Chapter Eleven
Detective Simon would’ve thought twice about taking Jack Larsen’s bribe if he’d known it would be so much more work. He’s going on two hours overtime, in the dank subbasement of the evidence locker where cases go to die. No one ever goes down here. It’s where they toss off evidence that’s not useful anymore but that they can’t destroy. There are shelves packed with marked manilla envelopes, and boxes and boxes of documents stacked together in an haphazard way. Simon shines his flashlight on those boxes, knowing that what he’s looking for will be in one of them.
A few years ago, he remembers the department being abuzz with excitement about an investigation they were working on with the FBI. He wasn’t on the case, so he doesn’t remember the exact details. But he does remember the smug smiles of his colleagues who were convinced they were going to take down a powerful law firm, one Golding, Holderman, and Associates, which had helped it’s clients evade corruption charges since the day it was founded.
Just as Detective Simon had predicted in his passionate rhetoric around the water cooler, the case went nowhere. It was dismissed by judges (all on the payroll, Simon assumes) ten times, and never made it to court. The judges all cited insufficient evidence. After digging through the stack of boxes to get to those at the very bottom, Simon sees for himself there was plenty of evidence, more than enough, even.
“Must’ve lined those judges’ pockets pretty well,” Simon mumbles, rifling through the documents. It makes him feel a bit better. After all these years of walking the straight and narrow, it’s about time he started taking payouts. It’s what everyone else in this city does.
The documents in the box detail case after case of Golding getting clients off of charges for fraud, money laundering, FDIC violations, and more, all using shady methods. There are even a few murder charges. One CEO of a telecommunications company was exonerated for strangling a prostitute he met on the internet. The police presented physical and forensic evidence, but that wasn’t enough for the shill judge. Golding got the cops on an obscure investigatory violation, and the case was thrown out.
There’s an entire box dedicated to the shadow marketing campaign Golding advertised on the deep web, promising prospective clients they could get them off of any charge, guilty or innocent, it doesn’t matter.
Simon thinks back to Joel Golding, who’d acted as Jack Larsen’s lawyer while he was being interrogated. The guy barely looks older than seventeen. It’s hard to believe he’s involved with such slime.
The deeper Simon digs, the shadier it becomes. The FBI had intelligence of Golding having key witness killed, witnesses that would have nailed the case for the prosecution. The intelligence was never verified, but it was compelling.
Could Jack Larsen Senior have been one of those witnesses? Is that why Joel advised Jack to run, so the case wouldn’t go to trial and no one would figure out the truth?
Detective Simon hopes he’s on to something, but that very hope is the enemy of objectivity. Still, he holds onto it, because if he doesn’t find a way to prove Jack’s innocent, he might not get the rest of his money.
*
Jack and Amber are in bed, as they most often are. Jack’s head lies against her chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Amber is lightly massaging his scalp, reflecting on how surreal this situation is. If they ever crack the case, and go on to live a normal life, she’ll probably miss this. It’s like fantasy, being locked up with this gorgeous man, their bodies constantly intertwined, and the knee-weakening sex.
Jack raises his head, nuzzling against her breast. He’s so docile and gentle, but Amber knows that inside of him rages a tumultuous storm. She sees the dark, troubled look in his eyes. It’s always there, though he rarely talks about it. He’s probably trying to protect her from it.
I don’t need protecting, Amber thinks, biting her lip. I want to be in this, with him, one hundred percent.
Jack is lightly kissing the space between her breasts, and heat is rising on his body. Amber knows it won’t be long until he’s shoving himself inside of her.
“Can I ask you something?” Amber says, her voice high and strained.
Jack looks up at her with his bed tossed hair. He curls his upper lip, his eyes gleaming. “Better make it fast,” he warns.
Amber considers dropping the subject, and letting the lust overtake her, but she presses on.
“Why do you think you’re so angry?”
Her voice is so light it floats up to the ceiling. Jack’s skin goes cold. He backs away, putting some distance between them.
“All those years in therapy, and I haven’t been able to answer that question,” Jack says. He rubs his face with both hands, as if the topic exhausts him. “Dr. Wainwright thinks it’s a combination of a chemical imbalance and traumatic experiences.”
“Do you agree?”
Jack shrugs his muscular shoulders. “Sometimes I think it’s just the way I am.”
Amber draws her knees up to her chest, and continues cautiously. “What trauma?”
Jack stares into the distance, his face darkened by shadows. “It’s not any one event, but an accumulation. My outbursts started in middle school, when the scandal of my father’s cheating broke. Kids at recess would repeat the gossip they heard from their parents, and I’d beat them to a pulp. It felt like I was always defending my family’s honor, when I knew we didn’t have any real honor to begin to with.”
“Did you hate your father?”
“Yes. But I loved him too.” His face cracks with the beginnings of a smile. “Is that possible?”
Amber slips her arm across his shoulders. “Yes. He was your father. Of course you loved him. And he wasn’t perfect. He did a lot of damage to your family. What about your mother and sister? What do you think they’re doing right now?”
Jack laughs. “Probably trying to forget all the fucked up things about our family so they can go on with their lives. I’m sure Mother’s busy planning some luncheon. Greta’s probably in Chicago, claiming she’s on voice rest and drinking hot tea by the gallon.” His smile falls. “I wonder if they think I did it.”
Amber takes his hand. “Everyone will know the truth soon.”
