GRAVE WALKER: A gripping noir thriller (Thomas Blume series of Hard-Boiled Mysteries)

by PT Reade

  During my time as a New York cop, I’d been inside Rikers at least twenty times. However, I’d never had reason to visit the maximum security wing before today. Entering through the heavy mechanical doors just after 4:00 in the afternoon, I sensed the tension in the air. The melancholy gray walls and sterile hallways offered no cheer, and the hum of air conditioning buzzed angrily in the air. A serious-looking guard with a crew cut led the way as we wound our way through the labyrinthine hallways.

  I didn’t believe in vibes or auras, but there was so much anger and pain in the prison that it almost seeped from the walls. Even as a former cop, I felt uncomfortable being surrounded by this many killers, rapists, and unstable criminals.

  I wondered how many I had personally sent to this place…and if any would recognize me.

  Eventually, I was escorted into a small room with a single booth. The booth was separated on both sides by a pane of glass. I took a seat on the side closest to me, staring through at the man shackled on the other side; Victor Lem. The guard who had escorted me remained silent, standing at the back of the room. Apparently they didn’t trust Victor…or me.

  Lem looked every inch like the man I had seen in the photos earlier in the day. He was a little more disheveled and looked to have aged about five years rather than the two he’d spent in prison. Still, there was a hard edge to him, particularly in his eyes, which shined with intensity. When he looked at me, I felt like the glass between us was nothing—that, if he had wanted to, Victor Lem could disintegrate that barrier with a stare. He had the look of a hardened man who had lived a life of violence and death.

  I wondered if I carried the same look.

  Victor sat upright in his chair and stared at me as if I were some large insect that was irritating him. “Who the hell are you?” he finally asked with a thick accent through the microphone built into the glass. The old country was still clearly in his veins.

  “Thomas Blume. I’m working with the NYPD.”

  “How exciting,” Victor replied sarcastically. “I must say though…I haven’t seen anyone like you in a long time.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because most men have the common sense not to waste my time.” Victor fixed me with a gaze that could have melted steel. Even here, locked away, he was an intimidating figure. A deadly threat wrapped in an old man’s body.

  “Look, I don’t want to be here either,” I said. Then, stretching the truth even further, I added, “I know who you are. I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t come to you if there were another option.”

  This mild flattery seemed to do the trick. While it was clear that he was not impressed with me, I saw a flicker of intrigue in his face as he leaned closer to the glass. “What can I do for you, Mr. Blume?”

  “Dead body that looks like a suicide but I’m almost certain it was not. The victim is someone that used to be close to me. I tracked down a doctor in the hopes of getting some information. Are you familiar with Dr. Whitehouse?”

  Victor rolled his eyes. “Yes. A talented but jumpy old fucker. Idiot is scared of his own shadow. What’s he done now?”

  “Not much,” I said. “If anything, you can be relieved. He took a swan dive from a ten-story roof.”

  “I see,” Victor said, casually.

  “But before he died, he mentioned a group of Russians. He was terrified of these people. And when you connect the dots, there’s really only one family in New York he could have been talking about.”

  “Mr. Blume, you’re wasting my time. Yours, too. I am out of the family business.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m really supposed to believe that?”

  “Believe what you want,” Victor said. “But if you really want to ask my family for help, you need to speak with my son.”

  “Yes, I know. Mikhail. Only, no one seems to know where he is. And no offense to your son, but I’m not really interested in him.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Care to elaborate?” I asked.

  Victor gave me a perplexed look. He hadn’t figured out how to take me just yet. He seemed a little less annoyed now—just a bit more interested. “If you must know, he has ruined the family business. He is a foolish little boy who lost sight of what is important. The little prick spits in the face of tradition, of what my family built.”

  “What tradition?”

  “When my grandfather Dimitri came to this country he had nothing, but he saw America as the land of opportunity. Instead he was humiliated and degraded. The Americans would give him nothing, no job, no chance. Not for a dirty Slav. But my grandfather was a good man, he struggled and fought every day to provide for his family. That was until the incident with Elena.”

  “Go on,” I said, sensing Victor was reveling in a chance to justify his choices.

  “One day my grandmother, Elena, was attacked by a group of local thugs. They beat her… and raped her. Dima was distraught. He asked the police to help, but they would not act. They didn’t care, not for a foreigner. Again they would give my grandfather nothing, so eventually he took it himself. He met the men, and…some say he killed them, others that he merely made sure they could never rape again. Either way he became a local hero, and people began to turn to him for help. He realized that day that this country will give you nothing unless you are prepared to take it.”

  “The family legacy, huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And your son isn’t interested?”

  “Mikhail is more interested in building his business. In stocks and shares and all that bullshit. He ignores the sacrifices generations of our family have made.”

  “Does legitimacy bother you?” I asked, a bit sarcastically.

  “It does when there are rules and regulations enforced by a government that cares nothing for its people, but only about enlarging their pockets and looking out for the best interests of an elite one percent.”

  “Well, rest assured, I don’t care about your son. It’s a man named Walker than I’m more interested in.”

