Page 26

BEFORE KEVIN DOYLE could even think, Roger Dzoriack’s pretty neighbor had introduced herself as Elaine. When she invited him into her apartment, Doyle accepted. She’d already seen him. He needed to figure out how to contain this.

There was a bag of groceries sitting on her kitchen counter. A quick glance told him she was a fitness buff. And she ate healthy. He could’ve probably figured that out just by looking at her.

All he could think about was how this perfect assignment had gone off the rails at the last possible moment. He gave her his NYPD cover story.

Elaine said, “I try to keep an eye on Roger, but he doesn’t like to be looked after.”

“I got that impression.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No thank you. I really have to be going.”

Elaine touched his arm with her right hand and said, “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you come by to visit Roger again soon.”

Doyle tried to think of something to say, but he knew what had to be done. He really didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t leave a witness who’d seen him so clearly. There was no sense in delaying it. He leaned forward like he was going to say something. He moved his right and left hands at almost the same time, his left reaching behind Elaine’s head and gripping her neck and hair, his right moving to her chin. He didn’t hesitate. He used his weight, leverage, and strength to rotate her head quickly.

Elaine never had a chance. He heard her neck pop like it was a champagne cork. She went limp immediately. When he released his grip, Elaine tumbled into his arms, her startled brown eyes staring right at him.

Doyle gazed down at her for a moment. Elaine’s open eyes felt like an accusation. Now he had a new problem. What to do with her body? He couldn’t just leave it in the apartment. It would throw Roger Dzoriack’s “suicide” into question.

Doyle pushed Elaine into a sitting position on the couch. He dug his burner phone out of his pocket and dialed a number in Manhattan. As soon as someone answered, Doyle said, “I need to speak to Amir.”

“Hold one second.”

After a short wait, a voice Doyle recognized came on the line. “Who is this?”

“Your friend who gives you business now and then.”

“What do you got?”

“Pickup and disposal.”

“Where and when?”

“Staten Island and right now.”

“It’s going to be expensive.”

“I know. I’ll come by later in the week and settle up.”

“How big is the package?”

“Maybe five foot six and one hundred thirty pounds.”

“Be there in less than an hour. Text me the address.”

Forty-five minutes later, two men with a dolly and a washing machine box were at the apartment door. Amir nodded to Doyle but didn’t say anything.

Amir and his partner walked directly to where Doyle had left Elaine on the couch. They gently lifted her, more from a need to be quiet than out of respect for the body, and slipped her into the box. Doyle felt awful about this one. But he told himself it had been unavoidable.

He watched the men roll the dolly back to the stairway and carefully lower it one stair at a time. He waited ten more minutes, then slipped out of the building himself.

Doyle was no longer in a good mood.