by Alex Gates
“After speaking with Reissing tonight…watching him interact with those at his party, I’m inclined to believe London.”
Riley didn’t want to hear that. He rubbed his face, hard. “I don’t get it. You said something was happening to the girls at the rehab facility. They were getting abused there. What’s Reissing got to do with that?”
Easy. “Reissing is the one who sent them there.”
“He sends a lot of kids there.”
“And he takes a bribe for all of them.”
The tension in the room popped. Their notebooks hit the benches.
And it was the first time I ever feared talking about a case inside the police station.
“Charles Geralt is a multi-millionaire developer,” I said. “He built Grayson House twenty years ago, and Judge Reissing has been his friend for even longer. The facility is private—privately owned and operated—which means it receives money from the state per resident in the facility. The more residents they have, the more money they get.”
“Jesus, fuck,” Riley hissed. “You think Reissing is getting kickbacks for sending kids to this prison?”
It was worse than that. “Judge Reissing is a gambler—that’s well-known. His luck isn’t.”
“Bad?” Falconi asked.
“He has none,” I said. “And he’s also compulsive about the gambling. Possibly addicted. But his bank account doesn’t show it. He drives an Aston Martin. Wears custom tailored thousand dollar suits. Has two diamond rings on each hand. Christ, he’s doing big game safari hunting twice a year now. That money is coming from somewhere.”
Riley didn’t want to say it. “And you think it’s Geralt?”
I glanced to James. He nodded. At least I had his support.
“I’m convinced,” I said. “Once the girls get to the facility, they aren’t helped. The ones Reissing sends—the pretty ones—suffer from the real crime. The injustice starts with the sentence. The abuse begins inside.”
“Think Reissing knows what happens there?”
I trusted the gnawing in my gut. “I think he does.”
“And you think tonight was retaliation for asking questions?” Riley surrendered and collapsed on the bench. “That’s a pretty heavy hand for a couple fraud charges.”
“It just means there’s something bigger going on,” I said. “Whatever is happening at Grayson House is the real crime. Girls are being hurt every day there, and whoever is harming them would kill me to protect the secret.”
Falconi shrugged. “But who? Reissing? Geralt?”
Both? Neither?
Someone I hadn’t met yet?
“I’ll find out,” I said. “A little water isn’t going to stop me.”
The locker room door swung open. Adamski hustled inside. “London, James. Got some news. We found the asshole. Smashed truck was broken down on Wood Street. Bastard didn’t get too far. Bringing him in now.”
My heart surged. “Can I talk to him?”
“Absolutely not.”
Riley took the initiative. “Can I?”
Adamski apologized. “Sorry. He’s not talking till morning. That asshole is stoned out of his mind and drunk. Drooling and pissing himself. Officers had to call an ambulance. We think he hit you, panicked, shot up, and nearly OD’ed.”
“Panicked?” I counted my cuts, bruises, and indignities. “Bruce, this was deliberate. He tried to kill us.”
“Don’t go wishing enemies on yourself yet, London,” he said. “This is probably an accident.”
“He plowed into us at full speed.”
“And the officer who found him could smell the alcohol as soon as he opened the truck door. He was drunk.”
No way. Not a chance in hell that it was an accident.
“Go home,” Bruce said. “Novak, talk some sense into her. Get some sleep. Take tomorrow off. You need it.” He patted the doorframe before leaving. “I’m glad you…aren’t dead, London.”
Me too, but surviving didn’t mean the danger was gone. In fact, I feared it was only beginning.
Falconi waited for the door to close before he glanced from James to me. “What do you think?”
“It’s bullshit,” I said.
Riley attempted a rare stab at optimism. “If he was just some drunken addict, then maybe you’re still under the radar on this.”
“They know I’m close.” I rubbed my neck. The pain lingered. So did the bruises. The swelling in my knee. The cuts and scrapes. This case was going to cost me a lot more pain. “And after tonight? I’m certain they have something to hide.”
15
“I like that you demand answers.
It’s more soothing than all the screaming.”
-Him
Charles Geralt wasn’t a hard man to find in the city he was rebuilding from the ground up. But he made it impossible to schedule a meeting. Fortunately, I had my ways of getting a face-to-face.
Geralt Developers managed their daily business from a temporary headquarters across the street from the company’s newest and grandest project to date—the Progress Tower. Five hundred million dollars’ worth of American and Pittsburgh forged steel, glass, and manpower would create a sixty-story skyscraper that’d change the skyline for the first time in decades.
At least, since his company had last scored a huge project for the city.
The new casino and resort boomed business for Geralt Developers. A more suspicious person might have questioned how he’d lobbied to bring gambling to the city and miraculously won the bid to build the development, but politics worked in mysterious ways. So did his connection with Connolly, Travers, and Rowe, the same political consultants who worked their magic to elect Judge Reissing.
Power begat power.
I didn’t care how he acquired it. I wouldn’t allow him to abuse it.
