Dead Even Read online

  “Then you better tell her. Keeping it bottled up is only going to make it explode in your face.”

  As Pop’s words sank in, Jared put down the emergency call device. “You may be right.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t at Pop’s?” Tiffany asked, leaning on the edge of the plaza fountain at Lincoln Center.

  “I went over there twice last night. As far as I can tell, he’s gone,” Sara said curtly as she stood next to her little sister. “Now can we please drop it?”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.” Tiffany pointed at a man in a navy beret. “There’s one.”

  Sara looked at the man with the beret. “He doesn’t count. First, he doesn’t look tortured. Second, that’s not a black beret.”

  “On the Upper West Side, that’s as good as you’re gonna get.”

  “Are you nuts?” Sara asked. “You think all the good tortured artists are living in the Village? You just have to look harder in this neighborhood.”

  Staring at the crowds of people passing through Lincoln Center’s vast esplanade, Tiffany stuffed her hands in the pockets of her pink winter coat. “I’m getting cold and the game’s no fun.”

  “What do you want me to do? Set up a shuttle to the Guggenheim?”

  “No, I just want you to be nice,” Tiffany shot back. “It’s bad enough that our visits are now every other week—the least you can do is enjoy being with me.”

  Surprised by the outburst, Sara put her hand on Tiffany’s shoulder and pulled her in. “I’m really sorry, kiddo. I haven’t been my best lately.”

  Tiffany looked up at her big sister. “Is it because you miss him?”

  “Yeah, that’s part of it.”

  “Then maybe you should do something about it. Maybe you can get off the case.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not that easy.”

  “I don’t care if it’s easy,” Tiffany said, still pressed against Sara. “I just want things back to normal. And the longer you two are mad at each other, the worse it is for the rest of us.”

  Later that evening, Sara and Tiffany ate dinner at Sylvia’s soul-food restaurant in Harlem, home of Lenox Avenue’s most famous smothered fried chicken. When they walked out of the restaurant, Sara looked up into the flat black sky. “I’ll bet you a basket of corn bread that the first snow of the year hits in the next two days.”

  “If I didn’t feel like I was going to vomit, I’d take that bet,” Tiffany said as she held her stomach.

  Smiling, Sara stepped into the street and hailed a cab. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a dark-blue sedan waiting across the street. She and Tiffany got into the cab, and Sara gave the driver Tiffany’s address. As the cab took Sara and Tiffany deeper into Harlem, Sara turned around and noticed that the sedan was now behind them.

  “Do me a favor,” Sara said to the cabdriver. “Head down a few of these smaller streets. I want to know if the car behind us is following us.”

  Following Sara’s instructions, the driver turned off Lenox Avenue and onto 131st Street. The sedan didn’t follow.

  “Who do you think it was?” Tiffany asked, staring out the back window.

  “No one. Just my imagination,” Sara said, relieved. “You can go back now,” she told the driver.

  For the next few minutes, as Sara and Tiffany sat in the back of the cab, Sara kept an eye out for the sedan. Without question, it was gone. The cab pulled up to Tiffany’s apartment building on 147th Street. “If you don’t mind waiting,” Sara said to the driver, “I’ll only be a minute.” Sara got out of the cab and walked Tiffany inside—she always liked to check in with Tiffany’s aunt at the end of each visit. After a brief conversation, Sara left the building and looked for her cab. It was gone. The only car in sight was the dark-blue sedan. The driver of the sedan, a pale man with a blond mustache, was leaning on the hood.

  Sara reached into her pocket and pulled out her badge. “DA’s office!” she yelled. “Who the hell are you?”

  Unfazed, the driver of the sedan looked up and handed a folded sheet of paper to Sara.

  “What’s that?” Sara asked suspiciously.

  “It’s a new invention. We call it paper.”

  “Very funny,” Sara said, grabbing it out of his hands. When she unfolded the piece of paper, she read the words GET IN THE CAR, POOH. Sara looked up at the driver. “Who wrote this?”

