. “Almost on time, too. I’ve got an eight o’clock dinner with Charles. Now I’ll have just enough time to go snazz myself up.”