The skyscraper was a boon for Geralt, a man who’d worked new developments and commercial centers across the western half of the state. From the West Virginian border to Erie, Geralt had left his mark on Pennsylvania, earning money and consolidating power from all manner of private enterprises and local and state governments.
He was a very important man. And he would talk to me.
His limo blocked traffic along Fifth Street. I approached the driver’s side, tapped the glass, and flashed my badge. A quick thumb and pat on the hood, the driver begrudgingly merged onto the street and began circling the block.
Good boy. He’d give me just enough of a delay to ensure I’d have a pleasant conversation with his boss. Geralt marched from the office, buttoned his suit, and scanned the street for his car. Within seconds, he was on his cell, irate and checking his watch. I didn’t feel the least bit of remorse for interrupting his call.
“Mr. Geralt.” I flashed a smile instead of my badge, but no doubt he remembered me from Reissing’s party. Or he did his research. The phone lowered. “You’re a hard man to pin down.”
Silvered before his time, Geralt’s sharp eyes belied the grey in his hair. His angled, thin features and striped suit framed him as leaner, smaller than his actual presence. He didn’t smile, though his lips twitched, revealing a set of narrow teeth. Small, like a rodent. Ground down or just naturally unfortunate?
“Detective McKenna.” It wasn’t a greeting, more of an annoyance. “I believe I instructed my secretary to connect you with my attorney for any questions relating to my past projects.”
“She mentioned something about an attorney…” We’d get there soon enough. “A misunderstanding. I’m here to speak with you. You don’t need legal counsel unless you’re willing to make a more formal statement.”
“Detective, while I’m sure you’re delightful entertainment, I’ve no time nor need to address any statements.”
I blocked his path to the street. “I understand. You’re a busy man, but I’m a busier woman. There are a few matters I’ve been investigating. Missing girls. Allegations of abuse.”
Geralt didn’t blink. “Then perhaps you should return to yo
ur station and continue your investigations?”
I loved this part of the chase. “That’s the great part of my job. I get to go out into the city. See the sights. Breathe the fresh air. Talk with interesting people. I can get all the information I need while standing under this beautiful spring sun.”
“Then perhaps my attorney will pack a picnic with you while he addresses your questions.”
I peeked at him, pulling my sunglasses down my nose, eyebrow rising. “Why don’t you give it a shot yourself? You’re a smart man. I’m sure you can handle it. I’m just looking for a little direction.”
“I’ve made myself clear, Detective. I will not answer questions.” His words twisted. “A shame, really. My associates all speak highly of you. I’d hate to burden your superior officers with any allegations of harassment.”
A man like him collected friends like favors and cashed them in readily and often. If I pressed him too hard, I had no doubt he’d squeal like a little girl with tugged pigtails.
A creep like him probably liked it too.
“Actually, I would like to talk about your associates,” I said.
“Read the society section.”
No doubt. But his friends weren’t just the rich and connected. He’d weaseled his way into the confidence of judges and city council members, the EPA and state regulatory boards. All bought and paid for by CTR, of course.
“You’re good friends with Edgar Reissing, aren’t you?”
He chuckled, checking his phone for the time. “I hardly see what business it is of yours.”
“The company a gentleman keeps defines the man.”
“And I am to be investigated for a friendship?”
“Your association relates to the case I’m working. It involves both Judge Reissing and a property you developed, though you probably know all about it. The abandoned baby found in the Giant Eagle bathroom?”
Geralt’s voice dried. “I can assure you—my company didn’t develop that particular retail outlet.”
“As it turns out, the child’s mother was a resident at Grayson House—your pet project? Quite the charitable effort from someone with such lofty projects at his disposal.” I gestured to the construction site barred from the public with chain-linked fence and plastic tarps. “At first, I couldn’t imagine a juvenile facility would be that profitable for a company like yours. But the state offers money for every child placed into the facility. Who would’ve thought—those kids are worth a decent chunk of change.”
“If you wish to inquire about the development, you can speak with my attorney. If you’re curious about the financials, my accountant would be more than happy to explain the publicly available tax records and records we are legally required to file with the state.”
“I don’t need the accountant. I get how it works. You need residents to cash in on money from the state, and you found a way to ensure Grayson House is always filled to a maximum capacity.”
“I am not responsible for the addictions of the city’s youth, Detective.”
“You simply profit from them.”
“Grayson House is an award-winning institution with one of the highest permanent recovery rates in the country.” His jaw tightened. Irritated…or proud? “And that’s my only comment.”
“I haven’t asked my questions yet.”
“And you won’t.” Geralt pocketed his phone as the limo rounded the intersection. “You’re a smart girl. You know better than to waste your blood, sweat, and tears on this investigation.”
Oh, a good threat always got me excited. “Why is that?”
“Because there’s nothing to find. Nothing that will ever prove any sort of wrongdoing.”
“You’ve never seen me work,” I said.
“And if you continue this unreasonable harassment, I can guarantee you won’t be working for long.”
“I’m willing to take that chance.”
He smiled. “Yes, I’ve heard that you’re reckless.”
