Payback in Death, page 22
To Eve’s sorrow, Peabody executed a stylish turn.
“I’m wearing a Leonardo!”
“Now that we’ve got that settled, the hair. What’s your excuse there?”
“It’s really hot?”
Since she couldn’t dispute that point, Eve headed toward the main doors. “Did you read the file?”
“Affirmative. Captain Louis Noy. Seriously bad cop. We’re here to talk to Taylor Noy, his only surviving offspring, since her older brother followed his father’s lead and self-terminated. Nothing popped on him—the son. Still shy of twenty. Sad.”
“He had an application in for the Academy, and had already been accepted, deferred until he graduated from NYU.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” Peabody said as Eve mastered in.
“Noy was grooming the rookie who rolled on him—and Boxer died for it. Hard to swallow he hadn’t started grooming the son. Either way, Taylor Noy lost her father, her brother, her home, her school—and now her mother’s remarried.
“She’s first floor,” Eve added.
“Happy day. No stairs.”
Eve walked to the apartment door. Door cam, intercom, solid locks.
Knocked.
A female voice came throatily through the intercom. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD.” Eve held her badge up to the camera. “We’d like to speak with you, Ms. Noy.”
Suspicion tinted the voice now. “About what?”
“Captain Martin Greenleaf.”
“I’m going to verify your identification.”
“Go right ahead.”
A couple minutes later the locks thunked. The woman who opened the door wore a short, body-skimming red dress and had bare feet. Her honey-brown hair fell in perfect twists nearly to her shoulders and framed a stunning face.
She’d won the DNA lottery with diamond-edged cheekbones, a full, shapely mouth currently dyed the same color as the dress. Perfect skin, polished bronze, only made deep green eyes greener.
“I’m a reporter,” she said, “so I know how reporters work. I needed to make sure you weren’t. Come in.”
She stepped back into a living area full of color and clutter. “I don’t apologize for the mess because I like it. I’ve got about twenty minutes before I have to leave for work, so I’ll start by saying I heard about Captain Greenleaf. I’m sorry about it. I’m sorry for his family. I know what it’s like to lose a father.”
“He headed the investigation into yours.”
“Yes, he did. Crap. Sit down. That was nine years ago,” she added as she plopped down on a sofa. “What does that have to do with what happened to Captain Greenleaf?”
Since it faced the canary-yellow sofa Taylor chose, Eve sat in a chair of shockingly bright blue with yellow swirls. It made her think of Jenkinson’s ties.
“Why don’t you tell us where you were on Sunday night, between eight and ten P.M.?”
“I’m a suspect?” What came off as genuine shock widened those green eyes. “A murder suspect? Because of my dad? Whoa. Wow. You’re really reaching back.”
“We’d appreciate knowing your whereabouts.”
“That’s easy, and easy for you to verify. I was covering the Mets—home game. They took the field at eight-ten. Skimmed the Pirates, two to one.”
Sitting back, Taylor crossed her legs.
“Highlights. The Pirates scored their only run with a two-out, solo homer top of the fifth. Kato drove it out on a one-one pitch. Fastball,” she added. “Right over the plate, and Kato got the fat of the bat on it, and bam!
“Bottom of the eighth,” she continued, “Macron took first with a base on balls, then took second on a wild pitch. Blanski’s on deck. The Pirates brought in Willes as relief, but it didn’t help. Blanski’s double made it two to one, Mets. In the ninth, Parks put the Pirates down, one, two, three. Strikeout, fly ball, a chopper—Blanski at short to Rodrigo at first—for the final out at about nine-forty-five. I spent the next twenty minutes—give or take—interviewing players. On air. Live.”
She smiled a little. “Damn good game.”
The same game, Eve thought, playing on Greenleaf’s wall screen.
“Why the hell would I kill Captain Greenleaf? My father,” Taylor said before Eve spoke. “Let me tell you about my father, Lieutenant, Detective. He was a good dad. Hell, a great dad. Attentive, loving, fair—firm, but fair. If he had to miss one of my games—I played baseball spring and summer, basketball fall and winter—he got the recording and watched it.
