Page 167 of Fallen Rook

“Who’s leading the case?”

“Detective Ramirez.”

“I’ll ask him to share the file with me.”

“He won’t do it.”

The silence that followed echoed around the room.

“He doesn’t trust you, Rothwell.” Zeke’s tone held menace and authority. “And he’s not the only one.”

The words detonated like a bullet in my chest. I embraced the pain, knowing I deserved it. Setting my pen down, I said, “It’s probably Alexei Rasputin retaliating for the betrayal.”

“Our analysts think it’s Camorra work. Specifically, the baby brother. Achilles prolongs and Luca rushes through his kills impersonally. Enzo, however, makes it his little art project. He kills with the panache of someone who loves playing with corpses.”

He studied me seriously, waiting for a response that didn’t come.

“Interesting that you’ve decided the one who flays his victims is the most likely to be rehabilitated and is suitable to participate in public life.”

He was met with more silence.

“Because all of our profilers are in agreement that Vincenzo Ferrante is the most dangerous out of the three brothers, due to his ability to conceal his devious tendencies. His charisma and charm outweigh all his other psychotic traits, making him indeed very easy to like.” He waited a beat, scanning me with shrewd eyes. “Almost very easy to…love.”

What did he want me to say? That I was in love with a monster?

That the Flayer of Manhattan had me in a chokehold, but damn if oxygen wasn’t overrated?

We engaged in a stare-off. Zeke’s eyes demanded a confession. Mine told him to fuck all the way off.

“I told you Alex is tight with the brother-in-law,” I said tonelessly, ignoring his heartfelt speech. In order to justify the Camorra not showing up at the port, I’d cited Tiernan as the Ferrante mole. It made sense. His loyalties were with the Camorra and his wife, but he was tight with all the Rasputin brothers. Enough that he could learn about Slava’s betrayal all by himself.

“The bureau thinks otherwise.”

“Nobody knows this case as well as me.”

“Agreed.” An exasperated note wove through his tone. “In fact, it appears this case has become too personal for you.”

I bowed my head, feeling like a piece of shit for dragging him into my mess.

“The case is dead,” he said.

“I’m well aware.”

“I had imagined you’d be more torn up about it.”

“Would you like me to cry into a pillow with Taking Back Sunday playing in the background?” I inquired deprecatingly.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t put it past you. Can I sit down?”

Zeke wasn’t one to ask for permission. My hackles rose further, the sour taste of danger flooding my mouth. I minimized the file on my computer screen and straightened. I thought I’d been careful so far, but maybe I missed something. Maybe it was the end of the road for me as a free man.

“Have at it.”

He sat in front of me, staring me down for a long while before saying, “I don’t think I have to tell you, Tom, the Rasputin-Ferrante operation was a botch job. From start to finish, there were errors even probies wouldn’t make. And you’re not a minted agent. You’re an SSA. One of my finest. Yet you made my department look like a joke.”

My jaw twitched, but I kept quiet.

“Arresting the Russian soldiers, letting Slava disappear, offering the enforcer a plea deal without any real valuable information and somehow convincing the DOJ his immunity held merit…”