Manhattan Read online

  “Bob,” Webb said again, “who the hell did this?”

  Michaelson finally met Webb’s eye. “Hans Rüdel.”

  “No.”

  Erin and Vic said it simultaneously. They glanced at one another, then back at Michaelson.

  “That’s not possible,” Erin said.

  “Rüdel’s dead,” Vic said. “That’s not rumor, it’s a goddamn fact. I put two bullets in his chest. I watched him go into the East River.”

  “I was there,” Erin said. “I saw it too.”

  “Then he’s got a twin brother,” Michaelson said. “Because I just watched him mow down my partner.”

  “You’re sure it was him?” Erin pressed.

  “He was ten yards away, tops. His face was all over the news this summer. Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Corky and Carlyle’s behavior suddenly made sense to Erin. Rüdel had tried to kill Carlyle and nearly succeeded. If Corky had heard he was back in circulation, the Irishmen had a very big problem.

  Vic abruptly walked away from the damaged squad car. He went around the corner of the warehouse and out of sight. Webb and Kira were still talking to Michaelson, but Erin didn’t think they’d find out much more. She and Rolf went after Vic.

  She rounded the corner just in time to see the big Russian slam his hand against the brickwork. He pulled back his arm and did it again, then a third time. As she came cautiously toward him, he clenched his fists and let out one word.

  “Fuck!”

  Erin put out a hand and touched his shoulder. “Vic,” she said. “Breathe, big guy.”

  He leaned against the wall with both hands, letting his head hang down between his shoulders. “I missed,” he said.

  “No you didn’t,” she said. “I was there. You nailed him twice.”

  “Should’ve made it three. Should’ve put one in his damn face. He was right there, he was wounded, we had him! We were so goddamn sure he was dead, we didn’t look hard enough. And now that kid’s dead. Because of me.”

  “Knock it off!” Erin snapped. “You are so full of shit. Hendricks is dead because we’ve got the most dangerous job in New York. He got careless and eager. You didn’t make him get out of that car. You’re blaming yourself, Michaelson’s blaming himself, the only reason Hendricks isn’t blaming himself is that he’s not alive to do it. Rüdel’s the only one to blame. Will you lay off the self-pity so we can get some work done?”

  Vic looked at her, and she was ashamed of herself when she saw the raw pain in his eyes. But it was only for a second. Then he locked it away in some deep, dark part of himself. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, his game face was on.

  “You can be a cold, hard bitch, you know that?” he said.

  “Had a lot of punks tell me that over the years,” she replied.

  “You know I love you for it.”

  “You getting mushy on me now?”

  His lips moved in a grim parody of a smile. “Okay, tell me one thing. Get it right, and maybe I really will kiss you. How the hell do we find this bastard?”

  Erin hadn’t been thinking of much else. “First we need his motive.”

  “That’s easy. He didn’t want to go to prison.”

  “No, not why he shot Hendricks. I mean, why was he breaking into this building in the first place?”

  Vic thumped the bricks and winced.

  “You okay?” Erin asked.

  He studied his hand. Lines of blood streaked his palm. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Better put on some gloves before we check the scene,” she said. “Let’s find out what Rüdel stole.”

  They couldn’t just go inside. The Fourth Amendment, and the Supreme Court, dictated that the police needed a warrant unless they could show imminent danger to life or risk of destruction of evidence. Neither of those stipulations applied in this case, so they had to jump through the bureaucratic hoops. The silly thing was, everyone knew they’d get the warrant, but they still couldn’t go in until they had it. Sillier still, they couldn’t contact the owner of the warehouse.

  “The lease is under the name Jameson,” Kira said after some quick digging through a squad-car computer. “As in, the whiskey. But I think it’s a front. There’s a phone number, but it goes to generic voicemail.”

  “We don’t need the owner’s permission,” Webb said. “But it sounds like they’re into something shady.”

  “Surprise,” Vic muttered. “What, did you think he was stealing jelly beans?”

  “Got the warrant,” Kira announced.

