Black Jack

by Diane Capri

  “You tell me.” Kim pushed the speaker button on the phone and played the message aloud.

  Thanks for the warning, Agent Otto. Go with your gut. Deerfield can’t be trusted. Harper’s solid. Petrosian’s the problem. Finlay has details. Watch your back.

  A short pause.

  Don’t go swimming alone.

  The end. Call disconnected.

  “That’s Reacher,” Gaspar said.

  She replied, “Sounds like him. But it seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”

  “Doesn’t matter how likely it is. I recognize his voice, and so do you. And Reacher’s calling you now? We’ve got Finlay to thank for that, no doubt.” Gaspar scowled. “What the hell does all that mean?”

  “Means someone’s feeding him intel or he’s following me. I think he sent me a text yesterday while I was waiting for Harper.” Kim plopped down on the bed. “Sounds like he’s saying we’re on the right track, though. We can get voice analysis on the message. Get a positive ID. But he says the Petrosian case is where we should be concentrating.”

  “We’re taking orders from Reacher?” Gaspar’s scowl deepened. “Where the hell is he?”

  “The number he called from has a New York area code, and it’s different from the one he used to text me on my other phone, which is why I didn’t recognize it. This could be a pay phone, and there aren’t too many of those left in existence. We can chase it down, I guess,” Kim replied.

  “No point to that. He’s miles away by now,” Gaspar replied, still annoyed. “If it was a pay phone, he might have made other calls, though. I can find out. See who he’s connecting with now that we know he’s here. Maybe I can get some CCTV from somewhere near the phone.”

  “Sounds good.” She gave him the phone number Reacher had used and then she pushed the call back button for Finlay. He picked up. “On my way.”

  She disconnected before he could object. She pulled two new burner cell phones from her bag, fired them up, and walked into the hallway to test them. She’d done what she could to keep listeners at bay inside the hotel room, but a determined snoop couldn’t be thwarted. The best she could manage was slowing the high-tech types down and keeping the amateurs working hard to figure things out.

  She tossed one of the new burners to Gaspar. He glanced at the exchanged texts and nodded. She pulled her personal cell from her pocket and tossed it on the bed, along with the Boss’s burner.

  As Kim donned her coat, Gaspar said, “I’ll check in with the Boss while you’re gone. See what I can find out about Deerfield and Petrosian.”

  “See what he’ll admit to knowing about the Garrison house, too. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Finlay never has that much time, so not more than a couple of hours, max.” She left the room, took the elevator down.

  Even in January, weekend visitors filled the lobby in the middle of the day. Couples, families, tour groups, and more mingled as they came and went.

  Kim rode the down escalator from the main lobby past the perpetual fountain and joined the line waiting for a taxi. Two doormen choreographed the arrivals and departures efficiently. At the valet entrance, a variety of cabs and car service vehicles pulled up. Passengers paid fares and climbed out, and hotel guests heading to New York City’s weekend entertainment venues filled the vehicles again.

  Kim worried about Gaspar while she waited her turn. Twice, she’d expected him to tell her something, and he’d backed off. She selfishly hoped he wouldn’t take disability retirement. But she could see how difficult the job had become for him, although he refused to discuss his condition.

  The line moved quickly. After about five minutes, the doorman blew his whistle to call the next car and waved Kim outside. She walked into the cold and stepped through the open passenger door into a warm taxi. She gave the driver Finlay’s address and sat back in the seat for the short trip.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sunday, January 30

  5:05 p.m.

  New York City, New York

  The Secret Service agent, Russell, opened the door to Finlay’s suite, as he’d done every time she came here. “Good evening, Agent Otto.”

  She nodded. “Russell. Seems like we just did this dance, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed. We have you set up in the same room as before.” He waved her into the open doorway on the left. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll let Dr. Finlay know you’ve arrived.”

  “Thanks.” She slipped her coat off her shoulders and dropped it into a chair. Refreshments were arranged on the buffet table, as always. She grabbed a bottle of sparkling water and walked around the room to stretch. She felt like her muscles had, indeed, solidified. If required to run for her life, she’d be in trouble.

