by David Wind
Inside, the apartment smelled clean; the air conditioning was on and no remnants of the horror remained. The living room contained furniture and boxes. It was a relief not to have the picture of Scotty lying in his own blood rise up in my mind, even though it was now a permanent section of my mental library.
I walked down the hallway to the bedroom. Everything was as it had been. Seven or eight boxes lined the wall. The closet door was open, the closet empty. The walls were bare and the mattress and pillows were naked.
I wandered into his office, still puzzling out what had brought me here. The shelves were empty; everything that had been on them was in the boxes on the floor. On the desk was a small box with my name black markered in Chris’s too neat lettering.
Opening the box, the first thing I saw was the picture of Scotty and his sister Elizabeth. I stared at the small faces: two sets of blue eyes stared back. Sadness crushed down on my head and shoulders. I closed the box, picked it up and walked out. There was nothing more for me here.
On the street, my cell phone rang. I pulled it free. “Yeah.”
“Boss, are you finished yet?”
“I’m done. Anything happen while I was gone?”
“No, it’s been quiet. Agent Malcolm called to find out if you’d connected with Conklin. That’s all. I haven’t found out anything else.”
“Then you should have called it a night at five.”
“I was waiting to hear from you. How did it go?”
“Better than I expected. I’ll tell you in the morning. Go home.”
“Goodnight, Gabe.”
“‘Nite, Femalé.”
It took me fifteen minutes to get home. I entered into the coolness of my apartment at six-forty, and remembered Gina telling me what she wanted for tonight. I wanted it as well, but not until after I had my phone call to the Senator from Pennsylvania, which would happen in a half hour or so.
I grabbed a Tsingtao from the fridge before ambling into my small office. After setting the box on the floor, I turned Scotty’s computer on. There was still one thing nagging at me: The information Rice had been looking for. There was no reason to doubt he’d told me the truth when he’d said he hadn’t found it. His surprise was too evident when I’d unwittingly let him know I didn’t have it either.
There had to be more, somewhere. It wasn’t in the safety deposit box and it wasn’t in the journal he’d kept. I took a drink, letting the cold beer slide down my throat in a welcoming wash, before looking over Scotty’s directories. I read and reread them five times before I gave up. There was nothing there.
I looked at the time on the monitor. I still had fifteen minutes.
Bending, I opened the box, took out the photo of Scotty and Elizabeth, and set it on the desk. The photo stared back at me and I found myself wondering what she might look like today if she were alive. In the picture, her features glowed with the innocence of youthful sparkling blue eyes, a well-proportioned nose and a wide bright smile.
She would be thirty-four now, four years younger than Scotty or me. Would she have been like Scotty? Would she have been creative and fresh? Her blonde hair would have darkened with maturity. Would her blue eyes flash the way Scotty’s had when he was excited or coming up with new ideas?
Or, would she have been like Gina, or Lia Thornton perhaps? The picture in my head shifted and changed. If Elizabeth had lived, would she have had the strength that Lia developed? Would she have been able to survive what had happened and become strong enough to carve out a life without abuse?
I held no illusions of Elizabeth Granger being alive. But the only way to know with any certainty would be if Conklin told me. Would he do that?
The alarm clock in my head went off. I slipped the piece of paper with Conklin’s numbers from my shirt pocket and laid it next to the picture of Scotty and Elizabeth. I had memorized them earlier but for some reason I wanted it visible for security.
Or was I stalling. Didn’t I want all the sickening details or did I just want Conklin removed from the face of the planet? Both I decided abruptly and picked up the phone.
Four rings passed before the phone was answered with, “Residence.”
The voice was male, but not strong enough to be a politician’s—the tone was wrong.
“Senator Conklin. Gabriel Storm calling.”
“In reference to?” he said, the voice going haughty when he didn’t recognize my name.
“He’ll know. Just tell him I’m on the line.” My voice was hard and unyielding.
