Текст книги "Stormy Weather"

Автор книги: Steve Rollins

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

Chapter Eight

Donovan woke up the next morning in a lavish bedroom in Sedakis' 18th century colonial home. He was thankful that he was not hungover. He looked around and noticed his clothes were folded on top of a chair in the corner. His boxers were the topmost and as soon as he saw them, he realized he was naked. He looked to the other side of the bed and saw Naomh Walsh there. He lifted the sheets and saw she was naked too, her smooth skin beckoned him to touch her. He surmised something must have happened, but he could not remember anything past cursing her as she forbade him from driving himself home.

Slowly he got out of bed and began to get dressed. Naomh stirred. Softly he walked out of the room, holding his shoes in his hands, not wishing to make any unneeded noise that might wake her up.

Five minutes later, he stepped into his Bugatti and was rushing back toward the center of Manhattan and his office. He charged down Bronx River Parkway toward the skyscrapers of the city that he loved to hate. But as he drove down FDR Drive and took the 63rd street exit that led him to his Midtown offices, he changed his mind. He took a right and turned into a side street that would lead him back onto the highway and continued straight in the direction of Chinatown. He took the City Hall exit and headed toward the financial district.

When the traffic cleared enough, he floored the Bugatti and accelerated as fast as he could. It did not take him long to reach City Hall. But he did not turn into Park Row; instead he drove past it, to a charcoal brown office building between Chinatown and City Hall. The building with the unassuming architecture on the corner of Chambers and Broadway where his old offices were; the Federal Plaza, the New York State headquarters for the office of the FBI.

He parked the Bugatti in the front of the building and ran in. He checked his watch and knew Albert would only just be heading in. He knew his old partner's habits by heart and he was not wrong. Within a minute, Albert came in with a cup of coffee.

“Albert!” he greeted his old partner, who looked a bit stunned.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Helping you out.” Donovan said as happily as he could, knowing how much it would annoy Albert.

“Thought you had to be in court or something? Stupid Lavoie kid? Yesterday, in fact.”

Donovan shook his head. “It was postponed to today. Got another two hours before that.”

Albert nodded, looking bored and annoyed. “So what are you doing here? Not sure you're supposed to be here. You couldn't just call, could you?”

“You've probably got some link with the NSA anyway, so you can tap my phone. Not sure I want one of your spies or database analysts overhearing what I need to tell you. Bit sensitive.”

It took Albert a moment to realize what he meant. “You spoke to her then?”

Donovan nodded. “She said I should look at the Lang's siblings.”

“Yeah, I did that already. That sister, Mary?”

“Mara.” Donovan corrected him.

“Right, her. Well, she died under your wheels right?” Albert shrugged. “Maybe they blame you for that too, but Quinn has gone to ground, Denny is dead and Mara is dead. Unless we can find Quinn, that's a dead end.”

“I was with Sedakis last night.”

“Ugh, that horrible man.” Albert interrupted.

“Shut up, he's a nice guy.” Donovan threw in. “He's just gotten married to this teenage chick. She claims she went to boarding school with Mara Lang and her younger sister.”

Albert shrugged. Then his eyes opened wide. His brain was still slow in the morning. The coffee had not yet taken effect. “Her younger sister?”

“Yes. Kid disappeared from the Québec boarding school when she was fourteen. Nobody has heard or seen of her since.”

“Interesting...” Albert smiled and patted Donovan on the shoulder. He turned away and walked past the desk into the office. “Haven't completely lost your touch have you, Boyo?”

The Court Administration was a hive of activity when Donovan got there. Naomh Walsh was already waiting in the lobby area as he walked through the main entrance doors. He came to stand next to her and took her hand, fingering the ring on her finger. “Did you cheat on your husband last night?” he asked her quietly. She just stared straight ahead, not giving anything away. “Honestly, I don't know,” she said in low tones. “Wanted to, but I'm not sure I did. Damned ouzo.”

Donovan grinned. “Yeah, well... dinner tonight?”

She looked at him then. “Husband is flying back tonight. Sorry.”

Donovan nodded. He tried to make out he was not bothered, but secretly he was. He had enjoyed spending time with Ms. Walsh, much more than with any of his other recent conquests. But, he figured, you win some, you lose some. Que sera, sera and all that jazz.

A large, black limousine drove up to the curb and the door opened. First out of the car was a big Eastern European-looking man with muscles the size of boulders. He was dressed in some shiny, silk harem pants and nothing more. He held two small dogs, both of them barking like mad. Behind him, a woman in latex pants and bra got out. A huge purple strap-on dangled from her waist as she stood there on her high heels, waiting for the last person to exit the car. That last person was a petite blonde woman. The blonde woman was really still a girl. A girl who made both Donovan and Naomh look down in despair.

