Knox

by Lisa Ladew

  “You’re right, Silva. It’s not your business.”

  “I didn’t get you into this mess. You came to me long before. You asked me if it was a good idea to invest all those liquid assets into that fucking real estate development in Dubai.”

  “Watch your tone, Silva. The development is profitable.”

  “Yes, but it’s not liquid! That’s why I’ve advised you over and over again to stick to short options.”

  “Right. I can’t go back and change that, but we’re friends. You need to hang tight for just a little longer…”

  “I can’t do that, Solomon.”

  Dad stands and begins walking to the door. “Was that it? I think we’re done here. I’ll be in touch, Jeff.”

  I get up and follow him out. The look on Jeff’s face is one of scorn and disdain at first. He remains seated, takes a breath and returns to his friendly self.

  “I’m taking the money back in three days.”

  “You can’t do that, Jeff,” Dad tells him, shaking his head.

  “Like hell I can’t. You agreed to one-day call rights, remember?”

  “You don’t want to do that, Silva. Don’t try to play me.”

  I nod back to Jeff before following Dad as he stalks down the hallway and out to the elevator. Jeff does not follow us.

  “You tied up half a billion dollars in Dubai, Dad?” I ask. I’ve not been keeping up with Sloan business, but he would have shared that kind of news.

  “Not now,” he answers when the elevator doors open. He’s silent until we get back to the limousine.

  “So what are you going to do?” I ask.

  “I’ll talk to Mandy and Charles.”

  “Does this Warrior deal have to happen right now? Maybe you can just regroup and look at it again in a year.”

  “Don’t you start sounding like Jeff’s parrot, now. I’ll figure something out.”

  I leave it alone. What I really want to do was talk to Dad about that detective who showed up this morning.

  “Fine. When can we talk about the octagon?”

  “I can’t do that right now. Meet me at the condo tonight.”

  He lets me off in front of my building and I get back to work.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rebecca

  After we leave Jonathan’s condo this morning, I’m wound up. Something stinks—badly. First of all, why was detective Robert Bateman waiting for Jonathan, to begin with? If this is about Doreen Rushton, they must have some kind of evidence on Jonathan for them to have shown up already. The only way that’s possible is if they put a rush on the evidence analysis. Or they have a witness, or they have something damning that’s directly connected to him.

  He drops me off outside my office building. I tell him not to worry, that I’ll take care of it and find out what’s going on. He thanks me and comes around to open my passenger side door. For such a reputation as a playboy and all around woman-eating wolf, the man still knows how to be a gentleman. Maybe that’s part of the act. Part of the danger about him. I park everything my boss has told me about him to the side. Everyone deserves a chance.

  When he helps me out of the car, I remember my manners. I thank him again for last night. I could have been stuck in a hospital right now, or worse, if he wasn’t there. I don’t mention the part about sleeping with him. I’m not ready to stroke his ego quite yet, although to be honest, after what he did to my body, I should be bowing at his feet.

  Jonathan is a sensible man. We’re right outside my workplace, so he shakes my hand. There’s a whole lot more that I would probably do if we weren’t here. He walks around to the driver side and tells me to call him later. I promise him that I will. I hope to God he knows it’s all business from here on out. I can’t afford to cross the line again with this man. He’s my client, and getting personal is only going to make things worse—for him and for me.

  I turn after he’s gone and head inside, only to bump into Kara on the elevator up. After greeting her, I ask if she has a couple of minutes to speak this morning, and I tell her it’s urgent. She only nods, and waits until we get off the elevator to tell me to join her in her office.

  I get a serious tongue lashing as soon as she closes the door. She warns me never to say the word ‘urgent’ to her on an elevator ever again. I don’t question the woman. I have the good sense not to challenge her. She asks me what’s wrong and I tell her what happened this morning. Of course, the first question she asks is how I ended up at the front door of his condo before work this morning. I decide to lie a little.

  I tell her everything that happened last night from my job to him showing up at the door, to him waiting in my living room, to me passing out to him helping me, and even into where he fed me dinner and slept on the couch. I conveniently leave out the part where I sleep with him. She eyes me intently during my entire account, and it’s almost like she strapped a lie detector on me. I do my best not to panic, manage my breathing, and keep her eye contact.

  I think I passed, but after I finish she says to me, “It’s a good thing you were there, Rebecca. You put that detective in his place.”

  I tell her my suspicion that they must have something on Jonathan already, and she agrees. Somehow, she seems relieved. I should know better. Her mission is to protect Solomon, and probably at all costs. Whatever it is the cops have on Jonathan only keeps her true asset shiny and glowing and insulated from this case.

  She tells me she has no more information than what I already do, and instructs me to find out everything I can from Detective Bateman. She informs me she’s clearing my caseload completely. Jonathan is my one and only client from here on out. She reiterates that I need to watch myself where Jonathan is concerned. As she walks to her office door and is about to open it to let me out, she says to me, “You only get one fuck pass, Becky.”

  I have no idea what she means. “Sorry, Kara. I don’t believe I understand. Come again?”

