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The hand got him from behind.
"Jesus," he gasped as he was pulled through the open door of the van at the curb, which he hadn't seen because he was staring into the alley. He gasped and started to call out for help.
But his assailant--Deputy Inspector Halston Jefferies, his eyes cold as the moon overhead--slapped his hand over the rookie's mouth. Somebody else grabbed Pulaski's gun hand and in two seconds flat he'd disappeared into the back of the van.
The door slammed shut.
The front door of the old grocery store opened and Marilyn Flaherty walked inside, closed the door behind her and latched it.
Unsmiling, she looked around the bleak store, nodded at the other officers and Wallace. Sachs thought she looked even more tense than usual.
The deputy mayor, playing it cool, introduced her to the IAD detective. She shook his hand and sat at the battered table, next to Sachs.
"Top secret, hm?"
Sachs said, "This's turned into a hornets' nest." She watched the woman's face carefully as she laid out the details. The inspector kept up the great stone face, giving nothing away. Sachs wondered what Kathryn Dance would see in her stiff-backed posture, the tight lips, the quick, cold eyes. The woman was virtually motionless.
The detective told her about Baker's partner. Then added, "I know how you feel about Internal Affairs but, with all respect, I've decided we need to bring them in."
"I--"
"I'm sorry, Inspector." Sachs turned toward Wallace.
But the deputy mayor said nothing. He simply shook his head, sighed, then glanced at the IAD man. The young officer pulled out his weapon.
Sachs blinked. "What . . . Hey, what're you doing?"
He trained the gun on the space midway between her and Flaherty.
"What is this?" the inspector gasped.
"It's a mess," Wallace said, sounding almost regretful. "It's a real mess. Both of you, keep your hands on the table."
The deputy mayor looked them over, while Toby Henson handed his own gun to Wallace, who covered the women.
Henson wasn't IAD at all; he was a detective out of the 118th, part of the inner circle of the extortion ring, and the man who'd helped Dennis Baker murder Sarkowski and Creeley. He now pulled on leather gloves and took Sachs's Glock from her holster. He patted her down for a backup piece. There was none. He searched the inspector's purse and removed her small service revolver.
"You called it right, Detective," Wallace said to Sachs, who stared at him in shock. "We've got a situation . . . a situation." He pulled out his cell phone and made a call to one of the officers in front, also part of the extortion scheme. "All clear?"
"Yep."
Wallace disconnected the phone.
Sachs said, "You? It was you? But . . ." Her head swivelled toward Flaherty.
The inspector asked, "What's this all about?"
The deputy mayor nodded at the inspector and said to Sachs, "Wrong in a big way. She had nothing to do with it. Dennis Baker and I were partners--but business partners. On Long Island. We grew up there. Had a recycling company together. It went bust and he went to the academy, became a cop. I got another business up and running. Then I got involved in city politics and we stayed in touch. I became police liaison and ombudsman and got a feel for what kind of scams worked and what didn't. Dennis and I came up with one that did."
"Robert!" Flaherty snapped. "No, no . . ."
"Ah, Marilyn . . ." was all the silver-haired man could muster.
"So," Amelia Sachs said, her shoulders sagging, "what's the scenario here?" She gave a grim laugh. "The inspector kills me and then kills herself. You plant some money in her house. And . . ."
"And Dennis Baker dies in jail--he messes with the wrong inmate, falls down the stairs, who knows? Too bad. But he should've been more careful. No witnesses, that's the end of the case."
"You think anybody's going to buy it? Somebody at the One One Eight'll turn. They'll get you sooner or later."
