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I BOLTED FROMOne Police Plaza again, already trying to reach the tipster by phone. I had called Walter Jackson, who did a quick profile for me. The tipster’s name was Ivan Mirotic. He had graduated from Boston University six years ago and now worked for one of the big trading houses on Wall Street. No criminal record. And no obvious reason to provide a fake tip. EvenIhad to admit this looked pretty good.
I called the cell phone but got no response. I didn’t want to barge into his office if he was just a good citizen providing information. People get funny when cops show up at their work. It doesn’t matter if they’re a suspect or not. No one wants to answer questions from their boss about a visit from a homicide detective.
About twenty minutes later, Ivan finally answered his phone and agreed to meet me at South Cove Park, overlooking the Hudson. Not far from where we’d found Estella Abreu’s body a few days ago.
The Hudson still had some wind chop, and the breeze whipped along the surface. Clouds floated across the afternoon sun. I was surprised how much it made the temperature dip. I wished I’d worn more than my North Face windbreaker.
I saw a man standing alone at the seawall, looking at the screen of his iPhone. I approached him slowly. He was about thirty and average height. But he was dressed like a guy trying to impress people. A dark Brooks Brothers suit with a dusky red tie. A similar look to a lot of the people in finance.
“Mr. Mirotic?”
He looked up from his phone, assessed me for a moment, then just nodded. If he was trying to show that he had little use for anyone who didn’t work with him, he was doing a good job.
Why would a guy like this take time from his work, which he probably thought was the only job that mattered?
I went the whole official route. I pulled out my ID and badge and dispensed with any small talk I might’ve made to put him at ease.
I held up the info sheet with the photo he’d sent us. Walter Jackson had also texted me the original electronic photo, which had better definition.
“Tell me, what made you post the tip?” I asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. Just trying to do the right thing, I guess.”
“Where was the photo taken?”
“We were at a big Wall Street party at an after-hours club by The Battery. Everyone from all the big financial houses was there. I saw this hot girl, and she was fumbling with a contact lens. I wear contacts too, and had some rewetting solution in my pocket so I let her use it.”
“Did you know the man she was with?”
“I’ve seen him around. I’m not sure who he works for. He might be an analyst for one of the smaller firms. He always seemed like a dick to me. Hair always perfect, always in a nice suit. Then I see him with this gorgeous girl and it just sort of annoyed me that night.”
I said, “You’ve never talked to this guy?”
“Never.”
“And you have no personal relationship with him?”
“If I’ve never spoken to him, how can I have a personal relationship with him?”
I let the comment slide. Besides, it was accurate. I was just trying to get as much information as I could.
I said, “You said the photo was from about three weeks ago. Is that correct?”
“Not quite three weeks. Friday night will make it three weeks.”
“Do you guys get together like that often?”
“We usually do one big blowout in the fall and another in the spring. Plus, there are all the holiday parties, but the firms usually pay for those.”
I made notes about the bar and exact date. We’d have to see if the bar had security video and look through credit card receipts for the night.
“You said you’d seen this guy around before. Can you recall where?”
Mirotic looked at me like I was a child asking him the same question over and over. Then Mirotic said, “I’ve already told you; I just saw him at parties like this once in a while. Listen, I’ve got a lot to do. You got my cell phone number if you really need to reach me again.”
I had been dismissed.
Chapter29