  “You heard me, Rebecca. This is your one and only fuck pass at this law firm. Use it wisely. I’ll fire your ass if you try to get another one.”

  She holds the door open. She tells me to come back later today, when her assistant can fit me in, and signals for me to leave. I do, and walk away quickly. The woman reads me like a book after all. No lying, or denying anything. I walk right past my assistant—she’s saying something about meetings and scheduling. I completely ignore her and close my door when I’m safely inside my office. That’s when I take my next breath.

  I sit at my desk and I clear my head. From everything she’s told me, the future of my career at this law firm is now inextricably linked to the outcome of any criminal or other charges laid against Jonathan Sloan. I renew my commitment to keeping it professional with him from here on out. Neither of us is going to survive the fallout if we don’t keep our priorities straight.

  I call my assistant into the office. She looks like she’s gun-shy from my earlier rejection. I ask her if she knows about all my casework being reassigned. She tells me she already knows, and it’s already been done. My schedule is clear today. I have no distractions, so I decide it’s time to find out for myself what I’m up against, hopefully off the record.

  My first stop is a visit to Detective Robert Bateman. I need to know what he knows, and how deep Jonathan is buried in this shit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jonathan

  I get through my afternoon briefings and meetings, and when I come up for air it’s after seven at night. My father has to be back at his condo by now. What we need to discuss is not something I can go over on the phone, so I head over there.

  I practically storm the place. Only Rocko and Danny are around. I ask them where he is, and they say he’ll be back in less than an hour. This shit is big, so I wait. I ask them if anyone’s been up here, or sniffing around lately. They know I’m asking because of what went down on the weekend. They shake their heads. The three of us sit back and watch some crap on pay TV, and I wait.

  Less than an ho
ur later, dear old Dad shows up. He has some random woman on his arm. It’s not Mandy. The woman is way too young, and the shit he just did is way too fresh for him to be running around town like nothing happened. I almost blow up at him, but to give them the benefit of the doubt, I pull him aside.

  “Dad. Who the fuck is this? You can’t even let things die down before you start this again?”

  “Boy, you better watch your mouth and step off.”

  “Like hell I will. If you don’t get her out of here right now, I will.”

  “Calm down, Jonathan,” he said, still cool as a cucumber. “What is this about?”

  “Dad. We need to get her away. We need to talk, and it can’t wait.”

  “All right then. I’ll get one of the guys to drive her home.”

  After she leaves, Dad casually walks to his workout room. It’s like he forgot I’m here. This is exactly how he deals with shit when he’s not comfortable. He either ignores it, or passes it on to me and then acts like it never happened. I get right back into it. I’m not letting this go.

  “Dad. You need to stop what you’re doing right now, and just listen to me.”

  “What the hell’s gotten into you, Jonathan?” He answers, turning to face me. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Finally, the man is paying attention. Like killing four girls in one night this past weekend wasn’t enough for him to be a little bit nervous today. I’m so mad, I’m ready to explode at him.

  “A cop was already at my door asking about this woman who got away last weekend. How the fuck would they have anything at all to connect that woman to me? I’ve never seen her. Never touched her. So how, Dad?”

  He passes right by me and walks directly to his bar. He pours himself a drink. Hell, I need a drink right now. I tell him to pour me one. When he hands it to me, I put it to my lips and down it in one gulp. He walks over to his favorite leather ottoman, sits down, and puts his feet up. He still hasn’t answered me, but I figure he’s preparing himself.

  “Son, what I’ll tell you is you have nothing to worry about.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Why can’t you answer the question?”

  “Because I already told you this is the big one. You need to shut it, not panic. Don’t start turning tail for any old asshole detective that shows up, like what you’re doing right now. As long as you do that, then you’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t you think I deserve a little bit more than that, Dad?”

  “Like what?”

  “Answers…and a little respect. I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  The man is skirting the issue, leading me around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. I walk up beside him and stand directly over him. No one can intimidate my father, but I need this proximity so he understands I’m not joking around.

  “I want to know why he already figured to come to my door. There is nothing connecting me to that girl. So why was he lounging around at my condo this morning? You and I don’t live in the same building, Dad. Did you plant something of mine on the girl? Did you talk to anyone other than the lawyer about this? If this is part of your plan, don’t you think it’s smarter for me to know?”

  “How do you expect me to answer anything if you keep adding more questions, Jonathan?”

  He reaches over to his end table and picks up the TV remote. I’m itching to snatch it out of his hand and throw it right through the glass window, and the fucking TV right after it. Instead, I stand directly in his path to the TV.

  “Turn that off, Dad. This is serious. We need to stay on top of it. I need to be in the loop. If you give a shit about me, you will stop and give me some answers right now.”

  He stands up and faces me. We’re the same height and almost the same size, yet the look he gives me makes me feel slightly intimidated. I stand my ground and hold his gaze. It’s the only way to deal with him and maintain some level of mutual respect. Just like any caged animal, backing down, dropping eye contact, or any sign of weakness is all it takes for them to pounce on you and pummel the life out of you.

