“Maybe because Tamar Valparaiso…”
Valparaiso, Carella thought.
“…is under contract to Bison Records,” Loomis said, and nodded in sudden understanding. “Of course,” he said. “That’s got to be it. I’m CEO and sole shareholder in the company. They’re going to ask
“Then you better sit by the phone,” Hawes suggested.
BY FOUR A.M., McIntosh and his HPU team had gathered all the vitals from the passengers, crew, and caterers, had passed the list on to the detectives from the Eight-Seven, and had gone tootling off on their thirty-six footer into an early morning mist. The Mobile Crime Unit had arrived some two hours earlier and were examining the primary access routes. Half a dozen male and female technicians were still dusting and vacuuming the salon stairway and the small dance floor where most of the action had taken place. Another three were doing the same thing outside on the loading platform and boarding ladder, concentrating especially on latent footprints. And yet another three were searching for evidence on the second level cocktail lounge, where it was presumed the perps had entered before moving down to the lower deck.
Disembarked and disoriented after their nocturnal ordeal, the weary voyagers dispersed in various directions, Captain Reeves—as befitted his role as commander—being the last to leave his vessel.
(“Captain
The fog gathering around them, the detectives and the television people walked together in silence to where they’d parked in the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL zone dockside. Carella had indeed seized the tape as evidence. Honey was indeed intending to bring suit against the city. Hawes did not think this was such a good start for a relationship.
Honey and her crew climbed into the Channel Four van; the two detectives got into their unmarked Chevy sedan. The streets were empty at this early hour of the morning. Carella and Hawes made it back to the squadroom in less than ten minutes.
There was still a lot of work to do before the shift ended.
“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE hit her so hard,” Avery was telling Cal.
“Come on, it was only a slap,” Cal said.
“You knocked her down. That was more than a slap.”
“She was making a run for it.”
Tamar Valparaiso was still unconscious and draped alongside Kellie Morgan on the back seat of the Ford Explorer, her head on Kellie’s shoulder, her hands and feet bound, a blindfold over her eyes.
Kellie, to tell the truth, was sort of overwhelmed to be in such close proximity to someone she perceived to be a rock star even though she’d only seen her perform once at a club over in the next state, and that was at least nine months ago, before Tamar had got her recording contract.
They had left the Rinker at the Fairfield Street dock, all the way downtown in the Old Quarter of the city, taking with them only any personal items, and the masks, and the weapons, transferring all and sundry into the Ford. Avery was now driving. Cal was sitting beside him. They were moving slowly through the fog and the deserted streets, observing the speed limit, stopping at any red traffic light or full stop sign, but not traveling so slowly as to attract police attention. That was the last thing they needed at this stage of the game.
The tendrils of the fog embraced the car as if to crush it. Fog frightened Kellie. You never knew what might come at you out of a fog.
“When they pay the ransom,” Avery said, still on the case, “we’re supposed…”
“
“They’ll pay it, don’t worry. But then we’re supposed to return her safe and sound. If we send her back with her face all bruised…”
“Ain’t no bruises on her face,” Cal said.
“Girl’s face is her fortune,” Kellie said from the back seat.
“Ours, too,” Avery reminded her.
“Tits ain’t so bad, neither,” Cal said and grinned.
“Hey, cool that shit,” Kellie said.
“The way you hit her,” Avery said, refusing to let go, “her face is gonna swell up like a balloon.”
“Black and blue already,” Kellie said, looking over at Tamar and nodding.
“How’s she doing otherwise?” Avery asked.
“Still out like a light,” Kellie said. “We got a blanket or something? She’s half-naked here.”
“That ain’t our fault,” Cal said. “She stripped her own self buck ass naked. They can’t blame us for that.”
“They can blame you for swatting her,” Avery insisted.
“How’d you like my swatting the monster, huh?” Cal asked, grinning, turning to look at Avery. “Or didn’t you like that, either? Him crouched and ready to spring for our throats, how come
“Because we agreed no violence.”
“That was our agreement, yes,” Kellie said.
“You go in with 47s,” Cal said, “you got to expect violence.”
“Not if we agreed beforehand.”
