“I see.” Leopold watched her nervously fidgeting with a gold bracelet on her wrist. “What can you tell me about the Russian icon we found in the trunk of your husband’s car?”
“He brought it over with him, from Russia. There were four in all.”
“What happened to the others?”
“I don’t know. He told me he had six originally, part of an iconostasis — a large screen. He got them into the country past customs somehow, and he sold two soon after his arrival here. Certainly he had plenty of money when I first met him.”
“I understand he was an art dealer in Manhattan.”
“He didn’t work much at it,” Sally Petrov said, twisting her long brown hair back behind her shoulder.
“Do you know a local dealer named Rachel Dean?”
“Not personally, but he mentioned her. She did an appraisal on one of the icons for insurance purposes.”
Leopold stood up. “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Petrov. I know this must be hard for you.”
“Will I get the icon back?”
“You’ll have to speak with Captain Fletcher about that.”
Back in Fletcher’s office the younger man asked, “What did you think of her?”
“She’s a cool one,” Leopold replied. “I think we could safely say she married him for his money.”
“Maybe she killed him for it.”
“Is that your current theory?”
“I’ve got one other,” Fletcher admitted. “Connie’s free of her other case and we’re going to check it out tonight. One of the workers on the tile crew, a fellow named Max Rosen, has a conviction for armed robbery. Served a few years for it back in the eighties. He’s been clean since then but we figure he’s worth a look.”
Leopold glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was after five. “I’ll be heading home. Give me a call if you need me for anything.”
Molly was home before him, just slipping two frozen dinners into the microwave. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be late,” she said. “I’m starving.”
“Hard day in court?” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“Not easy. I think I’m losing this one. How about you? What did Fletcher want?”
“He’s short-handed. I’m helping him out on a case.”
“Just like the old days.”
“We’ll see.”
He could tell Molly was done in by her long day in court, with another session looming in the morning. They went to bed earlier than usual, just after eleven o’clock.
When the door chimes awakened him some time later, Leopold immediately looked at the glowing digits on the clock radio. It was 2:05. He slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb Molly from her sleep, and took his old .38 from the bedside drawer. As he went down the stairs he could see the red light flashing from the top of a waiting car.
He opened the door and faced Lieutenant Connie Trent, her face drained of color except for the pulsating red flasher that bathed them both.
“Connie?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I had to come for you. Fletcher’s been shot.”
Molly came with them, because Fletcher was like one of the family. She threw on a bulky sweater and jeans and was in the car with Connie and Leopold within minutes. “What happened?” she asked Connie as they headed toward the hospital.
“Fletcher wanted to check out a man named Rosen who had a criminal record. He was working on the condo where Petrov was killed. We drove to Rosen’s apartment over on Snyder Street, above a bodega. There was a back entrance, and as we approached it in the dark Fletcher saw someone moving. He drew his weapon and identified us as police. There were two quick shots and he went down—” Her voice broke as she said it. “I fired once but I couldn’t see anything in the dark. Whoever it was got away. I ran to Fletcher and he was bleeding heavily from chest wounds.”
“Wasn’t he wearing his bulletproof vest?” Leopold asked.
“We weren’t expecting trouble. You know Fletcher. Like most older cops, he hates those things.”
“You never set him a very good example,” Molly told her husband.
Connie swung her car into the hospital emergency room’s parking lot and pulled the flashing red light from the roof of the unmarked vehicle. They hurried inside. “Captain Fletcher?” Connie asked the nurse behind the desk.
“The doctor will see you in a moment.”
“I want to see someone now,” Connie insisted.
“In a moment.”
A greying man in a white coat appeared within five minutes. “I’m Dr. Slocum,” he told them. “We’re preparing Captain Fletcher for surgery now. His wife is with him.”
“Can we see him?” Leopold asked.
“We’ve already put him under. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till later.”
“What are his chances?”
Slocum glanced at the two women. “Good. Very good if I can dig those bullets out of him.”
“We’ll want them saved as evidence,” Connie said, remembering her duty.
“Of course.”
“How long do you expect the surgery to last?” Leopold asked.
“There’s no telling. It should take a couple of hours, minimum.”
He left them, disappearing through the swinging white doors, and Leopold asked, “Where do you stand on this Max Rosen?”
“I have a pickup order out on him, and the apartment is staked out, in case he comes back. We’ve no evidence he shot Fletcher, though, unless we find him with the weapon. As soon as the doctor recovers the slugs, we’ll compare them to the bullets that killed Petrov.”
Leopold knew Molly had to be in court, and he finally persuaded her to head home for a couple of hours’ sleep, promising to phone her with any news. He and Connie had been waiting about an hour, comforting Fletcher’s wife Carol as best they could, when the police commissioner arrived.
Commissioner Johnson was a tall black man with a voice as deep and commanding as that of James Earl Jones. He’d been appointed to the position just after Leopold’s retirement and his honeymoon with the media had lasted a full year now. Those waiting for him to make a misstep were still waiting.
“How is he, Lieutenant?” he asked Connie.
“They have him in surgery now, Commissioner. The doctor says his chances are good.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He turned to Leopold. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. You’re retired Captain Leopold?”
“That’s right, sir. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“I’d like to get your views on something, Captain. Would you pardon us please, Lieutenant?”
“Of course.”
Johnson led him to an unoccupied corner of the waiting room, out of Connie’s earshot. “This is an awkward place for a conversation, Captain, but I guess it’s the best we can do. I’m aware that the violent crimes squad had staffing problems even before tonight. I approved Fletcher’s reaching out to you for routine assistance on the Petrov case. Now I fear we have a more serious problem. At best, and with the full recovery we’re all praying for, Captain Fletcher is likely to be out of action for two or three months. I can’t let the department drift for that long. I need an acting head of violent crimes and I need him now. Would you consider coming out of retirement on a strictly limited basis?”
“Connie Trent could do the job,” Leopold argued.
“A year from now, maybe. I’d like her to have a little more experience as a lieutenant first. There’s no one else, and I know she works well with you.”
Leopold took a deep breath. “For this case only?”
“I hope so. We’ll know better once Fletcher is out of the woods.”
“I can help you out for that long,” Leopold agreed, wondering what Molly would say about it.
“Thank you, Captain. I’m eternally grateful. As of this minute, you are acting head of the violent crimes division, with your old rank and pay scale.” They shook hands and the commissioner said, “I should tell Lieutenant Trent.”