He looked almost amused by her question. “What’s your theory, Kat?”
“Truth?”
“Preferably.”
“I don’t have a theory,” she said.
Stagger faced her. “Do you think that I had something to do with what happened to Henry?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then?”
She wished she had a better answer: “I don’t know.”
“Do you think I hired Leburne or something?”
“I don’t think Leburne had anything to do with it. I think Leburne was just a fall guy.”
He frowned. “Come on, Kat. Not that again.”
“Why were you there?”
“And again, I reply, Why do you think?” Stagger closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, turned back toward the Lake. “I see now why we never let people with personal connections handle a case.”
“Meaning?”
“You not only have no objectivity, you barely have any clarity.”
“Why were you there, Stagger?”
He shook his head. “It couldn’t be more obvious.”
“Not to me.”
“My point exactly.” His eyes locked on the boat, watching teens flail furiously and incompetently with the oars. “Go back for a second. Think it through. At the time of his murder, your father was coming close to bringing down one of the leading crime figures in the city.”
“Cozone.”
“Of course, Cozone. Suddenly, he gets executed. What was our theory at the time?”
“It wasn’t my theory.”
“No offense, Kat, but you weren’t a cop. You were a sprightly little coed at Columbia. What was our official theory?”
“The official theory,” Kat said, “was that my father was a threat to Cozone and so Cozone eliminated him.”
“Exactly.”
“But Cozone knew better than to kill a cop.”
“Don’t let the bad guys fool you with their so-called rules. They do what they think is best for long-term profit and survival. Your father was an impediment to both.”
“So you think Cozone hired Leburne to kill my father. I know this. It still doesn’t explain why you visited Leburne.”
“Sure it does. The feds arrested one of Cozone’s most active hit men. Of course we immediately followed up that lead. How can you not see that?”
“Why you?”
“What?”
“Bobby Suggs and Mike Rinsky were the lead cops on the case. So why did you go?”
He smiled again, but there was no joy in it. “Because I was like you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your father was my partner. You know what he meant to me.”
Silence.
“I wasn’t in the mood to wait while NYPD and FBI dealt with their pissing contest over territory and jurisdiction. It would give Leburne time to lawyer up or whatever. I wanted in. I was impetuous. I called a friend with the bureau and asked a favor.”
“So you went to interrogate Leburne?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I was a dumb young cop trying to avenge his mentor before it was too late.”
“What do you mean, too late?”
“Like I said, I was worried he would lawyer up. But even more than that, I worried Cozone would take him out before he could talk.”
“So you spoke to Leburne?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Stagger shrugged. Again, with the baseball cap and the shrug, she could imagine what he looked like in grade school. Kat gently put her hand on his shoulder. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe to remind him that they were on the same side. Maybe to offer an old friend some degree of comfort. Stagger had loved her father. Not like her of course; death doesn’t stay with friends or coworkers. They grieve and move on. Death only stays with the family. But his anguish was real.
“And I got nowhere,” Stagger said.
“Leburne denied it?”
“He just sat across from me and said nothing.”
“And yet later, Leburne confessed.”
“Of course. His lawyer made a deal. Kept the death penalty off the table.”
The Afrobats closed with their big finale—one of them leapt over spectators who had volunteered. The crowd erupted in applause. Kat and Stagger watched the crowd slowly disperse.
“So that’s it,” Kat said.
“That’s it.”
“You never told me.”
“True.”
“Why?”
“What should I have said, Kat? That I visited a suspect and got nowhere?”
“Yes.”
“You were a college student on your way to getting married.”
“So?”
There was maybe more edge in her voice than she intended. Their eyes met, and something passed through them. He turned away.
“I don’t like the implication, Kat.”
“I’m not implying anything.”
“Yeah, you are.” He stood. “You’re not good with the passive-aggressive. It isn’t you. So let’s put it all on the table, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Leburne claimed to the very end that he alone decided that your father had to be killed. We both know it’s a lie. We both know Cozone ordered the hit and that Leburne protected him.”
Kat said nothing.
“We spent years trying to get him to recant and tell us the truth. He didn’t. He went to his grave without turning, and now, well, we don’t know how to get justice for your father. It is frustrating and it makes us desperate.”
“Us?”
“Yes.”
Kat frowned. “Now who’s being passive-aggressive?”
“You don’t think I hurt too?”
“Oh, I think you hurt. You want to put it all on the table? Let’s do that. Yes, for years, I worked under the theory that Cozone ordered a hit and Leburne carried it out. But I never really bought it. It never quite rang true to me. And when Leburne—with no reason to lie—told that nurse that he had nothing to do with it, I believed him. You can say he was drugged or lying, but I was there. His words finally rang true. So yeah, I want to know why you visited him before anyone else. Because, putting my cards on the table, I don’t believe you, Stagger.”
Something behind his eyes exploded. He fought hard to keep his tone level. “So tell me, Kat. Why did I go up there?”
“I don’t know. I wish you’d tell me.”
“You’re calling me a liar?”
“I’m asking you what happened.”
“I already told you,” he said, pushing past her. He turned. There was indeed anger in his eyes, but there was something else there. Anguish. And maybe even fear. “You have some vacation days coming. I already checked. Take them, Kat. I don’t want to see you in my precinct until I put in for your transfer.”
Chapter 15
Kat grabbed her laptop and headed over to O’Malley’s Pub. She sat on her father’s old stool. Pete the bartender ambled over to her. Kat was examining the bottom of her dusty shoes.
“What?” he asked.
“Did you guys put down more sawdust than usual?”
“New guy. He overdid the concept of dive chic. What’ll you have?”
“Cheeseburger medium rare, fries, a Bud.”
“You want an angiogram after that?”
“Good one, Pete. Next time, I’ll sample one of your gluten-free vegan entrées.”
The crowd was a mix. At the corner tables, a few masters of the universe were having postwork cocktails. The bar had the few loners all bars need, those guys who sat quietly peering into their glasses, shoulders hunched, longing for nothing other than the numbness the amber liquid could provide.
She had pushed too hard with Stagger, but subtle wasn’t going to play here. Still, she didn’t know what to make of Stagger. She didn’t know what to make of Brandon. She didn’t know what to make of Jeff.
So now what?
Curiosity got the better of her. She flipped open her laptop and started doing a search on Brandon’s mom and Jeff’s new lover, Dana Phelps, mostly under images and on social networks. Kat told herself that she was just following up, fully closing the case, making sure, per her one worry, that the kid she’d met was indeed Brandon Phelps, the son of Dana, and not some con man or worse.
With ten empty stools, a guy with a soul patch and frosted tips in his hair sat right next to her. He cleared his throat and said, “Hello, little lady.”
“Yeah, hi.”
She found the first picture of Dana on a site that covered “Connecticut Society Happenings,” one of those places that takes pictures of rich people at parties so fancy they are called balls, and these rich people, with so much in their lives, can’t wait to click on the site to see if their picture is on it.
Last year, Dana Phelps had hosted a gala in support of an animal shelter. It didn’t take long to see why Jeff had been drawn to her.
Dana Phelps was a stunner.
She wore a long silver gown that draped and clung in a way Kat would never experience. Dana Phelps oozed class. She was tall and blond and pretty much everything Kat was not.
Bitch.