“Not exactly a wild party,” Bull Neck whispered.
Glass Eye shone the light into the hallway. It looked like expensive pieces of art were hanging on the walls; they certainly weren’t prints. The staircase led off the hallway, just in front of the front door. A car passed by on the road outside, and Glass Eye killed the flashlight.
“I’ll leave this off,” he said.
They waited for their eyes to adjust to the dark before slowly making their way up the stairs. As Bull Neck climbed the steps, the wooden boards creaked underneath his weight. Glass Eye shook his head and gave him a look as if to say, “Keep the fucking noise down.”
They stood on the landing for a few seconds. A man was snoring in the bedroom at the end of the corridor. Glass Eye pointed toward the bedroom door and then watched Bull Neck take a pistol from the inside pocket of his leather jacket before taking out his own.
The snoring stopped, and the two men stared at each other, relaxing only when the noise started up again.
“Okay?” Glass Eye asked, reaching for the door handle. He waited for Bull Neck to nod.
Suddenly, a light went on inside the bedroom. The men could see the white strip under the door. Then they heard a woman’s voice.
“Let’s go,” Glass Eye said, bursting into the room.
Amanda Etling screamed.
Her husband bolted upright then started to reach for his bedside cabinet.
Bull Neck let a round off, blowing Brian’s head open and scattering blood and brain tissue against the back of the bed.
Amanda placed her hands in front of her face, shrieking.
Glass Eye shot two rounds through the back of her hands, penetrating her skull, her head cracking as it hit hard against the wooden bed frame.
Pointing to the watch and pocketbook on the bedside cabinet next to Brian’s body, Glass Eye said, “Grab those.” Meanwhile, he scooped up the diamond earrings next to Amanda’s side of the bed then pulled the two rings off her left hand. “That’s enough. Let’s go.”
Within minutes, the men were in the Mercedes and heading back toward I-495.
Chapter 54
GRANNIS HEDGE FUND’S WEST COAST TEAM occupied a small part of the forty-fifth floor of 555 California Street in San Francisco’s financial district. The building, once known as the Bank of America Center, was home to some of the country’s most prestigious fund managers, investment bankers, and management consultants. Although he’d blanched at the exorbitant rent when he’d committed to the space six years ago, it massaged Rondell’s ego to know he was rubbing shoulders with some of the nation’s financial and intellectual elite. He had plans to move into similar upscale surroundings in back New York once the current lease at Cedar Street had expired, but that was another three years away. While business was good and he could have afforded to break the lease if he wanted, wasting money, particularly his own, was low on his list of priorities.
The cab had a handwritten, white sign on the dashboard—GRANNIS—and was waiting for him at the foot of the concrete steps outside the office tower. Rondell gave the driver details of the restaurant where he was meeting his host—another sucker he was about to blackmail into feeding him secret information on corporate deals—and then sat back and watched the lights of the city as night fell. It had been a good session with his team this afternoon. Their results were ahead of plan and, more importantly, ahead of what he’d promised Anthony Liquorish.
Rondell’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket, alerting him to a new text message. He took it out and read it: Both matters dealt with. Need anything else?
Rather than trying to text a reply in the back of a moving vehicle, he hit one of his speed dials. “I thought it was quicker to speak,” Rondell said when the phone was answered. “But I haven’t got long before I meet our new friend for dinner.”
“Do you think he has any idea what you’re about to hit him with?” Glass Eye’s breathing was loud and heavy.
“No. He thinks I’m a potential new client. I told him we’re thinking of moving all of our work. Laid it on real thick.”
Glass Eye snorted. “Make sure you enjoy a good dinner on him first.”
“I will. He’s taking me somewhere expensive.”
“Don’t they all?” Glass Eye gave another smoker’s cough. “The photos print out okay at your end?”
“Crystal clear. I have them in my briefcase, but I don’t expect him to show too much of a reaction in a crowded restaurant.”
“Maybe show him the one where he’s wearing the fake cuffs first. That’s still my favorite.”
“The one with the redhead?”
“Not that you can tell from that angle, but he’ll get the message.”
“I’m sure he will.” Rondell watched the driver to make sure he wasn’t listening to his conversation, even though he was careful not to be specific about anything he said. “Any problems I ought to know about on the subject of your text?”
“None. Both went as planned. Long Island was a little messy.” Another phlegm-filled cough.
“I can live with that. What about our friend from Federal Plaza? Did you learn anything?”
“Enough to confirm that you were right to be suspicious.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I was going to brief you when you return. There’s a lot to tell you.”
“Give me the headlines now.” Rondell glanced out of the window to check where he was. “I still have a bit of time.”
“Turns out the guy we had words with was taken off the job weeks ago. Right after we paid him a home visit.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I think so. The head man over there is still sniffing around, convinced something’s going on. Apparently, he’s heading up the thing himself now and won’t let it drop.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Yep. Got all the details for you here.”
