Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [75]
Peterson smiled broadly.
‘A lot of bodies round the place though, Detective. Must be worth it. What was Kasprowicz, ten million? Twenty million? Fifty? I suppose it doesn’t matter after five.’ Jack lifted his cuffed hands, scratched a cheek. ‘Is Ziggy paying extra or was the deal just you kill Kasprowicz for him and he gets rid of the body? The quick set-up of good ol’ Jack and then everybody catches up for a nice cold beer later? In Rio, maybe?’
The detective was still airing his teeth. ‘Who said Kasprowicz was dead? That’s going to be your job.’
Jack felt heat rise up his neck. ‘Where is he?’
‘Waiting. Somewhere. For you.’
There it was: the set-up. Nice and simple. We’d like you to hold this gun and shoot. Jack knew nobody was going to give a crap about motive when all the i’s were dotted by forensics. Not when they saw he had worked for Ziggy Brandt once upon a time. Looked like Jack was going to get his initiation after all.
‘Sure Annabelle won’t do a runner with the cash?’ Jack wanted to change the subject.
‘I got insurance.’ Peterson’s tone was casual, smug.
Jack watched the detective light a cigarette. Thought some more. Then he grinned, nodded, understood. ‘The tapes,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the tapes of her in the sack.’ It was not Durst at all.
Peterson blew smoke, returned the cigarette pack to his pocket.
‘I’m not sure about these modern, open relationships,’ said Jack. ‘They never last.’
‘You finished talking?’
‘Have I missed anything?’
‘You think I’d touch that fucking whore?’ Peterson tapped ash to the floor. ‘You ain’t as smart as you think, Susko. You missed everything.’
Jack waited.
The detective laughed, dragged on his cigarette. ‘I got the tapes all right, but she ain’t fucking nobody.’ He rolled his neck, a little to the left, a little to the right: a couple of bones clicked. ‘What I got is her asking me to kill her old man. And her uncle. And her husband, too.’ He smoked some more, shook his head. ‘You’d think she would have remembered I’m a cop. We’ve got technology. It’s in all the fucking TV shows.’
‘Is that where you got your plan from, too?’
Peterson’s face darkened. ‘Just the bit about giving you the garrotte.’
Jack hoped Peterson did not see the shiver go down his spine. He nodded at the bodies of Celia and Durst. ‘Maybe you could throw something over them.’ Thoughts were banging around in his head, ringing like bells in a fire station.
There was the sound of a car below. As Peterson went over to the window to see, he said: ‘She didn’t do it just for the money.’
‘Maybe it was for a bit of fun?’ Jack’s tone was bitter. ‘The rich are easily bored.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time that was true, trust me.’ Peterson pushed the curtain aside with a finger. ‘But not Annabelle. She hated Kasprowicz’s guts.’
‘That’s nothing new. Why act on it now?’
‘New information,’ answered the cop blandly. ‘Opportunity. What else do you need?’
‘A dirty cop and a handcuffed sucker.’
Peterson wagged a threatening finger at Jack. ‘Don’t make me,’ he said. He turned back to the window. ‘Mainly it was she found out Kasprowicz wasn’t her old man. Impotent fuck.’
Jack absorbed the information slowly. The detective glanced at him over on the couch.
‘You ever meet that stupid bitch Sabine de Ruse?’ he asked. ‘She was married to Kasprowicz once. She found out he fired blanks. Squeezed money out of him ever since. Then after all these years she let it slip in front of Annabelle one night, pissed. All the botox must have got into her brain.’
Jack remembered something: Kass had had an affair with Annabelle’s mother. He thought about that for a moment. Kass was Annabelle’s real father. That’s why Kasprowicz was putting together his little book collection. A revenge work-in-progress. And Jack had been his research assistant.
What had MacAllister said? You don’t