  For the first time since taking a seat behind the glass, Victor looked slightly uneasy.

  “I take it you know the man,” I said.

  Victor fixed me with a glare. It was not a look that I enjoyed being on the other end of.

  “And what do you want to know about Walker?”

  “He works for you, right?”

  Victor seemed to think about this for a moment before nodding. “You’re treading on very thin ice, Mr. Blume.”

  I wasn’t used to feeling pressured by such threats, but there was something in Victor’s eyes and tone of voice that made me quite certain that this was more than just a typical empty threat.

  “So you’re saying he wouldn’t be an easy man to get a meeting with?”

  “What I’m saying,” Victor said with some dark humor, “is that I would not advise you to seek out such a meeting. However…I can work a deal for you.”

  “Victor, you’re in prison. Why would I take any deal you offer?”

  “Because,” Victor said, nodding to the guard behind me. “Even in here, you are given nothing…you must take it.”

  Before I could react, I felt my right arm wrenched behind me and a strong hand grab the back of my hair. My head was slammed onto the counter in front of me, and only the fact that I turned my face stopped me from getting a broken nose.

  The guard pinned me down with his full body weight. I felt his hot breath against my neck. For a moment, I was shocked at the sudden betrayal, but then I realized. Victor must have this guard in his pocket.

  And how many more?

  The Russian sneered at me through the glass and leaned back. “So Mr. Blume, we will come to an agreement, or our conversation is over, yes?”

  I struggled against the guard, but working in one of the world’s toughest prisons, he knew how to restrain someone. I considered capitulating, giving up, and pleading pity with Victor, hoping for some information, but I knew that was the wrong move. Victor
was old school, and old school mob bosses only respected two things; strength and violence...

  My upper body was held in place so I only had one play.

  I suddenly jumped to my feet, kicking the chair back hard into the groin of the guard. He huffed as air left his lungs and pain overwhelmed his body. Using the sudden distraction, I pivoted on one foot. The guard’s grip tore a few hairs free from the back of my head, but I ignored the pain and continued to turn. Reaching out, I grabbed the guard’s free wrist, in the process freeing my own, and I slammed a palm into his shoulder. The sudden reversal hammered his body down and smashed his face into the counter top. Unfortunately the guard didn’t have time to turn his head and a sickening crunch sounded as his nose cracked.

  The entire process took only a couple of seconds, but now the roles were reversed. I stood behind the guard, pinning his arm in a lock and holding his head down against the counter where a trickle of blood ran from his nose.

  My pulse thudded and my chest heaved. The guard grunted in pain and frustration, but he’d be fine—if a little sore tomorrow.

  A small smile crept across Victor’s lips and bloomed into a laugh. He clapped out loud, clearly entertained by the spectacle through the glass.

  “Very impressive, Mr. Blume. Very Impressive. I could use a man with your talents.”

  “No doubt,” I said.

  Victor continued. “I’ll tell you what, Blume, if you can find out where Mikhail is currently hiding and get me a list of the people he is working with, I can send a message to Walker. I can set up a meet with Walker and get what you need.”

  “And you could do it?” I asked. “Even from prison, you could work such a deal?”

  “I have more power in this prison than the warden does,” he said. “The only difference is that he goes home to sleep with his wife, while I sleep in a cell. Now…about my deal.”

  “Your deal,” I said, “is a very enticing one. But I’d be just as foolish as your son if I took it. What we can do is you can tell me where to find Walker, and I can pass on how cooperative you were to the prison board. Maybe it will shave some time off of your sentence.”

  “No deal,” Victor said right away. “I really think you should take my deal, Mr. Blume.”

  “I think I’ll pass,” I said, angry at the betrayal. “You can keep your deal and snuggle up with it on these long lonely nights in prison.”

  I released the guard who slumped to the floor, clutching his wrist. I started to walk away and got only three steps before I heard Victor call out from behind me. “Blume? Watch your back out there.”

  With that, Victor smiled at me and got up from his chair. I tuned back towards the door, wondering if I should have taken the deal and if I would live long enough to regret my decision.

  SEVENTEEN

  After a brief stop to explain why I had broken the nose of one of the most respected prison guards, I headed back to my car.

  With no real leads to run and an uncooperative Victor Lem, the only other place I had to go to was Zoe, Darcey’s sister. Maybe sober she would be more helpful. I called the number she had given me when we’d met at the apartment. Zoe was quiet and distant on the phone. She asked if I would be willing to meet her at a location across town. It was an unusual place I’d never visited before, but I agreed anyway. I was running out of time and options.

  The drive took about thirty minutes due to traffic and allowed me to realize why Zoe had likely wanted to meet where she did. If memory served correctly (and it usually did when I wasn’t drinking), Zoe and Darcey had lost their parents at an early age. The parents had been wealthy and had left the girls a significant sum of money, but instead of uniting them, the money seemed to cause a rift.

  As the famous Calvary Cemetery crested the horizon, I was struck by the sheer scale of the place. Tombstones stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see, rolling over green hills and neatly manicured lawns.