  “Okay,” Webb said. “It’s unlikely any of Rüdel’s guys are still inside, but let’s exercise some caution. Guns out, people.”

  They roped in a couple of ESU operators, just in case. The tactical guys lined up with the detectives outside. Webb cleared his throat.

  “This is the NYPD! We’re coming in to execute a search warrant. Anyone in there, keep your hands where we can see them!”

  Vic and one of the ESU went first. Erin, Rolf, and another ESU guy followed. Webb and Kira brought up the rear with a small posse of NYPD uniforms. They moved quickly to clear the kill-zone in the doorway. The door itself was already broken and posed no obstacle.

  Erin was tense and keyed up, ready for anything. She reminded herself to check her corners, to keep her field of fire clear. She could feel the nervous energy in her fellow officers. They were looking for some payback for Hendricks.

  Vic was a big guy, and so was the ESU man beside him. All Erin could really see to her front was their shoulders and the backs of their heads and vests. When they suddenly stopped, just a few feet inside, she nearly ran into Vic.

  “Freeze!” Vic shouted. “Hands up!”

  There was a momentary pause. Erin sidestepped, keeping partially behind Vic’s bulk. She brought her Glock in line and peered around him. Then she saw that she hadn’t really been ready for anything.

  A gorgeous redhead sitting calmly on a packing crate hadn’t entered into her predictions for how this search was likely to go.

  The woman looked to be in her mid to late twenties. She was dressed in dark, tight jeans and a black leather jacket that was open in front. Under it was a form-fitting black turtleneck showing off a fantastic figure. Her long, wavy hair was coppery auburn, pulled back in a ponytail that made her look younger than she probably was. Her face was oval-shaped with high cheekbones. Her eyes were bright, penetrating green.

  The woman slowly showed her hands to the police. She stood up, unhurried, ignoring the guns pointed her way. Then she smiled.

  Erin saw something predatory in the expression. It was a fierce look. A hint of teeth showed between the lips.

  The red-haired woman said, “Easy on those triggers, lads. You wouldn’t want to be doing something we’d all regret, would you?”

  Erin started at the unmistakable brogue of Northern Ireland. The woman could’ve come from the same neighborhood as Corky and Carlyle from the sound of her.

  “What’s your name, ma’am?” Vic demanded. He was still aiming his Sig-Sauer at her and seemed totally unimpressed with her feminine charms.

  “Siobhan Finneran, lad,” she said. “You’re a bit tight-wound, aren’t you? What do you call yourself, big fellow?”

  “Detective Neshenko,” Vic said. He, Erin, and one of the ESU guys moved in on her while the rest of the police spread out to finish clearing the warehouse.

  “I’m Detective O’Reilly,” Erin added.

  Siobhan turned her attention to Erin, who caught a flicker of surprise in her eyes. Surprise, and maybe even recognition. Erin tried to remember whether she’d met Siobhan before. She was sure she wouldn’t have forgotten someone so striking.

  “O’Reilly?” Siobhan said sardonically. “Another Irishwoman. Oh, that’s grand.”

  “Are you carrying any weapons, Ms. Finneran?” Vic asked.

  “That depends on one’s definition.”

  “Guns, knives, sharp objects,” he said, refusing to flirt.

  “Nay, nothing of that sort.”

  “We need to check you anyway,” he said. “Erin can do it if you’re not comfortable with a man—”

  “You needn’t worry about my tender feelings,” she said. “Or are you doubting your self-control?”

  “I’ll do it,” Erin said to preempt whatever retort Vic was brewing up. “Please extend your arms to either side, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am,” Siobhan snorted. “You’re years older, I’m thinking.” She obeyed, but as Erin began patting her down, she looked the policewoman over. Erin felt like the search was a mutual thing. She didn’t like the feeling.

  “You’re not as pretty as I thought,” Siobhan said in a quieter tone.

  “Do I know you?” Erin asked.

  “Oh no, ma’am. I’d remember.”

