Chill Of Night. John Lutz
ever mistake it for a limo?”
“Sometimes. When I tailed or staked out suspects, I wore my eight-point uniform cap and they thought I was a chauffeur.”
“I never asked you,” da Vinci said, “do you happen to be Jewish?”
“My father was. My mother wasn’t.”
“Was your father of the faith? Wear a yarmulke, all that stuff?”
“He went to synagogue for a while, then he drifted away from religion. I asked him why once, and he said he’d lost his faith in Korea, and it took him a while to realize it.”
“He was a cop, wasn’t he?”
“Sergeant, Brooklyn South.”
“Didn’t he—”
“He ate his gun,” Beam said. Didn’t leave a note.
“Shit deal. Korea? The job?”
Beam knew what da Vinci was thinking, that people close to Beam tended to commit suicide, as if he carried an infection.
“That when you joined the department?” da Vinci asked.
“You know all these answers,” Beam said.
Da Vinci smiled. “I guess I know most of them.”
“I dropped out of college and joined the Army, became an MP, then applied at the NYPD when I got out.”
“Because of your father?”
“I’m not sure. It seemed the natural thing to do.”
They drove without talking for a while, the big sedan seeming to levitate over bumps.
“I’m giving you Corey and Looper,” da Vinci said.
“What’s a Corey and Looper?”
“Detectives, and good ones. Looper’s early fifties, gone far as he’s gonna get in the department and knows it. He’s a good cop, but he’s burned his bridges behind him, far as promotion’s concerned.”
“What’s his flaw?”
“Too honest. Nobody trusts him.”
“And Corey?”
“Nell Corey. Coming off a nasty divorce. Hubby used to bounce her around. Woman’s got her faults.”
“She’s a foul-up?”
“More a don’t-give-a-damn type. Mind of her own. But only sometimes. Then there was that business with the knife?”
“She stabbed her husband?”
“Not that I know of. A security tape outside a convenience store in Queens caught her beating up a suspect with unnecessary force. What the tape didn’t catch was that during the struggle the suspect pulled a knife, which was later picked up by one of several onlookers.”
“It’s happened before,” Beam said.
“Probably happened that time, too. But since the knife never turned up, it doesn’t officially exist. At base, Corey’s a solid cop, and a talented detective. Trouble is, without that knife, she’s permanently screwed. And knows it.”
Beam neatly swerved left and squeezed the Lincoln through a space between a van being unloaded and some trash piled at the curb. It was tight enough to make da Vinci wince.
“Andy,” Beam said, “is there somebody in the department who doesn’t want this endeavor to succeed?”
“Sure, lots of them. Because of me. They think I’m coming on too fast. You know how it is, I’m a young Turk. Look like and act like one, anyway.”
The last part was true, Beam thought. Though in his forties, da Vinci might pass for thirty. He was too young looking, good looking, and blatantly ambitious to be universally popular. It was as if a small-market TV anchorman had somehow gotten hold of an NYPD shield and was aggravating the piss out of his betters.
“Am I gonna get cooperation when I need it?” Beam asked.
“Oh, yeah. I got the push to make it happen. I’ve got allies, Beam.”
“You must.”
“You don’t wanna ask who they are. I will say this: they see you pretty much the way I do.”
“Which is how?”
“They know your reputation as a bad ass who can’t be bought or bumped off course, that nothing will stop you.”
Not even the law.
Beam remained stone faced as he shot through an intersection barely in time to avoid colliding with a cab that had run the light. Da Vinci flicked a glance out the windshield but showed no emotion. There was a toughness and drive beneath all that smooth banter, cologne, and ass kissing. In truth da Vinci was one of the main reasons why Beam had agreed to take on this assignment. Not only did he rather like the brash, manipulating bureaucracy climber, but he still owed da Vinci for being willing to put his ass on the line seven years ago in Florida. The way it worked out, he hadn’t had to, but it was the willingness that counted. A lot of life was favors owed, favors paid.
A bus hissed and paused in the traffic coming the other way, a billboard-size sign featuring a Mets star pitcher in full windup on its side. Beam hadn’t been to a ballgame in years. Looking at the sign, he felt his stomach tighten, a pressure behind his eyes. Florida…
The bus roared and moved on.
“Send me Corey and Looper,” Beam said, “along with copies of the murder books on the three killings. I don’t want to waste any more time.”
“I’ll arrange it,” da Vinci promised.
They’d circled the neighborhood and were approaching the diner. There was a break in traffic, so Beam took the big Lincoln up to sixty and abruptly spun and locked the steering wheel and brakes simultaneously. The car rocked and skidded to face the opposite direction, then sedately double parked so da Vinci had room to open the door and get out on the passenger’s side.
Throughout the maneuver, da Vinci had braced himself with his feet against the floor and his hands on the dashboard.
“Somebody oughta call a cop!” an elderly woman pushing a wire basket cart full of grocery bags yelled over at them from across the street.
“Somebody oughta tell her people call us things all the time,” da Vinci said, completely unrattled.
Bev overslept. That was okay; her and Floyd’s West Side apartment was only a few blocks from Light and Shade. Even if she couldn’t hail a cab, she could walk it in no time. Breakfast she could make up later, maybe send one of the employees out to pick up Danish and coffee at Starbucks.
She was alone in the king-size bed. Floyd was still in Connecticut on a golfing outing with his buddies. Bev had slept so soundly the covers were only slightly disheveled. She slid both bare legs out from beneath the sheets, then stood up and removed her nightgown, which had somehow bunched its way up around her hips.
In the morning light she examined herself briefly in the mirror. She and Lenny had played rough and she had a few bruises, but nothing Floyd was likely to notice. Not that she cared that much if he did notice; she just didn’t want a scene. She was tired of scenes.
The apartment was large by New York standards, furnished with a hodgepodge of furniture and decorated without much style. Except for the lamps. Lamps they had, and good ones. And ceiling fixtures. Bev was proud of the massive crystal chandelier dangling above the dining room table that they hardly used.
She padded nude into the bathroom and took a quick shower, managing not to get her hair wet. She’d dropped by Tina’s Beauty Shop and had it done yesterday afternoon after taking off work early. After the wreck Lenny had made of it.
The shower had fully