Blindside (Michael Bennett)

by James Patterson

  Harry was his usual gruff self when I slid into the front seat of his Suburban. “No questions. No smart-ass comments. And show some respect.”

  I had to ask, “Where are we going?”

  “What did I just tell you? Enjoy the ride.”

  “That’s what they used to tell inmates on their way to Sing Sing.”

  “That’s a good metaphor. Even if you just made it up.”

  That didn’t make me feel any better as we drove south on West Street. Like a little kid, to make sure I didn’t ask stupid questions, I tried to occupy myself. I guessed where we were going. We had passed the building that housed the DEA, which eliminated one choice.

  Of course One Police Plaza was the most likely stop. That’s where the big brass could really lay into me if they thought it might help their position. The public opinion shift on cops was slow to sweep over the profession. But now that it had, some politically minded managers would do anything to make the department look better. That could mean sacrificing a detective like me. Oh, they’d say it was based on facts and evidence, but I’d know better. And there would be little I could do about it.

  This line of thought raised my anxiety. A lot. Now I was nervous.

  Then Harry turned east on Chambers Street and I knew we were headed to One Police Plaza. All the thoughts I’d just had seemed to be coming true. Then he surprised me by taking a right on Broadway and pulling into the City Hall complex.

  “What’s going on, Harry?” I could tell he was considering what he should tell me. “I feel like I’m headed to a firing squad.”

  We passed through security and Harry pulled into a spot right by City Hall. He turned to me and said, “You’re going to be cleared on the shooting. We’ve got the suspect’s pistol and two casings. We have security video from the bodega that shows everything. Forensics all check out. Plus, everyone knows you’re not a rookie. But IA and the officials here wanted to make sure everything was done right and covered properly.”

  I felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I wanted to kiss Harry right on the cheek. I didn’t care what kind of stubble he had.

  I said, “That’s great. When can I get back to work? I’ve got a lot to catch up on.” Tight was the main thing on my mind. I had to find the skinny psychopath and get the truth about the murder of the nurse and her daughter. The image of the crime scene was burned into my memory. And Mrs. Evans breaking down and crying at her sons’ apartment would never leave my head. It was the best motivation a cop could have.

  “Can you run me by the office to get my car?”

  “Slow down, Mike. It’s a complicated situation. The mayor’s office has some concerns about how the public would view a return so quick.”

  “You mean it’s politics.”

  “You can call it anything you want, but we have a meeting in here right now. You’re going to talk to the mayor himself.”

  “The LFP! No shit.”

  “If I get the sense you’re even thinking of saying the words ‘little fat prick,’ I will personally throw your kids’ cat off the balcony and let you deal with the chaos.”

  “You’d do that to Socky?”

  “After I did it to you.”

  Normally I’d think that was kind of a funny comment. Coming from Harry Grissom it felt more like a realistic threat.

  I recognized a couple of cops in uniform. They all patted me on the back or shoulder. It wasn’t the kind of greeting I usually got. But what they were really saying was they were glad I was alive, even if it meant someone else was dead.

  We took the stairs to the third floor and turned down a long corridor. We stopped at an office with a sign that said office of the mayor, communications.

  I started to ask Harry why we were here.

  He shut me up with just a look.

  He knocked once, then opened the door.

  There were three people in the large, plush office. A woman stepped up and offered her hand.

  “I’m Carol Tedesco, director of communications.” She was polished and professional. She looked like she could be TV-ready at any moment.

  The thin man in wire-rimmed glasses didn’t bother to stand up straight from the table he was leaning on. He just waved and said, “Clark Higson, assistant to the mayor.”

  Then the other man stepped over to me and offered a pudgy paw. He said, “Alfred Hanna. Nice to meet you.”

  He wasn’t quite as short as I’d thought he would be.

  CHAPTER 18

  ALFRED HANNA HAD slipped into the mayor’s office by the thinnest of margins. Every cop in the city used the term LFP, for little fat prick, to refer to him. I had even heard LFP used on the radio. Since his election, he had managed to piss off virtually all city workers, the Puerto Rican population, Staten Island residents, and even tourists, when he’d referred to a group from Arkansas touring City Hall as “a bunch of rednecks.” Nothing anyone else in the city wouldn’t have said. But the mayor was held to a higher standard. Barely.

  In short, Alfred Hanna was a true New Yorker.

  He ran a nervous hand over his slicked-back, dark hair. A long blue tie did little to cover his extended belly. He looked a little like a chipmunk in an Armani suit.

  He reached up to put his arm across my shoulders. “We need to keep this meeting as quiet as possible. That’s why we’re not in my office. Is that understood?”

  Both Harry and I mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

  He released me and turned to face all of us. He looked at me and said, “I’m very proud of your service to the city. I’m sorry you got put in a position like you did. I know you acted well within policy and did everything you could not to shoot that young man.”

  I didn’t get excited at his little speech. Anyone could tell there was a but coming. Harry gave me a really good command stare to keep me quiet.