Justine Lavoie, it seemed, had not even bothered to dress. She had simply thrown on a jeans skirt that was so short it looked almost like a belt. She wore no top, just a short fur coat that she had not even closed. Her small breasts were almost fully exposed, as were her private parts as she stepped out of the car. She wore obscenely high shoes again and her makeup was that of a porn star, again.

When she stood and rose out of the limo, she smiled to the large gathering of paparazzi that seemed to have become a part of her entourage. She pulled the two people that accompanied her close in. She kissed the woman and stroked the strap-on in her hand. She pushed her bottom into the crotch of the topless man and began grinding against him, all the while looking straight at the cameras.

The cameramen and photographers egged her on, but Donovan's patience just snapped. He rushed forward, making his way through the assembled press and grabbed Justine Lavoie by her arm. “Good day, Miss Lavoie. If you would be so kind as to follow us into the courthouse. Can't keep the judge waiting.” He just pushed her. The topless man tried to ward him off, but he was able to bully the girl toward the main door. In the short, close-up observation, he had already noticed she had no pupil in her eye, and he already began wondering whether he should not just let it happen. Maybe he should let her make a fool out of herself, mess things up in the court and be convicted to mandatory rehab. Maybe the conviction would steer her away from what seemed like her looming demise and maybe even a membership to the 27 Club.

The whole thing should have been a routine affair. An appearance before the bench and a quick decision. Most of the minor offenses were dealt with in that manner. You were given a number, called before the bench, told your story in a few minutes, the clerk would read the police report and then the judge would pass a ruling. You could then accept the verdict or decide to take it higher, demanding trial by jury. Or you could simply make things worse by showing contempt of court.

It should have been easy, and Donovan hoped it would be, though, as the situation unfolded before him, he feared it would not be. Naomh Walsh did not show what she was thinking, but her objective was not getting Justine Lavoie off or getting her the best suitable arrangement. Her job was to make sure the girl got publicity, preferably good publicity, of course. But publicity was the name of the game. The only thing she seemed to be afraid of was that her client's behavior would appear so deranged that she would end up generating too much negative publicity, to the detriment of her record and ticket sales.

Neither one of them had control over the situation, and neither one was willing to admit to the fact. With so much press there, this was a show entirely devoted to Justine Lavoie and her whims. The moment their number was called Justine Lavoie jumped up and trotted toward the bench. She took off her short fur jacket and bowed to the judge. There weren’t supposed to be any cameras in the courtroom, but there were some anyway. Various people present in the room pulled out their cell phones and took snapshots. Several paparazzi had managed to sneak in past the security and even a camera crew from the news station had managed to get in.

“Miss Lavoie, will you please cover yourself up?” the judge began, quite shocked.

Justine held her hands before her breasts. The judge looked at Donovan. “Counselor?”

Donovan shrugged. He did not know how to deal with the girl. He took her jacket and placed it around her shoulders. At least it covered up something. Apart from covering her shoulders, it covered the large, elaborate tattoo of a soaring eagle with a bloody beak and claws she had tattooed on her back and shoulders. It looked odd on a little girl like this. But then, she was hardly an innocent little girl.

The judge shook his head read the charge. “The State of New York against Justine Aoibhe Maria Lavoie. On the charge of driving under influence of alcohol, how do you plea?”

“Fuck you,” Justine Lavoie answered before Donovan could open his mouth.

“Pardon me?” the judge said. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“I said...” the girl gathered her breath and screamed the next words, “Fuck you!”

The judge's face paled. He was used to a lot, but he could not let this go. “Counselor. Please control your client, or I will also hold her in contempt of the court.”

“Yes, your honor.” Donovan answered quickly. Justine Lavoie turned to him and looked at him, licking her lips. “I'll fuck you too, you know. Pay him off with my pussy and you can take my ass.” She turned away from him again, lifted the poor excuse for a skirt and began grinding into him. Naomh stepped in and pulled her away.

“Oh, you want him in your ass instead? I'll share; you know, I'm not picky.”

“Miss Lavoie!” the judge roared. “This is a courthouse, not a brothel. If you cannot keep from exposing yourself and behaving indecently, I will find you guilty of the charges, add contempt of the court and have you locked up immediately!” The old man looked furious. And rightly too, Donovan thought. There was no excuse for this. The girl was completely deranged. “Can I approach the bench, your honor?” he asked quickly. The judge nodded.

As Donovan approached, he already knew he had made a mistake. He had wanted to talk to the judge and ask whether he could spare her any harsh sentence, forcing her to take rehab instead, but that plan was not going to fly. For the moment he approached, Justine Lavoie dropped onto her back and began touching herself. “See, I'll pay you off? I'll give you as much as you want,” she proposed to the judge.