  “No idea. All I know is where I’m supposed to take you. As long as I get paid in advance, I don’t care.”

  She took a step away from the car.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the driver said. “You’ll be safe.” Sara still wasn’t convinced.

  “No offense, but if I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done it by now. Especially in this neighborhood—no one would suspect a thing. Now why don’t you get in the car?”

  As she considered the man’s logic, Sara noticed that Tiffany was watching the events from her apartment window.

  “See, now if anything bad happens, you even have your own witness,” the driver added.

  To make sure Tiffany didn’t worry, Sara shot her a strained smile and moved toward the car. “Where are we going?” she asked the driver.

  “Not allowed to say,” the driver said, looking over his shoulder. “But it’ll be worth it.”

  Putting her faith in the message and taking one last look at Tiffany, Sara hesitantly got in the backseat of the car. For a half hour, the car headed downtown. The entire time, the driver kept his eyes on the rearview mirror. All through the Upper West Side, Sara thought they were going to Times Square. When they drove through Times Square, she thought they were going to the Village. When they drove through the Village, she thought they were going to her office building on Centre Street. And when they passed her office building, she said, “Where the hell is this place?”

  “Ten more minutes,” the driver said.

  The car turned toward the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “We’re going to Brooklyn?” Sara asked nervously.

  “You’ll see,” the driver said with a smile.

  Taking a sharp right onto the first exit off the bridge, the driver headed through the quiet historic neighborhood of Brooklyn Heights. Passing rows of classic town houses, traditional clapboards, and one of George Washington’s houses, they headed straight for the riverfront Promenade, famous for its arresting view of lower Manhattan. The paved walkway was usually crowded with both locals and tourists, but the cold weather had a chilling effect on both the night and its population. “Last stop,” the driver said.

  Frantically looking around, Sara didn’t see anyone.

  “Get out of the car,” the driver said.

  “Here? You expect me to get out here? Are you nuts?”

  “Get out of the car. You’ll be thankful you did.”

  Following the driver’s instructions, Sara got out and approached the window on the passenger side of the car. Leaning into the window, she asked, “Now what?”

  “Wait here.” With that said, the driver rolled up the window and sped off.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” Sara asked, banging on the window as the sedan pulled away. Surrounded by nothing but some scattered benches and a concrete walkway, Sara felt the cold wind of the East River whip across her face. Looking around, she still didn’t see anyone. She headed down the path toward the water. “Is anybody here?” she shouted. “Hello!”

  “Sara,” a voice said from behind her.

  “Who the—” she yelled, turning around. It was Jared. She reacted instantaneously. “I’ve been worried sick about you,” she said, embracing her husband. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Sorry,” Jared said, pulling away. “I just wanted to make sure you were alone.”

  “I’m definitely alone. In fact, I’ve been alone since last night.”

  “You were the one who wanted me to move out.”

  “You know this is different,” she said. “I couldn’t even find you at Pop’s.”

  �
��Sorry about that. I just couldn’t face you after that thing with Conrad.”

  “Jared, I swear on my life, nothing happened with Conrad. He went to kiss me, and I pulled away. Anyone who said it was more than that is lying.”

  “Fine, they were lying,” Jared said, kicking at a random piece of nothing. “As usual, you’re right.”

  “Don’t shut down on me,” Sara said.

  Jared didn’t reply.

  “Jared, please. If you didn’t want to get into this, why’d you call me out here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you in privacy.”

  “So you have some nutjob pick me up with a cryptic note that uses my dad’s old pet name for me? There are easier, less upsetting ways to get in touch.”

  “I figured you’d know the note was from me. Who else would know that information?”

  “You’d be surprised what a stranger can find out about you.” Sara sat down on a wooden bench, and Jared nodded silently in agreement. Carefully watching her husband, she added, “So if this isn’t about yesterday, what else do we have to discuss?”

  “The case,” Jared said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We have to talk about the case.”