“Anything else?”
“Looks like you were right about Mr. H, too.”
“Our old friend from Chicago?”
“Right.”
“He’s done more than visit a Jersey tattoo shop recently.”
“What did I tell you?”
“Your instincts were spot on. He’s been in and out of Federal Plaza. The slimy bastard’s working closely with the new guy, setting something up.”
“Anything you can tell me now?”
“We didn’t get that much. My guess is it’s related to that deal he had for you. The one you said he oversold.”
“I knew it. Hold on.” Rondell stepped out of the cab when it pulled up outside the restaurant. He threw the driver twenty bucks and wandered down the street to finish his call. “Sounds like a set-up,” he said, his voice barely disguising his irritation.
“We tried to find out, but it turns out the kid didn’t know any of the details. As I said, he was no longer working on it, so he only had half the picture.”
“Make sure no one trades on that deal. I mean no one.”
“Already taken care of. I put a hold on everything until I could brief you.”
“Good. What do we know about the man who’s taken over?”
“You’ll recognize the name when we give it to you.”
“But did you learn anything about him that can help us?”
“Oh yeah, plenty. I have some of the guys working on that now. I have a couple of ideas I’d like to run by you when you’re back.”
An energetic young man in his early thirties walked past Rondell. He was wearing a sharp, navy blue suit and carrying a leather attaché case.
Rondell smiled at him and mouthed, “I’ll see you inside.”
The man waved and walked into the restaurant.
“Listen, he just arrived. I have to go. I want you to concentrate on this new guy. We need something fast. We can’t have him fucking this up.”
“What about Mr. H?”
“Leave him to me.”
“You don’t need me to do anything more to step up the
pressure on him?”
“No. Long Island should be enough of a lesson for now. I’ll handle things with him.”
“You seem remarkably calm about it.”
“Don’t worry. I have plenty of ideas for him—when the time is right.”
Rondell terminated the call then stood outside the restaurant, staring into space. He wanted to wring Danny Boy’s neck. When he was no longer useful, he’d take great pleasure in doing exactly that. But, right now, he needed the scheming little shit alive, at least until he’d found others capable of generating equally good deals for the fund. The woman from Corton Zander wasn’t enough, by a long way. While her murder would serve as a first lesson, next time, it would be one of his daughters.
You’re lucky to be alive, Danny Boy.
Chapter 55
CAROLINE AND MICHAEL SHARED A PAPA GINO’S vegetarian special thin crust pizza while the girls had pepperoni on thick crust. As usual, their daughters struggled to get through half their meals, having insisted on their own individual pizzas, rather than sharing. When the waitress took the remaining food away, promising the girls she’d have them boxed up for later, Michael looked around the busy restaurant. His mind turned to the last time he’d been here, right after Rondell’s men had first confronted him at the community college. Even though it had been less than six months since that fateful meeting, it seemed like a lifetime away.
“You look like you’re in a world of your own,” Caroline said, picking up the check from the table. “Shall I put this on my card?”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I was thinking about work.”
“I can’t believe you’ve managed to get home so early these last two weeks. And no work this weekend, either. What’s wrong with you?”
The truth was, since Jenks had taken him off all client work while he assisted the FBI with their investigation, there had been very little to do. Rather than sit around the office, having to deal with the suspicious looks and awkward questions from his colleagues, over the last two weeks, Michael had left the office around five most evenings.
“I’m sure this is just the calm before the next storm. It won’t be long before things get hectic again.”
“I’m not complaining. It’s been lovely to have you home at a decent time for a change. You should do it more often.”
When they arrived home, the phone was ringing. Caroline ran to answer it while Michael carried in the girls’ boxed-up pizzas. He knew they’d never eat them; they never did. All the same, he made sure they were put away in the refrigerator, just in case. It was one thing for the girls to decide they no longer wanted them, but quite another for him to throw them away without permission. In the background, he could hear Caroline talking to someone on the phone in the study. Her mother would often call at this time of day, but it didn’t sound like she was talking to her, as Caroline’s tone seemed a little stilted.
Moments later, she came into the kitchen with a confused look on her face. “Michael, it’s Art Jenks on the phone. He’d like a quick word with you.” She pointed to the phone on the kitchen wall.
Michael feigned surprise. He’d been wondering when he’d hear from the Dudek’s senior partner. Part of the agreement he’d struck with Caravini was that Caravini was supposed to contact Jenks and assure him both Michael and Towers were completely innocent and had nothing to do with the leaking of client information outside the firm. Caravini must have made that call. Why else would Jenks be calling him at home?
“I’ll take it in the study,” he said, walking out of the kitchen.
He closed the study door and picked up the handset. “Art, how are you?”
“Michael, I owe you a huge apology,” Jenks said in a slow, somber tone. “I heard from Caravini on Friday evening. He made it absolutely clear that Towers had nothing to do with their investigation. I’ve just come off the phone with him, and he starts back tomorrow morning. For a young man and all he’s been put through, he was immensely gracious. I think he’ll go far.”
