by David Wind
Traffic was thick and it took the cab fifteen minutes to go the thirty odd blocks where I found Sonny Marks waiting in a booth. The place was lunch-hour busy and had a long line waiting at the take-out counter. I bypassed them and slid into the red vinyl cushioned seat across from the Detective Sergeant. “Afternoon, Sonny.”
He looked up with bloodshot eyes. “You wanted to talk?”
“You order yet?”
He shook his head. I grabbed a menu, looked it over and tossed it aside. I could have recited its contents by heart. The menu hadn’t changed in ten years.
The waiter showed up a half-minute later. “Gentlemen?”
Marks ordered a chicken salad sandwich and coffee. I ordered a hamburger and an iced tea. When the waiter left, Marks gave out with a grunt. “Can’t eat meat anymore. The doc says my cholesterol is terminal.”
“Sorry ‘bout that. No pills?”
“Can’t take ‘em, they react with my liver, so no more meat.”
“It could be worse.”
“So give.” He had hazel street-smart eyes that could turn dangerous in a heartbeat, look right through a perp and make him want to give up whatever he knew. Sonny Marks was a cop through and through, not a bad guy, just not an easy person to get to know. We’ve had our run-ins over the years, and while we weren’t bosom buddies, we played things straight.
“From what I’ve learned, we’ve all been looking in the wrong direction.” I gave him some information, finishing it up just as the food came.
I pulled the bun off the burger and spread some ketchup on it, all too aware of the way Marks’ eyes shifted between his chicken salad sandwich and my food.
“Shit,” he muttered and took a chunk out of his. “You’re telling me someone had Granger hit because he was onto them taking kids?”
I took a bite of the burger before answering. “I don’t know if that’s the way it went, but it could have. He’s been tracking these people for years. You know the story.”
Marks nodded. “His sister was abducted and he’s been looking for her ever since—started up that lost and found on Forty-second Street.”
“Not quite. He stopped looking for a while, before he got involved with Save Them. But he’s been tracking predators ever since.”
“And how do we find these creeps?”
“Creep, singular. There are a lot of them out there, but we’re looking for one specific dirt bag.” I gave him the information on Charles. Marks’ sandwich was all but forgotten in his hand.
“You’re sure?”
“Very.” I laid out Joey Parodi’s connection to the Conte family, and explained how he’d set me up. When I was done, Marks remembered the sandwich, finished it, and wiped his mouth. “If this guy’s on security detail for a politician, I would think he’s Secret Service.”
“That used to be the way of it, but these days many senators and congressmen have private security as well as Secret Service. Just because the heat came out of Washington, it doesn’t put our guy in Washington; it means he has juice there.”
Marks conceded the point with a healthy burp. “So this meeting is because you want me to do your leg work on this, right?”
“It’s as much a favor to you. This case isn’t going to go away. And the papers are frying your ass.”
“It’s been fried before.”
“It would be nice to close it righteously, wouldn’t it?”
His eyes answered before he did. “It would.”
“How long have you been on the street? Fifteen years or so, and you made sergeant what, six years ago?”
“Seven.”
“Lieutenant should be coming due soon.”
He gave another of those acerbic laughs. “You don’t have to point out the obvious, Storm. Putting this case to bed wouldn’t hurt.”
“Work with me on this. I’ll make sure you get the collar when it’s over.”
“Make sure I’m there when it’s time, not after.”
I held his stare for five seconds. “Consider it done.”
Chapter 45
I was back in the office by two-thirty, listening to Femalé’s report on what she’d done in my absence. Samantha Collins had sent over information on nine girls she’d culled from the files on Scotty’s apartment. Femalé had integrated them into a pattern: Just not the same one we’d already found. Given her bend toward organization and neatness, she’d added yet another column to the growing chart in the conference room. These nine matched the others, with several similarities except they’d happened in western Pennsylvania and Ohio, not New York.
Three of the girls had been blonde eight-year-olds and had gone missing in the three-year spacing pattern; two of the three had lived in Pennsylvania, the third in Ohio. The other six varied between eight and eleven, and had disappeared at irregular intervals.
The six didn’t fit our pattern. “There were no girls from upstate New York?”
“No, but…” She left the word hanging, but something danced in her large brown eyes.
“Give.”
“I went over the reports of the investigator the Granger’s hired—the ones from the bank. The guy’s name is Tom Fuhrman; he’d spent two months searching for Elizabeth before giving up. I looked him up in Rochester. When I couldn’t find anything on him, I checked with the state, and learned he’d retired ten years ago—at fifty-one. The early retirement didn’t feel right, so I Googled him.”
There are times to push and times to shut up. Her tight, smug smile told me which one this was. She put a few sheets of paper in front of me. Each was a web page.
“And?”
“He did very well for himself. Three months after he closed the Granger case, he opened a new agency, National Security Consultants. Within two years, he had offices in Rochester and Albany. Five years later, the company expanded into Pennsylvania and then Washington. He sold the company ten years ago and retired to West Palm Beach.”
