Depth (20 page)

“Good . . . carefully, though, don’t crowd them.” He’d had a low, gruff voice, and large, rough hands that cradled hers. “Then we push it into the gun here, till it clicks.” He had moved her hands so that she loaded the clip of the gun. “Good. Then we just point and shoot, like this.” He had knelt behind her and moved her arms forward. “Both hands . . . brace yourself, it’s going to knock you back pretty hard when you fire it. Remember, shoot them before they shoot you.”

“How will I know if they’re going to shoot me?” Simone had asked.

“You’ll know. And if you’re wrong, it won’t matter, as long as you shoot first.”

“Well, he was a good cop,” Peter said, bringing her back to the present. “And he didn’t quit when it got tough. He and Kluren solved a really tough multiple homicide; once it was wrapped up, he quit. He waited until he wasn’t gonna mess anything up by leaving. A stand-up guy, my dad always said.”

“Thanks.”

They got to Teddy, and Peter led her onto the boat and down to the interrogation rooms. A few cops glanced up at them, but then went back to what they were doing. When the department had taken over the ship, they’d cleared out a number of small bunks to create the interrogation rooms, bolting a steel table to the floor and throwing in a few cheap tin chairs. The two-way mirrors, which took up almost an entire wall, didn’t match the old bolted bulkhead. They shone too sleekly, felt too clean. Simone sat down in the chair facing the mirror.

“I’m going to need your weapons,” Peter said apologetically. She nodded and unzipped her boot, pulling her gun from it and placing it on the table. She didn’t zip the boot back up but instead unzipped the other, letting her legs breathe. “Thanks,” he said, taking the gun. “I’ll get us some coffee.” He left her alone, staring at her reflection. The overhead light was strong, and from where she sat she could see how it cast shadows in the hollows of her eyes. She leaned back and took off her hat and trench coat. Peter came back in, put a paper cup of coffee down in front of her, and sat down opposite. He had his own cup of coffee and blew on it, making the steam wave out like a gray flag.

They sat in silence a long while. Simone drank all her coffee, burning her tongue on the first sip. Peter got her another, but this one she only held until it got cold. When Kluren finally showed up, she was a shadow in the doorway, looking down at both of them.

“Weiss, out.” Kluren said. As he left, Peter shot Simone a look that was hard to read—pity? solidarity? Simone turned to Kluren, trying to keep her face level, unreadable. Kluren took her seat and leaned back, staring at Simone. Her gold irises seemed to twist, as if amused by Simone’s attempts to shut herself down.

“Isn’t it unusual for the chief to be doing the interview?” Simone asked, still holding her coffee.

Kluren put her hands behind her head, leaned back, and looked at the ceiling. “I can run my boat however I want.” She took her hands down and leveled her gaze at Simone. “Now why don’t you tell me about the case I told you to drop?”

“You got everything off my server.”

“I’m sure you’ve made some progress since then.”

“I dropped it, just like you told me.”

“Do you really think lying is somehow going to get you out of this mess? Your client was murdered and left in your office. I know you’re not dumb enough to do that, even if you act like it most of the time. And I know that whoever left it there staged it as a warning, not to frame you. I’m your life preserver, here, Simone. I’m being very nice.” She leaned forward, her arms making a triangle, pointing at Simone.

“You said you wanted to throw me in prison.”

“Would you prefer to end up like Linnea? ’Cause I don’t see this playing out any other way.”

“You think I’m gonna let myself get sliced up?”

“Let? I think you’re running towards it with open arms.” She leaned back, slapping the table. Simone stared at her, trying to decide if Kluren was angry that Simone was putting herself in danger, or just angry at Simone for continuing to exist.

“I’m trying to solve a case.”

“One I told you to drop.”

Simone put down her coffee and folded her arms. “You’re not my boss.”

“Which is a shame, ’cause you need a boss. You’re the sort who drowns because she doesn’t realize she’s underwater till it’s too late. Now tell me who sent you the warning.”

“I don’t know.” Simone held eye contact with Kluren, daring her ForenSpecs to say she was lying.

“Then you’re not doing a very good job investigating, are you? Did you find out what the package was for, or who the blonde was?”

