Erin wondered what he’d say if he knew about her boyfriend. How the hell was she ever supposed to break the news?
“Why are you so happy, then?” she asked Vic, pushing her worries to the back of her mind. Drug buyers were a pretty low priority for the NYPD these days.
He shrugged. “Any day I can make a low-level perp cry isn’t a day wasted. It beats the hell out of paperwork.”
“You made him cry?”
“Only a little.” Vic was still grinning. “I’ve dealt with hardcore criminals, and this Nicoletti’s just a small-time punk. It’s like if a Chihuahua was growling at Rolf, and we locked them in a room together.”
“Chihuahuas can be nasty,” Erin said. “They’re more likely to bite you than pit bulls.”
“But you’re more likely to remember a bite from a pit bull,” Vic retorted. “Trust me, this guy’s a little yappy dog. Rolf takes on a Chihuahua, he’ll eat everything but the bark.”
Erin dropped a hand and scratched Rolf behind the ears. “You’re not kidding. But he didn’t confess to the poison?”
“Nope.”
“Did he know his girl was sleeping with her boss?”
Vic snorted. “He says he didn’t. But he did.”
“How do you know?”
“He had to pretend. It’d make him less of a man otherwise.”
“Little dogs want to look like big dogs,” she agreed. “So he’s still a suspect?”
“Yeah. And with him ratting out his dealer, the Narcs can hold him while we sort this out. When’s this chick coming to see you?”
“An hour, give or take.”
“Good,” Webb broke in. “That’ll give Neshenko time to fill out his DD-5 for Nicoletti.”
“And just like that, the good feeling’s gone,” Erin said, smiling sweetly at Vic.
He winked and gave her an air-kiss.
* * *
Vivian Berkley swayed into the Major Crimes office on three-inch heels, wearing a tight sweater and a skirt a little too short for February in Manhattan. Her makeup and clothes were deliberately, self-consciously adult, but Erin, remembering their phone conversation, saw right through it. This was a kid playing grown-up.
“Miss Berkley?” Erin said, standing up.
Vivian gave her a bright, artificial smile. “That’s me.”
“I’m Detective O’Reilly. We can talk here, or we can go somewhere quieter.”
The young woman glanced around the office with interest. “This is fine. Oh! You have a dog!”
“This is Rolf. He’s a trained K-9.”
Vivian carefully knelt to offer her hand to the Shepherd, tottering on her heels. Rolf gave the hand a polite sniff. “Can he smell, like, drugs and stuff?”
“He’s trained in explosives detection, suspect tracking, and apprehension.”
“Oh, yeah! I remember! You were the cop who did that thing at the Civic Center! They talked about you on the news!” Vivian’s eyes sparkled. “Wait till I post this. I got to meet a celebrity!”
Erin made brief eye contact with Vic over Vivian’s shoulder. He rolled his eyes at her, clearly trying not to laugh. He’d been right beside her and Rolf as the three of them had stopped a terrorist plot at the last possible moment, but no one was fawning over him. Maybe because he was just about the least photogenic member of the NYPD. Erin reminded herself to give him some crap about that later. For the moment, she’d leverage her fifteen minutes of fame to get what she needed.
“Miss Berkley, have a seat,” she said, pulling a spare chair over to her desk. “Tell me about Norman Ridgeway.”
“What about him?”
“What’s the nature of your relationship with him?”
Vivian giggled. “It’s not exactly a relationship. I mean, it’s not like we’re, you know, exclusive or anything.”
“Is it physically intimate?”
“You mean, like, sex?” Vivian giggled again and glanced sidelong at Webb and Vic. Webb was ignoring the whole thing, pretending to do paperwork. Vic was watching the two women with an eyebrow sardonically raised.
“That’s right,” Erin said.
“Well, duh! What do you think?”
“You told me on the phone that you and Mr. Ridgeway had dinner together, night before last. Did you have an intimate encounter, either before or after dinner?”
“Both.” Vivian giggled yet again. Erin was finding it more annoying each time.
“Did he give you anything as a Valentine’s present?”
“Yeah. I’m wearing it right now.”
“What is it?” Erin looked the woman over.
Vivian smiled slyly. “You can’t see it from here,” she whispered.
Erin didn’t press for details. “Did you give him anything? Clothes, candy, anything like that?”
The young woman shook her head. “No, he buys me gifts. He says it’s enough of a present that I’m there with him. Hey, what’s going on here, anyway? Did Norman do something wrong? I mean, besides the reservation.”
“We’re trying to figure out what happened,” Erin said.
“Is he under arrest?”
“No,” she said truthfully.
“Is he in trouble?”
“Miss Berkley, do you know anyone who’d want to hurt him?”
“The guy whose reservation he swiped,” she said with another giggle. Then she saw the look in Erin’s eye and the giggle died away. “Wait a second. You’re serious? Did someone hurt him? Is he okay?”
Erin kept looking at her, watching for any sign of a lie, any guilt. What she saw was a girl, younger than she wanted to be, a little scared and getting more scared by the second as the silence stretched out.
“Where is he?” Vivian asked. “How bad is he… what… how…”
“He’s dead,” Erin said. It was harsh, but detectives couldn’t always play nice. She needed to see the girl’s reaction.
“No, he’s not,” Vivian said. “I mean, I just had dinner with him two days ago. He had salmon… the organic salmon with… with peas and mint-tarragon sauce.”
“Do you know Amber Hayward?” Erin asked.
The girl shook her head. “We had Tahitian vanilla ice cream for dessert,” she went on. “At his place, afterward, he gave me champagne and strawberries, just like in Pretty Woman. He’s not dead. You made a mistake.”
Erin stifled a sigh. “Miss Berkley, I need you to think. Did you see a box of chocolate at Mr. Ridgeway’s home?”
“Chocolate?” Vivian looked confused.
“One of those sampler boxes,” Erin explained. “Like you get at a drugstore.”
“Oh.” Vivian’s
