Death Dance (26 page)

"What do you call her?"

"I don't know if we're even talking about the same girl." Berk
had flopped back onto the side of the bed. The slightest bit of
exertion— his argument with Mike—had exhausted him
in his already weakened condition.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Joe. That great-looking
young kid who had some kind of a future twenty-four hours ago is going
to wake up in intensive care tomorrow with two brand-new titanium hips
and legs with more screws in them than you've got hundred-dollar bills.
I want somebody who cares about her to be standing there when she opens
her eyes. That's all I'm looking for here."

"Look somewheres else. I never laid a glove on her."

Mike pulled a chair up under himself, turned it around so he
could lean against the back of it, and and faced Joe Berk close up.
"Where'd she come from? Why'd she end up in the Elk? That's worse than
the ninth circle of hell, for Chrissakes."

Berk rolled onto his back and leaned against the two pillows
stacked behind him. "Who gives a shit where she comes from? I don't
know how they find me, but they do. Maybe it's a setup."

"What kind of setup, Joe?" Mike said, softening his tone. "You
looking at Coop? There's nothing you can say to shock her, trust me.
She's seen and heard just about everything."

I was slowly moving back to the far wall, knowing that Berk
would be more likely to disclose something he found embarrassing if I
faded out of the room.

"She doesn't look as tough as you," Berk said, lifting his
head to stare at me.

"They got a whole wing at Attica named in her honor, Joe. A
pavilion, packed to the gills. SRO in your business. Full of the most
depraved men you'd ever hope not to meet in a dark alley. And they
didn't wind up there because of Coop's charm. Where most women have a
heart? She's got a pair of steel balls. That's how come you know when
she gets excited—you can hear them clanging against each
other from miles away. Feel free to speak your mind in front of her. I
always do."

Berk's mouth twisted in a half-smile.

"You were telling me you think someone set you up. You mean,
with Lucy?"

"I got a weakness for women. Not babies, not teenagers, not
little girls. I like the ladies. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Mike was silent. He probably had the same visual I did, which
made the thought of getting anywhere near Joe Berk's satin pajamas
repugnant at any age.

"And the truth is, the ladies like Joe Berk," he said, raising
the same half-smile as he patted his belly. "A good-looking young guy
like you might find it hard to believe they throw themselves at me, but
they do. I know, I know—you're thinking it's the money or the
casting couch or the connections. Lemme tell you, Mr. Chapman, women
are suckers for guys with a lot of class and a lot of clout."

"Lucy DeVore, Joe. How'd you meet her?"

"Dancing. I saw her perform in something, a month or two ago.
Somebody introduced her to me after the rehearsal and bingo, she was
looking for my help."

"Who made the introduction? Dancing in what?"

Joe's head was back against the pillow now, his eyes closed.
"I said a rehearsal, in a studio. Day in, day out, that's what I do
everyday to make a buck. You expect me to remember what house, what
stage, what the tune was? It don't work like that, sonny."

"She's pretty striking looking. Hard to forget that long
platinum hair, longer legs."

"What kind of stupid are you, Chapman? She's platinum this
month because that's the name of the show she wants to be in. I met
her, she was something else. Maybe dark-haired, maybe red. If she was
blond, I might have shtupped her. I might have given her a run for her
money."

"Joe, look me in the eye. You telling me you had a shot at
that sexy kid and didn't even make a stab at it?"

"May my late wife rest in peace. Izzy Berkowitz, too. Nothing."

"What kind of help did she want?"

"What they all want. Put her in a show, make her a star. Hey,
she was practically at the end of her rope when I met her. Back-to-back
auditions, with every unemployed gypsy in the business showing up."

"Was she living at the Elk then?"

"I don't make house calls, detective. I don't know where she
was living. You'd leave this place if you owned it?" Berk said, waving
his hand in a circle around the room. "They come to me, Chapman."

"Did you give her money?"

"Yeah, I gave her a few hundred bucks. Told her to get a
decent meal, buy some clean clothes."

"For nothing in return, no reason at all?"

"You the only one that gets to ask questions, Chapman? I'm
just the answer man?"

"Your turn, Joe. Ask away."

"You're so interested in my love life. Lemme ask—you
and Ms. Cooper here—you two an item?"

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing out
loud. Joe Berk stopped Mike in his tracks and seemed pleased to have
done it.

"Like you said, Joe, the broads like guys with class and
clout. I come up short on both."

"C'mon. You're a handsome kid, full head of hair, you're built
like an athlete, and you got that kind of John Wayne swagger about you.
You might even be smart—how the hell do I know. What's wrong
with you, Ms. Cooper?"

I walked up behind Mike's chair and tousled his hair. "I've
tried everything in the book, Mr. Berk. He just won't give me a tumble.
I'll have to come back and get some pointers from you when you're
feeling better."

"Think, Joe. Anything Lucy might have told you that would help
as with her?" Mike had warmed up the old guy, now he wanted results.

