“Good job, Candy.”
“Not too OTT? Over the top,” Mavis translated. “I decided to plug in the Brooklyn and the tits when I was putting it together this morning. Just a little jazz.”
“Both were impressive. I barely recognized you myself. You haven’t lost your skills.”
“Felt mag, too, gotta confess. Sliding back in and duping a mark. Temporarily,” she added, “and for a righteous cause.”
“Check.”
“I guess you still can’t tell me what the righteous cause is?”
“Not yet.”
“Doesn’t matter, because I so totally didn’t like the mark. Pushy b-i-t-c-h. Hard a-s-s, and not in a good or frosty way.”
“You’re actually spelling swear words now? The kid’s not even listening.”
“You never know. This Oberman is the b word and the a word and a whole universe of other words I don’t want to say in front of my Bellamina. And, Dallas, she’d like to rip your heart out of your chest with her bare hands.”
“I’ve given her cause. That’s part of it.”
“Just watch your as—a-s-s. I was back in my grifter’s skin, you know, and man, the vibes. Cold and dark. Belle and I want our Das to stay safe, and to kick the b-word’s you-know-what.”
“I plan to do both.”
After Bella waved bye-bye, Eve got coffee, settled down to review the data she’d already accessed on the detectives who’d transferred out of Renee’s squad, crossed that with what Baxter had dug up for her.
She studied their records before, during, and after Renee’s command, their records after transfer, and in one case retirement.
She took a hard look at Detective-Sergeant Samuel Allo. Thirty-five years in before he’d turned in his papers—thirty-one years and five months of that prior to Renee’s command. A full seventeen in Illegals before Renee, and he’d finished up the last of his thirty-five years in Illegals as well, only in the six-eight out of the Bronx.
She juggled him in with a couple others who looked strong to her, ran a variety of probabilities. In the end it satisfied her to see the computer agreed with her gut.
She walked out into the bullpen. Before she could signal Peabody, Carmichael strolled over with a little box. “Got something for you, Lieutenant.”
Noting the cops on desks watched, she opened the box.
“Okay. Why are you giving me a cookie shaped like—is it a dog?”
“Yeah. See, it says Top Dog. My sister works in a bakery, so she made it.”
“Nice. Because?”
“A little token for taking Garnet down a peg. I had a case cross with one of his awhile back,” Carmichael explained. “He’s an asshole.”
“I can confirm that assessment. Why do you say so?”
“Struts,” she said with a little sneer. “I don’t like strutters. Likes pushing his weight around and acting like he’s doing you some big favor for sharing info when you’re working angles on the same case. Doesn’t like getting his pretty suits dirty either. Roasted a rook uniform in front of God and everyone for asking a question, and when I objected he told me to stop being a little girl.”
“How long did he limp?”
Carmichael smiled. “I was tempted to bust his balls, but deemed it more appropriate to secure the scene, preserve evidence. So, in the spirit of what goes around, a token for the Top Dog for busting his balls now.”
“Happy to so bust. Thanks. Peabody, with me.” Eve bit the dog’s head off as she walked out, then glanced back at her men. “Tasty.”
As Eve chewed the dog, Peabody sent her a puppy-dog look.
“Jesus, here.” She broke off a foreleg, handed it over.
“Thanks. It is tasty. Everything chill with the commander?”
“Completely. I want to recanvass the area around the crime scene, try to hook with my weasel, see if he’s got any more I can squeeze out of him.”
Since there was no weasel in this case, Peabody just nodded. “He was pretty rattled about what happened to Keener. He may have gone under for a while.”
“Then we’ll have to dig him up.”
When they were in the vehicle, Peabody asked, “Where are we really going?”
“We’ll take a swing by the scene. Maybe we’ll be able to squeeze out more juice on Juicy. After, we’re going to the Bronx.”
“I guess it won’t be to catch a Yankees game.”
“DS Samuel Allo, retired. All data indicates he was a solid cop. Probability confirms my analysis with a ninety-four-point-seven.”
“I recognize the name. He was with the squad before Renee got promoted. He transferred out.”
“About seven months after she took command,” Eve confirmed. “Out of her squad, and out of Central. He put in another three-plus with Bronx PSD. Did thirty-five. He has a few bumps, and a lot more commendations. One rip—under Renee—for insubordination. Her evals of him over the seven-month period were not stellar. Coasting, she claimed, just riding out his time. Questioning her authority, balking at doing OT when deemed necessary.
“Oddly, his evals and records with the six-eight in the Bronx did not reflect his previous lieutenant’s opinion.”
“She squeezed him out.”
“That’s my take. I’m interested in his.”
Detective-Sergeant Allo had a modest house in a neighborhood of modest houses. And in the short driveway sat a huge boat.
Allo stood on the deck—the bow, Eve thought—polishing the brightwork with a rag. He took a long look when they pulled in, then laid the rag over the rail.
He had a sturdy, broad-shouldered build and carried a little extra weight in the middle. He wore a backward ballcap—Yankee blue—over hair he’d let go gray.
Retired or not, he had a cop’s eyes and gave Eve and Peabody a good once-over as he climbed off the boat, and they stepped out of the car.
“Is there a problem in the neighborhood, Detectives?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. Got a minute, Detective-Sergeant?”
“Got a lot of them since I retired. Put a lot of those into this baby here.” He patted the hull affectionately. “I’ve got you now,” he added with a nod. “Out of Central. Homicide. Somebody dead I know?”
“Again, not that I’m aware of. You were assigned to Illegals out of Central for a number of years, and a few months of that under Lieutenant Renee Oberman.”
“That’s a fact.”
“Would you mind telling us why you transferred out, and into the six-eight?”
His eyes stayed on Eve’s. “Can’t say why this should interest Homicide. Our son had his second kid, moved out here. My wife and I decided we wanted to be close, enjoy the grandchildren. We bought ourselves this place. The six-eight’s a lot closer to home than Central.”
“Nice house,” Eve commented. “Big boat.”
He grinned at it, very much like Mavis grinned at Bella. “I always wanted a boat. I’m shining her up. We’re going to take the family out this weekend.”
“Should be a nice one for it. Would it be fair to say, Detective-Sergeant, that you and Lieutenant Oberman didn’t mesh well?”
His face shifted back to neutral. “That would be fair.”
“Lieutenant Oberman notes in your file you had difficulty with her authority, with taking orders from a female superior.”
His jaw tightened. “What cause do you have to check my service records?”
“They’re of interest to me.”
His stance shifted, combative now. “I served thirty-five years, and I’m proud of every day I spent on the job. I don’t like an LT I never met coming to my home and questioning my record.”
“It’s not your record in question.”
His jaw remained tight, but his eyes narrowed in speculation. “You want me to dish some dirt on Lieutenant Oberman? I don’t much like you coming to my home for that either.”
She’d have been disappointed if he’d launched into a series of complaints, and trusted him more when he didn’t.
“I’m asking for your opinion. Thirty-five years on the job, solid record—and a single rip. Under Oberman. I have reasons for coming to your home, reasons for asking you about Lieutenant Oberman.”