“I had a damn good childhood—until. Happy, secure. I adored my dad. He was a hero to me. Then I learned that outside our house, our family—where he’s always going to be a hero to me—he was anything but. It was all a lie. He cheated, he stole, he manipulated.”
She closed her eyes. “And worse. He didn’t tell us about the investigation, about the trouble, not at first. Looking back, I think he assumed he’d shake it off. I didn’t really notice anything was wrong—I was fifteen, sports mad, starting to think seriously about boys, and thrilled I got permission to do this very part-time job at a fashion boutique. Because I liked clothes.
“Then…”
She breathed deep, shifted her gaze toward the window and the street beyond.
“There was something different in the house. He told my mother—I didn’t know that until later. I sort of noticed, but Brice, he noticed. My dad favored him. I can say that without rancor,” she added as she looked back at Eve.
“Brice was the golden child. He was going to be a cop, like our dad. It’s all he ever wanted—to be like our dad. But there was something different between them, right before it happened. Brice wouldn’t talk about it, not to me. I didn’t really ask because my life was rolling. I had this little job, school, friends, and this boy who liked me.
“Maybe I noticed Dad was distracted. He didn’t ask about practice or the game he’d missed. But I noticed the night two of his cops came to talk to him. Detective Riley and Detective Krotter—they’d come around plenty. Barbecues, holidays, whatever. But this was different, and even I could tell.”
“Different how?”
“No joking around, no chitchat. They just went into my father’s office, closed the door. Brice was out on a date. My mom was up in their room. Crying. I didn’t know about the crying then, but she knew terrible things were coming. I went up to my room, listened to music, talked to this boy who liked me. He asked me out. I was so excited.”
It brought a slow, sweet smile to her face.
“My first date—slow starter there because baseball, basketball. It was just pizza and a vid, but I had to ask my dad. I went downstairs—his door was still closed. I knocked. I opened the door because this boy wanted to take me out. And I found him.”
“That must’ve been horrible for you,” Peabody said.
“It was horrible, in every possible way. There he was, my hero, sitting at his desk, his weapon, which he always, always secured when he got home, on the floor. I told myself he was asleep, even though I knew he wasn’t. I kept telling myself he was asleep as I screamed.”
“When did you find out about the investigation, about Greenleaf and IAB?”
“I honestly don’t know exactly. A lot of it’s blurry. Brice was angry, inconsolable. My mother struggled to be strong. Everything came down around us, all he’d done. Brice said it was lies, all lies. I believed that. I had to.”
She paused, shook her head. “But it wasn’t. It was truth.
“We lost the house, I had to switch schools—which at fifteen was just another tragedy to me. I gave my mother such grief over that, put the blame on her. I’m ashamed of that. Then, just as I was beginning to see and feel clear again, Brice.
“My mother found him—another gift to the family.”
Taylor curled her legs up under her in a move Eve saw not as much casual as looking for comfort.
“He lived at home. He had a partial scholarship, and I know Mom scraped together enough to fill the gap, to keep him in college. We found out later he’d stopped going to classes, and he’d been struggling to bring his grades back up. We had this little apartment—me sharing a room with Mom. Brice had a small bedroom of his own. She found him in the morning. He’d been gone for hours when she went in.”
“You lost your father, your brother in under six months.”
“That’s right.” Taylor nodded at Eve. “If you think I blame Greenleaf for any of it, you couldn’t be more wrong. It’s on my father. All of it. Every bit of it. I loved and love my father, but the man, the cop, he was? He left us in disgrace, in grief, in despair. I don’t forgive him for that.”
She closed her eyes again; when they opened, the green shined clear and hard. “I’ll never forgive him for that. I know he didn’t kill that young officer—one barely older than his own son. But he was responsible. I think that’s what he couldn’t live with. But I’ll never know, will I?”
“And your mother?” Eve asked.