  Now Sara was annoyed. “Of course—the one thing in this world you actually care about.”

  “Honey, you know that’s not—”

  “It is true,” Sara insisted. “But let me break it to you: The trial’s in two weeks, the motions went our way, and when we’ve convicted Kozlow, we’re going to go after Claire Doniger and anyone else we see as an accomplice.”

  Shaking his head, Jared pulled up the collar on his overcoat, trying to stay warm. The wind continued to beat against him. “Sara, I can’t fight with you anymore. It’s not worth it. I just want you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say. I wouldn’t even think of asking you this unless it was completely necessary.” Moving toward her, he explained, “This may sound crazy, but I need you to take a dive. Lose some evidence, do a bad job on purpose—I don’t care how you do it; I just need to win.”

  Laughing, Sara said, “Are you really that desperate? I mean, do you even realize how illegal that is? And that’s without even considering the moral implications.”

  “Screw the moral implications. This is far more important than morality.”

  “Oh, that’s right—I forgot your job is more important than everything else in the universe.”

  “Just listen for a second.”

  “I am listening,” Sara interrupted, jumping from her seat. “And I can’t believe what you’re asking. When you had the upper hand, everything was fine and dandy. But the moment I’m finally doing well, you want me to roll over. You really have some set of balls, y’know that? This job has changed my life. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m back in control again. Things are going well; my confidence is strong; my anxieties are finally gone. This case has made me a new person. And if you think you can bully me into playing your game like you tried to do at the grand jury, you’re living in fantasyland. I’m only saying this once, Jared. You’re not taking this away from me.”

  “You don’t understand,” Jared pleaded. “You have to let me win.”

  “Have you been listening? I don’t have to do anything.”

  “Yes. You do,” Jared said flatly.

  “I can’t believe this. Is it an ego thing? Is that it? You can’t stand seeing me beat you for once?”

  “This has nothing to do with competition,” Jared said, his forehead covered with sweat.

  “Well, you can forget it,” Sara said, turning her back to her husband. “The only person bringing home a victory is me. Hope you can live with it.”

  Jared grabbed Sara firmly by the arm. “Listen to me! It’s bigger than you think!”

  “I already heard you. Now let go of me.”

  Refusing to loosen his grip, Jared shouted, “Sara, I’m begging you one last time: You have to let me win.”

  “Why? What the hell is so important?” Sara shouted back, struggling to free herself.

  Finally, Jared realized he had no other choice. Still holding on to his wife, he looked into her eyes. “Because if I don’t win this case, they’re going to kill you!”

  Instantly, Sara stopped trying to pull away. “What?”

  “You heard me. They’ll kill you. The only reason I’m on this case is because they threatened to kill you if I dropped it. That’s why I’ve been fighting so hard. That’s why I’ve been pushing so much. And that’s why I went through your briefcase. They’ve been following both of us since Kozlow was first arrested. They’re the ones who broke into our house. And they’re the ones who—”

  “Oh, my God,” Sara said, sinking back on a bench.

  “This is serious, Sara. We’re in trouble.”

  “The people who approached you—did one of them have sunken cheeks?”

  “Sunken cheeks? No, I was approached by Kozlow and…” Jared paused.

  “Kozlow and who?” Sara asked.

  Jared glanced around to make sure they were still alone. Then he stared directly at his wife. “It’s Oscar Rafferty. He’s been there from the start. He’s the one who—”

  “That lying sack of shit!” Sara shouted. “We knew it—Guff called it the moment we left his office. Rafferty had you, and Sunken Cheeks had me.”

  “What’re you talking about? Who’s this man with the cheeks?”

  Sara quickly related her encounter with Sunken Cheeks, explained how he had threatened to kill Jared, and described his untraceable fingerprints.

  When she finished, Jared said, “So if you gave in, he would’ve come after—”

  “That’s why I didn’t give in.”

  “But if he’s the one responsible for hurting Pop, why didn’t you arrest him?”