Not five minutes later, she had been taken to the jail at the back of the courthouse. There was nothing Donovan could do about it. He calmly heard the judge say she had defiled the courtroom and shown utter contempt for the court, on top of the charges already filed against her. He ordered the officers to take blood for drug testing and to hold her in the cells until the results came back. Donovan could only agree. He wanted to ask for bail, but he knew it was futile right now.

When he walked out of the courtroom, Naomh Walsh was already outside, making calls. Journalists were talking to camera teams, phoning their offices or speaking into recorders. The whole scene was beyond chaotic. And Naomh Walsh was in full damage control mode. For himself, the damage had been done. He could do little other than wait for the judge to call him back and talk about bail. He sat down on the wooden bench outside the courtroom and closed his eyes.

Two hours passed before he was called in to hear the final ruling. The results of the blood test had come back and they did not look good. It seemed Justine Lavoie had recently taken nearly everything she could have gotten her hands on. Uppers and downers, legal and illegal. She was a walking pharmacy, as the judge put it. He hesitated not a moment. He gave her a fine for the drunk driving, but ordered Justine Aoibhe Maria Lavoie to go into rehab. Donovan accepted the verdict in her place. She was not there, having passed out in the cell.

Outside, Donovan found the topless man, whom he knew was one of Justine’s bodyguards, even if she did use him for other things too. He told him to bring the girl back into the limousine and take her home. He looked around and saw Naomh Walsh still making calls. He would probably not see her again, not any time soon, and he felt he should say goodbye. But she was busy and he had to get back to his office on the other side of town. Instead, he began the long walk several blocks north to his office and back to saner legal work.

Chapter Nine

Albert walked into Donovan’s midtown office, where he was in the library, looking through several decades of history of land ownership for Gregoris Sedakis. The case actually looked pretty clear-cut. The land did seem to have belonged to the Lang family, but the ownership was pretty much neglected since the deal was agreed between their grandfather and the corporation. It seemed pretty much as Sedakis had said.

He did not know why he was still researching it, because the claimant in the case was dead, but he just felt compelled to keep looking. He could not explain why, but he did.

“Need a word,” Albert said gruffly.

“What about?”

“The two corpses connected to you.”

Donovan looked up with a sigh. “What now?”

“First of all,” Albert came into the library. “They were paralyzed with drugs and then cut up while still alive.” Donovan looked down again. He did not want to show how horrified he was with that knowledge. “Second, there's no recent trace of any other sibling.”

“There isn't?” Donovan asked him blankly.

Albert shook his head. “Nope. They had a sister in that boarding school, but she vanished the same day as Mara Lang ended up under your car. Nobody has heard from her since. It was summer so she probably made it further than freezing to death. But nobody reported her missing. No bodies fitting her description have been found. She probably ended up somewhere in the woods or in the Hudson River.”

Donovan shook his head. “I know Frankie wouldn’t tell me to look out for her if she were dead.”

Albert just shrugged. “Believe what you want, but she's not showing up on the grid.”

“Was that all, Al?”

“No clue where to go with it, but for some reason, this killer does these horrible things. Might be a fascination with eagles or with Vikings or something. But the killer also has a strong connection to you.”

“Well, it's not me, and I know fuck-all about it,” Donovan said tensely. He was annoyed because of the business earlier at the courthouse and he did not like to think too much about the two blood-eagled bodies.

“I know.” Albert came forward and thumped him on the shoulder. “You need a distraction. How about more steak? You're buying.”

Donovan looked at him and saw him grinning broadly. “Fuck you.” But he managed a smile too. “Since you're doing the inviting, you're paying, you bastard. But you can buy me a burger or something.”

“So you can rub it in that you can eat them without getting fat and my belly is expanding all the time?”

“Of course,” Donovan smiled. “How's the diet?”

“Good enough as long as the wife doesn't know what I eat during the day.”

There was a burger joint not too far from the office. Their burgers were expensive, but they were good. They made everything fresh and they actually had a decent chef running the kitchen. They sat down by the window and looked over the menu. It was changed every month and Donovan was not familiar with anything on the menu anymore. It had been months since he had been there.

“Doesn't look too bad now,” he remarked to Albert.

“Fucking expensive burger joint,” Albert grumbled.

“Of course. It's quality food, not processed shit.”

“I guess. Should never have agreed to pay.”

“Well, you did. I'll get the drinks.”

“Thanks.”

“So what are you having?”

Albert thought for a moment. “I'll go for some goddamned lemonade.”

“Lemonade?” Donovan had to suppress a snigger. “You pussy.”

“Still on duty, technically. And if the missus finds out I had a beer, I'm fucked. Nose like a bloodhound, that one.”

Donovan grinned. He waved at the waiter and ordered their drinks. He held the girl by the table for a moment, waiting for Albert to be ready to order. He ordered himself a bacon cheeseburger, medium rare, and Albert got a fish burger with fries.