The phone went silent for almost a half-minute before it clicked on again. “This is Senator Conklin. Who are you and how did you get this number?”
“No games, Conklin. It’s too late for that. Your boy is long gone. Rice or Wilkes or Heinlein or whatever you call him has hung you out to dry and I’m the one who’s going to turn you inside out and clip you to the clothesline.”
“I don’t know who you are or what you want and I’m going to hang up now.”
“Good. Hang up. But make sure you’re up early tomorrow so you can read the first edition of the papers. For starters I’d suggest the Washington Post and the New York Times.”
There was nothing. Not even the sound of breathing.
“Since you haven’t hung up, I’ll talk and you can decide what works best for you. I have the information your man was trying to get from me. He made a few too many mistakes and he’s running fast and far and left you behind.”
“Why should I believe you?” His voice was a strangled whisper.
“Because you know it’s true. I know how you got your money from your uncle, how Rice supplied you with girls, and what you did to those girls. I have the information he was looking for; the details Scotty Granger discovered. Rice blew out of our meeting with half the world’s cops on his ass. He got away, and left me holding my dick.”
“What do you want?”
The four magic words told me it was working. “I want a meeting with you. As I said, I have what you want. All the proof of what you’ve been doing these last twenty-eight years. And I want a lot in return.”
“What’s a lot?” His voice gaining strength with the belief that everyone has a bottom line.
“We’ll discuss that when we meet. Shall I come there?”
“No!” he almost shouted the word. “Not here. You’re in New York. I can be there in the morning.”
The swell of victory became tangible. “I’ll give you the address.”
“No. Meet me at the Corning Athletic Club. Ask for me. I will have a private room available at ten tomorrow morning.”
I held back to make him wonder if I would agree. “I don’t know.”
“It is a safe place where no one will bother us. I’m a United States Senator. I can’t do this in public.”
While I could push for a different place, it might make him back off. It was a risk I wasn’t willing to take. “If you have any idea of pulling a fast one on me you won’t walk out of there alive.” I hoped I hadn’t laid it on too thick.
“That’s the last thing I want. But I need proof there are no copies.”
“Don’t be a fool. You’ll have the originals. The copies of what Scotty put together are worthless unless they can be validated against the originals. And Conklin, don’t even think about pulling something… hinky on me, not if you don’t want the world to know what kind of a sick bastard you are. Ten o’clock,” I said and hung up.
“Hinky? What the hell is that?” Gina asked from behind me.
Startled, I jumped and then turned to her. “Are you trying to scare me to death? And I like Arnie’s word, it has… character.”
“Oh, yes, just like you, character….” She kissed me hard and long. When she drew away, she winked. “Hey big boy, miss me?”
“Every minute!” I started to kiss her again, but she slipped out of my grasp. “Let’s get business out of the way first, then we’re taking the night off.”
“Want a drink?”
“Sound
s like I’ll need one.”
She didn’t, but it helped. I went over the entire afternoon—Albright and Thornton. Since she’d heard the end of my conversation with Conklin, I gave her the rest, verbatim.
“Once again you were right, tough guy. But he sure did pick a hell of a place for a meeting. I don’t know which is more secure, the Corning Athletic Club or the Senate chambers. How will you set it up?”
“I’m betting Malcolm will have a way. I do want you and Femalé in on it and Sonny Marks too.”
“That’s a pretty big audience.”
“It’ll get bigger. I’ll call Malcolm and give him the news.”
Gina brushed her lips across mine and said, “Call him while I start dinner.”
“Yes Ma’am.” I picked up the phone and dialed. This was one call I was very happy to make. In another fifteen hours, there would be retribution for Scotty’s murder.
<><><>
I jerked awake, rolled off the bed and onto my hands and knees, my fingers digging into the carpet for support. My heart pounded like a locomotive and someone was using a sledgehammer to open my skull from the inside out. Breathing was next to impossible.
