Chas Grinich thought that Karen was a pretty gutsy woman who’d handled some tough questioning extremely well. He hadn’t told her that her identification of Vaughan’s voice wouldn’t stand up in court. Vaughan’s lawyers were the best money could buy, and they’d find half a dozen men with voices near identical to him and Karen wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. Vaughan was a tough customer and hadn’t admitted anything. Unfortunately, he would be released in the morning.
Todd Hansen watched the interview in astonishment. Karen Deacon was obviously the Mrs. Deacon whom Elliot had been trying to heavy.
Dermott Becker cracked his knuckles hard as he watched Karen answer her interrogator’s questions. She came across as being honest, truthful and remorseful, and Becker reasoned that the consensus would be sympathetic to her and furious with the blackmailers. There wasn’t enough evidence to hold or charge Vaughan, but the Fibbies would know that Borchard was behind it, and they’d be closely watching him. The key to Vulture’s success was that it was unobtrusive and low key. That was starting to unravel, and Becker was far from happy.
Borchard watched and recorded the interview in silent fury. If only Dirk hadn’t pushed Devlin Cooper over the edge, they would have never had to deal with the Deacon woman. One part of the interview particularly caught his attention when the interviewer asked her about going to the FBI, and she had said I didn’t go and then changed her answer. It looked to Borchard like she had been going to say I didn’t go to the FBI, and if that was the case, it meant someone had leaked. The FBI had undoubtedly tracked Dirk through the woman’s cell phone but why had the warrant been to search for drugs?
Chapter 52
Todd was more on edge than ever now that he knew what McEvoy was capable of. He told Elliot that he was never debt collecting again and if that meant losing his job and apartment, then too bad. Elliot hadn’t objected. Instead, he had broken out in raucous laughter. Todd wondered whether McEvoy’s little performance had been to scare him about what might happen if he crossed them. If so, it had worked. Todd was very nervous.
In nearly two weeks, Todd had not had one opportunity to switch the cell phones. Elliot had only left his office unattended on one occasion for about thirty minutes, but McEvoy had been skulking around, and Todd had been too scared to retrieve the hidden cell phone. The opening, when it came, was totally unexpected. Todd was just about to go to lunch when two of the gang got into a noisy fight in the bar over a game of pool. Elliot bounded out of his office, and Todd immediately followed him down the stairs bypassing the bar. He quickly retrieved the cell phone from the store and scampered back up the stairs. On the way back he saw Elliot, in the bar, with McEvoy next to him, reading the riot act to the two protagonists. Todd looked around the corridor before entering Elliot’s office and making the switch. He paused to turn Elliot’s phone off, and then took off downstairs to the store again. It had taken less than three minutes but for Todd it seemed like hours. After making sure, there was no loose masking tape lying around he made his way back to his office. Elliot’s booming voice was still echoing around the bar. Todd got back to his office and set up a date to see Vanessa for dinner that night. He thought that with a little luck, Elliot may not even try to use the phone for the rest of the day.
It was late in the afternoon when Elliot shouted, “What’s wrong with this bloody phone. Todd, come in here.”
“What’s up?”
“My phone won’t work. See if you can fix it?”
“You’ve got another four phones. Why don’t you use one of them?”
“I need this one,” Elliot replied.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It lets me logon, but after that I get squiggly lines. Look,” Elliot said, prodding the screen with his forefinger.
“I’ll take the battery out and reinsert it. Sometimes that works. What’s your password?”
“Give it to me,” Elliot said and entered his password. “Shit, there’s still squiggly lines! What other ideas do you have, genius?”
“I’ll try taking out and reinserting the SIM card. That might work.”
As Todd reinserted the tiny card, Elliot, who’d been watching closely, grabbed the phone. “A lot of fucking help you are.”
“There’s a shop on the corner of Mount that sells and fixes phones,” Todd said. “Do you want me to take it down there?”
Elliot looked at Todd slyly before saying, “Nah, don’t worry about it, I’ll get Jed to take care of it.”
As the partners of Montgomery Hastings & Pierce filed into the conference room it was evident they already knew the outcome of the preliminary investigation into the audit of The Disabled Children’s Fund. The mood in the room was somber as the committee of four delivered their findings. At least nine million had been misappropriated from the fund and applied to the mayor’s reelection campaign. Worse, the young auditor who had been questioning the Fund’s employees had suspected defalcation, and it was only Phillip Cromwell’s intervention that had circumvented her.
Sandra Bishop asked, “Are you saying that had this line of audit been pursued we would probably not be in this position?”
“Yes,” replied one of the committee members.
“Do we know who the trustees are going to sue?” Lechte asked.
“No, but clearly the fund manager and its directors,” the committee member said.
“They’ll sue us, too,” Lechte said. “I’ll talk to our PI insurers. It’s in our interests to settle as fast as we can. The publicity of a long drawn out civil action can only be detrimental. That’s the last thing we need.”
Phillip Cromwell took his hands from behind his head and looked defiantly around the room. “As managing partner I think I’m best placed to handle negotiations with the trustee. I certainly don’t believe we should settle.”
