The other two detectives stared at Erin. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again,” Vic said in tones of respectful admiration. “You’re one cold, hard bitch.”
“Yeah,” Webb said. “Mothers have a soft spot for their kids. Especially ones that are still living at home. It’s a good idea, O’Reilly. You think Paulie’s a momma’s boy?”
“Probably,” Vic said.
“So what do you think Mom’s willing to do to keep her little boy out of prison?” Erin said, hating herself a little.
“Maybe tell the truth,” Webb said. “I’ll talk to the DA, see if we can get him to play ball.”
* * *
As Erin climbed the stairs up to Major Crimes, her phone buzzed. She fished it out on the landing, letting the other detectives go on ahead.
“O’Reilly.”
“Hello, darling.”
“Hey,” she said, glad she recognized Carlyle’s accent. He didn’t like to identify himself by name on the phone. “Miss me already?”
“Aye,” he said. “But this is more of a business call.”
She dropped her flirtatious tone. “What’s up?”
“I know you were wanting a pleasant evening with me, but I’ve a fellow who’s wanting a quiet word with you, when it’s convenient. Perhaps at the end of the day?”
“This fellow have a name?”
“You saw him at a meeting on the subject of applied probability.”
“Try that in English?”
“He’s a card player, but not a particularly accomplished one. You’d recall a lad with a bit of a sniffle?”
“Oh, yeah. Him.” She thought of Liam McIntyre, with his twitchy face and runny nose.
“Is there a problem, darling?”
“You’ll understand if I’m a little less excited about seeing him than you.”
Carlyle chuckled. “Aye, that’s a fair point. What would you like me to tell him?”
She sighed. “Sure. I’ll meet with him. But there better be a payoff.”
“Darling, I’m shocked. I didn’t think you wanted that sort of relationship.”
“That wasn’t what I meant!”
“I know what you meant.” He sounded amused. “I’ll make it up to you. Feel free to collect, at any time of your choosing.”
“It’s not like you to make an open-ended commitment like that.”
“What can I say? You bring it out in me.”
“Where does your guy want to meet?”
“Here at the Corner. Nine o’ clock would be grand. Come around back.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“I’ll have a drink poured and waiting.”
* * *
“Good news,” Webb said when Erin joined them in the office. “The DA would love to trade a low-level drug conviction for a murder collar. He’s in. Shortest conversation I’ve ever had with him.”
“Okay,” Vic said. “Let’s go get the bitch.”
“Let’s do this with a little tact, Neshenko,” Webb said. “She’s a grieving widow, remember.”
“Who we think killed her husband,” he shot back. “Don’t they say crocodiles fake crying to put you off your guard?”
“I think that’s an urban legend,” Erin said.
“Urban crocodiles?” Vic said.
“Hey, it’s New York,” she said. “You’ve been down in the sewers. You know what it’s like.”
“Which is why I’m working Major Crimes and not Animal Control,” he said. “So how about it, boss? We gonna get this girl, or what?”
“Okay,” Webb said. “But just so we’re clear, you are not playing good cop.”
“That’s okay,” Vic said. “The bad cop gets to have all the fun.”
* * *
They rolled up on the Bianchi apartment with just the three of them, plus Rolf. As Webb pointed out, one middle-aged woman shouldn’t present too much of a threat to a full squad of NYPD detectives.
“I’m spending more time at this apartment than I am at home,” Erin commented as the elevator whirred toward the top floor.
“Plenty of time to sit at home after we retire,” Vic said. “Except the Lieutenant, here. He’ll keel over from a coronary two weeks before he collects his pension. It’ll be tragic, except for the irony of it.”
“Half my heart trouble is because of you, Neshenko,” Webb said. “If I kick off, I expect O’Reilly to put you away for manslaughter.”
“Where’s the other half come from?” Vic asked.
“It’s a three-way split,” Webb said. “Cigarettes, my second ex-wife, and O’Reilly.”
“Why the second wife?” Erin asked.
Webb shook his head and sighed. “I did something stupid and married a lawyer the second time around. The first wife got the kids, the second one got the house.”
“Ouch,” Vic said. “So why don’t you like lawyer jokes?”
“Lawyers hurt too much to be funny.”
The elevator doors slid open. “We gonna take her downtown, or do it here?” Erin asked.
“We’ll start here and see how it goes,” Webb said. “I want her thinking about her kid, not about herself. We haul her into an interrogation room, she’ll be thinking about her own chances.”
“We’ve got no proof,” she said quietly.
“She doesn’t know that,” he said and rang the doorbell.
A young Italian man answered the door. He was wearing a black suit and had slicked-back hair. From the look on his face, they weren’t the people he was expecting.
“Who’re you?” he asked sharply.
Webb held up his shield. “Lieutenant Webb, NYPD. We’d like to speak with Mrs. Bianchi.”
“You got a warrant?”
“We’re not searching the apartment, and she’s not under arrest,” Webb said. “A warrant isn’t necessary.”
“Take a hike,” he said. “She ain’t talkin’ to you.”
“And who, exactly, are you?” Webb asked.
“The guy who’s tellin’ you to get lost.”
Vic cracked his knuckles and gave the other guy a long look. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“I ain’t tellin’ you shit. And I don’t have to.”
“You know the rule book,” Vic said. “You’re right, you don’t have to show us your ID. Of course, we can haul your ass down to the station and keep you there until we can ID you. But you probably know that already, since you’re such a smart guy.”
“Hey, Carlo!” Nina’s strident voice called from the living room. “What’s goin’ on out there?”
“Carlo,” Vic repeated. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
Carlo scowled at them
