Dead Even Page 38

  “I still can’t believe you told him,” Guff said.

  “How can you say that? He has the exact same incentive to catch Rafferty and Kozlow.”

  “And what about Victor?”

  “Can you please stop? It’s all working out. Jared hasn’t said a word.”

  “So they definitely believe Claire is dead?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Sara said proudly. “They pulled her out at six o’clock this morning, locked her in a room, sent Crime Scene to her house, and sent half a dozen people to Echo Enterprises to do fingerprint work. We even started a few office rumors. Except for an actual body, we have all the makings of a gruesome murder.”

  “You’re not holding back, are you?”

  “After what those bastards put us through? Not for a second,” Sara said. “Why? You getting worried?”

  “Just about the repercussions. Was Monaghan mad when you told him?”

  Sara was silent.

  “You did tell him, didn’t you?”

  Again, Sara didn’t respond.

  “Oh, man,” Guff said. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell him. When he finds out, we’re going to get reamed. Do you know how many resources we’re wasting to pull this off? Not to mention all the potential ethics violations.”

  “I know,” Sara said. “I just didn’t want to risk a leak.”

  “You told Jared, didn’t you?”

  “You know that’s different. It was okay to tell him, and it was okay to tell the ambulance drivers who picked up the imaginary body and a few of McCabe’s cop friends, but that’s where I want to draw the line. I figured the fewer people who know, the better.”

  “Are you reading my lips here?” Guff asked. Slowly, he whispered the words, “He’s our boss!”

  “And if he wants to ream someone, he can ream me,” Sara said. “Otherwise, we’re doing this the way we designed. It’s a perfect prisoners’ dilemma: If Rafferty and Elliott both stay quiet, they’re safe, but if one leaks, the other knows he’s going down. In a few hours, self-preservation’s going to make one of them snap. All we have to do is wait for the fireworks.”

  “You really think it’s going to be that easy?”

  “Nothing’s easy,” Sara said. “But as long as we’re the only ones who know the truth, it’ll all work out.”

  After dragging the body into the living room, Elliott went back to the kitchen and picked up the phone. He dialed Rafferty’s number and waited. Eventually, he heard Rafferty answer, “Hello?”

  “How you doing?” Elliott asked. “Having a rough day?”

  “You killed her, didn’t you?” Rafferty asked. “I’m going to rip your head off, you gloating little—”

  “Now, now, now, don’t overact,” Elliott interrupted. “Why don’t you come down here and we can have a little talk.”

  “If you want to talk, I want you up here.”

  “Not a chance. We do it here, or not at all. Take some time and think about it—you’ll be happy you came. I have something I think you’ll want to see.”

  “What do you—”

  Elliott hung up the phone. Turning back to the table, he opened a small box of bullets and reloaded his gun. To his left was a set of plastic hands. At the base of the hands, two words were written in black ink: OSCAR RAFFERTY. This was it, he thought. All he had to do was wait.

  “Why hasn’t he called?” Guff asked, leaning his chin on Sara’s desk and staring at the phone.

  “It’s only been two hours,” Sara said. “Give him time.”

  “Maybe he’s in trouble.”

  “He’s fine. I’m sure he’s just trying to make it realistic. You know how Conrad is: Can’t rush perfection.”

  “How do you think McCabe is doing with Doniger?”

  “When I saw him, she was driving him nuts.”

  “Then maybe we should go down there,” Guff suggested. “Just to give her an update.”

  “If it’ll make you happy, let’s go,” Sara said, following Guff to the door.

  A few minutes later, Sara and Guff reached the basement. Hoping to get a look at how things were going, they entered the viewing room first. But as they stared out through the two-way mirror, all they saw was an empty room.

  Before they could even react, Officer McCabe darted into the viewing room, his forehead dripping sweat. “Please tell me she’s with you!” he said.

  “What’re you talking about?” Guff asked.

  “Where the hell is Doniger?” Sara demanded.

