Dead Even Read online

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah—we all can’t wait for the trial,” Guff said as they walked out of the courtroom. “Now tell us about the autopsy. Did you puke all over yourself, or were you able to hold it together?”

  Looking over Guff’s shoulder, Sara saw that Jared and Kozlow were still lingering in the hallway. “Not here,” she said. “Wait until we get back to the office.”

  After returning to 80 Centre, Sara spent the next forty-five minutes relaying the findings of the medical examiner’s autopsy. She told them about the fluid in Arnold Doniger’s eye and the lack of food in his stomach. She told them that he could’ve been killed by a forced injection by a third party, or he might have accidentally given the injection to himself. Slowly and methodically, Sara explained all the details, trying her best not to sway her colleagues’ opinions. If they were going to be convinced it was murder, she wanted them to reach that conclusion themselves.

  When she was done explaining, Conrad said, “So his stomach was completely empty?”

  Sara nodded.

  “Then she couldn’t have given him anything to eat,” Conrad continued. “Even if everything else can be logically explained, Claire lied to our faces.”

  “That’s what did it for me,” Sara added. “You can’t ignore that fact.”

  “And if it’s a murder, that also tells us why almost nothing was taken during the burglary,” Guff said.

  “It all fits,” she said. “Every single piece of it.” Looking at Conrad, she added, “So be honest: What do you think?”

  At first, Conrad was silent. Eventually, he said, “Sounds to me like you might be able to upgrade this case to a homicide. Nice going.”

  “Yeah?” Sara asked, her voice rising. Unable to hide her excitement, she beamed with delight. For the first time since Pop went into the hospital, she saw the path for saving Jared.

  “Between Claire and Kozlow, we’ve got too many fishy actions in too short a time span,” Conrad said.

  “Oh, man, I can’t believe it,” Sara said, pounding her desk. “I knew this case had something to it. Now who do we charge with murder? Both of them or just one?”

  “You tell me. Who do you think is the killer?”

  “I think Claire is full of crap, but I don’t think she’s the one who did the deed. My guess is she hired Kozlow to give the injection.”

  “And maybe the so-called stolen watch and golf ball were payment for the kill,” Guff added. “If we check Claire’s bank accounts, we’ll be able to see if she was out of cash or not.”

  “Great. Perfect. Let’s get those as soon as possible,” Sara said. “I don’t want to waste any time with this.” Turning to Conrad, she asked, “What else can we do?”

  “If I were you, before I filed new charges, I’d do some more research. You have the how, but to make a good murder case, you need to know the why. Look into Claire Doniger’s cash flow, check out Arnold Doniger’s will, find anything you can that would suggest a motive. And when you have that, file new charges with a new complaint and rearrest the party you want to charge. You have a lot of work ahead of you, but you’re well on your way.” Conrad stood and walked to the door. “Meanwhile, I hate to run, but I really have to get back to my work for a change. Keep me informed about what you find.”

  “You can count on that,” Sara said. “And thanks again for filling in for me today—you have no idea how much that meant to me. Really. Thank you. For everything.”

  “Anytime,” Conrad said.

  As Conrad left, Guff watched his boss. She was already feverishly writing up a to-do list. “Don’t worry,” Guff said. “We’re going to be able to save him.”

  “Only if we’re organized. That’s the only way to beat him.” Seeing that Conrad was gone, Sara carefully picked up her briefcase and set it down on her desk in front of Guff. “Can you take this down and have it fingerprinted for me?”

  “Why?” Guff asked.

  “Because when I was rushing to get to court on time, I was lucky enough to once again meet up with Sunken Cheeks.”

  “He was in the courthouse?”

  “Spying on me,” Sara said. “And since we still don’t know who he is, I did the only thing I could think of—I swung my briefcase at him, hoping he would catch it.”

  “So now you have the fingerprints on this bad boy?” Guff asked. When Sara nodded, he added, “You’re one sneaky son of a bitch, y’know that?”

  “I try,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “And you, Mr. Guff—thanks again for saving my butt.”

  “It was nothing. To be honest, Conrad was dying to fill in. And watching him confront Jared was well worth the price of admission.”