Simone kept holding Kluren’s gaze but said nothing.

“Cute, the silent thing. ’Cause if you answer a question, you think I can tell if you’re lying. Or maybe you’re hoping I’ll tell you what we know about the little art deal your client was working on.” Simone raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think we knew about that? We know more. So just tell us who left you the body and we can get on with solving it. You might even get to go free, depending on how I feel in the morning.”

“Did you really just say that?” The door had opened halfway without either of the women noticing, and now Caroline Khan pushed it the rest of the way open and gave Kluren a questioning look. “The mayor is trying to cut down on police corruption, Kluren. Let’s try not to say exciting and provocative things in front of the private detective, hm? Wouldn’t look good in the press.”

Kluren stared warily at Caroline, but stood. “Does the mayor have an interest in this case?”

“He will if I tell him he does,” Caroline said with a smile.

“Now who’s saying provocative things in front of detectives?”

Caroline folded her arms and nodded in Simone’s direction without looking at her. “She might be an untrustworthy bitch, but she also knows I’m here to get her out, so I think she’ll be good for a while.”

“You can’t take away a suspect.”

“She’s a person of interest, not a suspect, which means she can go if she wants. If you upgrade her to suspect then you have to arrest her, and then she gets a lawyer and you don’t get to talk to her again anyway, so why not just let her go and I’ll have a little chat with her and decide what’s best for the city? Right now, I’m going to be a lot scarier than you think you’re going to be.” She leaned back on one of her heels, arms still crossed.

Simone stared hard at Caroline, but Caroline wouldn’t make eye contact. Kluren, on the other hand, was staring at Simone and smiling.

“Sure, fine. Besides, if whoever killed Linnea kills her . . . my life would get easier. Go.” She waved them off like insects.

Caroline strode from the room without looking back, and Simone quickly zipped her boots, grabbed her hat and coat, and followed her. Caroline still wouldn’t make eye contact, but as Simone came closer to thank her, she spoke first.

“Don’t say anything,” Caroline said. Her voice was cold. “Come with me.”

“I need my gun,” Simone said. Caroline finally turned to look at her, and Simone felt like she was being prodded with a red-hot poker.

“Get it,” Caroline said. Simone turned around and spotted Peter in a corner. She walked up to him and he handed her her gun back.

“I called her,” Peter whispered. “She didn’t sound happy. What’s going on?”

“Thanks,” Simone said, putting her gun back in her boot. She turned back around to find Caroline was halfway down the hall, so Simone ran to catch up. They walked off the boat in silence. They walked a few blocks more before Caroline finally turned around.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” she said. Simone shrugged. “And I really don’t like you right now. And if you don’t trust me, I don’t know why I should trust you.”

“I’m sorry—” Simone started, but Caroline cut the air with her hand and Simone stopped.

“I don’t want to do this right now. I don’t have many friends.”

“Me neither.”

“I know. But I bailed you out because . . . for old times’ sake. And because I know Kluren is gunning for you, and it’s unfair. But I’m angry. And things aren’t good between us.”

“I know,” Simone said, staring at the wooden bridge under her feet. “I fucked it up.”

“Yeah.” They stood there in silence. Simone looked up at Caroline, who was staring at her, her mouth slightly open, her face more slack than usual. But when she saw Simone looking, she clenched her jaw and turned her head, staring off.

“I’m going home now. You should find somewhere to stay. I’m guessing cops are still swarming all over your apartment.”

“Yeah,” Simone nodded. “Thanks, Caroline. And I really am sorry.”

“Good night.” Caroline turned around before the conversation could continue. As she walked away, she threw her hand up in a gesture that was half wave, half “go away.” Simone stared after her until she was gone, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

She walked for a while with no particular destination. The storm on the horizon was growing ominously closer, but she didn’t care. She felt as though she ought to be thinking about something: the case, the comments Kluren made about her father, how she could make it up to Caroline—but her mind was curiously blank. She was blank all over. She was breath in a body in a city on the ocean, and that was all there was.

SHE WOUND UP AT
Danny’s because it was the place that made the most sense to go. She could have tried Peter . . . but that was complicated and messy, and he would have kept asking about what was going on with Caroline.

