The two suited cops who entered the room were all too familiar to him. Duran and the pit bull partner. Ted was immediately on guard.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said. Nassau County had jurisdiction there. The NYPD hadn’t sent two detectives to investigate a scuffle in the hospital.

“Who else?” Kasabian said. “The Lone Ranger and Tonto?”

“No, but not Fred and Barney either,” Ted said.

“You should get dressed,” Duran said. “Your doctor tells us you’re okay to leave.”

“I’d rather hear it directly from her.”

“That can be arranged,” Duran said. “Meantime, get dressed. You’re coming with us.”

“What’s happening with the other guy?” Ted asked. “Are you going to pick him up, too?”

“The Russian? Not my case. You’ll have to ask Nassau County.”

“Is he still in the ER?”

“Not a clue. Now get your clothes on.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“That, too, can be arranged. It would be easier on you if you volunteered to come with us to answer some questions.”

“I want to check on my friend before I go anywhere.”

Duran checked his watch before answering. “Three minutes. Starting now.”

Ted swung his legs to the floor. “I’ll have my lawyer meet us there.”

-66-

-66-

The Queens County Criminal Court was located on an island surrounded by highways and looked like a beached iceberg. If a criminal had any desire to escape, the bleak scene outside would convince them to surrender themself to the judicial system.

Mervyn Prestwick had a voice like an organ. When in court, he used it like a one-man orchestra, allowing a hint of his Jamaican antecedents to add color to his delivery—juries loved it. Ted had counted him as a friend in law school, and they had attended each other’s weddings, but as their career paths diverged, they saw less of each other. Mervyn had spent six years in the Bronx DA’s office before switching to “the dark side” and becoming a successful criminal defense attorney. He was Ted’s first and only call.

Mervyn brought Ted a fresh shirt and a toothbrush.

“My client has agreed to talk to you, solely to prevent a great miscarriage of justice,” he began when all the players were in place in the third-floor conference room. “But before he says a word, I need to know why we are here. Are you really prepared to move forward with these charges? Your detective”—Mervyn nodded in Kasabian’s direction—“mentioned murder for hire, among other things. Is he serious? What evidence do you have that my client is involved in anything like this?”