"I've given you all the help I can. How do you figure Rinaldo
Vicci comes into the act? You think he represents street urchins? I
know my niece won't consider the girl for a role if I make the call, so
I told Vicci to take her to the audition. He talks out of both sides of
his mouth. See if either stream of his bullshit makes sense."

Maybe if Mike pulled on the fringe of Vicci's cashmere scarf
Rinaldo would remember that Lucy DeVore got to him directly from Joe
Berk. Now I had to figure why Vicci had lied to me about that.

The nurse was in the doorway of the room, tapping the face of
her watch to signal that she was about to cut short our visit.

Mike stood up and swung the chair back into place. He reached
for the plastic drinking cup on the bedside table that Berk had been
sipping from and crumpled it in his hand, tucking it in his pocket.
"Sleep on it, Joe. Anything comes to mind and you don't want to bother
your pal the commissioner tomorrow, give me a ring. By the time Lucy's
out of the anesthesia, she'll tell us the rest of the story."

Berk cocked his head and opened one eye to look at Mike.
"Fairy tales, detective. Little girls make up stories like they were
fairy tales. Watch out for that."

I was headed for the staircase when I heard Mike tell Berk he
was still working on the murder investigation of Natalya Galinova.
"This patron of hers, Hubert Alden, you know him, too?"

"If I came from his kind of background, they'd call me a
patron, too. It's all in the bloodlines, Chapman. You oughta know that
by now. Sure, Joe Berk knows everybody."

"Any idea why he was at the Imperial today?"

"What do I care? I'm still trying to figure out why he thought
he was entitled to take Talya out to dinner after her performance last
Friday. Maybe Vicci called him, maybe Mona invited him. They'd probably
be looking for him to pick up the tab for your girl, Lucy, if they
really thought she had a future."

"The night she was killed?" Mike asked, aware that Alden had
just claimed to us that he had been in Vail the night of the murder. "I
had the impression Mr. Alden was out of town last weekend."

"Why? Because he told you that's where he was?" Berk shook his
head. "If I tell you I'm the Count of Monte Cristo, you're gonna
believe me? No, but him, you take his word for it."

"You know different?"

"When I got to Talya's dressing room, she was still onstage. I
picked up her cell phone to call my driver. I saw she had a message, so
I played it back. It was Alden, telling her he'd pick her up and take
her for a late supper if she gave him a ring."

"How come you didn't tell us that when we talked to you on
Saturday?"

"It slipped my mind, Mr. Chapman. My short-term memory is
bad." He gave Mike his crooked smile, the one that expressed his
delight at being a hard-ass.

"You didn't happen to collide with Mr. Alden backstage, did
you, Joe?"

"I didn't stick around, buddy. I don't do time-shares with my
ladies. I'm a very exclusive kind of guy."

Mike was sprawled on the sofa in my den while Mercer read to
him from the delivery menu of PJ Bernstein's deli. I had just gotten
off the phone with Maxine, who told me that Lucy was in the surgical
recovery room. Her condition was guarded, and the doctors had decided
to place her in what they called a controlled coma because of the
concussion, the possible brain damage, and their ability to better
manage her pain. It was clear she wouldn't regain consciousness for
several days, and I told Max there was no reason for her to stay at the
hospital any longer tonight.

Mercer had poured us each a drink. Just over an hour ago, the
toxicologist had called to give him good news on the case of the two
Canadian women. Large quantities of Xanax had been found in the residue
of the blender and in two of the three drinking glasses that had been
taken from the dirty sink of Dr. Selim Sengor.

He raised his glass to toast the results and I swirled my
scotch around before enjoying its smooth taste.

"Cara and Jean are getting a bit stir-crazy. They were ready
to hit the road and head for home," Mercer said.

"Now I can put them in the grand jury first thing in the
morning."

"How about Sengor? You going to wait until his court date on
Friday to give him the news?"

"Not a prayer. Eric's a decent guy," I said, referring to his
lawyer. "I'll call him tomorrow, tell him I'm going toadvance the case
and ask him to surrender Sengor first thing on Thursday. I not only get
to raise the bail, but I get it out of Judge Moffett's courtroom and
upstairs for a Supreme Court arraignment."

Mike was telling Mercer about the painstaking police work at
the Met in the Galinova investigation while we ordered dinner and
waited for the end of
Jeopardy
! He removed Joe
Berk's plastic water cup from his pocket, holding it by its base in his
fingertips.

"Bag it for me, Coop."

"What were you thinking when you took this?"

"When Berk said that he hadn't laid a glove on Lucy, it
reminded me of the glove—you know, the man's glove the guys
found at the crime scene at the Met. Serology developed two DNA
profiles on that. Here we've got a little saliva from Joe's lips, just
lor comparison. Piece of cake."

"I can't use this in court. You walked out of his house with
it. And it's not like the night when we thought he was dead. This time
you were standing right next to him."