The Perfect Woman - Nicole French Page 0,2

head. “Dead end. It was John Carson.”

I raised a brow. “Shit. So we don’t even know if he was the owner. The utilities, maybe?”

Derek shook his head. “Garbage, water, sewer. All the same LLC.”

I drummed my fingers on the desk. “But the job hasn’t stopped. Girls are still disappearing. Someone else besides Carson owns that company.”

“Fuck, Zola, I know that.”

I frowned but ignored my friend’s sharp tone. Given the fact that he was from East New York himself, I wondered if this case was more personal for him than most.

He seemed to feel it too, because when he spoke next, it was a bit more measured. “Look. We only found two other houses in New York owned outright by Pantheon, and they’ve both been cleared out too. If Gardner is still moving anything—girls or guns—he’s doing it outside of where we can get to them.”

“So let’s look. No harm in that. Nothing says we can’t snoop around, even if we can’t make an arrest.”

“What do you want me to do, Zo? Call the Delaware staties?” Derek snorted again at just the thought of it. “Tell them to be on the lookout for a masked company zooming down the highway? You want me to go driving around with them too?”

I rolled my eyes. “Give me a break, man. That’s not what I meant.”

“This is a job for the Feds, Zola. It’s across state lines. We’re not voyeurs.”

“And if we give it back to the Feds, you know exactly what’s going to happen,” I retorted. “You, me, Cardozo, and anyone else working this case are suddenly targets.”

I frowned toward the door, like somehow looking in that direction could get me closer to the gun safe in the bottom of the building, where my Beretta and its holster were stowed along with those belonging to other people like me working for the Kings County District Attorney. We were some of the lucky ones. Not all district or state’s attorneys allowed their prosecutors to carry to and from work, despite the fact that prosecutors faced consistent death threats as a result of just doing their damn jobs. But the reality was, when you went after bad guys for a living, sometimes the bad guys came after you.

It got complicated when the bad guys were supposed to be on your side.

“I just need the documents,” I said again. “Something that shows Gardner’s involvement beyond a shadow of a doubt. Right now, we don’t have enough for a conviction beyond accessory, and that’s only a year tops, more likely just a fine. Keep following the money, King. Here’s what I think: you keep nosing around Brooklyn, and I’ll contact a few people I know in Newark. Not everyone’s a crook. There have to be a few good eggs out there.”

Derek didn’t look particularly pleased by this idea. I understood. If the crimes we were looking for had in fact moved someplace like New Jersey, we were basically turning over a year-long investigation free and clear, allowing for another prosecutor to run off with the conviction. It was painful. But not as painful as Calvin Gardner getting off scot-free.

“Someone is going to turn up,” I said. “And I’ll bet my last dollar it’s Calvin Gardner.”

Derek continued to study me. “Zola, don’t take this the wrong way, but…did you ever think that maybe he’s not actually the guy?”

The look on my face must have told him I abso-fuckin’-lutely hadn’t.

Derek worried his jaw around a little bit. “Look, Zola. I—I don’t know how else to say this but to come out and ask. Could your attachment to Nina Gardner be fucking with your judgment here?”

If I had looked up any quicker, my head might have popped up. “I’m sorry, what? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Yeah, I know. The lady doth protest too much. Or in this case, the irritated fuckin’ prosecutor.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. It was just a question, man.” Derek held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not saying I know anything. I’m not saying I’ve seen anything. And to be honest, I don’t really want you to tell me if I’m right. Because if I am, that puts me in the weird spot of having to report you to Ramirez and your bureau chief. Since you’re the only paper pusher I’ve ever liked, I don’t want to do that.”

I snorted. The animosity between the NYPD and the prosecutors’ offices in the city was legendary.

“Fuck you,” I said. “I’m not a fuckin’ paper pusher, and you know