  Mayor Hanna continued. “The problem is that the Timmons family is quite popular. The fact that they brought in Reverend Caldwell means they’re not going to listen to the results of any investigation. They’re also not going to disappear. That means you returning to your regular job would not only look bad for the city, it also could be dangerous for you.”

  I said, “You don’t think a cop’s job is dangerous anyway?” I hadn’t meant to put the edge in my voice.

  “Okay, more dangerous than usual. Look, my grandfather on my mother’s side was a cop in Queens. I understand the hardships you guys go through.”

  It surprised me the mayor had a family member who’d been a cop, but it didn’t surprise me that he actually thought he knew. Everyone thought they understood the job.

  The mayor said, “I don’t want to send the wrong message to our city’s police officers. I don’t want them to step back. I don’t advocate less proactive policing. I also don’t think you should have to go back to work looking over your shoulder for a retribution attack. Not when we have an alternative.”

  I said, “So what’s this alternate plan you’re talking about?”

  “Like I said, anything talked about in this room stays here.” He turned his bowling-ball head to look at each of us individually. Everyone agreed.

  The mayor looked right at me and said, “I’ve heard that, among your many talents, you know how to find people.”

  “I’ve located a few fugitives.”

  “This is a missing person.”

  “Why don’t you have our Missing Persons Squad look into it?”

  “Because it’s my daughter.”

  CHAPTER 19

  I READ THE mayor’s expression, almost like I would a homicide suspect during an interview. He was uncomfortable. I looked across the office at the only one who might understand what I was seeing.

  Harry just shrugged and shifted his eyes to the door in the back of the office.

  I said, “Maybe we can speak more freely in private.”

  The mayor, who was clearly shaken, turned to the door that Harry had pointed out. He motioned for his aides to stay in this office, and I follo
wed his odd gait.

  The other room was a small conference room with a table big enough for about six people. A giant portrait of the late former mayor Fiorello La Guardia filled the upper half of one wall. Every mayor wanted to be like La Guardia. Except Ed Koch, who had seemed pretty happy being himself. A window looked down on the parking lot. I could just see the top of Harry’s Suburban.

  The mayor and I settled into leather chairs at one corner of the table. I gave him a moment to collect himself, then said gently, “Do you want to tell me about your daughter? I thought you only had two young boys.”

  He took a moment, then said, “Natalie is from my first marriage. It ended in a divorce—a messy, public divorce. Natalie even uses her mother’s maiden name of Lunden. It was my fault. Not only the divorce but allowing it to be so public. It cost me an election as an alderman.” He took another moment and added, “I’ve changed. More than anyone can believe, especially my ex-wife and daughter. I read that you have daughters yourself.”

  “Six.”

  “Good lord.”

  “And four boys.”

  “Oh, my God. I haven’t heard of a Catholic family like that since I was a kid. Back then every neighborhood had two or three families with eight-plus kids. How do you manage?”

  “First of all, I am Catholic, but all my kids are adopted. And second, I don’t manage anything. We’re a family. We all work together. Kinda the way it’s supposed to be with the city. Everyone works for the greater good.”

  “If only. No matter how we come down on a decision, there’s always about half the population that’s pissed off. I like the idea in principle, but in reality you have a unique family.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I envy you, Detective. You know what’s important and appreciate it. I learned that lesson a little late in life. Now I just hope it’s not too late.” He took a moment to wipe his eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. “Let me show you my Natalie.”

  He held up his phone. A photo of a smiling brunette in a cap and gown filled the screen. A tall woman, who I assumed was her mother, held an arm around her shoulders, and the mayor stood off at a distance, smiling.

  He said, “This was her high school graduation. She was on her way to MIT a few months later. She was a computer prodigy. Even as a child, she learned to change the code on programs to fit her needs. She’s amazing.”

  I thought of Eddie. Would I be able to afford MIT? Would he get a scholarship? I had a number of kids to get through college. I hoped I could figure out a way.

  The mayor continued. “Natalie went off the rails a little bit. Her grades dropped. She was more interested in pushing the envelope than learning the basics of computer science. She started to party more. She and I grew more distant. She got bounced out of MIT. A few months ago she enrolled in City College, but it didn’t last.”

  I listened and all I heard was an anguished father. I didn’t hear the politician I saw on TV regularly. I didn’t see the man cops grumbled about every single day.

  The mayor wiped his eyes again with his bare thumb, then said, “Now she’s twenty-one. No one has heard from her in three weeks. Her mother’s frantic. Frantic enough to ask me for help. Some of her friends say she fell in with some hackers. I don’t know, but I’m scared.”

  Now I was in familiar territory, talking to a frightened parent. I could deal with this. I understood this. I said, “It’ll be okay, Mr. Mayor. We’ll find her.”

  His eyes were rimmed red when he looked up. His voice was much softer. He said, “Really? You think so?”

  “Yes.” I really did.

  The mayor sniffled. He said, “I might be able to help you, Detective.”

  “How so?” This was always treacherous. People who thought they could help you also thought they could crush you if things didn’t go the way they wanted.

  “If you find my daughter, I might be able to help you with your son Brian. I know about his unfortunate situation. I could make some calls, see what happens.” He looked at me as if he expected me to say something. Then he added, “Just one father helping another.”