They’re interrupted by Amber’s burner phone ringing. She grabs it from the dresser. It’s Detective Simon.
“Boy did I step in shit,” Simon says. “And the shit keeps coming and coming.” He sounds hurried and out of breath. Amber pictures him running, his white hair flopping around on his head.
Amber glances at Jack. He’s staring at her closely. He doesn’t know she and Simon are looking into Joel.
“Golding and Holderman,” Simon spits. “More like Criminal and Slimeball.”
Jack stands from the bed, giving her a questioning look. If Simon found something on Joel, Jack needs to know about it. He needs to know exactly who he can trust.
“Can you come over now?” Amber asks.
Simon sighs. “It’s kind of late.”
“Now,” Amber barks into the phone, and hangs up.
“What was that about?” Jack asks, moving towards her. His gaze is intensely focused on Amber, watching her every move.
Amber blinks, forcing her eyes up to his. “That was Detective Simon. He’s found some information he wants to share with us.”
“About what?”
“Jack, promise me something,” Amber pleads. “That whatever he has to say, you’ll listen with an open mind. Even if it’s painful.”
A half hour later, Detective Simon knocks on the door. Jack swings it open without saying a word. The detective enters, sidestepping around Jack and eyeing him warily. He’s holding his cell phone like it’s the holy grail. Amber steps in from the kitchen with a friendly smile. It’s obvious Detective Simon is terrified of Jack, so she tries to mitigate his fear when she can.
“Hello, Detective Simon,” she says, pleasantly. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”
“So I did some digging,” Simon says, sitting down and scrolling through his phone. “The FBI and NYPD investigated Golding and Holderman and they have a ton of documents.”
“Golding and Holderman,” Jack says. “That’s Joel’s law firm.”
Amber sits on the arm of the chair where Jack is sitting, and puts her arm around him. “Did you know they were being investigated?”
The muscles in Jack’s jaws are visible as he clenches his teeth. He shakes his head wordlessly.
“Yeah, it turns out your friend isn’t so squeaky clean,” Detective Simon says. “I knew it when that little prick was in my interrogation room.”
Amber feels Jack’s muscles flex under her arm. She rubs his shoulders soothingly. Detective Simon passes over his phone. There’s picture after picture of the documents he found. Amber swipes through them, showing them to Jack.
“It looks like they’re the go-to guys for the rich and the guilty,” Simon says.
“Jesus,” Amber mutters. “They got this guy off for murder. He obviously did it. They had his DNA and everything.”
“They all obviously did it,” Simon says. “There’s evidence of bribery, evidence planting, even of witnesses being killed.”
“Killed?” The word falls heavily from Jack’s lips.
“Did you have any idea?” Amber asks Jack. He shakes his head with a numb look in his eye. Amber squints at the screen. “They had people killed?”
“The FBI seems to think so,” Simon says.
Amber turns to Jack. “Do you think-“
“That they put a hit on Jack’s father?” Simon finishes for her. “It’s possible. There are so many documents, and I have to go through each one manually. Conveniently, they weren’t digitized. I’ll keep looking for connections between Golding and Larsen International.”
Amber looks down carefully at Jack. He’s holding the cell phone, fixated on the documents. The skin of his back is tightened over his flexed muscles. His entire body is like a rock. Detective Simon gulps, audibly.
Jack stands abruptly, making Simon and Amber jump. He hands the phone back to Simon, then silently walks to the door and opens it. Simon looks around in confusion.
“Go,” Jack says, quietly at first. When Simon doesn’t move, he repeats himself, roaring, “Go.”
Simon jumps to his feet then hustles to the door. He gives Amber a questioning look before walking out into the hallway. Jack slams the door loudly behind him. He paces back and forth, his nostrils flaring. Amber remains still. She sits with her spine straight, her focus absorbed entirely by Jack. She watches as his demeanor changes. His calm control rolls off of his back, replaced by a tense, red anger. A growl erupts from his belly and rumbles out of his mouth.
Jack stalks into the bedroom. Amber watches from the living room. After a few moments, she hears a loud crash. She runs in there to join him, and sees him holding his fist. There’s a hole in the wall next to the dresser. Blood drips from his knuckles, and the skin is already started to bruise. But Jack doesn’t seem like he’s in pain. He’s too distracted by the rage coursing through his veins. Amber holds her hands out in front of her. “Jack,” she says, uselessly.
He’s lost inside himself, the anger invading his brain. Amber wonders if she should leave, if he’ll turn on her. She steps backwards, towards the door. Jack jerks his head towards her, and she freezes.
Jack’s chest rises with heavy breaths. His eyes are trained on her. He steps forward, his face red, nostrils flared. He curls his hands into fists, making the veins in his forearms throb.
“Joel,” Jack growls, his eyes hardening into dark points. He clasps his hands together, as if he’s strangling someone’s throat.
Amber breathes in, only then realizing she’s been holding her breath. Jack’s anger isn’t directed towards her. Her fear subsides. She steps up beside him, and lays her hand on his chest. His heart pounds against her hand. She grabs his chin and pulls him to look at her.
“You and me, Jack,” she says with conviction. “It’s just you and me. Fuck everyone else.”
Jack’s gaze deepens. He hooks his arm hard around Amber’s waist, pulling her against him.
“You,” he says, his voice deep and dark. “You’re the only fucking one.”
He plants his wet hot mouth on Amber’s, kissing her passionately. Amber allows him to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, a determined smile playing at her lips, and spreading through her body.