  Erin ran her hands over the other woman’s shoulders and down her sides, repeating the basic frisking procedure she’d done dozens of times on patrol. Then she felt something and stopped. There was definitely a bulge under Siobhan’s left arm.

  “Ms. Finneran,” Erin said, speaking with deliberate slowness, not wanting to startle anyone into rash action. “What have you got under your jacket?”

  “It’s a holster,” Siobhan said.

  “Whoa there,” Vic said. “You said you weren’t armed!”

  “I’m not,” she said. “It’s simply a holster, no revolver in it. Feel free to check.”

  Erin wasn’t about to take the woman at her word. She flipped back the leather jacket and saw it was true. Siobhan was wearing a shoulder holster, but it was empty.

  “Where’s the gun?” Erin asked.

  “What gun?”

  “Your gun.”

  “You can see I’ve no gun on my person. I’m breaking no laws.”

  We’ll see about that, Erin thought and almost said out loud. What she did say was, “We’re still going to need you to come with us and answer some more questions.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Only if you refuse.”

  Siobhan smiled icily. “An Irishwoman doesn’t make idle threats.”

  Erin gave a cold smile of her own. “If I threaten you, Ms. Finneran, you’ll know it.”

  They glared at each other for a long moment. Erin knew the other woman didn’t like her, and that it was something that went beyond her being a cop, but she didn’t understand what it could be. Maybe she’d arrested Siobhan’s brother, or lover, or something. Whatever it was, Siobhan was giving her the sort of look that on the street usually meant a fight would to be on in a few seconds.

  Kira saw it too. She interposed herself between the two women. “I’ll escort Ms. Finneran to the precinct,” she said. “Why don’t you and Rolf case the scene, make sure we don’t miss anything?”

  “Right,” Erin said. As she turned away, she paused. “Make sure you check her for powder residue.”

  “Will do,” Kira said.

  “Oh aye, that’s exactly the sort of thing a lass might do,” Siobhan said. “Engage in a bit of pistol-play, then simply hang about the place waiting for the coppers. If I had bloody rocks in my head, maybe that’s what I’d have done, but perhaps I’d simply have joined your police department instead.”

  Erin let the cheap shot pass. “Rolf,” she said to her K-9, “such.”

  It was his search command, spoken in his native German. The Shepherd put his nose to the ground and started sniffing. He was trained to search for humans, both living and dead, and explosives. She’d know what he found by his reaction. He scratched and whined when he located a person. If he smelled a bomb, he sat perfectly still and stared at it. Trainers had learned long ago that a dog pawing at an explosive device wasn’t the best idea.

  “We’re clear,” one of the ESU guys announced. The warehouse was half-full of packing crates and forklift palettes. There was a small office with an adjoining restroom, along with a maintenance room and a couple of empty side rooms. The police had checked all of these and found them vacant.

  Erin wasn’t expecting Rolf to find anything, but the Shepherd proved her wrong. He pulled toward the middle of one of the rows of boxes, then abruptly stopped and sat.

  She took a look. Two big packing crates had been smashed open, probably with the same crowbar that had been used on the door. Their contents were jumbled, as if someone had rifled them in a quick search. It looked like they contained wool blankets.

  “What’ve you got?” Vic asked, coming up behind her.

  Erin had gone very cold inside. “I think he found what Rüdel was after,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  She hoped like hell she was wrong. “A bomb was here.”

  Chapter 3

  They didn’t find much else in the warehouse. Specifically, they didn’t find a gun belonging to Siobhan. If the woman had been armed when she’d come into the building, she’d hidden the weapon very well. Rolf didn’t alert to any unopened boxes, and there weren’t any explosives left behind in the open crates, so Rüdel had found everything of that sort there was to find.

  And he’d known exactly where to look. No other boxes were disturbed. That fit his MO. The last time he’d gone looking for smuggled weapons, he’d tortured information out of the escort. Erin wondered how he’d come up with the info this time around.

  They left the scene to the CSU guys and headed to the precinct. It was already dark by the time the forensic team arrived. Erin wished this hadn’t happened at the end of a long workday.

