They went up the steps quickly, as quietly as possible. At the top, Erin put her hand on the knob. She glanced back. Vic, Madsen, and Piekarski nodded. Rolf snuffled at the door. He was sure his target had gone through it. Erin took a deep breath and yanked it open.
They spilled out onto the main floor of the Barley Corner, behind the bar. Erin was face to face with her friend Danny, the bartender. He stared at her, eyes wide. Erin looked around and saw dozens of patrons, all of them looking at the four cops and one K-9. The police officers were in full tactical gear, two of them wearing helmets, all of them in vests and with guns in their hands. There’d been a car crash right outside, followed by gunfire in the back alley. She wondered what these guys were thinking. Many of them were O’Malley associates, some probably armed, all of them visibly nervous. The worst of them had likely already skipped out the front door and the rest looked like they might stampede at the slightest provocation.
“NYPD,” Vic said.
“No shit,” said a man from somewhere in the crowd. “In case you forget, it says POLICE right there on your chest.”
There was a ripple of tense laughter.
“Hey,” another voice said. “Ain’t that O’Reilly and her mutt?”
“Rolf, such,” Erin said quietly. There was nothing to do but keep going. The Shepherd went around the end of the bar and started across the room, sniffing busily. He was completely unaware of the social awkwardness of the moment. The crowd of Irishmen parted to let them pass.
As they went, she looked around for Carlyle. She saw him near the door, standing next to Caitlin Tierney, one of the Corner’s waitresses. He looked outwardly calm, but his face was very pale. Corky Corcoran was next to his friend, hands in his pockets, watching the proceedings with a slight smile on his face.
Rolf led Erin straight to the front door. Carlyle nodded politely to them.
“Evening, officers,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“We’re looking for a fugitive,” she said. “Siobhan Finneran.”
“Miss Finneran is not on these premises, I assure you,” he said.
“Knock it off, wiseguy,” Madsen snapped. “You’re covering for her.”
“Of course he is,” Vic growled. “So don’t waste time on him.”
There were a dozen things Erin wanted, needed to discuss with Carlyle, but she could hardly do it here and now. Instead, she opened the front door and followed her dog out into the cold night air. She glanced to her right and saw the BearCat and the wrecked Mercedes. She also saw the flashing lights of several squad cars and an ambulance that had arrived on scene. Rolf snuffled his way around the corner, out of sight of the crash. He went to the curb, stopped, circled briefly, and looked up at her.
His meaning was clear. Siobhan had gotten in another car. She was gone.
“Son of a bitch,” Erin said. She looked up and down the street, as if there was any chance of picking out a particular vehicle from the thousands of cars in Manhattan. It sounded like the only thing to say, so she said it again, the summation of this whole lousy case.
“Son of a bitch.”
Nobody had seen anything, of course. Questions addressed to the Corner’s patrons about a redheaded woman met with shrugs and mutters. When Vic pressed them, a couple of guys allowed that they might’ve seen a girl who looked kind of like that. She’d gone outside. When? A couple minutes ago. What car did she get into? Shrug. A taxi? Maybe.
Erin didn’t even bother asking. She knew these guys, some of them personally, and knew they weren’t going to give the cops a single thing they could use. She saw no point in embarrassing herself more than she already had.
“Okay,” Vic said to Erin after his fruitless canvassing. “How many of these jokers are we arresting?”
“I guess the question is what we’re arresting them for,” she replied. “What’s Webb think?”
“I haven’t asked him,” Vic said. Webb was still out back handling the latest scene, probably wishing he had two or three packs of cigarettes. “I think it’s your call. Aiding and abetting?”
“Aiding and abetting whom?” she replied. “Siobhan wasn’t a fugitive yet.”
Vic sighed. “I’d really, really like to bust Cars Carlyle for something. I swear, that guy’s suits must be made of Teflon. Everything just slides right off him.”
“Maybe another day,” Erin said diplomatically.
“At least we’ve got his boy, Thompson,” Vic said more cheerfully. “It’s not everyone commits a homicide right in front of ESU. He’s going down.”
Erin was silent. She wasn’t at all sure of that.
“Can’t we at least take Carlyle downtown for questioning?” Vic almost pleaded.
“I don’t see how it’ll help,” she said. She wanted to talk to Carlyle, but not in front of other officers and not on the record. She gave Carlyle as hard a look as she dared, but he gave nothing away. He just stood there, tight-lipped and tense.
Webb came in the front door, accompanied by a pair of Patrol officers. He walked over to Erin and Vic.
“Any leads?” he asked.
Both of them shook their heads.
“We’ll put out a BOLO,” he said wearily. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. CSU will get here when they can, but they’re a little overbooked, as you may have heard. I’ve got uniforms on perimeter duty.”
“Where’s Thompson?” Vic asked.
“Cuffed in the back of the Cat,” Webb said. “I figured we’d want to talk to him back at the precinct. I don’t see any reason for the two of you to hang around here, if you want to take him in and see what he’s willing to say.”
“Sure thing,” Vic said.
“Hey, can I hitch along?” Piekarski asked, coming over. “My ride’s back at the station.”
They booked Ian and took him into the interrogation room. He was calm and polite the entire time, taking everything in