She was leading me to some interesting thoughts, but there had to be more. “Sometimes, a private cop can do well.”
“I said I researched him. I got a lot of information I was able to follow up through state agencies. After graduating high school, he joined the Rochester police. He quit the department three years later. According to their files, there had been an internal investigation on a bribery charge. He was exonerated and resigned. He got his PI license six months later.”
It was easy to read between the lines. Tom Fuhrman had been given a choice, leave or be prosecuted. No police department likes scandal, and Rochester PD is no different from others. “You got all of this in the few hours I’ve been gone?”
She dipped her head, her braided rows of hair bounced forward like a skirt on a cheerleader. “I can work fast when necessary. Back in the day, Fuhrman was not what you’d call successful, but he made a living. Then the Grangers hired him and he worked the case for three months. He didn’t find the girl, but two months after he dropped the case he opened his new offices. I thought that was meaningful.”
Meaningful, oh yeah. “You took a risk sneaking into the Rochester PD network.”
“It was worth it, and I didn’t sneak in, I entered, ah…appropriately.”
I decided not to ask what appropriate meant.
“You get anything else on him?”
“Not yet. I looked at the company web site. They’re upper level security consultants who supply security personnel to corporations, private individuals and dignitaries.”
“Politicians?”
She grinned. “Their site states they provide all levels of security in both the private and public sectors. I plan on digging deeper.”
“Now would be a good time. Look for personnel as well.” Familiar fingers of excitement started going to work inside me. “What’s the web site address?”
She gave it to me then went to chase her leads. The flashy home page of the web site opened and my first glimpse of the company showed it to be high end and high tech. The obvious question surface
d. How did a cop, kicked off the force and scraping together a living, end up with a multi-million dollar PI firm—no, excuse me, security firm?
There are times when the feeling of things coming together grows strong—when random pieces of a puzzle begin to snap into place. This was one of those times. While I didn’t have all the pieces, they were forming the way the plot of a complicated movie gives you small peeks at useless little things - until the pieces connect. It was happening now and it felt good.
If Mancuso located Streeter, I considered extending my Florida trip to have a conversation with Tom Fuhrman—in fact, I decided, no matter what happened with Streeter, Fuhrman was now on my ‘To-Do’ list.
The cell phone went off. Slipping it from my belt, I flipped it open. “Storm.”
“Why didn’t you tell me Lia Thornton was married to the Jeremy Thornton?” Arnie Steeplechase speed spoke, the words coming staccato fast and high pitched.
“It wasn’t important.”
“Yes it was. Her investment and bank accounts were joint accounts with her husband. They moved to her because the accounts were ‘rights of survivorship’ and she maintained status quo instead of changing the accounts, so the history was maintained.”
“What makes that important?”
“Jeez, Gabe, it’s important because they go back a lot of years on Jeremy Thornton and lead into the bank he used to head. It also showed me SEC and IRS investigations when the accounts were put on hold.”
“You got all that through bank checks?”
“Well, you said you needed to know everything so I spread out the search.”
“Have you found anything?”
“There’s some odd stuff. I’ll go deeper to be sure. I wanted to make sure that’s what you want.”
Femalé’s report came to mind. Things were getting very interesting. “I want everything, no matter how insignificant. And I want to know as soon as you have it. But Arnie, be careful, don’t get caught.”
Nervousness crept into his laugh. “No chance of that. I’m using more server relays and redirects than the CIA. Bye.”
I set the cell phone on the desk and turned back to the National Security Consultants web site, which showed the company as a big, prestigious and well-organized company. Was it more than just that?
By six o’clock, I felt like a caged animal waiting for someone to come by and open the door, except the door I was waiting for was a call from Miami. A half hour earlier, Femalé had dug up more information on National Security Consultants. They handled corporate level clients and private cases; they also assisted foreign dignitaries and called ten senators and a dozen congressmen their clients.
The only thing she was unable to find, was a full listing of their personnel and, one specific employee by the name of Charles. But I had faith in her. It would come.
<><><>
Mancuso’s call came during dinner. I’d met Gina at an uptown restaurant at seven. She looked better than she had yesterday, but was still angry at being confined to her desk. Between drinks and ordering dinner, I’d filled her in on my talks with Mancuso and Marks, and was starting to tell her of Femalé’s discovery of National Security Consultants when my cell phone vibrated.
It was Mancuso. “I’ve located Warez. He’s in a dump in Little Cuba.”
“I’ll catch the next flight out.”
“He’s not going anywhere. I have something on for tonight. Catch an early flight and we’ll deal with him tomorrow. ”
“I don’t want to lose him.”
“We won’t. I have eyes on him. If he moves, I’ll know it. Call me when you have the flight info.”
“Mancuso?” Gina asked after I put down the cell.
“He found Streeter.”
“He’s a good guy. Be careful, I don’t want heat coming down on him because I asked for his help.”
“He knows what he’s doing. You were close?” Certain of the answer, I asked anyway.