  “I know guys who’d kill for the overtime we pull,” Kira said.

  “I know guys who kill for all sorts of reasons,” Vic said. “Working homicide cases lets you get to know people like that.”

  “Ha ha,” Kira said. “You know what this kind of thing does to my love life?”

  “No,” Vic said, “but feel free to tell us. You can use pictures if you want.”

  “Picture this,” Kira said, showing him an expressive single digit.

  “Okay,” Webb said, walking to the whiteboard in the middle of the Major Crimes headquarters. “We’ve got a known multiple murderer out there.” He wrote Rüdel’s name on top of the board. “Neshenko, pull this dirtbag’s file. While you’re at it, upgrade his status from ‘presumed deceased’ to ‘pain in the ass.’”

  “Got it,” Vic said. He flopped down at his desk, opened a bottle of Mountain Dew, and got to work.

  “Jones,” Webb said. “How’s our guest settling in?”

  “I’ve got her in Interrogation Room One,” Kira said. “No residue on her. If she was in the fight, she didn’t fire, and she wasn’t standing near anyone who did.”

  Webb sighed. “So what was she doing there?”

  “She’s dirty,” Erin said. “Let me take a crack at her.”

  “You want her, you got her,” Webb said. “You think it’ll help or hurt having a guy in the room with you?”

  “I got this,” Erin said.

  “Take Jones with you,” he suggested. “I’ll observe.”

  “Oh goody,” Kira said. “Girls’ night.”

  The chairs in the interrogation room were empty. Siobhan was leaning against the back wall, one knee bent, her foot pressed against the wall. Her hands were in her pockets. She smiled humorlessly at the two detectives.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Ms. Finneran, and we can talk,” Kira suggested.

  “I’m fine here,” Siobhan replied.

  “Have a seat,” Erin said, phrasing it more like an order than a suggestion.

  “And if I don’t? Will you have that big lad of yours come in here and hold me down? He might enjoy it.”

  Kira sat in one of the chairs on their side of the table. Erin compromised and rested one hip on the table edge.

  “Okay, Ms. Finneran,” Erin said. “What were you doing in that warehouse?”

  “My job.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “Inspection of merchandise.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “A shipping concern.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “You’ve my work visa,” Siobhan said. That was true. They’d gotten her identification papers out of her wallet when they frisked her; she wasn’t the sort of woman who carried a purse. Her ID claimed she was a native of Northern Ireland, born in Belfast. Her work visa identified her as a shipping manager for a company called Connaught Imports. Besides that, she had some cash and a cell phone on her person. The phone was a cheap flip-phone, and they didn’t have a warrant for the call history.

  “You’re from Belfast,” Erin said.

  “You know how to read,” Siobhan said. “I’m surprised they’ve not made you chief of the department.”

  “Have you been to New York before?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Siobhan said. “I dreamed one night I died and went to heaven, but to an Irishwoman, heaven and New York are about the same. The promised land it is, sure enough, where our fathers and mothers are waiting for us.”

  “What sort of gun do you own?” Erin asked. She was deliberately jumping around different topics, trying to throw the other woman off-balance.

  “I’d a water pistol when I was a wee lass,” Siobhan said. “I used to fire it at potted plants about the neighborhood.”

  “How long have you been working for the O’Malleys?” It was a guess, but Erin thought it was a good one. Rüdel had been entangled with the Irish gang ever since he’d come to town.

  “I work for Connaught Imports,” Siobhan said. “I’ve worked for them since I was nineteen. How long have you been a copper?”

  “Long enough to know what bullshit smells like,” Erin said.

  “Would that be your perfume of choice, then?” Siobhan inquired with false innocence.

  “Why are you here?” Erin demanded, getting off the table and standing face-to-face with Siobhan.

  “You brought me here.”

  Erin shook her head. “You know damn well what I mean.”

  “Then it’s you who’s doing a poor job of explaining yourself.”

  Kira quietly said, “I’ve been in the room with dozens of suspects.”

  The other two women both paused and looked at her.