All the lights were out except the neon one that read, “The Great Yanai,” and the sliding door was locked. Simone dictated a message to him over her earpiece saying she was outside, and a few moments later he waded out of the shadows behind the glass and opened the door.

“Sad,” he said, looking her over.

“So are your pajamas.”

He looked down at the bright yellow briefs he was wearing. They had a large cartoon octopus over the crotch. “These? I like these,” he shrugged, then looked back up at her. “Come on in. What happened?”

“Client’s dead body showed up at my place, police hauled me in, Caroline got me out, but told me she really didn’t want to see me, so now I can’t go home, I can’t go to Caroline’s. I was hoping I could crash here.”

“Why not call up that delicious tourist of yours?” They walked forward through his office and up the back stairs to his apartment.

“deCostas?” The thought of it made her mouth bitter. “No.”

“How about you give me his number, and I call him up, then?”

“I forgot to take photos of him naked for you, sorry.”

“That’s okay. Some things are better left to the imagination. Anyway, the couch is yours. I have some blankets and a pillow somewhere around here.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, you took me in when I had nowhere to go. This is the least I can do—besides all the free help I give you.” He walked into his bedroom, and Simone sat down on the couch. It was comfortable. It would do for the night. She took off her boots and lay back. Danny came back out with a thick blanket and pillow and put them down on the sofa next to her. For a moment he stared at nothing, that vague look he got when searching the web, then he smiled down at her. “You wanna talk about it?”

“You just read the police report, didn’t you?”

“A prelim report from one of the on-the-scene techs. Your apartment is still being processed, but the word
torture
stuck out.”

“My client. Linnea,” Simone breathed the name out softly and felt a stab of guilt in her lungs. She fished in her pocket for a cigarette and took it out. “You mind?” Danny shook his head. She lit it and inhaled deeply, filling her chest with something else. “Linnea. Tortured, left in my office. Some sort of warning.”

“Who from?”

“Dash Ormond, I think. Don’t know who he’s working for, though.”

“Dangerous Dash? I thought we liked him.” Danny sat down next to her on the sofa.

“We liked him when we weren’t in his crosshairs. But he’s just the weapon. Someone else is pulling his strings, and that someone wants the painting Linnea had and thinks I know where it is.”

“Why do they think that?”

“Because she hired me to spy on her husband, to make sure he didn’t double-cross her.”

“You want to go over this from the top for me?”

Simone inhaled deeply on her cigarette. She didn’t usually share her cases. She didn’t like asking for help.

“Can I ask you something else, first?” she said, without looking at Danny.

“Sure.”

“What do you know about my dad?”

“Only what you’ve told me.” Danny leaned back into the sofa.

“Seriously?”

“I know he ran the business before you. I know he taught you. I never looked into him. It seemed . . . You’re the first person I met when I escaped, you know? You’re the first person who saw me for who I was and helped me, and, yeah, we both know you did it ’cause you knew I’d come in handy, but you also did it ’cause you’re a good person.”

“I’m really not.”

“You are. You’re not
always
a good person, and you don’t trust people, and you’re kind of a bitch sometimes, but I don’t mind that. I was raised assuming no one could trust anyone except the people we worked for. That’s why I don’t mind it in you. That’s why you’re still one of my few real friends. And I know you might not trust me completely, but it doesn’t matter to me that you don’t, because I know I’ve never dug into your past—or your family’s. That’s not what friends do. Or so reruns of ancient TV shows on the web tell me.”

Simone smiled and inhaled deeply on her cigarette. “You’re a good guy, Danny.”

“I’m the product of a secret government experiment, all the information on the Internet, and what’s left of New York.”

Simone shrugged. “Still . . .” Her cigarette was nearly out; she had been dropping ash on the floor. “Sorry,” she said, staring at it.

“I’ll get it in the morning. Just put it out in the sink.” Danny motioned at the kitchen, and Simone rose and walked over, throwing the butt in the sink and running the water. “Why did you ask about your dad?”

“Something Kluren said. Can you . . . will you find out what you can for me?” She shut off the water and looked at him. He was staring at her—really staring, not online.