  “I have no idea who he is. Besides, I was so nervous about what he’d do to you, I was terrified to touch him.”

  “I know how you feel,” Jared said. He sat down next to Sara and brushed his fingers against the gauze pad on his chin.

  “Who was it, Kozlow?”

  “Took a pound of flesh on his own,” Jared explained. “But it sounds like your guy was helping you. I mean, wasn’t he the one who put you on Rafferty’s trail?”

  “Not at all. We found Rafferty on our own. He became a suspect as soon as we saw Arnold’s will.”

  “Arnold had a will?”

  “See, that’s the problem with you defense attorneys. All you care about is getting your client off. We prosecutors are the only ones searching for the truth.”

  Ignoring the jab, Jared said, “Tell me about the will.”

  “There’s not much to tell. According to our reading, Rafferty stands to inherit Echo Enterprises now that his near-and-dear partner is dead.”

  “Oh, you must be kidding me—Rafferty gets the business?”

  “The whole thing,” Sara said, noticing the look of disbelief on her husband’s face. “Why? What does that tell you? I mean, besides the fact that he has a reason to kill his partner.”

  “That tells us why Rafferty was so intent on winning the case.” Running his hand through his hair, he added, “Damn, that mean bastard is brilliant.”

  “Why? What’d he do?” Sara asked, slapping her husband on the arm. “Tell me already.”

  “It’s actually pretty simple. Do you remember what a slayer statute is?”

  “A what?”

  “A slayer statute. Slayer. As in killer.” When Sara shook her head, Jared explained, “A slayer statute prevents murderers from profiting from their own killings. Let’s pretend you have a will. And the will says that if you die, I’m the main beneficiary. That means I get all your money.”

  “All twenty-five bucks?”

  “Every last nickel. So now let’s pretend that I try to get the money early by having you killed. Under the slayer statute, if it’s proven that I had anything to do with your death, I’m not allowed to get a dime, a nickel, or a penny—even if your will says I get it a
ll.”

  “Does New York have one of these statutes?”

  “I don’t know if there’s an official statute, but the common law has the same rule.”

  “Then why didn’t they just settle it?”

  “As I remember it, you can impute foul play from any of the parties involved—which is why Rafferty couldn’t let Kozlow accept a plea bargain or anything less than a full acquittal.”

  “So Rafferty is worried that if Kozlow is implicated in any way, and it’s discovered that Rafferty hired Kozlow, Rafferty’ll never get his nest egg.”

  “Not to mention the fact that he’s nervous about his own murder charge. I mean, that’s the only thing that explains Rafferty’s concern with this whole mess. If he was innocent, he wouldn’t care at all. And if he wasn’t obsessed with the money, he would’ve let me plea-bargain it down.”

  “Do you think he could also be trying to protect Claire Doniger?” Sara asked, standing up.

  “You’re really convinced she’s involved with this, aren’t you?”

  “C’mon, Jared. The woman’s husband is killed and she doesn’t shed a tear. More important, she doesn’t lift a finger to help our investigation. Talking to her is like pulling teeth, and getting her to testify is like…it’s like…”

  “It’s like pulling teeth,” Jared said dryly.

  “Yeah. Lots of teeth. A mouthful of teeth.”

  “Okay, so if she’s involved, what’s her motive? Does she get anything under the will?”

  “Not a cent. But that doesn’t mean anything. Our theory is that she and Rafferty are sleeping together. When they knock off Arnold Doniger, they get all the money and they get to play snuggle-bunnies every night. The only problem we were having was proving Rafferty’s involvement. But it’s clear that he’s the man we’re after.”

  “It’s not a bad theory,” Jared admitted. “And now that I think about it, he does get superprotective whenever she comes up.”

  “Is there anything else Rafferty’s said that we might be able to use against him?”

  Jared sat back on the bench and put his head in his hands. “Actually, you can’t use any of this stuff against him. It’s all protected by attorney-client privilege.”