“Unlike Brice, and because of Brice, me for a while, Mom never blamed Greenleaf. She hadn’t known, Lieutenant. My father was very skilled. He handled all our finances, and he had complete control. That’s how he did things.
“It shattered her when she found out. She’d have stood by him if he’d faced the consequences. She loved him and, even shattered, she’d have stood by him. You must know she was investigated, too, and found blameless. She’s happy now—all the way happy. She got married—almost a year ago. They’re happy. Cal’s a great guy, an honest guy. Please don’t drag her into this. She’s never hurt anyone in her life.”
“Did your brother know?” Eve wondered.
“I’ll never know that, either. I can only tell you he worshipped our dad, and he refused to accept what happened and why. He was nineteen, Lieutenant. Nineteen, and he couldn’t live with the sins of the father. My mother and I have, for nine years. It’s enough.”
“We appreciate your time and cooperation,” Eve said as she rose. “I’m sorry for your losses.”
Chapter Sixteen
Out on the street, a fender bender tied traffic into a Gordian knot. Since a couple of beat droids were handling it, Eve walked on.
“I bought it,” Peabody said. “All of it. She still has daddy issues, probably always will, but more because she knows and accepts what he was and did.”
“We still check the alibi. Pull up Inside Sports and Sunday night’s Mets game.”
The same game, Eve thought again, if irony played a part, Greenleaf had on-screen when he died.
“Make sure she was there, and live. Roarke’s already checked her financials and didn’t flag any withdrawals that indicate she or her mother bought a hit. But let’s take a look at the stepfather. Just check all the boxes.”
“Can do. But you bought it, too.”
“Yeah, I did. But he died at his desk.”
“Noy?”
“Noy, just like Greenleaf. At his desk, service weapon on the floor. In his home. It’s a mirror. Maybe. The two detectives who came to talk to him that night are still in cages. No evidence they reached out of those cages for a hit after nine years. Two other cops in Noy’s division are lifers, off-planet, for the torture and murder of Officer Boxer.”
Eve got into the car, sat a moment.
“Three others are out now, but relocated. I couldn’t find any travel, anything in their financials, any evidence they’re in this. And one killed herself, so her father’s on today’s list—her only family.”
“Is he next?”
“No. Two more programmed in before him. One after.” Since the traffic remained at a standstill, horns blasting, curses streaming, Eve hit vertical, streaked over the spreading knot, zipped around the corner, then slid down into the stop-and-go on the avenue.
Peabody white-knuckled the chicken stick with both hands.
“Coffee,” she choked out. “Is there time for coffee?”
“When isn’t there? After we hit the first five, I want to go back to the house, write those up. We’ll look over the next group—not many more now. We’ll see how many we can work in before Greenleaf’s memorial.”
“Yeah, sure, okay.” Color came back into her cheeks as Peabody gulped coffee.
No buzz on the next two—the first a widow and her thirteen-year-old son, the next the surviving brother.
“He didn’t have to move on, like the widow,” Peabody commented. “He never liked his brother in the first place. Add he’s got a family of his own—two kids. I don’t see him risking that for revenge after seven years.”
“And the brother took himself out in his ride, not at his desk at home. It’s a small detail, but it’s sticking for me.”
The second-to-last on the morning list took them to the Lower East Side and the market owned and run by Onkar Jain, father of Officer Divya Jain, deceased.
She’d hit the morgue’s list, too. Greenleaf had logged in to see her body.
Eve grabbed a loading zone nearly in front of the market, flipped up her On Duty light.
The outdoor display showcased flowers and fruit, colorful and fragrant. Inside, the floors sparkled, the shelves held stock neatly organized. The counter, snowy white, held point-of-purchase items to tempt the impulses along with two checkout stations, both manned.
A girl of about sixteen worked one side, her glossy black hair braided down her back and ending in a bright pink tip.
She recognized the man at the second station as Onkar Jain from his ID shot. The hooded eyes, the deep facial creases, the carefully trimmed dark hair.