“Phillip, you’re managing partner in name alone,” Sandra Bishop retorted. “You got us into this mess, and you’re not going to make it worse than it already is.”
“For someone’s who’s resigned the partnership and won’t be here in two months you have an awful lot to say,” Cromwell said.
Sandra ignored Cromwell and instead said, “Can I have a show of hands of all of those who would like Phillip to handle negotiations with the trustee and our insurers.”
Even Cromwell’s closest supporters hung their heads, and not a hand went up.
“It would not be a good look for our clients and the media if it appeared that Phillip was no longer managing partner,” Sandra said. “However, internally Doug will continue to assume that role until the matter with The Disabled Children’s Fund is resolved.”
Cromwell glowered but knew it was pointless saying anything. Doug Lechte wasn’t happy either. He hated managing the firm, listening to the other partners’ gripes, holding them accountable and taking responsibility for decisions they should be making. He was always short of time, his meetings with the government officials were starting to take their toll and he was having sleepless nights worrying about Vanessa. He regretted getting her involved and knew that if Todd was detected things could go very badly for her.
Todd shivered and dug his hands deep into his overcoat pockets while he waited at the front of Botticelli’s. It was an inexpensive busy Italian restaurant only two blocks from Vanessa’s apartment. The cab pulled up, and Todd held the door open and as Vanessa got out, he put his arm tightly around her.
“Sorry I’m late. I got held up at work with Doug,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips.
They waited a few minutes before being shown to a small table set against the wall that afforded them privacy.
“This is very cozy.” Todd grinned, as their feet touched under the table.
Surprisingly Vanessa did not return his smile and instead put her hand to her mouth and said, “Doug’s worried about me. He said it’s taking longer than he thought and that my involvement’s very dangerous. He suggested I back out while I still can.”
“He’
s right. I’ve been thinking the same.”
“But then you won’t be able to pass messages on.”
“I’ll find a way. I can always do it every second Sunday on my way to visit Arturo. They never follow me on those days.”
“What if something urgent comes up like today?” Vanessa asked.
“I don’t know,” Todd replied without confidence. “I’ll find a way.”
“I told him that I appreciated his concern, but I was going to keep seeing you.” Vanessa smiled. “I’ve grown fond of you, Todd Hansen, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me. We’re in this together.”
Todd felt his heart start to pound. He hadn’t expected that response, and as he stared into Vanessa’s deep brown eyes, he was overcome with emotion.
“Me too,” he said, “but that’s all the more reason for you to cease your involvement. We can stage a breakup argument, and you’ll be in the clear. If you still feel the same way after we can pick up where we left off.”
An overworked waiter interrupted the conversation to take their orders for spaghetti Bolognese and risotto marinara.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re in this together. The faster we put these crooks away the safer we’ll be.”
“Bu−”
“No buts.”
Twenty minutes later, as they were leaving the restaurant, Vanessa took a tissue from her bag and carefully wiped a small spot of Bolognese sauce from Todd’s shirt. He fought back an overwhelming desire to kiss her. If anything the weather had become more bitter, and as they hurried to her apartment she said, “What messages do you have for me?”
“None,” Todd said, slipping his hand into her coat pocket. “I got the cell phone that Grinich is so desperate to get. I just put it in your pocket. I’m staying at your place tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll be on the sofa.”
“I know what you’re doing. You’re sweet,” Vanessa replied, squeezing his hand.
As she opened the door to her apartment, Todd swung her around and kissed her passionately. “I’ve been dying to do that.”
“Don’t worry about the sofa,” she whispered, “but you have to be quiet. I don’t think the apartment’s bugged, but I’d hate for them to be listening.”
Todd had dreamed of this night and as Vanessa turned the bedside light off he drew her to him. Her lips were warm and moist, and her tongue darted inside his mouth as he fought to control his breathing. She ran her hands up and down his chest while he gently fondled her breasts. He felt her tremble with pleasure, and he slowly moved his hand to her thigh and began exploring. He had read all the books about great lovers and how gentle they were, so he was surprised when, with a sense of urgency, she whispered, “Honey, I’m not made of glass.”
It had been years since she had been with a man, and she was eager, excited, and sick of waiting. Todd didn’t need to be told twice, and he was almost out of control with desire. Sixty seconds later he let out an almighty yell and Vanessa half whispered, half giggled, “I told you no noise.”
Chapter 53
The newspapers and talkback radio were evenly divided about Karen Deacon. Some were sympathetic, and some were downright nasty. Her kids had been the subject of some vicious teasing and when she picked up Brett from school he was sporting a black eye. Someone had called his mom a ho, and while he hadn’t known what it meant, he knew it wasn’t good. Sally fared worse when some of the girls said that her mom was a slut and had killed Devlin Cooper. Tom Deacon had recovered from his initial shock, and while he wasn’t happy, he had supported Karen and even asked her to move back in with him. His players were sympathetic, and some of them felt terrible about the way they had treated Devlin after the Pirates game. Karen knew that the first two weeks would be the worst, but the relief she felt from being free of the blackmailers was cleansing. It was too late now, but she and Devlin should’ve come out when the blackmailers first contacted him.
