Free 212 LP: A Novel by Alafair Burke Page A

talk with the guy. That’s the entry in June there. Truth be told, I just wanted to score a peek at the place.”
    “And?” Rogan nudged.
    “The condo was sweet. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows—”
    “The resident . Drugs? Dealing?”
    “Nah. Dude’s Eurotrash, buying up Manhattan real estate while the dollar’s in the toilet. Goes clubbing every night. Picks up bridge-and-tunnel skanks looking for a short-term sugar daddy, a place to party for the night. Had no problem letting me search. The place was clean but for some personal-use marijuana in the nightstand. He didn’t seem fazed that I found it, and I really didn’t want to process him for it, so he flushed it. No hard stuff. No paraphernalia. No packaging materials. No cash or books.”
    “No dealing.”
    “No dealing.”
    “You got a cell number in case we need you to nail this down for court?” Ellie asked. “Sparks’s lawyer made it sound like Pablo Escobar lived next door.”
    She jotted down the number in her notebook, and they began to make their way out of the squad room. Guerrero had been blowing smoke with his claims of a drug operation going down across the hall at the 212, but she still wondered how the lawyer had even known about it. Then she realized the likely source.
    She turned toward Carenza. “Hey, you don’t happen to know Nick Dillon, do you?”
    “Sure. My brother’s on the job, too. He and Dillon were in the Major Case Squad before Dillon sold out to the man. We play cards sometimes. Takes my money big-time.”
    “Any chance you mentioned this whole citizen-driven warrant thing to him?”
    “Yeah. He used to work Narcotics, too, you know? I thought he’d get a kick out of his boss’s neighbors practicing their slang over mah-jongg. Hey, that didn’t cause any problems for you, did it? I mean, there was nothing to it, so—”
    Rogan waved him off. “Don’t sweat it, man.”
    Rogan caught Ellie’s eye on their way out of the precinct. “The man’s got ears, right? That guy makes a friend, he keeps a friend.”
    “Well, being his pal didn’t save me from a jail cell. Maybe next time you can be the one who does our time.”
    “Would never happen,” he said, holding open the precinct door for her to exit. “I’m way too pretty for central holding on some chippy contempt rap. Someone like me goes down, it’s got to be major. I would need some serious federal corrections facility—golf course, croquet…”
    “Rogan, you were raised in Brooklyn. Do you even know what croquet is?”
    “I know it involves a round thing called a ball, which means it’s yet another sport a brother could dominate if we only gave it a shot.”
    “When you’re done, you think you might get around to letting me in?” Ellie tugged on the Crown Vic’s locked passenger handle to make her point.
    Inside the car, she flipped open her phone and saw a new voice mail from Max Donovan. Opting to wait for some privacy, she clipped the cell back to her waist.
     
    The drive from Chinatown was slowed by end-of-day traffic. Even with the assistance of wigwag lights, they didn’t pull up in front of the Thirteenth Precinct until nearly six o’clock.
    Ellie was about to log onto her computer when she caught sight of Max Donovan through the open slats of the blinds that coveredLieutenant Robin Tucker’s office. Tucker stood, walked to her office door, and poked her head into the squad room.
    “Good timing, you two. A quick word?”
    Rogan shot Ellie a look that made her wish she’d checked Max’s message in the car. “This can’t be good.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    6:00 P.M.
    “A DA Donovan has an update for us on the Sparks case.” Robin Tucker leaned back in her chair and smiled in Ellie’s direction. “We should thank him for the special attention he’s shown by coming here in person to deliver the news.”
    Ellie knew it was a dig from her lieutenant about her personal relationship with an assistant district attorney—a