  “I don’t know,” McCabe said. “She asked me to get her some coffee, and when I got back, she was gone!”

  “Oh, my God!” Guff shouted.

  “What do you mean she’s gone?” Sara asked, panic filling her voice. “She can’t be gone.”

  “How long ago did this happen?” Guff asked.

  “Not even ten minutes ago,” McCabe said. “I was checking the bathroom, but when I heard the noise coming from here, I ran back and found you.”

  “Guff, watch the elevators,” Sara instructed. “And keep an eye on the stairs. The two of us’ll check every room down here. We’re in a basement—it’s not like she can crawl out a window.”

  Sara darted full speed down the hallway, entering every room she came to. The basement was mostly used as a storage area, so room after room was filled with nothing but industrial-sized file cabinets. How could she get out? Sara asked herself. Did she know it was a setup? Did someone tell her? Did McCabe let her out on purpose? At that moment, Sara stopped. What if Victor had something on McCabe? And what if Jared told Victor…No. No, he’d never do that. Get it out of your head. Within ten minutes, every room had been searched. Claire Doniger was nowhere in sight.

  “I can’t believe this,” Sara said, trying to catch her breath. Turning to McCabe, she asked, “How could you leave her alone? Were you even thinking?”

  “Listen, honey, I did my best to watch her. It’s not my fault.”

  “Oh, really? Then whose fault is it? It must be mine, because I’m the moron who thought you were up to the job of baby-sitting!”

  “Calm down,” Guff said. He pulled Sara away from McCabe. “It’ll be okay.”

  “No, it won’t,” Sara insisted. “The moment Rafferty and Elliott find out she’s alive, we’re dead.”

  Chapter 19

  “YOU REALLY THINK SHE’S DUMB ENOUGH TO GO TO Rafferty’s?” Sara asked as she sat next to Guff in the backseat of the speeding police car.

  “She’s got nowhere else to go,” one of the two police officers in the front seat said. “Her house is a crime scene.”

  “But she doesn’t know that.”

  “If she’s really in love with Rafferty, that’s where she’s headed,” the officer said. “Now, tell me about your husband. Were you able to find him?”

  “There’s no answer at his office,” Sara said, trying to sound confident. “I called some of the partners he works with, but no one’s seen him or his assistant since this morning.”

  Guff looked over at his boss. “Sara, what if he—”

  “I’m sure he’s just out of the office,” Sara interrupted anxiously.

  “But what if he’s not? Maybe we should’ve waited for Conrad.”

  “We left a message at the office. He’ll find it when he gets back.”

  “Try your husband again,” the officer said. He handed her his cellular phone.

  “Not now,” she insisted, refusing to face the possibility. “Wait until we’re done with Rafferty.”

  When they arrived at Rafferty’s building, the two police officers approached the doorman. “We’re here to see Oscar Rafferty in apartment 1708,” one of them said. The doorman reached for the phone, and the officer added, “We’d prefer if you didn’t call him.”

  The doorman ushered them inside and said, “I don’t know anything, I don’t want to know anything, I don’t care.”

  “You’re a real humanitarian,” Guff said as they entered the lobby. No one said another word until all four of
them were inside the elevator.

  As they approached the seventeenth floor, Sara turned to Guff. “Obviously, Rafferty can’t know we’re looking for Doniger. So the story is that we’re looking for Kozlow. Easy enough, yes?” Everyone nodded in silent agreement.

  Reaching into the pocket of her pantsuit, Sara rechecked the gun that Conrad had given her before he left for Hoboken. Seeing what Sara was doing, Guff said, “Stop worrying about it. You don’t have to use it—he just thought you should have it.”

  “It’s fine,” Sara said. “I can handle it.”

  At Rafferty’s door, Sara rang the bell.

  “Who is it?” Rafferty asked.

  “Mr. Rafferty, it’s Sara Tate from the district attorney’s office. I spoke to you last week.”