  “I still don’t understand why he did that.”

  “What’s to understand? He’s got the hots for you.”

  “Oh, please. Conrad’s got no hots.”

  “Sara, through poor planning and bad timing, you almost missed today’s arraignment. You didn’t call to make sure you were covered, you didn’t have anyone to back you up, you just plain missed it. And what was Conrad’s reaction? Did he ream you? No. Did he make the big vein appear on his forehead? No. Instead, he said, ‘Oh, I’ll cover for her—no big deal.’ Anyone else he would’ve slaughtered. But you, he covers.”

  “Maybe he’s just calming down as he gets older.”

  “Conrad’ll never calm down. We’re talking about a man who, even when he stays in a hotel, makes his own bed. That’s the person you think is calming down? The only reason he got in Jared’s face is because he’s got the hots for you.”

  “I wouldn’t read too much into it,” Sara said. “He was just doing me a favor.”

  Later that evening, Jared took a cab across town to the Upper East Side. Amid the designer boutiques and stylish storefront cafés that lined Madison Avenue was the home office of Lenny Barrow. Located on Madison and East Sixty-fifth Street, above a boutique that sold overpriced children’s clothes, was a sign that read SURE YOU KNOW WHERE HE IS? LEONARD BARROW—PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Entering through a narrow doorway next to the clothing store, Jared walked upstairs and knocked on Barrow’s door.

  Barrow greeted him wearing a sport coat and a tie. “What’re you so dressed up for?” Jared asked.

  “You know how it is in this neighborhood,” Barrow said as he pulled off his jacket and loosened his tie. “Everyone’s got to make an impression.” He walked back to his desk and slouched down in his beat-up leather chair. The office was cramped and tiny, but Barrow knew the location guaranteed a clientele who’d pay their bills on time. “Now what’s so important that you had to come all the way over here?” he asked.

  “To be honest, I’m scared of even talking in my office anymore,” Jared explained. “The walls have ears.”

  “All walls have ears. The important question is, who’s listening?”

  “I know who’s listening. That’s why I want to know what else you found.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I did some digging into corporate records and found out that Rafferty’s company, Echo Enterprises, is co-owned by our dearly departed chum, Arnold Doniger.”

  “What?” Jared asked.

  “They’ve been partners for years—built it into a real gold mine.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. So Rafferty had Arnold killed to get control of the business?”

  “Depends who gets the business,” Barrow said. “Time will tell.”

  “What about the tap on Rafferty’s phone? Is that set up yet?”

  “I meant to put it in yesterday, but I didn’t have time. I checked his phone bills, though.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. Local calls aren’t itemized, so I can’t see who he’s calling. Sara can get them, though. The DA’s office can have them itemize everything.”

  “I don’t care about the DA’s office. In fact, don’t mention them anymore—they’re not going to help us. I need information that’s accessible now. Understand?”

  Tapping his thum
bs on his desk, Barrow stared at his friend. “I take it there’s still a problem in the bridal suite.”

  “I’m sorry, that wasn’t directed at you. Sara and I are just hitting a few speed bumps.”

  “I think having you move out is a little worse than a speed bump.”

  “How’d you know I moved out?”

  “It’s my business to know.”

  “Okay, so Kathleen told you.”

  “Of course Kathleen told me. What do you expect? She’s worried about you. Says you’re starting to get obsessive—even refusing another piece of movie memorabilia.”

  “That has nothing to do with me moving out. I just want to win the case.”

  “And Sara’s given you a few too many reasons to think that’s not possible anymore?”

  “It’s hard to explain. It’s just that two days ago, she was down for the count, and now she’s hitting like Muhammad Ali. Everything’s been going her way lately.”

  Watching Jared fidget with the tip of his tie, Barrow asked, “You really don’t like losing, do you?”

  “I hate it,” Jared said, looking up.

  “And the fact that your wife’s the one who’s beating you is making you even crazier.”

  “I don’t know. There’s more at stake than that.”

  “More than your marriage? What’s bigger than that?”