  Finlay arrived with the usual level of pomp. Which was to say that he came in and closed the door acting like he owned the place. She was starting to think that maybe he did. If he had a home or a more formal base of operations, she’d never heard about it. Not that she would have. They weren’t friends or colleagues. Theirs was a relationship of necessity.

  “Let’s not waste our time.” He waved her to a chair and took his seat on the sofa. “You’ve located and reviewed the old bathtub murder files, I assume?”

  The mere mention of those files raised her blood pressure ten points. “Cooper sent them. I’ve read Gaspar’s summaries.”

  “You know the details of the murder cases, then. We can move on to Petrosian,” Finlay said. “Did Cooper provide the Organized Crime files on Almar Petrosian?”

  “No.”

  He nodded and launched right into the meat of the matter.

  “Back then, Reacher was picked up, and they flipped him, as Deerfield said. But both cases were going on at the same time. Reacher was scooped up in the Petrosian matter, not the bathtub murders.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

  “He was a person of interest in the bathtub murders, but the Serial Crimes Unit hadn’t made a move on him yet. They piled on after he was already in custody. Serial Crimes wouldn’t have been able to get a warrant on the evidence they had.” He paused, probably to give her a chance to catch up. “Here’s the important part. Reacher was never charged in either case.”

  Kim cocked her head. “If he wasn’t charged, why didn’t he just walk away?”

  Finlay shook his head. “I’m not a mind reader. My guess is Deerfield had dodgy leverage that kept Reacher on the hook. The leverage is not explained in the files. We can probably guess what it was.”

  “Of course, it’s not in the files,” Kim sneered. If Deerfield had threatened Jodie Jacob or allowed his subordinates to threaten her to coerce Reacher, no one would have been stupid enough to make a record of illegal activity like that.

  “Now here’s the problem.” Finlay paused, perhaps to be sure she was paying attention. “Both of Deerfield’s cases terminated prematurely. A double loss. Petrosian, the father, died in a gang war, which effectively ended the organized crime case. And the bathtub killer stopped killing before they caught him.”

  “So Deerfield’s office spent a lot of time and money and plenty of attention, but not a single arrest or conviction,” Kim said slowly. “Which probably didn’t make Cooper very happy, right?”

  “Bingo.” Finlay smiled. “Cooper considered the lack of results a colossal failure. Which effectively ended Deerfield’s career. Assistant Director of the New York Field Office was as high as he’d ever go.”

  “Cooper didn’t demand his resignation? That’s what I’d expect him to do.” Kim said.

  “He did. Deerfield refused.” Finlay’s lips twitched. “Deerfield has bigger balls than I imagined.”

  Kim made no effort to conceal her grin. The Boss was old school, in every sense of the word. Deerfield failed publicly, spectacularly, and simultaneously, in two high profile matters that embarrassed and ridiculed the bureau. He should have done the honorable thing. When he didn’t slink away with his tail between his legs, the Boss would have been furious.

>   Without question, the Boss would still be holding that grudge and looking for every opportunity to humiliate Deerfield until he resigned.

  “So what we have now, I suspect, is payback.” Finlay smiled. “By a twist of fate, both the Petrosians and the bathtub murders are active again. It’s not often we get a do-over in this business. Deerfield knows that. He doesn’t intend to let this particular crisis go to waste. No way will Cooper allow Deerfield a chance to redeem himself. Cooper wouldn’t piss on Deerfield if he was on fire, and he’d shoot the first man who tried to help.”

  Kim nodded. Everything Finlay said rang true. In every law enforcement agency, there was plenty of testosterone to go around. It was no stretch to believe that Cooper and Deerfield played together about as well as Patton and Rommel.

  Made perfect sense.

  “Tell me about the Petrosians,” she said.

  “There’s a lot to tell, and you’ll hear most of it since Gaspar’s already asking around.” He paused as if she might disavow Gaspar’s actions, but she didn’t bother.