Chas Grinich was not surprised when forensics told him that all calls made to and from Elliot’s cell phone were private. Further examination revealed that calls were only ever made to and received from one number. The cell phone was a prepaid, and its present location was a mansion in the Hamptons. The majority of calls were made from a high-rise office building, an apartment in Manhattan, the house in the Hamptons and locations between those buildings while traveling. When Aaron Lord checked the ownership of the house, he found that it was owned by a corporation, owned by other corporations, a structure now all too familiar. It concealed the ownership of the property but indicated that the real owners were the same people who had blackmailed Todd Hansen and engaged in insider trading. Old fashioned surveillance of the property soon confirmed that disgraced former lawyer and now mega-wealthy investor, Dermott Becker, and his much younger wife were the occupants of the Hamptons mansion. By 11 A.M., Becker’s prepaid cell phone had either been destroyed or the battery had been removed because it could no longer be tracked. It made little difference as the link between Borchard, Elliot and Becker had been established.
Agents followed Becker to the Truman Building and watched him take a private elevator from the parking garage to the offices of ACME Investments Inc on the fiftieth floor. That night they attached a tiny camera to a concrete roof beam engulfed in shadows. Anyone using the private elevator would be caught on disk. Grinich was encouraged by the progress the agency was making.
When Todd entered the club the following morning, he was greeted by guffaws and smartass comments.
“Have a night out did ya, Todd?” Jed asked.
“Were you on the nest all night, Red?” Another thug laughed.
“Nothing like the taste of hot chocolate,” McEvoy chipped in.
Todd felt the color race to his face. Was Vanessa’s apartment bugged or were they just keeping close tabs on him? He was about to say something when Elliot said, “Knock it off, you bloody hyenas.”
As they walked up the stairs, Elliot showed Todd a red Samsung cell phone. “No wonder you couldn’t fix the other one. It died,” he said.
Todd silently breathed a sigh of relief. There was nothing in Elliot’s demeanor to suggest that he knew anything.
Brock Borchard knew that he was being watched. He didn’t see any agents, nor did he notice any cars following the limo but his gut instincts were on high alert. He knew that he couldn’t fly to New York undetected. It was nearly midnight when Ahmet dropped him at the Rialto Towers like he did almost every night. Borchard took the elevator to his penthouse on the 40th level, turned on all the lights and poured himself a Glen Fiddich. Twenty minutes later he pulled a Chicago Bears cap down over his forehead and left the penthouse without switching the lights off. He took the stairs to the parking garage two at a time before climbing behind the wheel of an unobtrusive, blue Toyota Camry with heavily tinted windows. Ten minutes later, he pulled up in a dark side street behind a silver Cadillac limo. As he got out, one of his warehouse employees jumped in the Camry and took off down the road. Farik was behind the wheel of the limo and Ahmet was next to him. Dirk was sitting in the back.
“Don’t speed or do anything to attract attention, Farik,” Borchard said. “Drive for six hours and then switch with Ahmet.”
“We should be in New York just after midday,” Vaughan said.
“That’s right. We’ll get settled into the hotel, and Farik and Ahmet can pick up the Camrys from the rental places. I don’t want anything drawing attention to us. We’ll start work the following day.”
“Have you got false licenses and cash with you?” Vaughan asked.
“We’re not stupid,” Ahmet scornfully replied.
Chas Grinich was fuming. His agents had lost Borchard and his gang. They appeared to have vanished. The agents had watched Borchard get dropped at his apartment building and had followed the black limo to Ahmet’s house where he’d driven into his garage. Since then there had been no sign of life at the house and the limo remained parked in the garage. Borchard was dangero
us, and while he had never been convicted, Grinich knew that he had committed at least five murders and probably more.
Chapter 54
Vaughan drove the dark blue Camry down the alley and behind the club. There appeared to be no one else in it, but Borchard was lying across the back seat. Vaughan parked hard on the curb, opened the rear door, and Borchard slipped into the club.
Todd had his head down calculating the vig on the outstanding loans when he felt someone looking at him. He looked up, and a dark, swarthy, heavyset man in his mid-thirties was standing in the corridor just outside his office. There was something unsettling and intimidating about the man. McEvoy was standing directly behind the man with another swarthy looking character who wasn’t much bigger than McEvoy.
“What is this?” Todd asked.
The heavyset man ignored him and instead said to the other two, “I’ll see Elliot by myself. Wait downstairs.”
Dermott Becker had been angry when he called Elliot to say Borchard would be visiting via the entrance to the store. Becker had cursed and ranted about Borchard interfering in matters that didn’t concern him before relenting. Elliot sensed that Becker was wary of upsetting the Serbian. Without saying a word, Borchard sat down opposite Elliot and slowly put a cigarette in his mouth. He was a master of turning up the pressure even though Elliot appeared unfazed.
“Tell me about the accountant,” Borchard said, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “How much does he know about the drugs?”
“What’s this about?” Elliot asked.
“Someone leaked to the FBI. I suspect it was him.”
“It’s not. I have him tagged twenty-four hours a day. I know he hasn’t seen anyone from the government. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”