Getting into Arlene Hampton’s building was going to be a challenge. The tags René had, the ones they’d stolen from the estate agent, were voided when Jam crashed the security system to erase the CCTV footage.
Andy wanted to see the crime scene again, without the police breathing down her neck. Something had felt out of place last night. Too perfect, almost. She hadn’t told anyone exactly what was bugging her, only that she needed a second look.
The problem was how to do it without being spotted. The building’s security guards would be more alert after what had happened, and they couldn’t just force their way in, deleting the surveillance footage again. That would prove way too suspicious.
Luckily, Jam had found a way in. She scoured Tinder and other hookup apps until she found the perfect target—a hotshot corporate lawyer living on the fourth floor of Hampton’s building. Jason Hall was single, a big fan of random sex with strangers, and he owned a car, which was a nice bonus as it would give them a way into the building.
Iona had said she was prepared to play the part of the seductress. David had agreed, as long as things ended before it got too physical.
Tracking Jason Hall’s cell phone, Jam had found an upmarket bar in Manhattan he frequented. From his credit card bills, it was clear he often paid for two people. Scotch was a staple order, while the other drinks varied between cocktails and wine. It probably meant Hall drank whiskey while he plied his dates with alcohol. His social media accounts didn’t mention a partner. He seemed every inch the young, alpha male—handsome, rich, and not willing to settle down.
As it was Thursday, Andy hoped Hall would be on the prowl again. Seemed like he loved getting primed for the weekend with a quickie on a Thursday.
She looked at her watch as she popped into the elevator. She wanted to check on Sharapov before she and Caroline met up with Detective Wright again. She found René downstairs, staring through the two-way mirror at Marc Bunt leaning back in his chair, observing the Russian like he was a dead slab of meat. Loud techno music was playing, enough for the mirror in front of her to vibrate.
Sharapov was still dressed in nothing more than a T-shirt. He was blue in in the face from the cold. Bunt was wrapped up as if it was the Arctic.
Sharapov’s head was dipping forward, as if he was about to fall asleep, when Bunt slapped his hand down on the table. Sharapov’s head bobbed up in slow-motion, curse words flying from his mouth.
“We’ve been taking turns to keep him awake,” René said. “He’s about to break.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m starting to wonder if he has anything to confess.”
René cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you say that? You know something we don’t?”
“Look at him. He’s a low-level enforcer. He’s not trained to withstand Bunt, and you guys have been going at it for more than a day. If Sharapov hasn’t said anything by now it’s because he doesn’t have anything to say.”
René contemplated Andy’s words. “Could be,” she admitted reluctantly. “He says he doesn’t know why he and his buddies followed Hampton or why anyone would want her dead. He’s never heard of her before.” She rolled her shoulders as if loosening the muscles. “The bad news is that it seems that he works for Natalya Kuznetsova. He says she’s the one who sent them to follow her, with the emphasis on follow. He swears they had strict orders not to touch Hampton. Says he has no idea why his little friends would go into her apartment.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“Fuck it. The Russian mafia.”
“Exactly. And you don’t even know the full story. Kate seriously pissed them off last year. Ma Soeur got one of their pimps arrested for murder. We were supposed to stay out of their business and they out of ours.”
“We can’t do that if they are involved in Hampton’s murder.”
“Yeah, I know, but it will make everything that much more complicated. Apparently, Natalya does not play nice.”
Andy leaned against the mirror and looked from Bunt to René. “Why don’t we apologize and let him go? See where he leads us? Unless you seriously think he’s going to cough up anything of value.”
René rubbed a contemplative thumb over her mouth. “It could work. But I’ll have to speak to Kate and Marc first.”
“Good.” Andy pushed her body away from the mirror. “Ready? Apparently, you are my primary babysitter for the day.”
René ran a hand over her hair and sighed in exaggeration. “I would have preferred keeping a leery eye over your girlfriend, but your ugly mug will have to do, I guess.”
* * *
René waited in the SUV as Andy walked into a coffee spot just around the corner from 1 Police Plaza where Detective Jane Wright and the Major Case Squad were based.
Caroline was already there, the sole of her four-inch Jimmy Choos tapping the ground impatiently. Around her, young men and women were typing away on their computers, headphones insulating them from the world.
Caroline looked up as Andy approached, waving a quick hello. She arched her eyebrows. “I won’t bite, you know.”
Andy leaned down and kissed her hello, inhaling expensive perfume. She sat opposite her at the table for four.
Caroline was dressed in a tailored black skirt, the red blouse showing off her cleavage and a bit of the Italian lingerie she preferred.
“And this?” Andy pointed to Caroline’s attire.
“Jam and Kate said to show a bit of skin. Seems like your cop likes blondes.”
“Ah. And of course we have to cash in on that.”
“Well, old habits are hard to break if one of the only weapons you’ve had for millennia has been your body.” Caroline tilted her head and regarded Andy with a smile. “But yes, seems like people are increasingly challenging your mother’s methods.”
“Are you one of them?”
“I’m not interested in power, Andrea. You know that.” She traced a red fingernail down Andy’s arm. “I’d much rather submit.”
“And we both know who holds the true power when you do that,” Andy said, playing along.
The door of the coffee shop banged open, an ice-cold gust following Detective Wright as she stalked inside. She smoothed over her hair and straightened her collar, lifting her suit jacket to expose the butt of a matte black pistol.
“My, my,” sighed Caroline. “I’ve always liked a woman who knows how to handle a gun.”