Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

Through the intercom, a grainy voice asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Rafferty said. “Buzz us in.”

“Who’s ‘me’?”

“It’s Oscar,” Rafferty barked.

“Oscar who?” the voice said.

Pounding the intercom with his fist, Rafferty shouted, “Open the damn door or I’ll break your f-”

A rasping buzzer sounded, granting them access to the building. Rafferty pulled down on his lapels and straightened his jacket. There was no reason to be upset, he told himself. By the time they had climbed the four flights of stairs, both Rafferty and Kozlow were out of breath. As they approached apartment eight, the door flew open. It was the man with the sunken cheeks. “Hello, boys.”

Walking into the spartan one-bedroom apartment, Rafferty wanted to shove him in the chest. Just enough to scare him. Old instincts were returning, but he restrained himself. There was no reason to regress. “Elliott, I thought you were going to clean this place up.” Rafferty flicked a chip of paint from the wall.

“Give me some money and I’ll be happy to oblige,” Elliott said. “What’s up, Tony?”

“Same old same old,” Kozlow said.

“I’ve already given you money,” Rafferty interrupted, following Elliott into the beat-up living room.

“I mean real money. The big bucks.”

“You know where we are with that,” Rafferty said as he approached a metal folding chair in the corner of the room. He brushed off the seat with his hand before sitting down on it.

“So you didn’t come by to give me good news?” Elliott asked.

“Actually, I came by to ask you a question,” Rafferty said. “Monday afternoon, Sara Tate’s grandfather fell down a flight of stairs in the subway. Fractured his pelvis in a nasty spill. I want to make sure you didn’t know anything about that.”

“And Sara Tate’s the DA who has Kozlow’s case?” Elliott asked.

“That’s correct,” Rafferty said, looking for a hint of deceit on Elliott’s lean features.

“Sorry, I don’t know anything about that.”

“So you’ve never approached Sara? Never spoken with her?”

“Hey, I don’t even know what she looks like,” Elliott said with a twisted grin. His tone was taunting, like a man without a care. Or someone who was enjoying a rare moment of control. “The woman’s a complete stranger to me.”

“Elliott, can I steal some soda?” Kozlow called from the kitchen.

“It’s what you do best,” Elliott called back, not taking his eyes off Rafferty.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Rafferty warned.

“Would I be stupid enough to dick you around? You’re like a father to me.”

“Sure I am,” Rafferty said.

“You are. Besides, what’re you so worried about? I thought you had it all taken care of.”

“I do,” Rafferty said. “Unless someone starts changing the plans.”

“Well, you can stop suspecting me,” Elliott teased. “I already got what I wanted. Besides, I want you to succeed. If I didn’t, I never would’ve let you meet Tony.”

“And that worked out so well, didn’t it?” Rafferty replied.

“Hey…” Kozlow said from the kitchen.

“So is there anything else I should know?” Elliott asked.

“Not yet,” Rafferty said as he headed to the door. “But don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.”

Rafferty and Kozlow were both silent until they had left the building. Stepping into the crisp September air, Kozlow finally asked, “Do you believe him?”

“You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

“I trust him. He may be vindictive, but I don’t think he’d do that to us. Sara’s grandfather took a fall on his own.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Rafferty said as he got into the car. “For all our sakes.”

“All right, then. That’s fine,” Jared said coldly into his phone. “If you want to see him, put your request in writing.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sara asked. “All I want to do is interview Kozlow. Why make me put it in writing when you can agree to it right now on the phone?”

“Sara, don’t take it personally, but that’s what I do with every client. If you want him, you have to go through the proper channels.”

“Fine, I’ll send it over,” Sara said, sounding angry. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Don’t forget we have the prom tonight,” Jared added.

“Do I really have to-”

“Yes, you have to be there. It’s important to me, and it’d look terrible if you weren’t, so I’ll see you there at nine.”

As Jared hung up the phone, Kathleen walked in the room. “She wants to see Kozlow?”

“Of course. But she’s crazy if she thinks I’m going to make it easy for her.”

Before Kathleen could respond, there was a heavy knock on the door. “Anyone here?” Barrow asked as he entered the room. He was carrying a small brown bag that clearly contained a bottle of wine.

“Where’ve you been? Drinking?” Jared asked the moment he saw his favorite private detective.

“On the job? You know me better than that,” Barrow said, his salt-and-pepper beard looking more salt than pepper. “This bottle is purely about fingerprints. Snotty client of mine has me spying on her rich husband.” Jared and Barrow had known each other since Jared first started at the firm. In the past six and a half years, they had become close friends and enjoyed more than their fair share of laughs and good times, including the night Barrow spied on Sara so that Jared would know exactly what time she would be home for her surprise thirtieth birthday party.

On a professional level, Barrow had unearthed information that had single-handedly won at least four of Jared’s cases. But from the look on Barrow’s face, Jared knew this wasn’t going to be one of them. “So what’s the bad news?” Jared asked. “Who’re we dealing with?”

Sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jared’s desk, Barrow said, “To be honest, I’m not sure myself. I ran Rafferty’s name through every information network I have access to, but I came up with almost nothing. He was born in Hoboken, which means he’s probably not from money. By some miracle, and a textile-workers-union scholarship, he clawed his way to Princeton – big surprise. He lives in some fancy building on the Upper East Side – again, big surprise. He owns a partnership interest in a fifty-million-dollar theatrical property company called Echo Enterprises, and the only thing I can conclude is this: If I were you, I’d stay away from this guy.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I can tell he’s bad news, J. People don’t hide themselves unless they have something to hide. And the more I dig, the less I find. Oscar Rafferty is in control of his life, and he’s structured it to keep us out.”

“What about Kozlow? What’s his story?”

“Tony Kozlow is a handful if ever there was one. When I asked around about him, the two most common descriptions were ‘violent’ and ‘unstable.’ Apparently, he doesn’t follow orders well – he was kicked out of the army for insubordination. The thing is, he’s never the one in the driver’s seat. Both times he was arrested, he was following someone else’s lead: knifing someone for a loan shark in Brooklyn, then making a payback call for some small-time drug dealer. On that alone, I’d say he and Rafferty have an employer-employee relationship.”

Jared was silent as he mentally tested Barrow’s hypothesis. Eventually, he said, “Could they be Mafia?”

“Not a chance,” Barrow said. “Mob connections leave obvious tracks. Trust me, though, these guys are just as dangerous.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because they already approached me,” Barrow said definitively.