  After about a minute of his silent stare down, he relaxes. He knows I mean business.

  “Sit down, son.”

  I sit. I get the feeling this is going to be good.

  “Jonathan, the answer to your question is exactly what I told you earlier. If I tell you anything more, you can hang yourself with the information. Sometimes, ignorance is the best defense. Do you understand what I’m saying, Jonathan?”

  When I walked in tonight, I thought I had a big problem. Now, I know it’s colossal. I get up and I leave. In not so many words, my father has told me that he intentionally connected me to the dead girl that got away, probably with circumstantial evidence or something just as incriminating. My gut tells me this is time to leave—to pack it all in, throw my shit and some cash in the back of a car, and drive my ass to Mexico.

  The only thing stopping me is I gave my word. I could fucking kick myself for doing that, but I’ve done it. Now I have to stand by my father’s side and not just cover for him, but take the heat too. It’s one of those moments of clarity, one where you can look back as far as you can remember, and just as far into the future, and you know your path. What I’m seeing is jail time. Nothing less than twenty-five to life; or death row.

  I get home finally and slump down in my living room sofa. I look around my condo unit. Every detail is exactly the way I want. I soak it all in. I memorize the place, because as far as I’m concerned, I’m not going to be here for much longer, and where I’m going, it won’t look anything at all like this.

  After about twenty minutes, I curse under my breath. I get up and take a shower. I figure with the short time I have left as a free man, I had better take advantage of it. I get out of the shower, dress in a cotton shirt and slacks, and I leave.

  I don’t even know where I’m going when I jump into one of my cars. I drive around for a while. I consider stopping at the bar one of my friends own. No one can blame me for getting wasted tonight. In the end, I don’t. I park outside Rebecca’s place. I’m not sure if she’s home. I have a phone number, but I don’t use it. Instead, I buzz her unit number.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rebecca

  I know I’ll get more from Robert if I meet him outside of the precinct. I send him a text message, telling him to meet me for a walk at our spot if he is free in half an hour. He replies right away, saying he’ll be there. I grab my bag and leave for the Bow Bridge in Central Park.

  I get there five minutes early because I know Robert. He’s already there. I walk up and stand beside him. We may have a past, but this is serious. This is business, and from where I’m sitting, my job is on the line.

  “What do you have on Jonathan Sloan?” There’s no time for pleasantries.

  “I guess I don’t need to say good morning to you, since we’ve already seen each other today, right?”

  “Cut the crap, Rob. I didn’t come here to talk about us.”

  “What were you doing with that guy?”

  “Fine. If you want me to ask someone else in the precinct, I’ll do that. Bye Rob.”

  I turn to start walking away, and he stops me by holding my arm.

  “Okay, I get it. All right. What do you need to know?”

  “Everything you know about this case. Off the record.”

  “Becky, come on. You know I can’t do that.”

  “You just asked me to stay, didn’t you? Now tell me what I need to know, or I’ll get it from someone else.”

  I have no time to play nice anymore. If this case is moving at the pace it already is, and with the media acting up, I suspect there will be charges before this week is out. I need to know everything, and yes, I may be bluffing about being able to find the information from another source, but so far, Rob is buying it. Talking to him is the only way to level the playing field with the police, and possibly the District Attorney’s Office.

  H
e takes a breath. “Okay this is everything I know. This girl, Doreen Rushton, died in the garage of one of the most prestigious buildings in Manhattan. That was early Sunday morning. At the time we investigated, we had no idea who she belonged to, pardon my choice of words. It’s a large building, and she did not live there. We had no intel on who she visited in the building.

  “We cordoned off the place. A slew of officers were gathering evidence and talking to the residents, the concierge and even the valet to find out if anyone knew or saw anything. We got nothing. No witnesses, no camera footage, no leads. There’s nothing, except for footage of the woman stepping on the elevator, and her bloody print on the button to the parking level…and of course, her body, which was found on that same elevator.

  “By the end of day Sunday, all we know is we have to rely on whatever evidence is on her person. That’s the trail we have to follow to get back to whoever worked her over so badly before she got away. Whatever they did to her, that’s what killed her. We’re sure of it.

  “We put a rush on the evidence analysis. That was two nights ago. Monday rolls around, and an anonymous call comes in on the tip line. The person says, and I quote you verbatim, ‘Doreen Rushton was murdered by that Sloan kid. Jonathan Sloan.’ That’s all we had, and that’s still all we have.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  I can’t believe what he’s telling me. The NYPD does not follow every anonymous tip—no matter who it is that was killed, or who the caller mentions did the killing. It still stinks.

  “I swear that’s all I know. My instructions were to follow every lead no matter how ludicrous or unsubstantiated.”

  “How many of you are on this case, if you don’t mind me asking? If you’re following every lead, they’ll need twenty of you to weed through the minutia and find the real killer.”

  “You’re right on both counts. Believe it or not, this is the highest priority case in my precinct.”