  Suddenly, the door opened and Rafferty looked out at his visitors. His features were drawn. His usually combed-back hair was a stringy mess. And his Brioni sportswear had been replaced by creased khakis and a rumpled shirt with the cuffs undone. “What is it, Ms. Tate?” he asked abruptly.

  “Sorry to bother you again, but I was wondering if we could ask for a bit more of your time.”

  “If this is about Claire, I want you to know that I’d never—”

  “We can deal with that later,” Sara said. “Right now, we were hoping to take a quick look around your apartment. We have reason to believe that Tony Kozlow might be here.”

  “Why would—” Rafferty fought to keep his composure. “You’re welcome to come in.” As Rafferty stepped aside, Guff and the two officers made their way into the apartment and began their search. Sara stayed with Rafferty. Studying his tired eyes, she tried to figure out what he knew.

  “I understand you sent a fingerprint crew to my office this morning,” Rafferty said, breaking the silence.

  “I did. And I was surprised to find out that you weren’t at work today. Why’d you take the day off? Busy with other things?”

  “Ms. Tate, your lack of subtlety is disgraceful. If you want to accuse me of murder, then arrest me.”

  “I plan to,” Sara said. “Believe me, we’re going to be speaking again soon.”

  At that moment, Guff returned to the living room. “No sign,” Guff said. A minute later, the two officers followed.

  “He’s not here,” one of them said. “The place is empty.”

  “Thank you,” Rafferty said, showing everyone to the door. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to make some funeral arrangements. Claire had no close relatives.”

  As she was about to leave, Sara turned around. “I thought you two weren’t close.”

  “She’s my former partner’s wife. Good friends look out for each other.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Sara said as Rafferty slammed the door.

  Walking toward the elevator, Guff said, “I can’t believe she wasn’t there.”

  “Did you check everywhere?” Sara asked.

  “It’s a three-bedroom apartment in New York City. There aren’t that many places to hide.”

  “I guess that means he doesn’t have a wine cellar,” Sara said as they stepped into the elevator.

  “Do you think he knew?” one of the officers asked.

  “Of course he knew,” Guff said. “By now, the whole world knows.”

  “How can you say that?” Sara asked.

  “Sara, I don’t mean to stomp on your fairy tale, but I think it’s time to take a second look at Jared. If you never would’ve told him—”

  “That’s not true,” Sara insisted.

  “It is true,” Guff shot back. “Trust me, I agreed with you yesterday. I thought you were right to tell him. But you have to pay attention to what’s going on here. I don’t think Claire snuck out of the basement on her own—someone must have told her what was really happening. And the only way that could’ve happened is if someone knew what we were doing.”

  “No one knows, Guff! And even if McCabe let her out, that doesn’t mean it’s my husband’s fault!” When the elevator doors opened, Sara burst through the lobby and headed for the police car.

  “Where’re you going?” Guff asked, chasing after her. “Don’t run away.”

  “We have to go to Elliott’s,” Sara said “He’s the only other person who has a stake in this.”

  “But what if Conrad—”

  “If Conrad’s still there, we’ll go along with his story. If not, we’ll tell Elliott we’re following up.”

  “That’s great. I agree,” Guff said. “But you have to start dealing with your husband. Let one of these guys check up on him.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you: Jared would never do that!”

  Guff wiped his hands on his pants. He was torn. He didn’t want to challenge her, but he was starting to get frustrated. In a softer voice, he said, “If you’re so confident, why can’t you find him? Why has he suddenly disappeared?”

  Sara stared coldly at her assistant. “Give me your phone,” she said to one of the officers. She quickly dialed Jared’s number. Again, no one picked up. She shut the phone and handed it back to the officer.

  “Now do you understand what I’m saying?” Guff asked. “It’s not like you have to arrest him—I just think you should send someone to his office to check him out. With everything that’s happening, we should know where he is.”

  Silently, she considered Guff’s proposal. “And that’s it? They’re not going to question him? They’re just going there to find him?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Sara opened the door to the police car and got inside. “Okay,” she said, slamming the door shut.

