Sleight of Hand

CHAPTER Forty-Four

Frank Santoro had a friend in Organized Crime in the Department of Justice who owed him a favor. According to Santoro’s friend, Nikolai Orlansky was always accompanied by several bodyguards and his armor-plated car had bulletproof glass. Orlansky varied his routes from his home to his businesses and never visited the businesses in any predictable order. The crime lord did have one weakness, however—women.

Nikolai changed mistresses frequently. This was not a problem, since one of his businesses was prostitution and new young bodies regularly flowed from Eastern Europe to the brothels he controlled. Orlansky rarely kept company with one woman for very long, but he used the same penthouse apartment in a high-rise condominium in D.C. for his assignations. Santoro’s friend said that Orlansky was known to have a very healthy sex drive and rarely remained celibate for more than a few days. According to the latest surveillance information, Orlansky’s wife had just left for a shopping spree in Manhattan and the Mafia chief had not visited his current mistress in several days.



Nikolai Orlansky’s driver parked in a reserved spot next to an elevator that went straight to the penthouse. A second car filled with bodyguards made certain that their boss was safe before motioning him out of the car.

Santoro watched the ritual from the front seat of his car. As soon as Orlansky got out, Frank walked toward the gangster with his badge held high.

“Lee County police,” he proclaimed in a loud voice.

The bodyguards swiveled toward him and several guns pointed at various parts of his body.

“Mr. Orlansky,” Santoro said, “I’m unarmed and I’m not wearing a wire. I just want to talk. If you’ll give me a few minutes of your time I’ll be out of your hair.”

Orlansky assessed the situation before telling his men to stand down.

“Frisk him,” Orlansky told a slender man with a narrow mustache and watery eyes. Santoro had read several files on Orlansky, and he recognized Peter Perkovic from a mug shot. Perkovic was a ruthless killer and Orlansky’s right-hand man.

“He’s clean,” Perkovic said after a thorough pat-down.

“Come in the car,” Orlansky said. He slid across the backseat, and Santoro sat next to him. Perkovic shut the door but watched the detective through the window.

“So, Detective . . . ?”

“Frank. And this conversation is just between us. It is completely off the record. I’m going to talk and I don’t expect you to say anything. I just want you to listen.”

Orlansky looked amused. “You have intrigued me. So, tell me, what is so important that you have approached me in secret in a garage?”

“Gregor Karpinski.”

Orlansky’s brow furrowed and Frank got the impression that Orlansky was genuinely puzzled.

“He’s a bouncer at one of my clubs,” the gangster said.

“He’s also in the hospital after coming out on the wrong end of a discussion with a friend of mine.”

Santoro assumed that someone like Orlansky, who was used to dealing with the police, would be able to mask his emotions if he wanted to, but Orlansky showed surprise, and it looked genuine. Either he was a terrific actor or Santoro’s revelations were new to him.

“Horace Blair has been charged with murder. Barry Lester is the state’s key witness against Mr. Blair. Two days ago my friend interviewed Tiffany Starr, Lester’s girlfriend. Two things happened that evening: Karpinski threatened to rape my friend if she didn’t back off, and Tiffany Starr was stabbed to death in Rock Creek Park. It’s too late to help Tiffany Starr but I’m here to tell you to stay away from my friend. If a hair on her head is touched, I promise to make your life hell on earth. Are we clear?”

Orlansky did not look frightened or angry. If anything, he looked confused.

“You say Karpinski is in the hospital. How did that happen?”

“Ask him, if he survives.”

Orlansky seemed troubled. “Detective Santoro, thank you for speaking to me in private. I appreciate the courtesy. I had nothing to do with what happened to your friend or Miss Starr. You can tell your friend that she has nothing to fear from me.”

“Then our business is done. Have a nice evening.”

When Santoro walked to his car he didn’t look back. His heart was beating like a trip-hammer and he couldn’t relax until he was out of shooting range. While he drove, Frank thought about his meeting with Orlansky. He was pretty certain that the Russian was genuinely surprised by everything he’d been told. If Orlansky didn’t send Karpinski to threaten Dana, there was a good chance that Charles Benedict was behind the threat, and that presented a problem. It was one thing to use his position to threaten a gangster like Orlansky. It was quite another thing to try to strong-arm a member of the bar who also happened to be the attorney for a very powerful and well-connected person who was facing a murder charge. This was especially true when you had no evidence whatsoever that the lawyer had committed a crime. Santoro could imagine the fallout if he confronted Benedict the same way he’d confronted Orlansky.

Santoro pulled into a shopping mall and dialed Dana’s cell.

“How is Kansas City?” he asked when Dana answered.

“Interesting. Why are you calling?”

“I had a talk with Nikolai Orlansky. He assured me that he didn’t send Karpinski after you. I got the impression that he didn’t know anything about what happened.”

“Then I think I know who did send that ape. Especially after what I learned today.”

Dana filled in Frank on Charles Benedict’s background.

“This puts everything that’s happened in a completely different light,” Santoro said when Dana was through.

“I think it’s possible that Benedict killed Carrie Blair and set up her husband. Our problem is that we have no proof. If he did kill Carrie Blair, Benedict is one crafty psychopath. We can’t talk to his client without his permission, and unless Karpinski confesses, we have nothing.”