“I never doubted him. I tried to tell you he’s one of the good guys.”
“I know. You made that very clear from the start, and you were right. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” Jenks paused. “I’m sorry, too, that we pulled you off your client work. That wasn’t right, and I understand how it would have looked to your team and the other partners. We got that completely wrong. You deserved better than that from the firm. I just hope you can forgive me and put it behind us.”
“You had to take the FBI’s investigation seriously. I get that. While it’s been an uncomfortable couple of weeks, for what it’s worth, if I’d been in your shoes, I’d have probably done the same thing. The firm has to come first.”
“Thank you for taking it so well. I should never have doubted you or Towers. You’re one of our stars, Michael. One day, I can see you taking on my role. I mean that.”
“I’m flattered. For now, I’d settle for getting back to my clients.”
“Starting tomorrow, that’s exactly what you’ll have.”
“I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll have a quiet word with Glen first thing, just to make sure he’s okay.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate that. Thanks for making this call much easier than it might have been.”
After Michael finished the conversation, he joined Caroline in the lounge while the girls were upstairs, changing into their pajamas.
She had a quizzical look on her face. “What’s Art calling you for on a Sunday evening?”
“It was work related. Just something he had to cover before I get to the office tomorrow. I told you the quiet spell wouldn’t last.”
“He said he was sorry for having put us through all this. I just laughed, but I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. What did he mean?”
Michael thought for a moment. What could he say? For obvious reasons, he’d not told Caroline anything about the FBI investigation, and she certainly knew nothing about his suspension from all client work.
“I don’t know. I can only assume he must feel guilty about the workload I’ve had to carry since making equity partner. He knows how tough that can be for the families.”
Caroline frowned. “It didn’t sound like that’s what he was getting at.”
Michael shrugged. “I’m going to go check on the girls,” he said, leaving the room before he had to field any more difficult questions.
The following morning, Michael arrived earlier than usual at his office. There was a lot of client work to catch up on; two weeks could be a long time on an M&A transaction. He had to see where each deal was up to before he could speak to his clients later in the day to assure them he was over his recent “illness” and was now back in charge of their assignments. The first person he’d speak to when making those calls would be Etling. What must she have been thinking?
When Michael heard Towers’s voice in the open-plan area outside his office, he asked if he could have a quick word with him in private. Towers skulked into the room, failing to make eye contact when he took a seat across Michael’s desk. He looked as if he was expecting a bollocking.
“I want you to know there are no hard feelings about any of this,” Michael said. “You did the right thing telling the FBI everything you knew.”
Towers shook his head. “I kept telling them you’d never have anything to do with leaking client information, but they just wouldn’t listen. Then they started threatening me, telling me how they were going to throw the book at me. They weren’t interested that I’d done nothing wrong.”
“I know that, Glen. They tried applying the same pressure on me.”
“The last thing I wanted was to point the finger at you.”
“You had to tell the truth. The fact is I asked you to research Grannis as a potential new client. Neither of us knew he was a crook until you discovered the rumors as part of your research. And it was a good thing you picked it up, too. God knows what might have happened if we’d taken him on as a client. Th
ings could have been much worse.”
“I’m sorry it looked like I was dropping you in it.”
“You didn’t. I’d have acted the same way if our roles were reversed.”
There was a knock on the door, and Steve Bradford was standing in the doorway. He looked serious.
“I’m sorry to butt in like this,” he said. “Have you heard the news about Amanda Etling?”
Michael frowned. “No. What news?”
“She’s dead. She and her husband were killed on Friday night at their weekend home in the Hamptons.”
Michael looked at Towers, whose jaw was wide open, and then back at Bradford. “Oh my God!”
Chapter 56
ONE WEEK AFTER CROUTEN’S MURDER, police divers pulled his bloated corpse out of the East River. There was nothing on the body to suggest who it was, but it took only a day to make the identity. The fingerprints came up on the database as a match with Crouten’s FBI’s staff records.
Caravini had to see the body before he could believe the news. While he’d reported Crouten as missing a couple of days earlier, he struggled to comprehend that he was actually dead.
“Looks like a professional job,” said the senior police officer accompanying Caravini into the viewing room at the police morgue.
Crouten’s body was lying on a gurney, covered by a white sheet from the waist down. Caravini kept staring at the bullet entry wound at the top of Crouten’s forehead, just below his hairline. His nose looked broken, too.
“Any idea where it happened?” Caravini asked without taking his eyes off Crouten.
“Not yet. They think he was in the water for about a week. He could have traveled miles in that time.”
“I guess there are no clues as to who did it?”
“There’s no evidence on the body, but we’ve yet to finish up. Is there anything you can tell us that might help? Could this be related to his work in some way?”
Once a Killer Page 27