Not a word I liked. “Reckless?”
“Didn’t you have some severe car problems the other night?” He tisked his tongue. “You must be more careful around the rivers. You’re lucky to have survived.”
The chill washed over me, like I’d been dunked in the Mon all over again. “Just a little splash. Nothing serious.”
“A blessing then. You’ve chosen a dangerous profession, Detective. It’s as admirable as it is foolish.”
“The job isn’t dangerous,” I said. “Neither are people, once you learn how to stop them.”
“I wouldn’t sound so arrogant, Detective. You never know what could happen on these streets to such a lovely, tiny woman.”
He didn’t scare me. “I’ve learned how to take care of myself.”
“And I hope you never need to utilize those skills.” He offered me one last glance as his driver parked the limo and opened the door for him. “Any further communications regarding Grayson House will be addressed to my lawyer, though I’d strongly advise you reconsider this investigation.”
I was just getting started. “I will be protecting the girls at that facility.”
“Then I’ll make it my goal as well.” The ice in his voice sliced through my skin. “Perhaps soon…there will be no girls at Grayson House in need of such protection.”
His words sickened me.
No girls in need of protection…or no girls left to protect?
The limo pulled away, and Geralt’s warning lingered in my head.
I had to work fast. Careful and quietly. If I wanted justice, I’d have to build an impenetrable case, filled with enough evidence and testimony that the DA would have no choice but to immediately shut down the entire operation.
But I needed a witness. Someone who would trust me enough to tell the truth about the abuses in Grayson House.
I needed to find Hannah.
Wherever she was.
I jogged across the street, grateful for the mid-afternoon sun to warm the parts of me still shivering from the dip in the river. A week had passed. The nightmares had not. I’d convinced James to take the flight to DC for a meeting, but I’d slept like hell without him.
At least the bastard who hit us had a lousier time in jail—especially working through the hangover and withdrawal. The cocktail of drugs in his system and a blood alcohol test of 1.4% meant he remembered jack shit about the crash. Must have fallen asleep at the wheel.
At forty miles an hour.
In a parking lot.
While ramming another car off the wharf and into the river.
Attempted homicide made me forgetful too.
I crossed the street, heading to my car parked two blocks away. My steps slowed as the hair on my neck rose. Paranoia was the better part of self-preservation, and I’d learned long ago to trust that uncertainty.
Someone was watching me.
But mid-day, mid-week in the city filled the sidewalks with enough office workers, students, and other pedestrians to make it impossible to locate the source of my unease.
My assigned vehicle happened to be the station’s only ruby-red Crown Vic. It might have been a joke at first, but I didn’t mind the car now. Less conspicuous than the blindingly white unmarked cars that instantly puckered assholes when driven to a scene.
Problem was, it looked like a regular car…with a ticket under the windshield wiper.
“Oh, come on.”
I yanked the insultingly yellow envelope from under my windshield. I didn’t have the time for a ride to the parking authority to bitch at some officer who ticketed a perfectly valid parking job.
But the ticket stuck inside the envelope. I ripped the top, tugging at the paper inside.
My chest tightened and hands trembled as I slid the photograph from the envelope. I unfolded the message.
My stomach heaved.
They’d taken a photograph of James.
Printed from a computer? Probably, but the camera had been good. Telescopic even. No way they stood this close and s
napped a photo without him noticing.
I studied the image. James stood at an outside café, tossing a couple dollars into a jar for the baristas. It wasn’t a Pittsburgh location. DC? It had to be Washington. His suit was buttoned, sunglasses on. In the background, a black SUV parked on the corner.
Jesus, someone had taken a picture of him working.
Worse…the bluish green bruise marred his forehead. The picture was recent. Snapped within the past day.
Or hour.
This wasn’t happening. I fumbled for my cell, heart straining with every passing moment he didn’t answer. It took a second redial before he took the call.
“Hey.” His voice lowered, quiet. In the office? “London, you okay?”
“What are you wearing?”
His chuckle would have normally made me smile. “I like these games, but it’s the middle of the afternoon.”
“Answer me, James. What colors?”
“I’m in black.”
“Your tie.”
“Red.”
Shit.
I crumpled the picture in my fist and slid into the car. The lock didn’t reassure me. Was this their game? Threaten my boyfriend if I got too close to the case?
“London, talk to me. What happened?”
I swallowed. My throat was too dry. “I found Charles Geralt.”
“And?”
“You can guess how helpful he was.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
My keys indented in my hand, squeezed tight over the ring. I hesitated before tucking them into the ignition. Who knew what these people would do to keep their secret, but a bomb was the least of my worries.
They were after James.
“Someone left a photograph for me on my car,” I said. “James, you’re being followed.”
His silence ached my chest. I clutched the phone, sweat prickling my neck. His voice lowered, somber and sharp.
“I know.”
16
“Sometimes, even the innocent die.”
-Him
No good news ever came after midnight.
My cell rumbled against the nightstand. I fumbled for it, heart already racing.