  “Nothing I can really talk about,” Jared said despairingly. “Please just drop it.”

  An awkward silence took the room. “You’re really in trouble, aren’t you, J?”

  Jared didn’t move.

  Leaning forward, Barrow opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a .38-caliber handgun. “Here,” he said. “In case.”

  Jared took the handgun from Barrow and stared at it. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m the gun-toting type.”

  “If you’re in as much trouble as I think you are, you should have a gun,” Barrow said. He rolled up the leg of his slacks, revealing an even smaller pistol in a leather ankle holster. Unfastening the holster, he handed it to Jared. “If you don’t like the big one, take this instead. It’s small, compact, and easy to hide.” When Jared didn’t reach for it, Barrow added, “Just in case.”

  Reluctantly taking the gun, Jared rolled up his own pants and put on the holster.

  “You barely even notice it’s there, do you?”

  “I guess,” Jared agreed. “Let’s just hope I don’t have to use it.”

  Sitting in the driver’s seat of his plain white rental car, Kozlow stared at the inconspicuous entryway to Barrow’s office and wondered what was taking so long. Give it time, he told himself. It’s just like Rafferty said: “They have a lot to discuss. Jared’s getting nervous, and as that happens, he’ll start looking for a way out.”

  As usual, Rafferty was right. Jared was in the office for almost a full hour. When he did finally leave, Kozlow watched him disappear up the block. He seemed even more tense than when he had walked in.

  Looking up at Barrow’s private-detective sign, Kozlow knew it wouldn’t be long. Twenty minutes later, Barrow left his office and headed across Sixty-fifth Street. Here we go, Kozlow thought. Time to return that favor.

  With a semihot cup of coffee in hand, Sara arrived at work early Saturday morning. Between the newest developments with Kozlow, the maintenance and negotiations of her other two cases, and the paperwork from the two cases she pled out, Sara was finally starting to understand the temptation of keeping a change of clothes in her office.

  Putting the coffee down on her desk, Sara picked up the phone and checked her voice mail. The only message was from Tiffany, who wanted to know why Sara hadn’t picked her up from school yesterday. “Oh, no,” Sara said as she listened to the message. Replacing the receiver, she tried to think of a way to make it up to her.

  Sara then flopped in her chair and kicked her feet up on her desk. This is going to be a great day, she thought, putting Tiffany out of her mind. Pop was feeling better; her mundane burglary was now a cut-your-teeth homicide; and while she missed her husband, she felt confident she could keep him safe. For the first time in months, Sara was flushed with confidence. It was all going to work out.

  Ten minutes later, Guff stuck his head into Sara’s office. He took one look at her and asked, “What flavor canary did you eat last night?”

  “Can’t I just be in a good mood for once?”

  “Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing,” Guff said with a mischievous smile, “because today’s your lucky day!” Darting out to the hall, Guff shouted, “Bring it in, boys!” He high-stepped back into Sara’s office, followed by two delivery men carrying a brand-new olive-green vinyl sofa.

  “You actually got one!” Sara said in disbelief. “How’d you pull this one off?”

  As the men put the sofa down on the right-hand side of the room, Guff explained, “Let’s just say we owe the cute little redhead in Purchasing a favor.”

  “What’d you do? Go out with her?”

  “Exactly the opposite. I promised her I wouldn’t call her for six weeks. She tried to make it a full two months, but I held my ground.”

  “You sure did,” Sara said. She sat on the sofa and patted its cushions. “Ohhhhh, genuine American vinyl.”

  “Nothing but the shiniest for my boss,” Guff said as the delivery men left the office. “And that’s not even the best part.” Guff reached behind his back and pulled something from his back pocket. “Guess what I’m holding in my hand right now?”

  Sara thought for a moment. “A giraffe?”

  “Smaller.”

  “A canoe.”

  “Smaller.”

  “A shrunken head.”

  “Uhhh, smaller—depending on how shrunken it is.”

  “A magic lasso that makes you tell the truth.”

  “Oh, you’re never going to get it,” Guff said. “The paperwork came in during your first week, and although you’re supposed to pick it up yourself, I fudged the rules and picked it up for you. You were so busy, I figured—”

  “Just give it to me already,” Sara demanded.