I’ve had my share of nightmares—no, much more than my share, but tonight I felt like I’d had a rapid-fire replay of every last one. The night Elaine was murdered, the night they tried to gang rape me in Sing-Sing; the beatings I’d taken in jail, and the hopelessness of being locked away. But those were no longer the worst. There were new ones: Streeter slicing open Margaret Ann McNickles’ throat and throwing her into the Hudson River; Scotty being eviscerated by a faceless killer who stood over his helpless body and fired round after round into his flesh; Eight year old Elizabeth Granger being scooped up off the street and thrown into a van, raped and then buried in a pit in some dark forest no one would ever find.
And then a cool hand fell onto my shoulder, and the warm breath sent in advance of her words grounded me. “I’m here Gabe. I’m here.”
Slipping into her arms and pulling her close, I freed the tears hiding for so long and so deep, I never knew they were there. I let it all out, crying for Elaine, for her senseless death, for Scotty, for Margaret Ann and even for Elizabeth, who had never known what good there was in the world before she had been taken.
I don’t have any idea how long I held on to Gina, how long I cried out the agonies festering in the dark prison of my mind. And, when I was done, I came back to where I was and who was holding me.
I drew back without releasing her and looked into the unfathomable depths of her eyes. “I love you, Gina.”
A tear traced its way to the corner of her mouth. She swallowed and said, “I know Gabe.”
Chapter 61
I woke for the second time at six, rested, my head clear and my mind chugging at full steam. Gina slept beneath a rumpled sheet, one exposed shoulder glowing in the morning light. It felt right, her being here with me.
Whatever happened to me during the night had been the culmination of everything since Scotty’s death. Darkness no longer shadowed my mind. It was more than just the shedding of the shadows; I felt a freedom I hadn’t had since discovering Elaine’s lifeless body. Amanda would call it catharsis. The name didn’t matter—what mattered was how I felt.
The clock told me there were four hours left before I faced Conklin. Moving quietly, I went to the kitchen, set up the coffee and hit the bathroom. I stood beneath the steaming water, letting the heat work on my neck and shoulders.
The noise of the water drowned out everything and left me free to concentrate. Dealing with Conklin would be a chess match; and I held no illusions that he would listen to what I’d say and spill his guts. No, he would demand to see the evidence, and what I showed him would make or break the day.
Yet the evidence wouldn’t be as important as how well I played my role. Like the protagonists of the movies I loved so much, my acting must be perfect. My job—my role—would be to suspend his disbelief enough for him to accept the proof as real. The tricky part would be in offering him a taste of his truth without having details.
Knowing what I had to do, I reviewed the how of it. First would be the office, to gather the list of the abducted girls along with the photos from Save Them. It wasn’t a matter of whether they were the right photos; the similarity between the girls would be enough to make him believe, after we added some very special documentation.
The rest would be luck.
The set-up at the Corning Athletic Club would be in place by now. When I’d spoken with Malcolm last night, he’d cursed at the location. The Corning Club is not one of those places the average person knows or patronizes. Yes, it’s an athletic club, in the oldest sense of the world, but definitely not a health club. There was a gym, outfitted with the finest equipment money could buy. There were squash courts and racquetball courts, a swimming pool to rival any in the city, three rooftop tennis courts and a magnificent billiard room. Its exclusive dining room is among the finest in the Northeast.
The Corning Club was old money, membered by old families, and a bastion for the upper echelon of the politicians and diplomats… in other words, a safe haven for the Senator. The reason Conklin picked it was obvious: He would be on home ground and assured, between the powerful private club itself and the fact he was a U.S. Senator, I wouldn’t be able to arrange recording the meeting.
Surprise, you son-of-a-bitch! Malcolm would already have the room wired, and I would bet the bank it would be sound and video.
“Are you going to hog the shower all day?”
