Nick Stephenson - Paydown (Leopold Blake Series)

“That’s still not enough, Lieutenant. I can’t get you your warrant without something concrete linking Melissa Gordon to the murder.” He raised a chunky finger. “And don’t pretend you followed protocol on this one, Jordan. I don’t even want to know how you traced those accounts.”

“But sir, we need to bring Mrs. Gordon in. And we’ll need backup.”

“Denied.” The captain got to his feet again. “The DA is satisfied with the evidence against Creed and the medical examiner doesn’t believe there was any foul play. Get some evidence, then you get your warrant. Play by the rules or don’t play at all.” He aimed the last comment at Leopold. “Now get the hell out of my office.”

Leopold stormed ahead, leading the way back to the Mercedes where Jerome was waiting. Mary jogged to keep up.

“Hey, slow down,” she said, putting one hand on Leopold’s shoulder. “You heard the captain. We’re on our own.”

He stopped and took a deep breath. “It just seems that, no matter the environment, those who are most effective at setting up road blocks are the ones put in charge.” He exhaled. “No matter. We just need to find something we can use. Why didn’t you mention the fake Biggs?”

“What, and make us look even more incompetent? We need to go to Oakes and the DA with an ironclad case. That means we can’t rely on anything you found on social media or anything your network of hackers managed to get hold of. We need to do this by the book.”

“You’re with me on this.”

“Damn right,” she said. “Everything I’ve seen today, Melissa Gordon is the only suspect that makes any sense. She and her husband must have been running the scam for years. I guess he grew a conscience.”

“We need to get back inside her house,” said Leopold. “If we can find something to link her to the fake Biggs or the money transfers, we’ve got probable cause. A full forensic sweep of her computer accounts should tell us the rest, along with whatever scams Needham was running. We can end this whole thing today.”

“How do we get inside without a warrant?”

“Easy.” Leopold smiled. “We just ask.”

Jerome put his right foot to the floor and the Mercedes surged forward, throwing Leopold into the back of the passenger seat. A white van sounded its horn as Jerome steered over to the fast lane and cut it off. The bodyguard kept his foot planted and the irate driver was soon lost in the traffic behind them.

“You know, this is a terrible idea,” said Jerome.

“I know you think so,” said Leopold. “Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t run us off the road before we find out for sure.”

“You should have waited for police backup.”

“That wasn’t an option. We can’t get any support without evidence, and this is the only way we’re going to find any.”

“Have you at least told anyone at the precinct where you’re going?”

“And risk them stopping us? No. We’re well and truly on our own this time. Think you can handle it?”

“Assuming you don’t do anything stupid.”

“No promises.”

Jerome grunted and undertook a slow-moving truck ahead, eliciting more honks of outrage. The exit that led toward Melissa Gordon’s brownstone loomed ahead and Jerome took it, slowing the car down to a more sensible speed.

“We’ll be there in two minutes,” said Jerome. “Get ready.”

The butler opened the door.

“May we come in?” asked Mary, holding up her NYPD shield. “We have a few follow-up questions.”

The butler eyed the trio disdainfully. “Is Mrs. Gordon expecting you?”

“No. This is quite urgent.”

“Please wait here.” He closed the door.

“Once we’re inside,” said Leopold, “I’ll need you to distract Mrs. Gordon while I take a look around. I’ll make up some excuse. Jerome, I’ll need you to stay with her.”

Jerome nodded.

“What will you be looking for?” said Mary. “We already have most of the stuff off her computer.”

“I’ll know it when I see it. Just keep her busy.”

The front door opened once again and the Butler waved them through. “Mrs. Gordon will see you in the drawing room,” he said. “Follow me.”

Melissa Gordon sat on the sofa, as before, with what looked like a gin and tonic in her hand. She sipped the drink as her guests entered and set the glass down on the coffee table.

“Detective. Mr. Blake.” She nodded at Mary and Leopold before looking up at Jerome. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Mr.…?”

“It’s Jerome,” said Leopold. “Just Jerome.”

She smiled. “Please, have a seat.”

They obliged.

“Detective, I heard about the incident with Vincent Creed. After what he did to my husband, I hope you’ll forgive me for not getting too choked up about it.”

Mary nodded. “We’re all dedicated to justice here, Mrs. Gordon. I just had a few questions for you about Mr. Creed. We’re hoping to get this wrapped up pretty quickly.”

“Ask away.”

“We are aware of some inconsistencies in the way Needham Brothers were reporting profits for their clients. Were you aware of anything like that?”

Melissa Gordon sighed and took another sip of her drink. “I haven’t worked there in years. Teddy might have known, but I’m afraid I’m not part of that world any more. I can’t help you.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” said Leopold, getting to his feet, “do you mind if I use your bathroom? I’m sure Detective Jordan can continue in my absence. It’s been rather a long drive.”

“I suppose so.” She put her drink down. “The door nearest the porch. I assume you can find your way?”

“I’ll manage.” Leopold brushed past the butler, who had brought in a tray of tea, and made his way out of the room.

He passed through the hallway and skipped the bathroom, opening one of the doors opposite. The kitchen lay beyond, pristine with shiny granite countertops. A large steel oven took center stage. Toward the back, another door led through to what looked like a utilities room. The smell of freshly laundered clothes wafted through, along with the quiet rumble of what Leopold assumed was a dryer.

He stepped into the small room, avoiding the basket of laundry on the floor. A side door led out to the garden. It had been left open. Leopold crouched and peered through the clear window of the dryer, watching the clothes tumble around inside. The machine stopped. Within, Leopold could make out several pairs of jeans, some underwear, and something else. The material looked different, cheaper. He shuffled closer and opened the hatch, looking in. A dark blue outfit had risen to the top, a clear insignia inscribed on the breast:

“New York City Department of Corrections.”

Leopold closed up the dryer and got to his feet, feeling his heart begin to pound. The smell of laundry detergent was overwhelming, the thin breeze from the open door barely making a difference. There was another smell too; sickly sweet, like burned grass and…

Cherries.

There was a sound from behind and Leopold spun on his heels, hands raised in defense. A flash of movement caught him unaware and he felt something heavy connect with the side of his head. As he crumpled to the floor, Leopold saw the figure of an old man standing above him. The pain in his skull reached a crescendo and the man bent down.