CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HUNTER
I place a coffee down on Grace’s desk, sitting on the edge. “I don’t know what you like, so I simply asked for it ‘strong.’”
“I like my coffee like I like my sex: Hot and full of cream,” she winks, the small dose of innuendo doing little to stamp down the shock of today’s events.
Grace called her contact back, but the Captain’s in the wind. We considered pulling in help, but given the level of involvement here we simply don’t know who we can trust—not until we get more information. It’s a shitty situation being up against a brick wall like this.
Grace takes the coffee and continues scrolling down her computer screen.
I can smell the coffee mixing with her scent, all of it floating upwards to where I’m sitting. It’s a potent, cock-hardening combination. “We should take this to Internal Affairs,” I suggest.
Grace laughs. “The Captain’s balls deep with those guys. He’s basically their best friend, does dinner at this swanky steakhouse with them on Tuesdays. No, we don’t have enough of anything right now to make a case, a connection… Not yet.”
“What about Tim? Did he find anything?” I ask.
She nods slowly, sipping on her coffee, the pink tip of her tongue whisking out over her lower lip. “Oh, he dug deep.”
“And?”
“It was a burner alright, but he stringed together the contacts, texts, a couple of cryptic notes, search history… It seems the Captain’s brother, councilman Nathan Johnson, is quite the real-estate mogul.
I’m trying to piece it together. “Is that surprising? Most men in his position would have investments, wouldn’t they?”
Grace shakes her head. “They would, but not as suspect as the dives this guy’s got. I’m talking dodgy bars you need a biohazard suit to enter, pawn shops, shitty loan brokers and apartments full of junkies and lowlifes. It’s a portfolio I’m sure is bringing in plenty of dosh, but it’s not one to be proud of, especially not with election season around the corner. Tim says it was hard enough linking it all together in the first place with all the fucking shell companies and what-not, but thank the good lord we have a human supercomputer for a tech specialist, right?”
“What are you saying? That the Captain’s brother, this Nathan is dirty?”
“Filthy, I’d say, but you want to know the real kicker?” She pauses for dramatic effect, swiveling to face me with her legs spread and the crotch of her pants begging for my attention. “A one Nathan Johnson also owns a certain extended stay hotel.”
“The Baxter—You don’t say.”
“I most certainly do.” She’s smiling, pleased with herself.
I pick up her jacket and toss it to her. “Let me guess. We’re going to City Hall for a wee chit-chat with the good councilor? Sounds like a good way to wind up on litter patrol for the rest of our lives.”
She stands, putting on her jacket. “If it means cleaning up the real rubbish in the process, so fucking be it.”
*
City Hall is an old, sprawling building in lower Manhattan. In a way it reminds me of Wrightworth’s own city hall—only twenty times bigger.
We enter, Grace flashing her badge and taking out her piece. I do the same, the both of us watching as they’re passed through the X-ray machine and collected by security.
Grace walks through the metal detector, looking back to me. “Some guy blasted away a councilman back in ’03. Since then everyone goes through these detectors, no exception.”
I wait for Security to hand my weapon back, but they remain stony-faced.
“Sorry, Detective,” says the one closest to me. “You can collect your weapon when you leave.”
Grace pushes me on, looking up at the domed ceiling. “It might be a pretty building, but the stench of shit is pretty overwhelming behind closed doors.”
I have to smile as she leads the way.
A young, blonde secretary stands as we enter the foyer to Nathan’s office.
Grace flashes her badge.
“Can I help you, officers?” the woman says.
“Detectives, actually. We need to see Nathan Johnson.”
The secretary looks suddenly flustered. “I’m sorry, the councilman is particularly busy this morning.
“I bet,” Grace laughs.
The door to our left opens, the good councilor himself leaning out, a putter in his hand.
“Real busy, it would seem,” says Grace, glancing down at the golf club.
The secretary clears her throat. “Sir, these… detectives… are here to see you.”
If this Nathan’s fazed, he doesn’t show it, placing the putter against the wall and opening the mahogany door to his office wide. He flashes a wide smile. “New York’s finest. Welcome. Come through.”
We enter his expansive office, the secretary closing the door behind us. Nathan sits at his desk. It’s big enough to be a dining table. I can’t help but notice how many photos are on the wall—Nathan shaking hands with celebrities, fishing, at the White House… I thought my father had connections, but this guy is in another universe entirely.
