Worst Case (Michael Bennett 3)

Emily rolled her eyes at him.

“You in the market?” she said.

Big turned and stared at her.

“I look like someone who’s risk-averse to you, shorty? Course, I’m in. I be workin’ my S-an’-P portfolio all the time, re-up all those sweet dividends. You think them Knicks floor seats I got come cheap? You want, I could put you together with my broker,” he said with a wink.

“Would you?” Emily said sarcastically as one of Big’s phones rang.

“Listen good, Snap,” Big Ice said into it. “You out on the corner early this morning? Shut up and listen, fool. You didn’t see anybody over by the mosque real early, did you?”

Big listened, nodding.

“What’s up?” he said into his cell phone a few moments later. “What’s up is some white girl was found dead in the alley, chump, and I don’t want to get locked up.”

He closed his phone.

“Talk to us,” I said.

“Snap said around five-thirty he saw a white guy get out of a beat-ass yellow van. Reason why he noticed was business is slow that early, and he thought the guy must be a desperate customer. I like to stay out a little earlier and later than everyone else, customers be appreciatin’ that kind of extra service.”

“I’m sure they do,” I said impatiently. “Go on.”

“Well, Snap said this thin, mousy-looking dude with glasses and gray hair, wearing coveralls and wheeling a refrigerator, got out of the van. He figured it was a guy making an early delivery to the construction site or something. White guy came back with just the hand truck, got back in the van, made a U-turn, and took off.” I knew not to ask him if Mr. Snap had taken down a plate number.

It wasn’t much, but we had something finally.

“That help you?” Big Ice said, smiling as he rubbed his dinner plate–size palms together.

I dropped the plastic bag of drug money on the counter.

“Don’t invest it all in one index,” Emily called back as we left.

Chapter 32

THE STREET CROWD seemed somewhat calmer when we arrived back at the mosque. Imam Yassin had come out on the sidewalk and was speaking to his flock in a soothing voice.

I called back to the task force and passed on the information we’d gotten. I said the tip was anonymous to avoid further inconveniencing the NYPD’s newest friends, Big Ice and Snap.

“Okay, I’ll type up the DD-five for you and get it to the appropriate people,” said Detective Kramer, the Major Case detective who’d been put in charge of the Intelligence Squad.

I was getting paperwork done for me? I thought as I hung up. I was starting to like this task force stuff.

I caught up to John Cleary, the Crime Scene Unit supervisor, who was walking toward the alley with a biohazard box.

“Turns out the suspect didn’t dump the body into the fridge, John,” I said. “This guy actually dumped the fridge with the body already in it.”

“No shit?” Cleary said, removing his cell phone from where it was clipped to the collar of his Tyvek suit. “In that case, instead of dislodging the body here,” he said, “we’ll put the whole fridge onto a flatbed and do it at the lab.”

Back in my unmarked car, I called Detective Ramirez, still at the Skinners’ house, and broke the bad news. He let out a deep breath.

“That sucks,” Ramirez said. “This poor woman. She doesn’t deserve this. I’ll let her know, Mike. I’d rather shoot myself in the kneecap, but I’ll tell her.”

Not wanting to hear the grieving that would soon follow, I hung up quickly.

“So, what do you think?” Parker said, getting back into the car.

“I think we should eat,” I said. “I know the perfect place. It’ll almost make you forget the past couple of hours.”