  She nodded.

  “Modern fiction notwithstanding, there is no honor among thieves. Bottom line: Farid Petrosian approached the FBI with an offer. Deerfield accepted,” Finlay said.

  “What was the offer?” Kim replied, although she already knew it included WITSEC for Farid’s wife and kids.

  Finlay said, “Farid provided records detailing the Petrosians’ criminal enterprise, along with promised testimony, in exchange for immunity and protection for himself and his family.”

  “What kind of criminal enterprise?”

  “Are you familiar with the Family Secrets case in Chicago?”

  “Of course. Every federal agent not living under a rock is aware of that case.” Kim said. “One of the biggest and most successful FBI investigations of organized crime ever conducted. Racketeering, murder, money laundering. A long list. Indictments of fourteen defendants charged with eighteen murders and at least one attempted murder.”

  Finlay nodded. “The Petrosians aren’t anywhere near the Chicago Outfit level, but they’ve been operating long enough to build up impressive criminal résumés. If Deerfield’s office sews this one up, he’ll do the bureau and the country a service and redeem himself to just about everyone.”

  “You said ‘if’ Deerfield can make the case. He’s got an insider witness and written records. What more does he need?” Kim asked.

  “He probably doesn’t need anything else. But he wants a couple of bodies and forensics tying the murders to Samir and Tariq Petrosian, which, to mix our metaphors, would make the case a touchdown.” Finlay paused to grin again. “And Deerfield could spike the ball in Cooper’s face where everybody can see him do it, too.”

  Kim shook her head. “I can see why that might appeal to Deerfield.”

  “You’re Team Cooper, I know.” Finlay folded his hands around his knee and spoke quietly. “But can you also see the lengths to which Cooper might go to prevent Deerfield from succeeding?”

  She wanted to issue a hot denial, but she felt her face flush and her stomach start churning, so she said nothing.

  Kim must have looked a little green because Finlay turned his back and walked to the buffet table to give her a moment. “Can I bring you something? Coffee? Water?”

  “Coffee, please.” She cleared her throat. “So why hasn’t Deerfield arrested Samir and Tariq Petrosian?”

  “Deerfield’s problem is both evidence and timing.” He brought the coffee and returned to the sofa.

  “He doesn’t have the bodies and the forensics settled yet, so he can’t make a big splashy announcement in front of the whole world,” she said.

  “Exactly. He’s working on obtaining enough evidence for a search warrant,” Finlay replied.

  “Farid’s testimony and documents should be enough for a warrant to search Samir and Tariq’s homes, offices, vehicles,” Kim said. “What’s the holdup?”

  Finlay gazed directly into her eyes. “My source is impeccable and entirely off the record. Which means you and Gaspar agree not to inform Cooper directly or indirectly. Do I have your word on that?”

  Kim didn’t reply.

  “Cooper’s got plenty of resources. He may know already. But I won’t be the one to tilt the playing field in his favor. If you can’t agree to my terms, that’s fine. You’ll figure things out eventually,” Finlay said. “You want time to talk it over with Gaspar?”

  “Gaspar’s number two. I’m the lead agent. My decisions are final.” She paused. “You’re effectively asking us not to discuss a crucial piece of the case with anyone at all.”

  He nodded. “Those are my terms. Totally up to you, of course.”

  “There’s a whole team working on the Petrosian case. If Farid told Deerfield, then he’s probably told others.” She paused and then nodded agreement. “Intel doesn’t do me much good if I can’t use it for anything. If we get the information another way, we’re free to use it as we wish.”

  “That’s reasonable.” Finlay nodded. “Farid Petrosian claims that Samir and Tariq killed two members of the Petrosian gang who were skimming money. These guys were shot while the renovations were being made to the Garrison house. Farid says the bodies were dumped with the guns used to kill them. The next day, the foundation was poured on top of them, and the master suite was added to the house.”

