“I should really be going,” she said, standing up.

“You’re right. We all should,” Rommie said. “Melanie, you help me get Bernadette home, and then we’ll go take a look at those bank records you’re so hot for. Somebody’s gotta look out for Jed’s memory. Come on, my car’s outside.” He scraped back his chair and stood up.

“Rommie, didn’t you hear what I said? I can’t show you the bank records. It would violate the grand jury secrecy law. Besides, I don’t have time to go back to my office right now. I have some other leads to pursue, and then I need to get home and relieve my baby-sitter.”

“What kind of friend are you, Melanie? Can’t you see Bernadette’s in bad shape? Help me get her home, at least. Then we’ll figure out about the records.”

“This is between you guys. I honestly don’t think I should be meddling in Bernadette’s personal life,” Melanie said.

But just then Bernadette, who’d been sitting morosely with her chin in her hand, piped up plaintively. “Please come, Melanie,” she said, in a smaller voice than Melanie had ever heard her use before. “I don’t want to be alone with him.”

Bernadette’s face was slack and tired-looking. Melanie knew exactly how she felt, and as much as she might have liked to make her escape, she couldn’t refuse.

“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “If it would make you feel better.”

“Thanks, girlfriend. You’re a pal.”

Having committed herself, Melanie had no choice but to follow when Bernadette and Rommie headed for the exit. She stepped out into the muggy night, kicking herself for agreeing to this.

“I’m parked over there in the tunnel,” Rommie said, gesturing toward a stone underpass lined with parking spaces on either side, running directly under the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge. Darkness had fallen while they were inside. Traffic roared overhead, but the underpass was deserted, unlit but for the dim ambient light from a lamppost across the street. Their footsteps echoed against its dank, tomblike walls as they marched, tightly packed on the narrow sidewalk, toward Rommie’s car.

Melanie glanced at Rommie, thinking about the fin gerprint report sitting on her desk. When she read it, she’d worked out in her mind exactly how he might’ve left his prints on that kerosene can, and she’d come to the conclusion it was an innocent mistake. Arriving at the scene, devastated by his longtime friend’s murder, Rommie forgot all protocol. He walked around in shock and touched things with his bare hands, things he shouldn’t. He contaminated evidence. She recalled him vomiting in the corner of Jed’s basement office, and it made sense. An awful screwup, likely to lead to disciplinary action, possibly even to the loss of his job, but surely unintentional. Surely caused by emotional shock. Right?

Maybe it was the damp creepiness of the deserted underpass, or the feeling that Rommie was pushing too hard to see those bank records, but for the first time she asked herself whether it was plausible that someone of his experience would make such a stupid mistake. That thought, once she admitted it, unleashed a whole flood of other questions. Why did a narcotics lieutenant respond to the scene of a murder in the first place? Did Rommie know about Jed’s money laundering? Did he go there purposely to cover something up? Tampering with evidence was a crime, but he was so close to the family, maybe he’d do something like that to spare them embarrassment. Or worse, maybe he was complicit in the money laundering and had destroyed records at the scene?

Really, she should just calm down. She was letting her imagination run away with her. Rommie Ramirez was a good guy. A dope, maybe, but not a criminal.

They got to the car, and Rommie took Melanie’s arm with one hand and drew her toward the driver’s-side door, extracting his keys from his pocket with the other.

“ Bern, go around. Melanie can sit in the back,” Rommie said. Bernadette walked unsteadily around to the passenger side of the car.

Reassure herself as she might, when Rommie flipped the seat forward and gestured for her to get in, she felt unbearably trapped. This was ridiculous, she told herself. She wasn’t a prisoner. She could leave if she wanted to. Yet with each passing moment, it got more difficult to find the words to justify her departure. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

“Look,” she said, “maybe I could put Bernadette in a cab or something. I don’t have time for this right now. Slice is on the loose, my little girl is home with a baby-sitter. There’s just too much going on.” Her words rang out louder than she intended and bounced off the tunnel walls, fear audible in her voice.

“Come on, now, Melanie, you said you’d help.”

Rommie’s tone, though scolding, was pleasant and paternal, so why did she feel threatened? She looked around desperately. Through the window she saw Bernadette slumped against the passenger door, looking ready to pass out. The entrance to the overpass was twenty feet away. Blood pounding in her ears, she took a step toward it but then looked back at Rommie again.

He smiled reassuringly. “Come on, honey. Be a good kid and help me out here. Get in. Okay?”

It was only Rommie, she told herself, getting ready to climb into the backseat. She was overreacting. He was her boss’s boyfriend, a decent enough guy, kind of a Keystone Kop. Not a threat. She truly believed that. She must be working too hard. Her fight-or-flight response was set on hyperdrive, and it was messing with her head, because somehow all her instincts screamed that she was walking into a trap.

34

SARAH WONDERED WHAT HE’D DO IF SHE JUST got up and ran. There were people in the office, after all. He couldn’t stop her. She wasn’t a prisoner here. She could go call that prosecutor right now and offer to testify. They’d lock Dodo up. That was probably the smartest move at this point, she realized. He was entirely capable of killing her. She knew that. Not that the thought didn’t turn her on.

“I’m waiting,” he said in that quiet, evil tone. It sent a tiny thrill right through her.

“Hey,” she said, “remember that time we did it on your desk while those people from Hudson and Fisher were standing right outside?”

She hadn’t been trying to distract him; it was just what popped into her mind. She knew there was no way to get out of this one in any event.

He came around the desk, looming over her chair. She turned her head away, and he leaned down and grabbed her viciously by the chin, forcing her to look at him.

He spoke in a whisper through clenched teeth. “Where are the fucking tapes you made?”

“What tapes?”

He raised his hand to strike her across the face, then hesitated, thinking better of it. She smiled, seeing that she would win this round. He wouldn’t do anything to her. Not here in the office, with people nearby. She could get away with taunting him.

“What, don’t like the idea of your disgusting fetishes broadcast on the six o’clock news, Dodo? You should see the ones where I paddle your droopy old ass while you beg for mercy. You look completely pathetic. Those were Jed’s favorites, you know.”

The murderous look on his face made her think she’d miscalculated. She stood up and backed toward the door, breathing rapidly. She’d scream if he tried to stop her. But he didn’t. He kept his eyes fixed on her but made no move. She got to the door and stopped, hand on the knob.

“You had him killed, didn’t you?” she asked, more curious than desperate. “Jed threatened you with the tapes, and you had him killed?”

He slumped, grabbing onto the chair she’d just vacated for support.

“Why, Sarah?” he asked, his face old and haggard. “Why’d you do it?”

“Oh, please, as if you’re all pure and I’m the bad one! You knew what I was like, Dodo. It’s why you picked me to work on Securilex in the first place. You knew you could trust me not to blab. Hell, you knew I’d even find clever new ways to dummy up the documents. You love how bad I am, Dodo.”