A Brew to a Kill (43 page)

So Josh tried again, this time killing Helen with Gwen’s stolen car, so there wouldn’t be any doubt about the killer’s identity in the minds of the police.

“Is Josh still around?” I asked. “I saw him here earlier.”

“He dropped by the Muse around seven to say good-bye,” Dante said. “Said he was leaving early because he had things to do.”

Like commit murder and frame an innocent woman?

“Do you think he’s at Five Points?”

Dante shrugged. “Maybe. He hangs out there a lot.”

“I need to ask Josh some questions. Can you give him a call?”

Dante used his iPhone, but he had to leave a message. Josh was unavailable.

“Maybe this is better—”

A double ringtone interrupted me. My own cell was singing. So was Franco’s. My call was from Mike Quinn.

“Clare, I just wanted you to know the meeting is going down.”

“When? Where?”

“Nine thirty. The rendezvous is a restaurant in Chinatown. The squad’s there now, setting things up. Sully and his team are inside a surveillance van on Mulberry Street, near Columbus Park. They’ll listen in on Matt’s meeting with the drug dealers, make sure nothing goes south.”

“I want to be there,” I said.

“That’s not a good idea,” he warned.

“This isn’t a debate. I’m on my way.”

“Fine. Have Franco drive you. But do what Sully says. This has to go down right. It’s our only chance to get clear of this mess.”

I closed the phone and faced Dante. “Franco and I have to go. Another emergency.”

“Anything I can do?” Dante asked.

“I want you to go to Five Points. If Josh is there, keep him there until you hear from me. If he’s not, go through his computer, his locker. Everything.”

Dante scratched his head. “What am I looking for?”

“Proof that Josh made a mask of Gwen,” I said. “Proof that he’s a murderer.”

T
HERE
was only one van parked along Mulberry Street at Columbus Park. Blue-black and windowless, it seemed empty. I went around to the back, slapped my hand against the doors, and they opened.

“Get in.” Finbar Sullivan said as he pulled me inside. A man in a tailored suit shut the door behind us.

The van’s interior was dim, stuffy, and stank of ozone. A small fan tried to circulate air, but it was hopeless.

Beside Sully’s familiar carrot-top, a young Asian cop gave me a nod. I recognized him, too, but the third man I didn’t know. Hunched over a computer console, tapping keys and frantically whispering into a headset, the stranger was too preoccupied to notice my arrival.

“So where the hell is Franco?” Sully asked.

“He drove me here. Now he’s looking for parking.”

“In Chinatown? Good luck with that.” Sully gave me a hard look. “And what are you doing here, Clare?”

“I had to come.” Bent in a half crouch, I bumped my head against the ceiling light. “Matt is my business partner, the father of my child.”

Sully’s expression softened, and he slid a folding chair my way.

“Please, tell me what’s going on,” I said, sitting.

“We were ready to go when the call came down,” Sully began. “Lucky for us, Detective Hong has intimate knowledge of the area and was familiar with the restaurant in question. Have you met Charlie?”

“We’ve met,” I replied, reaching for his hand. “You were Franco’s partner once, right?”

Hong smiled. “Who do you think recommended me for Chinatown recon?”

“Lou, here,” Sully hiked a thumb at the man behind the keyboard. “He’s establishing contact with his partner, who’s on Pell Street with a parabolic aimed at the chophouse.”

“Parabolic? Is that like a wire?”

“More like radar. Think of it as a wire without a wire,” Sully said. “We’ll be able to hear the conversation, provided the meet takes place inside the restaurant.”

“So if the smugglers drag Matt into a back room, he’ll be out of range?”

Sully waved my fears aside. “No worries. We have an undercover couple. A man and woman. They’re going to wander into the joint before Allegro arrives and order a meal. They’ll listen, observe, and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“What if the smugglers try to take Matt for a drive?”

“We’ll follow,” Detective Hong answered. “Lieutenant Quinn is sitting at the end of Pell in an unmarked chase car, and another detective’s waiting on Mott. Nobody leaves this street without a tail on them.”

I understood what these men were saying, but there was no denying it. I was incredibly anxious. No matter how much Mike and Sully and Charlie Hong insisted Matt would be safe, I found it a difficult to believe.

“Visuals are up,” Lou said, gesturing to the console’s panoramic screen.

The Hop Sing Chophouse was close to a dive. The entire dining room was visible behind a picture window, with red
vinyl booths along the walls, Formica tables in the center. Faded bamboo prints with Asian landscapes decorated the walls, and a pot with plastic flowers squatted in a corner. Business was poor; only one booth was occupied.

“The food’s always great in Chinatown,” Sully told Hong, “so why are the restaurants so shabby?”