  CHAPTER 20

  IT TOOK A little time to get everything together. I rode with Harry to pick up my car. On the way, he had one of his little talks with me. He called them “talks”; the squad called them “lectures.” Either way, we had learned it was stupid to ignore Harry’s advice.

  He said, “You need to stay under the radar. It doesn’t help anyone if they know you’re already back on the job. You had a tough break. You had to shoot that kid. I know the feeling. Things will get better. Eventually smart people look past the crazy public outcries and examine the evidence and investigations. The mayor has just given you a shortcut to get back on the street. Don’t blow it.”

  Who could refute such deep wisdom as “Don’t blow it”?

  When I walked into the office, Terri Hernandez sat at the once-empty desk next to mine.

  I said, “What are you doing slumming down here?”

  “Temporary duty assignment. Supposed to fill in for some old geezer who was on suspension. I guess that didn’t last long.”

  “I’ve gone from suspension into exile.”

  “What happened?”

  “Moved to a missing persons case. Low-key, low profile, and low probability of excitement.”

  “So you’re cleared in the shooting?”

  “Not officially.”

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “Not supposed to talk about it.”

  “Even to me? You used to tell me everything.”

  “Wish I could, but I made a promise.”

  “You and your promises. One day you’ll promise someone too much and it’ll get you in hot water.”

  “That was probably today.”

  Terri smiled. “I believe in you. Hell, even my dad asks about you.”

  I smiled. “How’s Ramon?”

  “Irascible as ever.”

  “He’s a smart man. Listen to him. What’s he always say, ‘Marry rich and as many times as needed’?”

  “Actually, he likes to say, ‘Marry a rich old man. Repeat if necessary.’ That’s coming from a man who’s been married thirty-eight years.”

  “Some guys are lucky.”

  Not long after grabbing a few things from the office and trading jabs with Terri Hernandez, I was in the neighborhood of Natalie Lunden’s apartment near NYU. This was a younger neighborhood with an interesting vibe. The students from NYU mixed with young professionals and the occasional stockbroker from the financial district. The area was loaded with mom-and-pop restaurants and that made me realize I hadn’t eaten. I don’t know if it was the relief of being back at work, but I was suddenly famished.

  I swung a few blocks out of my way to the Burger & Barrel. It was a little nicer and more expensive than my usual lunch places. But, I reasoned, it was well after lunch; if I didn’t have some protein immediately, I might faint. Sometimes I’m dramatic even to myself.

  The sports bar sat right on Houston Street and looked a little touristy but was known by the locals for its burgers. I wouldn’t call it a cop hangout, but cops liked eating there. Service was decent and the burgers outstanding.

  One of the TVs above the bar had the news on instead of ESPN. I didn’t pay much attention until the camera cut away to a shot outside some city administration buildings. I saw the Reverend Caldwell speaking into a microphone like he was addressing a crowd of thousands. It took even me a moment to realize it was simply a one-on-one interview with a local reporter. All I heard him say was “And now a murderer is walking free among us. Are the streets really safe?”

  The older African American man behind the counter walked past the TV and absently switched it to Fox Sports 1. I didn’t even mind the negative story about the Giants’ offensive woes. Anything was better than hearing the tubby reverend call me names in public.

  In my notepad, I looked at the list of several names the mayor had come up with of Natalie’s frie
nds. A kid named Tom Payne, a woman named Chang, and a couple of other names. All of them supposedly computer people.

  I wolfed down my burger and even considered adding a beer to my tab. I stuck to a Coke and gathered my notes together.

  I caught the attention of the bartender. He was older than I’d thought. Maybe in his early seventies. But he looked good. Like an in-shape grandpa.

  I said, “Can I grab my bill?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t get a bill. Thank you for your service.”

  Holy cow, did I need to hear something like that about now. I laid a ten-dollar tip on the bar. I was a little choked up and couldn’t speak. That surprised me.

  The bartender said, “This too shall pass. That’s what they told me when I came back from Vietnam. No one gave a damn about me. I remember walking through East Harlem in my uniform and someone threw a tomato at me. Another woman called me a baby killer. But they all came around. It may have taken twenty-five years, but people finally understood that we were just doing our duty. You’ll see. The same attitude will come around about cops. In the meantime, stay safe.”

  I had to shake the man’s hand before I headed over to Natalie Lunden’s apartment.

  CHAPTER 21

  I USED THE key the mayor had given me to slip into Natalie’s apartment. I took a run-through quickly to make sure no one was home. It would be embarrassing to discover her asleep in her bed. Stranger things have happened. Kids are called in missing all the time who end up being exactly where they’re supposed to be.

  I had a case when I was in the Bronx of a missing three-year-old. The call came in at about four in the afternoon. The mom was frantic. She was also suspicious of her boyfriend. I made a cursory check of the apartment, then went looking for the boyfriend.

  I found him in a sports bar near Yankee Stadium. He had an attitude that was infuriating. He said, “Why you bothering me about that brat? He’s Valerie’s problem, not mine.”