Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (best ereader for academics .txt) 📕

“Thank you, Gomez. Good work.”

I hung up and looked at Dehan, where she was hunkered down, pressing buttons on the dishwasher. It started to hum and she stood.

“Varufakis is in custody.”

“Good. So it’s over. Now we have a drink each, you put your good arm around me, we watch something totally mindless on TV, and then you carry me up to the bedroom.”

“Sounds like barbarian heaven.”

“I think so.”

* * *

It didn’t happen in exactly that order, but next morning at eight, we were at the station. Costas was upstairs in interrogation room three and I was on the phone talking to Liz Greene, from the lab. She was saying, “His name is Peter Yeltsin. He is wanted in Russia on several counts of murder, extortion and drug trafficking, and he is wanted in California, Arizona and Texas for questioning on similar matters. I hope they catch him, he’s a very dangerous man.”

“They found the car last night. There were bloodstains, so it looks like they’re both hurt. They’ll show up before long. Thanks, Liz.”

I hung up. Dehan was standing, waiting. I said, “The shooter is linked to the Russian Mafia, a hard case. We were lucky.”

She shook her head. “No, you were lucky. I was skilled.” She jerked her head. “Come on, let’s go talk to this son of a bitch. Apparently he has waived his right to an attorney. Inspector says the DA is on her way.”

We climbed the stairs and pushed into the room. He didn’t look up. He looked gray and drawn in his orange jump suit. We sat opposite him. Dehan went through the formalities and started recording.

I said, “You know the problem with the Russians, Costas? They are big and bold, but they are not subtle. If you want to terrorize a neighborhood, the Russians are your go to guys. But if you want a nice, subtle job of assassination, the Israelis, the British, the Chinese, the Japanese. Efficient, tidy, get the job done and vanish. But the Russians, they’ll mess it up every time.”

He didn’t answer. I said, “You’re not wondering why I am talking to you about the Russian Mafia, Costas?” He still said nothing. “Come on, you waived your right to an attorney, you may as well speak to us.”

“You haven’t asked me a question yet, Detective. What do you want me to say?”

“All right, let’s get to the questions. Do you know Peter Yeltsin?”

He closed his eyes and went a shade grayer. “Yes, I know him.”

“Did you hire him to have us killed?”

“No.”

Dehan slammed her hand down on the table. Costas leaned back. She leaned forward and yelled in his face. “You’re lying!”

“I did not hire him to kill you! I hired him to scare you! It wasn’t even my idea! It was his!”

I laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “Come on, Costas! You know that cuts no ice. If he had killed us, you would have been as liable for murder as he was. He attempted to murder us and you are liable for conspiracy to murder and attempted murder.”

“That was never my intention. All I wanted was to scare you into accepting Nielsen’s confession. You were going to destroy my life!”

I made a face like he’d said something reasonable and I was thinking about it. “Yes, let’s talk about Am Nielsen. Did you employ Yeltsin to do that job, too?”

“That was suicide and you know it! You can’t pin that on me!”

“Nielsen was murdered, Costas.”

“What is this, your ridiculous theory about how his voice was all wrong?”

“Partly that, yes.”

“So, here we go, the NYPD up to its old tricks. You’ve got me for trying to save my marriage and my family, after making one, stupid mistake, in trying to understand my own sexuality and my gender ambiguity, and because of the rampant, homophobic, Republican prejudices of your partner, you are now out to destroy me and pin every unsolved case you can find on me! Truth and Justice, the American way! The president would be proud of you!”

Dehan looked at me, then looked at Costas. “You done?”

“Go ahead, do your worst. I slept with a man, I must be a morally twisted monster. Haven’t you got some cases of cannibalism and torturing of babies you can pin on me?”

“Now are you done?”

“Go ahead.”

“Because there is the small matter of the bruising on his arms and on the back of his head, consistent with having been held face down, and the water in his lungs. See, he did drown, but he did not drown in the Harlem. He drowned in a bath, or a sink. The water in his lungs was tap water.”

“No…”

I nodded. “Yes, so you had better start talking, Costas. Because we are interrogating Yeltsin too, and here’s the interesting thing about Yeltsin. They want him in Russia on several counts of murder, drug trafficking, extortion—you know the kind of thing. And Russian prisons are not quite as comfortable as ours, especially as Yeltsin has a few enemies back home he is not keen to run into. So in exchange for a lenient sentence here, I think Peter Yeltsin will be keen to be cooperative.”

Costas’ eyes had gone hollow and he looked like he might throw up. “I had nothing to do with Am’s murder. I am not a killer. I panicked when you refused to close the case, only because I was scared my wife and kids would get to know about my affair with Jose. It was a stupid thing to do, but I told him, just fire a couple of time over their heads, then get out of there!”

Dehan sighed like she was bored. “I’m hearing a lot of words there, Varufakis, but I ain’t hearing no content. You already told us all that.