busy licking your wounds, so I made a judgment call.”
“What wounds?”
“Oh please. I walked by the diner this morning, and there you were, wearing last night’s rumpled clothes, pouring your heart out to Gerri. I figured you had a major blowup with Cheryl when you got home. And then a half hour later, you walked into the office looking fresh as a daisy. Did you think I wouldn’t pick up on it? You and I went at it pretty heavy back in the day, so I know what you smell like after you shave and shower, I know that’s the backup shirt you keep in your locker, and I know when you’re pissy because your love life is off the tracks. Plus, I’m a detective with New York’s Finest. A little credit, okay?”
“Fine,” I said, doing my best to spin the word so that it sounded more like “Go fuck yourself.”
She slid back behind the wheel and started the car.
“You want to tell me where we’re going?” I said.
“We’re driving to the Bassett brothers’ to see if they recognize Raymond Davis or Teddy Ryder from their mug shots,” she said. “And if we’re really lucky, maybe they can ID the guy who chased Ryder down the stairs. Does that meet with your approval, Detective—”
“Teddy!” I said.
“Teddy what?”
“Teddy has the necklace.”
“Fifty-fifty chance that you’re right, but how come you sound so sure?”
“You just said it. ‘The guy who
chased
Ryder down the stairs.’ I think if our mystery man had the necklace, he’d have left the building nice and casual so as not to attract any attention. But this guy went tear-assing down the steps. He was after Teddy, and my best guess is that he never caught him, or we’d have gotten a call informing us that our double homicide has been upgraded to a triple.”
She thought about it for a few seconds. “Y’know,” she said, “you’re pretty smart for a pack mule.”
“We still have to nail both of them,” I said, “but we have a better shot at finding Teddy. Any word from NCIC on Annie Ryder?”
“As of an hour ago, they haven’t yet come up with a viable hit on her. She has a three-year-old Maryland license with a Baltimore address, but she hasn’t lived there in more than two years. Since then, she got a speeding ticket in Nashville and another one on the Jersey Turnpike. She’s not easy to pin down.”
“For all we know she got those tickets on purpose, just to throw the bloodhounds off the scent,” I said. “Q was right. She doesn’t want to be found.”
“Oh, we’ll find her,” Kylie said. “In the meantime, let’s go see if Leo Bassett has had the cocktail sauce removed from his jacket and the broom removed from his ass.”
CHAPTER 29
ON THE WAY downtown, I got a text from Chuck Dryden.
“Good news,” I said to Kylie. “We’ve got ballistics back on Raymond Davis’s Walther. It’s a 100 percent match with the gun that killed Elena. Of course, there’s no way we can prove that Raymond was the shooter.”
“No, but on the plus side,” Kylie said, “we don’t have to bring him to trial.”
West 21st Street was back to normal. The media vans and the paparazzi were gone, most likely in hot pursuit of the crime du jour.
Leo buzzed us in and was anxiously waiting for us when the elevator doors opened. “Detectives,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re back. I must apologize for my little hissy fit the other night, but I was beyond distraught about Elena.”
“We understand perfectly,” Kylie said. “There have been some developments in the case, and we have some pictures we’d like to show you.”
“What kind of developments?”
“First, we’d like you and your brother to look at some photos.”
“Suspects?” he said, tapping his fingertips together as if he were applauding.
“Persons of interest,” I said.
“Oh, I love that term,” he said. “Let’s do it. I’ll get Max.”
We sat down at the dining room table with both of them and laid out six mug shots, two of which
“What wounds?”
“Oh please. I walked by the diner this morning, and there you were, wearing last night’s rumpled clothes, pouring your heart out to Gerri. I figured you had a major blowup with Cheryl when you got home. And then a half hour later, you walked into the office looking fresh as a daisy. Did you think I wouldn’t pick up on it? You and I went at it pretty heavy back in the day, so I know what you smell like after you shave and shower, I know that’s the backup shirt you keep in your locker, and I know when you’re pissy because your love life is off the tracks. Plus, I’m a detective with New York’s Finest. A little credit, okay?”
“Fine,” I said, doing my best to spin the word so that it sounded more like “Go fuck yourself.”
She slid back behind the wheel and started the car.
“You want to tell me where we’re going?” I said.
“We’re driving to the Bassett brothers’ to see if they recognize Raymond Davis or Teddy Ryder from their mug shots,” she said. “And if we’re really lucky, maybe they can ID the guy who chased Ryder down the stairs. Does that meet with your approval, Detective—”
“Teddy!” I said.
“Teddy what?”
“Teddy has the necklace.”
“Fifty-fifty chance that you’re right, but how come you sound so sure?”
“You just said it. ‘The guy who
chased
Ryder down the stairs.’ I think if our mystery man had the necklace, he’d have left the building nice and casual so as not to attract any attention. But this guy went tear-assing down the steps. He was after Teddy, and my best guess is that he never caught him, or we’d have gotten a call informing us that our double homicide has been upgraded to a triple.”
She thought about it for a few seconds. “Y’know,” she said, “you’re pretty smart for a pack mule.”
“We still have to nail both of them,” I said, “but we have a better shot at finding Teddy. Any word from NCIC on Annie Ryder?”
“As of an hour ago, they haven’t yet come up with a viable hit on her. She has a three-year-old Maryland license with a Baltimore address, but she hasn’t lived there in more than two years. Since then, she got a speeding ticket in Nashville and another one on the Jersey Turnpike. She’s not easy to pin down.”
“For all we know she got those tickets on purpose, just to throw the bloodhounds off the scent,” I said. “Q was right. She doesn’t want to be found.”
“Oh, we’ll find her,” Kylie said. “In the meantime, let’s go see if Leo Bassett has had the cocktail sauce removed from his jacket and the broom removed from his ass.”
CHAPTER 29
ON THE WAY downtown, I got a text from Chuck Dryden.
“Good news,” I said to Kylie. “We’ve got ballistics back on Raymond Davis’s Walther. It’s a 100 percent match with the gun that killed Elena. Of course, there’s no way we can prove that Raymond was the shooter.”
“No, but on the plus side,” Kylie said, “we don’t have to bring him to trial.”
West 21st Street was back to normal. The media vans and the paparazzi were gone, most likely in hot pursuit of the crime du jour.
Leo buzzed us in and was anxiously waiting for us when the elevator doors opened. “Detectives,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re back. I must apologize for my little hissy fit the other night, but I was beyond distraught about Elena.”
“We understand perfectly,” Kylie said. “There have been some developments in the case, and we have some pictures we’d like to show you.”
“What kind of developments?”
“First, we’d like you and your brother to look at some photos.”
“Suspects?” he said, tapping his fingertips together as if he were applauding.
“Persons of interest,” I said.
“Oh, I love that term,” he said. “Let’s do it. I’ll get Max.”
We sat down at the dining room table with both of them and laid out six mug shots, two of which
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