Gina’s voice brought me back. I wiped the steamed glass so I could see her—all of her. I stepped back, turned the hot water down a bit and gave a gallant arm waving gesture of entry.
“Thank you, sir.” Slipping past me, she brushed her lips across my cheek. Her nipples grazed my skin, sending sparks shooting everywhere. “Turn around,” she commanded.
I did, and she soaped up by back and more. I returned the favor when she was done. It took some willpower to hold myself back, but today wasn’t about Gina and me, it was for Scotty, Elizabeth, and the others who had suffered at Conklin’s hands. The kiss we shared before giving her more room in the shower told her it wasn’t easy to step away.
<><><>
Agent Malcolm walked into my conference room just after nine. Femalé, Gina and I had arrived before eight and spent the time putting together the list of abducted girls that fit the three-year pattern and the photographs of four of the girls, including my copy of Scotty and his sister. Femalé and I had already constructed the typed confession of Tom Fuhrman—the private cop who had taken the money and run out on Elizabeth Granger—which I’d reconstructed from our talk in West Palm.
Femalé, with Gina’s help, created a Buffalo Police Department report containing a description of the van used in one of the abductions along with a witness’s description of the driver. A description we’d made to appear close to what Conklin looked like twenty plus years earlier.
While the confession and the PD report were pure fiction, they contained enough facts to make it click in Conklin’s head as the real thing. Then we made copies of them, and made sure the copies looked obvious.
Malcolm looked it all over. “How much of this Fuhrman confession is real?”
“The basic facts are what happened. His naming of Rice and how he was able to start the agency is verbatim; the rest is what I surmised from our conversation in Florida.”
“I think Fuhrman is not going to be a happy camper. Once this is done, I’m going to make sure we look him over and the security agency as well,” Malcolm said.
“Take a number. The Miami office is already looking into it,” Gina chimed in.
Malcolm gave her a two-fingered salute. “I’ll check in with them.” He said before turning his attention back to me. “Don’t you think using all the missing girls is laying it on too thick? It might be overkill.”
“No. It’ll hit hard, facing truth always does.”
Malc
olm went through the fabricated papers one more time. “I got the warrant late last night. No one other than the general manager and the security director of the club knows what’s going on. We went in at three this morning and wired for sound and video. Conklin showed up just after one. He has one of his security team with him.”
“He won’t let him into the meeting.”
“Don’t be too sure. He’ll try to play it cagey.”
“The last thing he wants is for anyone to know what this meeting is about. Did you wire the room he’s sleeping in?”
Malcolm gave me a funny look. “We couldn’t. The warrant’s not for Conklin. The meeting room’s a different story. We got the warrant on you. As far as the club is concerned, you’re our target, not Conklin.”
That was smart. There was no warrant needed for Conklin and once they had him on tape, the warrant would be meaningless. “Then just sit back and watch. Don’t come in, not until I’m done.”
“You’re not making me comfortable,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve made some rather harsh statements to the press.”
“And not once did I say I would do something stupid.”
“You didn’t say you wouldn’t either. You have a reputation.”
“You’ll let him handle this just the way he said,” Chris Bolt stated as he stepped into the conference room.
All eyes went to the tall dark-haired police captain, who strode across the conference room to Malcolm and repeated, “You will let him handle it and you won’t move until he tells you.”
“And you’ll guarantee things will work out, Captain Bolt?” Malcolm asked.
“I’ll guarantee things will happen just the way they should, and to make sure, I’ll be seated right next to you.”
“Granger was your friend too,” The HomeSec agent charged.
“He was more than that. Are we agreed Gabe will handle things?”
Malcolm’s smile was unexpected. “I just needed to make sure.”
“You did that. Now fill me in.”
We brought Chris up to date in five minutes and ended the meeting. Malcolm, Chris, Femalé and Gina left together. Sonny Marks would meet them on the way. I’d taken care of that last night right after I’d spoken to Chris. I hoped they had a big enough room.