He stood hardly taller than the girl, with a scarecrow build under his stiff white shirt and pressed black pants.
Eve waited until he’d finished with a customer before she stepped forward. He greeted her with a smile.
“How can I help you?” he asked, his voice deep and lightly accented.
“Mr. Jain, Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.” She palmed her badge discreetly. “NYPSD. We’d like to speak with you.”
The smile vanished; his face went blank. Carefully blank. “Is there trouble?”
Before Eve could answer, the girl murmured to him in their native tongue. His gaze swept up over Eve as he nodded. Then he patted the girl’s cheek. “I’ll be a few minutes.”
He gestured to the back of the store, then led the way. He used a swipe card to deactivate the alarm on the rear door before stepping into a short alley where the recycler not only worked but appeared to have been scrubbed recently.
“My niece recognized you. She saw the vid. I did not. You’ve come to question me about the murder of Captain Martin Greenleaf.”
“We’re investigating his death and making inquiries. Captain Greenleaf was in charge of Internal Affairs when your daughter was implicated, in 2052, in the corruption inside Anti-crime.”
“He never gave her a chance. She was twenty-three years old. She took her own life rather than live with the shame.”
“You resented Captain Greenleaf?”
“Resent? A small word for what I felt. I came to this country at eighteen, to build a life. I worked, and hard, to make my place. I would say I chose poorly for my wife, but I had Divya. I had Divya when her mother left us. A good, sweet, loving girl, my child who wanted to be police to protect people, to keep our city safe. I curse the day she put on the uniform.
“I curse the devil Louis Noy, who pressured her, intimidated her, corrupted her.”
“Captain Greenleaf named your daughter as part of Noy’s syndicate.”
“She told me all, in her despair, when she learned they had killed another police. A young police. She told me she’d believed Noy—her superior—when he told her they were doing good. But she broke rules and laws to follow him. She was disgraced, grieved. She knew the young man they killed, and his death weighed so heavy on her heart. I told her we would go to this Captain Greenleaf, tell him all she knew. We’d beg for mercy.”
“Did you?”
“That night, while I prayed, she took her life. She wrote me asking my forgiveness. She said she deserved no mercy. And in my grief, I went to this captain and asked him to take her name away from the others, to give her this last respect. But he would not.”
“He couldn’t, Mr. Jain.” Sympathy saturated Peabody’s voice. “He couldn’t doctor the files.”
“She was my only child. The others went to prison, but they live. Noy did not, but I wished him to live. I wished to know he suffered day by day, year by year.”
“And Greenleaf?”
“He didn’t give her a chance. In life or in death.”
“Can you tell us where you were Sunday night, between eight and ten P.M.?”
He sighed, looked into Eve’s eyes with his sorrowful ones. “I don’t take life. Life is precious. The most precious gift. My daughter took hers in grief, somehow believing it would atone for the taking of another. She was young.”
He sighed again.
“We stay open until eight on Sunday. At closing I, with Jamid—a boy who works for me—cleaned. On Sunday we do deep cleaning and full restocking. I let Jamid listen to music while we work. It isn’t music to me, but he works well with it. We were done at nine or near to nine.”
“You have surveillance cameras.”
“Yes, people will take not always what they need, which is forgivable, but what they want, which is not. But this is a loop. Seventy-two hours, so not for Sunday now.”
“After nine, when you left the market?”
“I live upstairs, but I took a walk. My neighbor, Ms. Lu, walked her little dog, Cyril. I’m fond of Cyril. I work too many hours to keep a little dog, but I walked with her and the little dog, Cyril, then went home.”
“If you could give us Jamid’s contact, and your neighbor’s contact, it would be helpful.”
“It’s procedure. Divya would say, ‘Papa, it’s procedure.’”
“Yes,” Eve said, and felt only pity. “It’s procedure.”
In the car, Peabody snapped her safety belt in place with a hard click. “Noy took the easy way. He should be locked away. Mr. Jain didn’t kill Greenleaf.”