“I could say it’s to ward off fussy shamrocks like you, but that’s not why,” Hong replied. “Truth is, my people don’t trust fancy digs. They figure if a restaurant is spending money on décor, they’re probably skimping on the food.”

I could hardly follow what they were saying.
Why aren’t they as worried as I am!

Sully glanced at me, seemed concerned about my emotional state. “Hey, Clare, you know it’s too bad you didn’t bring any of those oatmeal muffins from the other day.”

“What?”
First Chinese food, now muffins?

“Yeah, they were a big hit at One PP. You know I even saw Popeye munching one—”

“The police commissioner?”

“He was actually smiling as he ate—well, his lips curled a tiny fraction, anyway. For him, that’s a full-blown grin.”

“Here’s the audio,” Lou said. Voices speaking Cantonese filled the cargo bay. We were listening in on the diners.

“And here comes our undercover tourists,” Sully announced.

Both Asian, the plainclothes cops pretended to read the posted menu, then they entered the chophouse. The waiter seated them and brought tea.

“We’re in,” said a woman’s whispered voice.

“That’s not the parabolic,” Sully told me. “Our undercover cops are wired so we can talk to them if we need to.”

“Okay, everybody, it’s show time!” Hong announced.

Matt appeared on screen, casually dressed, no jacket. He lingered in front of the chophouse, then pushed through the door. The same waiter who greeted the undercover cops intercepted Matt and led him to a table in the back, beside the plastic jungle.

Matt had hardly settled when a man emerged from the kitchen and sat down across from him. As big and as brawny as Matt, he had small eyes and pockmarked features. A heavy moustache as black as India ink draped over his thin lips.

Matt looked up from the menu, smirking. “So, what’s good tonight? I’m leaning toward the Lobster Cantonese.”

“Where is the woman? Where is your partner?” Moustache Man said.

Matt set the menu aside. “I told you I didn’t want her here—”

“And we told you this meeting is pointless without her.”

“Look.” Matt leaned across the table. “We don’t need some woman around when we talk business. We can hash this out, mano-a-mano.”

Moustache Man set his elbows on the table, stared at Matt over linked hands. “I’m afraid that is impossible.”

I faced Sully. Even inside the gloomy van, he couldn’t hide his guilty expression.

“They wanted me at the meeting, too?”
I can’t believe they kept this from me!
“Why wasn’t I told? Was it Mike’s idea to keep me out of the loop?”

“Not just Mike. Your ex-husband didn’t want you to go, either. They’re trying protect you, Clare—”

“But who’s protecting Matt? How could you let him go it alone? They might kill him!”

“Matt’s a big boy. He’s been in tense situations all over the world. He said he could bluff them,” Sully replied.

“Something’s wrong,” Lou cautioned, eyes on the screen.

Moustache Man was speaking in a low voice edged with menace. “It is now ten minutes to ten, Mr. Allegro. If your woman does not arrive by ten o’clock, I will get up and walk out of here. There will be no second chances after that. No further negotiations. Angry men on two continents will be forced to…”

A crowd sauntered past the restaurant, interfering with the parabolic.

“Listen to what that man is saying!” I cried. “It’s me they want, not Matt. In their eyes,
I’m
the asset. This meeting is going to fall apart unless I show my face.”

I jumped to my feet—and banged my head on the low ceiling. Ignoring the stars in front of my eyes, I pushed the doors open.

“Clare!” Sully grabbed my arm. “What do I tell Mike?!”

“Tell him I’m pulling a
Crazy Quinn
!”

Then I broke away and hit the pavement running.

I
’D
been sweating inside the surveillance truck. Now the cool night air, or my stark fear, had me shivering.

I dashed up Mosco, the skirt of my black dress flaring, knowing that Sully probably thought I was crazy. Why would a woman risk her neck for an ex-husband?

But Matt was more than that to me, so much more. He and I had met and married at a young age. We’d spent more than two decades loving and resenting each other, arguing and bolstering each other, raising a daughter and running a business. Somewhere amid the fighting and forgiving, the favors and failures, we became family—and you don’t stand by and watch family go down in flames!

As I turned down Pell Street, I nearly flattened an actual tourist. I slowed long enough to catch my breath, and the cell phone rang. I slipped the bag off my shoulder. It was Dante. I had to take it!

“Did you find Josh?”

“No sign of him. But Josh was definitely here before the party, long enough to totally wipe his computer.”

“All the files?”

“All the
everything
. The computer’s a blank. He even erased the software programs for the injection molds and fabricators. Josh took his personal stuff, too. He’s not coming back.”

I closed my eyes. “God in heaven, help me.”

“Boss?”

“In heaven…” Of course! You can’t erase your sins when the truth lives up above—in the Cloud.

“Dante, listen! Do the computers at Five Points routinely upload data to another source? Can you check to see if you’re data is backed up in something like the Cloud?”