“I’m sorry,” says Nathan, leaning back with his fingers tented. “I didn’t catch your names.”
“That’s right.” Grace smiles, taking a seat and placing one leg on top of the other. “Now, what can you tell me about the Baxter?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Shitty hotel, extended stay,” continues Grace, “plenty of shifty clientele…”
A crocodile smile. “Why would I know anything about somewhere like that?”
“Because it’s your hotel,” Grace finishes. If she had a mic, she’d be dropping it.
Nathan smiles again, but it’s for the cameras—all show. He taps his desk. “My property, you say.”
“Well, technically the property of Canmire Holdings, but it traces back to you, yes. Took us quite a while to untangle all your,” she air-quotes ‘investments.’”
The councilman laughs, nodding to himself. “I see.” He flicks the screen on his cell, typing out a message, but it’s too far away to see. “What exactly can I help you with, detective?”
“We’re investigating a murder, the victim of which was a frequent client of your hotel.”
He laughs. “If I did own said hotel, and it’s a big ‘if’ given I don’t deal with my portfolio personally, I can’t be responsible for every guest that comes through its doors, especially those of the,” he chooses his words, “nefarious type.”
I expect Grace to skirt around the evidence a bit, let him do the talking, but she comes right out with it. “I think, Mr. Johnson, you were directly involved with her murder.”
He scoffs, standing with his hands on his desk. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly,” she replies.
He looks to me for support, a fellow male.
I remain stony. Sorry, buddy.
“And you,” he says, addressing me. “Do you believe in this madness as well?”
“There is evidence to suggest your involvement.”
He sits, calming at the word. “’Evidence,’ you say. Might I be privy as to what this evidence might be?”
Grace ignores the question. “Maybe you can start by telling us where you were on the sixteenth?”
“I’d have to check with my secretary.”
Grace puts her hands behind her head. “By all means.”
Nathan laughs again, the façade starting to slip, a bead of sweat forming on his hairline. “You do know who I am, don’t you?”
“I do,” Grace smiles, rocking forward, “but if you think your position here entitles you to a get-out-of-jail card, you’re sorely mistaken. This isn’t fucking Monopoly. This is a young woman’s life we’re talking about here, cut short because she was stabbed in the chest, probably by your brother.”
“Detective—” Nathan’s tone is firmer now.
Grace is nodding, working it through. “Your brother with his big ol’ mouth. He blabbed to her, didn’t he? About your investments, the human misery you’re tied up in? Pillow talk, I suppose.”
“You don’t know what you’re tal—”
Grace’s hand shoots up to silence him. “You couldn’t have that information out there in the wild, not right now with the election coming up, could you? So you…” She lets the words fall away.
This is all freeform, pure improvisation, but I’ve got to give it to Grace. It’s plausible—more than plausible. She might be bluffing, but it’s a hell of a play. It’s dangerous, too, but I resolve myself that no matter what happens, I’m going to protect her at all costs.
You still think she’s the one who needs protecting?
The office door opens, Captain Johnson and Bobby walking in. “Siddell, Beckett, let’s go.”
“Speak of the devil,” grins Nathan.
Grace looks between the Captain and the councilman. “That was quick.” She faces the Captain. “Is it just me, or do you seem a bit out of breath?”
“Now!” shouts the Captain, flicking a glance towards his brother. “Sorry for the interruption, councilman.”
I can’t believe the Captain has the balls to show up here, but at least it’s becoming clear who’s pulling the strings in this relationship, and he is still the Captain, regardless of what we know.
You sure? my head questions. The guy is a prick, but perhaps the Captain really is clueless as to what’s going on here, simply following orders. I have to retain my senses here, my impartiality given Grace’s gun-ho drive and personal feelings towards the parties involved.
Nathan puts up his hands. “No problem. We were just having a cordial conversation, weren’t we, officers—a fanciful conversation, but cordial nonetheless.”
Grace narrows her eyes, shaking her finger at him like it the tip of a tactical blade. “Let’s see how cordial you are sucking cocks at Lincoln Correctional.”
“Siddell!” shouts the Captain, walking forward and taking her by the arm. “Get the fuck out of here or so help me god I’ll lock you up.”
Grace goes to say something else, but I warn her off it with a look. “Another time,” I whisper as she passes, keeping her eyes fixed on the councilman. “Another time,” she repeats, “soon,” watching him all the while.