“It was a long time ago. We dated for a while when we were starting out at the bureau, which didn’t make us good candidates for a lasting relationship.” Her eyes wandered over my face. “Jealous?”
I held her gaze. “No. You’re a solid judge of character, if you had feelings for him, then I can trust him.”
She grimaced. “In some strange way, I think that’s a compliment.”
“It’s truth more than compliment.” Sensing where the conversation was leading, I sought a way to divert it. The waitress saved the day with our food.
After we’d eaten and were on our coffee, I got back to the National Security Consultant story Mancuso’s call had stopped. Gina listened without comment until I was done.
“I know the company. They’re big, but not among the biggest. Their prime concentration is in the Northeast. There’s been nothing negative on them.”
“Just the same, I find it interesting that this company came about the way it did.”
“Coincidence,” Gina said. “This Fuhrman may have been putting the deal together for a long time before it happened. A lot of cops who leave the job do that.”
“He didn’t leave. He was asked to leave. Coincidence is like accidents. There are no accidents: an accident happens for a reason. Coincidences are the same– you just have to know the reasons.”
“Do you think Femalé can find this Charles?”
“If this company is as good as its PR material, she doesn’t have a half shot in hell at it.”
“Losing faith in your protégé?”
“Let’s call it facing reality.”
“Unusual…. Which means you need me to check them out?”
I wrapped her hand in mine. The touch sent rushes of electricity through me. “No! I promised I would tell you what was going on, but that’s all. You can’t do anything at this point. And judging by what happened the other day, they’ll be keeping a close watch on you.”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “You don’t you think I’m just going to sit there and do nothing? Just take what he’s done to me and wait like a good little girl scout?”
“You’re not a girl scout, but you’re being watched—that’s why you’re pinned to the desk. I’ll get this guy off your back, but I don’t want him to have any ammunition either. If he learns you’re still looking into this, more alarms will be sounded. I… we don’t need that.”
It took her a little while, but I knew she’d understand. When she nodded, I breathed easier. “Thank you.”
“When are you leaving for Florida?”
“First flight in the morning. Femalé’s got the schedules. I’ll call her when we leave.” I signaled the waitress for the check.
“Where are we going?”
I got lost in her deep Neapolitan eyes. “My place.”
Chapter 46
We stopped for Gina to pick up some ‘essentials’ at a drug store, and reached my apartment just after nine and, while Gina rummaged through my closet for something comfortable to change into, I called Femalé.
When her home phone didn’t answer, I called the cell, which she did answer. “Tell me you’re not at the office.”
“I’m not back at the office,” she agreed.
“Where are you?”
“What do you need?” she asked, avoiding my question.
“To let you know I’m taking the first flight to Miami in the morning, and when I’m there, I’ll need Fuhrman’s address in West Palm.”
“You book the flight yet?”
“I will when I hang up with you.”
“I’ll take care of it. LaGuardia or Kennedy?”
“Whichever airport has the first flight.”
“Are you coming back tomorrow night?”
I almost laughed. She was turning into a reservation operator. “That depends on what happens with Streeter and then Fuhrman.”
“Check your email in five minutes. You’ll have an E-ticket. LaGuardia at six-oh-five.”
Her efficiency was, as usual, perfect. “I need you to stick
to the office. Keep looking for Charles and for the patterns on the girls.”
“No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow with Fuhrman’s info.”
“You are at the office, aren’t you?
“You told me not to tell you I was at the office.”
“Go home, Femalé. Find a guy to have fun with.”
“Trust me, Boss, there’s no shortage when I want to have fun.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Gabe….”
The tone of her voice caught me short. “What?”
“Be careful. Something doesn’t feel right.”
She’d hit the nail on the head. Things hadn’t felt right since I’d stepped into Scotty’s apartment and stood over his dead body; and, they wouldn’t feel right until I made them so. “I’ll watch out, Kid,” I replied, using my best hard-boiled dick voice and hung up.
“Watch out for what,” Gina asked from behind me.
She was dressed in one of my old T-shirts, with either nothing else or a pair of panties, but I couldn’t tell, yet. “Femalé was just warning me to be careful.”
“And thus the tough-guy goodbye—you’re watching too many of those old movies.”
I put my hand over my heart. “Those movies are my life!”
“Which one are we watching tonight?”
With a wink and a smile, I reached out, caught her and pulled her to me. “How does ‘The Big Heat’ sound?”
“The movie or….”
I brushed her lips then drew my head back. “Both, maybe.”
<><><>
I turned the corner to my block and as I took the last fifty feet of my trek, a man came out the front door of the building, turned into the shadows and walked away. Before unlocking the front door, I gave the buzzer two short hits to let her know I was on my way, then I unlocked the door, imagining as I did, her wearing my favorite mid-length and very sheer negligee. It was sheer enough to see everything through, but modest enough to make me want to take it off. And Elaine had never been shy about her body, a fact for which I was glad.
I reached our apartment door and started to put the key into the lock, but the door swung open before I could get the key into the lock. I smiled, knowing Elaine had unlocked it when I buzzed up.