  Thousands of lives I would never know and stories I would never hear.

  It seemed sad but at the same time fitting that so many iconic New Yorkers were laid to rest here, across the river, under the eternally watchful eye of the Manhattan skyline.

  I wondered if Zoe’s parents had been buried at this location and if it would be Darcey’s final resting place too.

  Both of these questions were answered when I eventually found Zoe standing in the center of two gravesites. I saw the names before Zoe was aware I was approaching: Frances Holland and Robert Holland. One site over, a section of land had been roped off for an upcoming burial…Darcey’s, I assumed.

  “Zoe,” I said softly, a little uncomfortable with breaking up her peculiar form of mourning.

  She turned to me, and I could see from her red-rimmed eyes that she’d been crying again. Her hair was in slight disarray, and if she was wearing make-up, it was either very light or had been mostly washed away by her weeping. I’d never seen Zoe quite like this, and it made me picture her in a whole new light. She seemed more like her late sister as she stood framed by the cemetery, stretching behind her into the horizon.

  “Thanks for meeting me here,” she said. “I know it might seem a little weird, but…well, I never really mourned my parents. I felt like I needed to get that right before I could properly mourn Darcey.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I guess a place like this makes us all reflect on life.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Being in the presence of all of these memories…all of these dead people. It makes us value life a little more.”

  What I didn’t add was that it then occurred to me that I had spent most of my life in places like this, wandering through the graves, surrounded by uncertainty and death at every turn.

  Maybe it was time for me to try and build a future…instead of trying to rebuild my past.

  “Are you a live-in-the-moment sort of guy?” Zoe asked.

  “It depends,” I said. “For major life decisions, not so much. But on the job I have to be. Sometimes it’s just ‘take a deep breath and get on with it,’ and there isn’t much of a moment to live in.”

  “I think that would be nice,” Zoe said with uncharacteristic softness. “I’ve always lied to myself and said I do, but I don’t. I take life for granted. Sadly, it took my sister dying to see that. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been stupid about a lot of things and…”

  She trailed off here, close to tears. I had no idea what to say. I’d experienced enough death and grief to last a lifetime, but it never got any easier. Sometimes there were just no words.

  Instead I simply placed a hand on her shoulder, and she reached up and squeezed it.

  “Zoe,” I said. “I know it might be hard, and I hate to do it at a time like this, but I was wondering if I could ask you some questions. You may not be able to answer them, but I don’t know where else to go.”

  “Questions about Darcey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s fine,” she sniffed, holding back tears. I noticed that she glanced to the spot where her sister would soon be buried as she agreed to help.

  “I checked into some people,” I said. “And that led to some research, which revealed a few more names. I feel like I’m going in circles. So…did you ever hear her mention a guy named Walker?”

  She thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. “Not that I can remember. I think I did pack up one of Darcey’s address books when I was over the other day, though. I can let you have it if you think it would help.”

  “That would be great,” I said. “How about a guy named Lem? Victor or Mikhail - Mickey. That sound familiar?”

  Zoe considered it. I almost thought I saw a look of recognition go across her face, but as soon as it was there, it was gone again. She shook her head. “Sorry…no. Or, at least if she did, I don’t remember it. Honestly, Darce’ and I didn’t really talk a lot.”

  I had more questions, but the words froze on my tongue when something moved in the corner of my vision.


  Two dark shapes off to the right.

  They were about thirty feet away, almost out of sight. I caught them just in my peripheral vision, and if it had not been for the strange behavior of the one closest to me, I would have thought nothing of it.

  They were looking right at us and approaching us at an angle.

  A tactical angle.

  When the one closest to me noticed that I had seen them, he looked away quickly and his pace slowed considerably. The man’s hand started to go to his hip, as if driven by instinct.

  Shit.

  I instantly went into survival mode as a paralyzing thought went through my head.

  Someone followed me straight from the prison. Clearly Victor didn’t waste any time.

  I took a moment to scan the two men before acting. They were dressed in street clothes. One of them wore a plain gray tee shirt, and the other wore a khaki sports jacket with jeans.

  It was far too warm to wear a jacket in this weather…unless you are hiding something, I realized.

  Sure enough, he went reaching under his arm when he noticed I had spotted them.

  In that moment, the two approaching men decided to go for broke. The man in the gray shirt went to a knee while the man in the sports coat pulled out one of the largest handguns I had ever seen.

  I grabbed Zoe and threw her to the ground. She cried out in surprise, but it was nearly obliterated by the booming noise of the handgun. Over our heads, the top corner of Robert Holland’s grave marker exploded into chunks of concrete and powder.

  “Jesus!” Zoe screamed as I drew my own gun.

  Two more shots, this time from a different pistol, pinged off the ground nearby.

  I peered around the tombstone and saw both men taking defensive positions behind grave markers. I fired a shot at the one in the jacket as he dove behind a small statue of a cherubim but I just missed. Then, from the right, the other man fired off a shot that hit the ground about three inches in front of me.