  Turning back to the officers, Guff said, “Can you send someone to Wayne and Portnoy?”

  “I’m on it,” the taller of the two officers said, pulling out his walkie-talkie.

  “And maybe one of you guys should stick around here,” Guff added. “In case Claire decides to come by.”

  “I can do that,” the other officer said.

  As the first cop called in the instructions, Guff got in the backseat of the car. Sara was stoic. Her arms were crossed in front of her and her eyes were glued to the side window.

  “Sara, you know it was the right thing to—”

  “Don’t bother,” she said. “It’s done.”

  Peering out his living-room window, which overlooked the front of the building, Rafferty watched to make sure that Sara and the rest were actually leaving. When he was convinced they were gone, he walked to his front door and stepped out into the hallway. He checked again for observers, then went down the hallway to the garbage room. Inside were Kozlow and Claire.

  “Man, to get that warning, you must’ve given the doorman one hell of a Christmas gift,” Kozlow said.

  “Lucky for you,” Rafferty said.

  “No, lucky for you,” Kozlow said. He left the room and walked back to Rafferty’s apartment.

  Rafferty and Claire embraced in the hallway. “Were there any problems?” Claire asked.

  “Not at all,” Rafferty said, still hugging her. “Not anymore.”

  “Can you two save the reunion for another time?” Kozlow called out. “I want to get out of here.”

  “Relax,” Rafferty said. He walked back to his apartment and put on his coat. “As long as we can avoid the cop Sara left behind, I want to have a little talk with the person who got her involved in the first place.”

  “There’s a cop in the lobby? How’re we going to get past him?”

  “This building has twenty-four floors, a rooftop pool, its own gym, an underground garage, and a dry cleaner in the basement—you don’t think it also has a side door?”

  As Sara and company raced downtown, the officer driving the police car asked, “Where exactly are we going now?”

  “Hoboken,” Sara said from the passenger seat.

  The car screeched to a halt. “No way,” the officer said. “Not in this car. Hoboken’s in Jersey. New York City cops have no jurisdiction over there.”

  “You have juri
sdiction if you’re in hot pursuit,” Sara said.

  “Does it look like this guy Elliott is directly in front of us? Does it look like he’s avoiding us only by running across state lines? Does it look like we’re in hot pursuit?”

  “C’mon, there he goes!” Guff said. “I see him on the next block! Let’s get him!”

  The officer didn’t move. “Listen, I agree the rules are stupid, but the Jersey cops raise hell if you break them. The last guy in my squad who crossed state lines without authorization was assigned to Port Authority for three months. Said the bus fumes were worse than the urine stink.”

  “C’mon,” Sara said. “We’re not doing anything crazy. We just want to find this guy and bring him back to the station.”

  “Do whatever you want. But unless you have the right paperwork, you’re not doing it in this car.”

  “Fine,” Sara said. She opened the door to the car. “Then let’s get a cab. We’ll go down there and pick him up ourselves.”

  “No,” Guff said. “You can’t.”

  “Why? This is bureaucratic bullshit.”

  “Maybe, but that’s the way it goes. If we try to pick Elliott up without the proper authorization, we jeopardize the case and everything we find.”

  “But—”

  “Sara, you know how it works. Don’t let your heart get in front of your head. Break the rules and the judge will exclude your evidence.”

  “Take the ten minutes and call in the paperwork,” the officer added. “They can fax it to the Hoboken police, and it’ll be ready by the time we reach the Lincoln Tunnel.”

  “Are you sure?” Sara asked hesitatingly.

  “Of course I’m sure,” the officer said. “How long can a few sheets of paper possibly take?”

  A half hour later, the police car was waiting in traffic at the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel. “I can’t believe this,” Sara said, banging the dashboard. “I knew we shouldn’t have called it in.”

  “Relax,” the officer said. “Better we take the time now, instead of rushing in and regretting it later.”