  “So Deerfield wants a warrant for LIDAR or X-rays or something to confirm that the bodies are down there before they tear the house down.” Kim nodded. “He doesn’t want to come up empty. Especially on a five-million-dollar house.”

  “And if he’s wrong, it’s definitely a career killer this time,” Finlay said. “Cooper will make damn sure Deerfield is fired. No pension, even.”

  “Meanwhile, Deerfield has pushed the WITSEC process through the system for Farid and his family. Where is Farid now? Federal custody, I assume?” Kim asked, and Finlay shrugged, which she took as affirmative. “Samir and Tariq must be getting antsy. They don’t know where Farid is. They do know where those bodies are. Which explains why Deerfield had eyes on that house until he could get his warrant.”

  What it didn’t explain was why Brice and Deerfield failed to tell her the truth about the original surveillance. Or why Smithers wasn’t straight with her last night. She understood the need for secrecy. But they officially added her to the team, and then purposely omitted essential information needed to do the job. Which meant none of them could be trusted.

  “Deerfield is sitting on an extremely volatile situation,” Finlay said. “Or at least, he was. Until the body in the tub was discovered.”

  “So he got lucky,” Kim nodded. “At that point, they turned the crime scene over to NYPD. Now they’ve got cops and techs and media all over that place like white on rice. Samir and Tariq can’t possibly start digging up the bodies.”

  “Which solves the mystery of the victim identification delay neatly, too. Deerfield doesn’t want the victim identified too soon. While she’s a Jane Doe, she’s a lot more useful to his personal agenda, which is to screw Cooper and get the hell out of New York.” Finlay drained his coffee. “Another cup?”

  Kim stared. “You don’t believe Deerfield killed that woman and staged the copycat crime, do you? Everything else you’ve said makes sense. But that’s definitely a bridge too far.”

  “I considered it. But I don’t believe he’s completely lost his mind. In fact, I think it’s precisely the opposite. He’s being careful. Taking precautions. He doesn’t want this Petrosian thing to blow up in his face again. Not when he’s so close.” Finlay shook his head. He glanced at the sliver-thin platinum watch on his wrist.

  Kim said, “Deerfield didn’t kill her, and he didn’t stage the body. But I suspect he knows who did. This reads like an opportunity that dropped into his lap.”

  “That’s how I read it, too,” Finlay nodded. “I’ve got another meeting. You can call me if you need to, of course.”

  He was already out the door before she r
emembered she’d planned to ask about Reacher’s phone message. She’d ask him next time. She already had plenty to deal with.

  She headed downstairs.

  The crowd lined up for rides at Finlay’s hotel was longer now than when she arrived, but three doormen worked the line and Kim was soon seated and on her way. Two blocks later, traffic had slowed more than expected. Up ahead, a night crew was working on underground utilities, and traffic was detoured. Kim’s driver turned at the first opportunity and headed north around the roadblock.

  She had left her personal cell in her room to limit the Boss’s efforts to track her or listen to her conversations. The burner cells in her pocket didn’t have internet connectivity for research on the go, so she called Gaspar. After ten rings, he didn’t answer. Maybe he’d call back.

  She had nothing to discuss with anyone else at this point. All of which meant she was captive in the back of a New York City car service sedan, alone with her thoughts. Never a good thing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Sunday, January 30

  7:25 p.m.

  New York, New York

  Gaspar rubbed the back of his neck and stretched the kinks out. He’d been hunched over his secure laptop and on the phone with confidential sources since Otto had left the room. She should be finishing up with Finlay anytime now.

  He couldn’t talk with her from the room. What he’d learned was too sensitive to risk it. The Boss was definitely listening, and Deerfield probably was, too. With time, diligence, and the right equipment, both of them could isolate and listen to every spoken word. The military grade scrambler she’d installed was good, but not perfect. No technology was.

  Gaspar wouldn’t be surprised if the Petrosians had ears on, too, and perhaps a few others. Their equipment was not as sophisticated, but their determination could make up for low tech.

  Everywhere in the hotel would present the same problems, although sorting his communications from all the others might slow the amateurs down a bit.