  “Okay, close your eyes,” Guff said as Sara obliged. “On three. One…two…three.”

  When Sara opened her eyes, she saw what Guff was holding: an official gold badge with the words Sara Tate, DA, and New York County engraved into it. Sara’s badge seemed to sparkle in the morning light.

  “Congrats,” Guff said, handing her the badge in its black leather case. “You’re officially an assistant district attorney.”

  Mesmerized, Sara couldn’t take her eyes off of her newest form of ID. “Incredible,” she finally said. “I feel like a cop.”

  “And now you can do all those cool cop things, like walk onto a crime scene and get good seats at the movie theaters. Most important, you can whip it out and scream, ‘Sara Tate! ADA!’” Guff yelled as he pulled out his own imaginary badge.

  “This is terrific. Thank you, Guff. I really mean it. You didn’t have to do all this.”

  “Just do me one favor in return. Let me see you flash the badge.”

  Sara got up from her new sofa and crouched into position. She then brandished the badge and yelled, “Sara Tate! ADA! Stop or I’ll blow your ass away!”

  “You can’t yell a rhyme,” Guff said, laughing. “No one’ll take you seriously.”

  Before Sara could make another attempt, Conrad stormed into the office. He didn’t look happy.

  “Check it out,” Sara said, holding out her badge. “Real solid-metal authority.” When she didn’t get a response, she added, “Put on a smile—we’re having a good time here.”

  “You don’t even know, do you?” Conrad asked.

  “Know what?”

  A dire tone blanketed Conrad’s voice. “Sara, I think you may want to sit down.”

  “What happened?”

  “Just take a seat.”

  “Is it Jared? Is he okay? What—”

  “Jared’s fine.”

  She was frantic now. “It
’s Pop! Oh, God, it’s Pop! What happened? Is he—”

  “Your family’s fine,” Conrad interrupted. “It’s your private-eye friend, Lenny Barrow. They found him murdered last night.”

  Chapter 13

  “LENNY’S DEAD?” SARA ASKED, STUNNED. “WHEN DID it happen? How?”

  “A hit-and-run driver plowed into him a block away from his office,” Conrad explained. “Crushed his skull on impact.”

  Sara sank to the sofa. “I can’t believe it. We’ve known Lenny for years. He took me to the hospital when I had my appendix out—carried me from the cab.”

  “If you want, I can get you the homicide report on it,” Conrad offered. “It may have some more information.”

  “I can’t believe he’s dead,” Sara said.

  “Are you okay?” Guff asked, sitting down next to her.

  “Hand me the phone,” Sara said to Conrad. “I have to tell Jared.”

  “Dead?” Jared asked, his voice cracking.

  “Sara called about a half hour ago. He was found dead last night,” Kathleen explained. “I’m really sorry, Jared. I know you two were close.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Jared said. As he undid his tie and the first button of his shirt, his hands were shaking. “Have you heard from Rafferty or Kozlow?”

  “Not yet. I don’t think they’re coming in today.” Seeing the sweat form on her boss’s forehead, Kathleen asked, “Are you okay? Do you want me to get you some water?”

  Jared stood up and walked to the door, perspiration running down his back. “I’m fine. I just need to get some fresh air.” Lurching down the hallway, Jared had trouble catching his breath. He staggered into the men’s room and over to one of the three marble sinks. Leaning forward, he felt as if he was going to throw up. For two minutes, he fought his nausea and struggled to slow his breathing. He then turned on the cold water and splashed it against his face.

  Eventually, he looked up, staring at himself in the mirror. It’s my fault, he thought. I never should’ve gotten him involved. Looking away, he wished there were some way he could undo the past weeks’ events. That he could get rid of the case, protect his wife, and, most important, bring back his friend. As he replayed the events in his mind, he kicked himself for going to Barrow’s office last night. He should have known better than that—Rafferty had said he’d always be watching. Still unable to look in the mirror, Jared closed his eyes and tightened his fists. In the span of a heartbeat, painful remorse turned to tormenting anger.