his feelings for her. More has to come out about who and what he is. If we do have Elana arrested for Reed’s murder, that’s going to complicate his life—you know, family loyalty versus professional ethics. And once he confronts Brock—”
“Hey.” At a red light, the cabbie turned, peering at them from under his fading Mets cap. “You talking about ‘Secret Sins’?”
“Yeah.” Bess brightened. “Do you watch it?”
“The wife tapes it every day. You don’t look familiar.”
“We’re not on it,” Bess explained. “We write it.”
“Gotcha.” Satisfied, he punched the accelerator when the light changed. “Let me tell you what I think about that two-timing Vicki.”
As he proceeded to do just that, Bess leaned forward, debating with him. Lori closed her eyes and tried to catch up on lost sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
“My wife went nuts.” Judd Malloy munched on his cherry Danish while Alex swung in and out of downtown traffic. “She’s a big fan of that soap, you know? Tapes it every day when she’s in school.”
“Terrific.” Alex had been doing his best to forget his little encounter with the soap queen, but his partner wasn’t cooperating.
“Holly figures it was just like meeting a celebrity.”
“You don’t find many celebrities turning tricks.”
“Come on, Alex.” Judd washed down the Danish with heavily sugared coffee. “She wasn’t, really. You said so yourself, or the charges wouldn’t have been dropped.”
“She was stupid,” Alex said between his teeth. “Carrying a damn water pistol in that suitcase of hers. I guess she figured if a john got rough, she’d blat him between the eyes and that would be that.”
Judd started to comment on how it might feel to get a blat of ammonia in the eyes, but didn’t think his partner wanted to hear it. “Well, Holly was impressed, and we got some fresh juice out of Rosalie, so we didn’t waste our time.”
“Malloy, you’d better get used to wasting time. Stanislaski’s rule number four.” Alex spotted the building he was looking for and double-parked. He was already out of the car and across the sidewalk before Judd found the NYPD sign and stuck it in the window. “We sure as hell could be wasting it here with this Domingo.”
“Rosalie said—”
“Rosalie said what we wanted to hear so we’d spring her,” Alex told him. His cop’s eyes were already studying the building, noting windows, fire escapes, roof. “Maybe she gave us the straight shot on Domingo, and maybe she pulled it out of a hat. We’ll see.”
The place was in good repair. No graffiti, no broken glass or debris. Lower-middle-income, Alex surmised. Established families, mostly blue-collar. He pulled open the heavy entrance door, then scanned the names above the line of mailboxes.
“J. Domingo. 212.” Alex pushed the buzzer for 110, waited, then hit 305. The answering buzz released the inner door. “People are so careless,” he commented. He could feel Judd’s nerves shimmering as they climbed the stairs, but he could tell he was holding it together. He’d damn well better hold it together, Alex thought as he gestured Judd into position, then knocked on the door of 212. He knocked a second time before he heard the cursing answer.
When the door opened a crack, Alex braced his body against it to keep it that way. “How’s it going, Jesús?”
“What the hell do you want?”
He fit Rosalie’s description, Alex noted. Right down to the natty Clark Gable moustache and the gold incisor. “Conversation, Jesús. Just a little conversation.”
“I don’t talk to nobody at this hour.”
When he tried to shove the door to, Alex merely leaned on it and flipped open his badge. “You don’t want to be rude, do you? Why don’t you ask us in?”
Swearing in Spanish, Jesús Domingo cracked the door a little wider. “You got a warrant?”
“I can get one, if you want more than conversation. I can take you down for questioning, get the paperwork and do the job before your shyster lawyer can tap-dance you out. Want a team of badges in here, Jesús?”
“I haven’t done nothing.” He stepped back from the door, a small man with wiry muscles who was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts.
“Nobody said you did. Did I say he did, Malloy?”
Enjoying himself, Judd stepped in behind Alex. “Nope.”
The building might be lower-middle-class, but Domingo’s apartment was a small high-tech palace. State-of-the-art stereo equipment, Alex noted. A big-screen TV with some very classy video toys. The wall of tapes ran mostly to the X-rated.
“Nice place,” Alex commented. “You sure know how to make your unemployment check stretch.”
“I got a good head for figures.” Domingo plucked up a pack of cigarettes from a table, lighted one. “So?”
“So, let’s talk about Angie Horowitz.”
Domingo blew out smoke and scratched at the hair on his chest. “Never heard of her.”
“Funny, we got word you were one of her regulars, and her main supplier.”
“You got the wrong word.”
“Maybe you don’t recognize the name.” Alex reached into his inside jacket pocket, and his fingers brushed over his leather shoulder harness as he pulled out a manila envelope. “Why don’t you take a look?” He stuck the police shot under Domingo’s nose and watched his olive complexion go a sickly gray. “Look familiar?”
“Man.” Domingo’s fingers shook as he brought his cigarette to his lips.
“Problem?” Alex glanced down at the photo himself. There hadn’t been much left of Angie for the camera. “Oh, hey, sorry about that, Jesús. Malloy, didn’t I tell you not to put the dead shot in?”
Judd shrugged, feigning casualness. He was thinking he was glad he didn’t have to look at it again himself. “Guess I made a mistake.”
“Yeah.” All the while he spoke, Alex held the photo where Domingo could see it. “Guy’s a rookie,” he explained. “Always screwing up. You know. Poor little Angie sure got sliced, didn’t she? Coroner said the guy put about forty holes in her. You can see most of them. Poor Malloy here took one look and lost his breakfast. I keep telling him not to eat those damned greasy Danishes before we go check out a stiff, but like I said…” Alex grinned to himself as Domingo made a dash for the bathroom.
“That was cold, Stanislaski,” Judd said, grinning.
“Yeah, I’m that kind of guy.”
“And I didn’t throw up my breakfast.”
“You
