When he finally pulled his eyes away, Kulak turned, and a terrible, wild animal sound of torment and grief tore out of his chest, -le fell to his knees and held his face in his hands.

The man was considered one of the most ruthless bosses in the south Florida Russian mob. The things he had seen, the things he gad allegedly ordered done to people, were horrific. All of it lone-guaranteed-without batting an eye. That man sat crumbled on the floor, crying silently into his hands.

Even Landry had to feel for him, regardless of how black and mite he preferred to see the world. Grief was a common denominator, crossing all boundaries.

He stood off to the side and left Kulak alone for a few minutes. When Kulak began to gather himself, Landry said, “You’ll have to all in the morning to make arrangements. The ME will release the body as soon as all the autopsy results have come back.”

They walked out of the room, and Kulak sat down on a fake leather chair in the viewing room. Landry took a seat perpendicular to him.

“I have some questions for you,” he said.

Kulak didn’t acknowledge him.

Landry pressed on. “When was the last time you heard from Irina?”

Kulak didn’t respond, just sat staring, devastated.

“Do you know anything about her personal life? Can you tell me about her friends, boyfriends?”

“I am going to kill the man who did this to her,” Kulak said quietly.

Landry didn’t bother to tell him that he would go to prison for it. Frankly, he didn’t blame the guy. If he ruled the world, that was how he would have set it up-so that the loved ones of the victim could go into a room with the perp and not come out until they were through with him.

“Mr. Kulak, do you have any idea who that might be?”

Kulak looked at him with an expression that could have cut through steel. “If I knew that, Detective, I would now be cutting his beating heart from his chest.”

With that, he stood and walked out.

Landry let him go.

Chapter 31

Jeff Cherry had never known one valuable thing in his life until he had taken the job as a valet at Players. He had taken the job because it seemed pretty much like money for nothing and he got to drive cars he otherwise could only have dreamed about. But he had figured out pretty quickly that he could make an extra five or ten bucks off certain customers if he sucked up hard enough, complimented the ladies, offered to do little extras like clean out the ashtrays while the customers were in having dinner.

The more he began to pay attention to the customers, the more the customers expressed their gratitude. Then one night a gentleman slipped him a twenty to turn his head and pretend he hadn’t seen a certain young woman-not his wife-leave with him.

Being an entrepreneurial sort, Jeff had built himself a nice little side business, turning a blind eye to all kinds of things. Then expanding to provide other services, such as getting small amounts of recreational drugs delivered while his clients were in the club. His success relied on his discretion and on knowing things he shouldn’t have.

Talking with the cops was not on his agenda.

He split as soon as the bitch with the questions and the cell phone was out of sight.

He made a call from his cell phone while sitting in the parking lot of Town Square shopping center on Forest Hill and South Shore.

The client didn’t pick up, of course. None of these people were going to take a call from a valet. He waited for the beep, then blurted it all out.

“Hey, this is Jeff from Players. From the parking lot. So anyway, this woman called the cops and told them I might know something about that dead girl-like who she left with that night. So I split, ”cause I don’t wanna talk to them, but I gotta figure they’re gonna come looking for me. I can’t just get out of Dodge. I have a lucrative business to run, but lying to the cops isn’t a regular service. So I gotta charge extra for that, is what I’m saying. So call me back.“

He left his number and ended the call, out of breath.

Wow. What would that kind of lie be worth? Ten grand? Twenty? It would sort of depend, he thought, on whether or not the client had actually killed that girl. He couldn’t imagine that was what had happened. These people were rich. Rich people didn’t go around killing people. But they wouldn’t want people thinking that maybe they did even if they didn’t, so that was worth a lot.

Fifty grand? More?

And what if the client had killed that girl? How freaky would that be?

A hundred grand?

He went over to the gas station and bought himself half a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts and a quart of chocolate milk, went back to his car, and waited for his phone to ring.

Chapter 32

“She’s a problem.”

“She’s a detective.”

“Used to be a detective,” Barbaro corrected.

“She’s investigating the girl’s murder, badge or no badge,” Brody said.

They had adjourned from an uneasy dinner and regrouped at Brody’s house, in the game room, where an antique billiards table dominated the space and oxblood leather club chairs were scattered around on Persian rugs a hundred years old.

Walker paced back and forth in a not-so-straight line. “I don’t want her around.”

“What do you want to do, Ben? Knock her off?”

He wheeled and shouted, “Fuck you! Just fuck you, Kenner! Fuck yourself!”

“You’re the problem,” Kenner challenged, scotch slopping out of the tumbler in his hand as he gestured. “You have to be an asshole every time you open your mouth.”

“She tried to put me in prison!” Walker shouted. “She’ll try to do it again! She’s a fucking cunt, and she hates me!”

“Let’s stay on point,” Ovada said calmly. “How does she know about the after-party?”

“What does she know about the after-party?” Kenner asked.

“I saw her talking with Lisbeth this afternoon,” Brody said.

Foster made a face. “Lisbeth? She wasn’t even there that night. She doesn’t know anything.”

“She’s been to other parties,” Barbaro pointed out. He sat against the back of one of the club chairs, looking bored and unhappy to be there.

“So what?” Kenner said. “It’s not against the law to have a party.”

“The party isn’t the issue,” Brody said. “The cops want DNA, for God’s sake. That means they have something to compare it against.”

“It’s not against the law for consenting adults to have sex either.”

“It’s not against the law to own a gun,” Ovada said, “but if you are seen with the gun and a murder victim before the crime, you become a suspect.”

Walker turned a dark look on Brody. “She’s your groom. Fire her. Get her out of here. Send her back to where she came from.”

“And give her every reason to make trouble?” Brody said. “No. I keep my friends close, and my enemies closer.”

“Well, get her close and impress on her to keep her stupid mouth shut,” Walker said. “Stupid little bitch. Does she have any idea how lucky she is? How many hick-town chicks from Bumfuck, Michigan, get to have the life she does? And she’s so ungrateful, she’s shooting her mouth off to someone she met yesterday. Fuck that.”

“She’s hardly the only girl who has been to a party,” Barbaro said.

“No,” Walker returned. “But she’s the only one talking.”

“Maybe she’s thinking she’ll get her fifteen minutes of fame,” Ovada offered.

“Oh, great,” Walker said. “Now we can worry about her going to the press, and they can descend on us right behind the detectives.”

“Here’s a news flash, mates,” Sebastian Foster chimed in. “That’s a done deal-the cops, the press. And it’s got nothing to do with the Estes woman or Lisbeth. The detectives came looking straightaway. The dead girl was at the party at Players. That’s no secret. There had to be a hundred people there to see her. Why wouldn’t the detectives come looking at us?”