Read Online Dead Connection by Alafair Burke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alafair Burke
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later.”
“Don’t apologize, Flann. It’s exactly what you should have done. Did you lay it on thick and juicy? Call me the B-word? Tell him you can’t believe you’re stuck working with some quota queen dyke?”
“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Flann said, smiling.
On their way to the elevators, the redheaded receptionist asked the detectives if they had gotten the information they needed. Unlike her boss, she sounded concerned.
“Yeah. We found out that Mr. Stern doesn’t care that two of the women using his site were murdered,” Ellie said, wondering if she was relishing the bad cop casting a little too much.
The woman looked disappointed, even saddened. Before Ellie walked out the door, she took another look at the receptionist’s nameplate. Christine Conboy. The name of one person at FirstDate who might give a rat’s ass.
8
THE SUPREME COURT BUILDING AT 60 CENTRE STREET HAD SEEN its fair share of notorious trials — Lenny Bruce, Son of Sam, a motley crew of rap stars, mafiosos, and Wall Street crooks to mark the passing of eras in New York City. In a small courtroom at the back of the second floor that afternoon, the show was considerably more modest — the trial of a bouncer accused of selling Ecstacy out of a Chelsea nightclub.
Ellie and McIlroy sat two rows behind the prosecution’s counsel table and listened patiently while the testifying police officer walked through the chain of custody of the drugs that were seized from the club’s back office. When the court recessed for a break, the prosecutor leaned across the railing behind him to confer with the detectives.
“Who’s the new partner?” he asked. His Asian face was round, almost cherubic, and he smiled at Ellie. It was a warm, friendly smile, and she returned it with a firm handshake.
“Ellie Hatcher, and I’m not a full partner. Just on temporary assignment.”
“Jeffrey P. Yong. And I’m not a full prosecutor. I just play one on TV.”
“A word to the wise. Never listen to a word Jeffrey P. Yong says. The man’s a born liar. A thief, too — has about three grand of my hard-earned salary.”
“That’s Flann’s way of saying I’m a better poker player than he is, which isn’t saying much.”
“You’ve got a regular poker game?”
“Does Howard Stern enjoy a lap dance?”
Yong, apparently accustomed to Flann’s rhetorical questions, didn’t acknowledge the remark. “More like a poker game for the irregular, but, yeah, something like that.”
“What’s up with all the chitchat?” Flann asked. “Jeff usually gets business out of the way before starting in with his bad jokes.”
“If I have such a tell, why do you keep losing your money to me?”
“Why are you avoiding the subject of our court order?”
The frustration in Yong’s exhale was obvious. “I found a note on my chair at lunch.”
Ellie knew to leave the talking to Flann.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Nope. Not good. Did you see the people at FirstDate this morning?”
“As you asked us.”
“You get anywhere?”
“To the magical land of the pissing match. He told us to pound sand and keep our mouths shut. We made clear there was more to come. So what do you need from us for the subpoena?”
“Tell me again how you think FirstDate can help you?” The look on Yong’s face read problem .
Flann walked Yong through the victims’ shared connection to FirstDate and the e-mails he found in Davis’s purse. “We looked in their FirstDate accounts already. Lots of men, lots of messages. We need to know who those men are.”
“Any common link between the two of them? One man who was e-mailing them both?”
“Not that we know of. But if our guy’s smart, he’s signing up under different user names to hide his trail. That’s why we need to see what’s lying behind the user names.”
“Except that the printout of the message would suggest that he wants you on his trail.”
“Why do I feel like I’m
“Don’t apologize, Flann. It’s exactly what you should have done. Did you lay it on thick and juicy? Call me the B-word? Tell him you can’t believe you’re stuck working with some quota queen dyke?”
“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Flann said, smiling.
On their way to the elevators, the redheaded receptionist asked the detectives if they had gotten the information they needed. Unlike her boss, she sounded concerned.
“Yeah. We found out that Mr. Stern doesn’t care that two of the women using his site were murdered,” Ellie said, wondering if she was relishing the bad cop casting a little too much.
The woman looked disappointed, even saddened. Before Ellie walked out the door, she took another look at the receptionist’s nameplate. Christine Conboy. The name of one person at FirstDate who might give a rat’s ass.
8
THE SUPREME COURT BUILDING AT 60 CENTRE STREET HAD SEEN its fair share of notorious trials — Lenny Bruce, Son of Sam, a motley crew of rap stars, mafiosos, and Wall Street crooks to mark the passing of eras in New York City. In a small courtroom at the back of the second floor that afternoon, the show was considerably more modest — the trial of a bouncer accused of selling Ecstacy out of a Chelsea nightclub.
Ellie and McIlroy sat two rows behind the prosecution’s counsel table and listened patiently while the testifying police officer walked through the chain of custody of the drugs that were seized from the club’s back office. When the court recessed for a break, the prosecutor leaned across the railing behind him to confer with the detectives.
“Who’s the new partner?” he asked. His Asian face was round, almost cherubic, and he smiled at Ellie. It was a warm, friendly smile, and she returned it with a firm handshake.
“Ellie Hatcher, and I’m not a full partner. Just on temporary assignment.”
“Jeffrey P. Yong. And I’m not a full prosecutor. I just play one on TV.”
“A word to the wise. Never listen to a word Jeffrey P. Yong says. The man’s a born liar. A thief, too — has about three grand of my hard-earned salary.”
“That’s Flann’s way of saying I’m a better poker player than he is, which isn’t saying much.”
“You’ve got a regular poker game?”
“Does Howard Stern enjoy a lap dance?”
Yong, apparently accustomed to Flann’s rhetorical questions, didn’t acknowledge the remark. “More like a poker game for the irregular, but, yeah, something like that.”
“What’s up with all the chitchat?” Flann asked. “Jeff usually gets business out of the way before starting in with his bad jokes.”
“If I have such a tell, why do you keep losing your money to me?”
“Why are you avoiding the subject of our court order?”
The frustration in Yong’s exhale was obvious. “I found a note on my chair at lunch.”
Ellie knew to leave the talking to Flann.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Nope. Not good. Did you see the people at FirstDate this morning?”
“As you asked us.”
“You get anywhere?”
“To the magical land of the pissing match. He told us to pound sand and keep our mouths shut. We made clear there was more to come. So what do you need from us for the subpoena?”
“Tell me again how you think FirstDate can help you?” The look on Yong’s face read problem .
Flann walked Yong through the victims’ shared connection to FirstDate and the e-mails he found in Davis’s purse. “We looked in their FirstDate accounts already. Lots of men, lots of messages. We need to know who those men are.”
“Any common link between the two of them? One man who was e-mailing them both?”
“Not that we know of. But if our guy’s smart, he’s signing up under different user names to hide his trail. That’s why we need to see what’s lying behind the user names.”
“Except that the printout of the message would suggest that he wants you on his trail.”
“Why do I feel like I’m
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