Their drinks and food arrived at the same time and they tucked in right away. There was not much talk as they ate. They were both hungry and so conversation was put on hold. But when Albert finished his slightly smaller meal he became quite talkative.

“You know what bugs me about these murders?” he asked.

Donovan shook his head, still having half of his burger left.

“Why the blood eagle thing?” He looked into Donovan's eyes. “It makes no sense. It's a big thing to do. It has some significance, but it baffles me. If the killer had done it with you or that married chick you've been hanging out with. But Juan?”

Donovan had taken another bite and did not reply. He just shrugged, indicating he did not know.

“Since the only link is you, I’m sort of beginning to think it's all random, but that's not likely either. Who would Viking-blood-eagle a person at random? Just for fun?”

Donovan swallowed. “Don't know. It's very strange.” He took another bite.

“See, even if this Eva is still alive, why would she kill her brother like that? And then your janitor?”

Donovan shrugged again.

“It's impossible to make anything out of this. Can't pin any of it down.” He paused and pinched his nose while holding his head down. “On anything!”

Donovan finished the last of his burger and he was finally able to make a reply. “You know, if she is still alive, she might just have gone nuts. Completely lost it and is acting with no sense at all.”

“Well, yes, but that's assuming she's still around.”

Donovan shook his head. “I know it's not the sort of proof-based investigating the FBI is expected to do, but I trust Frankie on this. If she says it’s a sibling, then I know she’s right.”

“Not forgetting Quinn Lang?”

Donovan considered that for a moment. “Well, where is he? Wasn't he supposed to show up at his parole officer's today?”

“Yup,” Albert gave a wry smile. “But he didn't show. In fact, he hasn't been seen since he was released.”

“Huh,” Donovan took another sip of his drink. “Have you been looking for him?”

“We sent some people down to his apartment earlier. They will probably report in within an hour or so.”

Donovan nodded. “You need to go home, or have you got time for coffee?”

Albert looked at his phone and then shrugged. “Duty, so I can have some coffee with you.”

“I'll make you some coffee back at the office.”

“You're being a cheapskate now? Great Recession getting to your business too?”

“Nah, I just have better coffee and a brand new, top of the line espresso machine waiting for us there.”

Albert grinned. “Right, I'll see you back there after I've taken care of the tab.”

Donovan had already produced two cups of espresso when Albert came back into the office. Only Donovan's secretary, Rachel, was still in the office.

The two men sat down with their coffees in a deep alcove with fitted seats just beside the kitchen.

“You're right, it is good coffee.”

“Told you.”

“Still think you're cheap.”

Rachel popped her head round the side of the alcove. “Will you be needing anything further, Mister Donovan?”

“No, Rachel. You can go home.” Donovan smiled. “Home to your boyfriend, eh?”

Rachel looked down for a second. “Actually, sir, he's gone. He moved to LA to work in Hollywood. He wasn't getting any proper roles here.”

“Sorry to hear that. How are you holding up?” Donovan sounded genuinely concerned.

“I'm hanging in there. Getting used to stomping around that apartment alone.” She forced a smile. “But if that's all, I'll be going, sir. Good evening, Mister Donovan, Mister Parker.”

Albert waved and Donovan said goodbye.

Albert's phone rang and he walked into the kitchen as he picked it up. Donovan could not hear a word he said and just looked out of the window. The office buildings were emptying. The workers were flooding into the streets from the doors and the car parks. From his bird’s eye view, he couldn’t make out faces. But he thought he recognized his secretary walking her bike from the building’s front entrance, getting on and cycling off toward Harlem where she lived.

“Right. You'd better come with me,” Albert threw back the coffee and winced as the hot liquid burned his throat. “You might find this interesting.”

They were soon in his car driving toward one of the poorer parts of Brooklyn. Donovan did not venture into the ghettos often. He had been there previously, especially during his days in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but he preferred to stick to the higher parts of society in Manhattan and Brooklyn these days. It was more comfortable and the smell was infinitely better. When he remarked on the latter, Albert immediately opened the windows of the car. Donovan punched him in the shoulder.

Albert parked the car outside a rundown apartment block that looked as though it should be demolished. There was already another car with the FBI letters on it at the location. A coroner’s van raced past them and around the corner as they got out of the car. “This is where Quinn’s supposed to be living,” Albert said as he walked to the door. “Let's see if the parole officer was right.”

Donovan followed him and retched almost as soon as he walked into the apartment. There was another one.

“Do we know who it is?” Albert asked. The agent who had been sent to find Quinn Lang was already busy taking fingerprints. “Not yet,” she said. She held up the paper with the fingerprints. “I'll go down and scan these. Should have an answer for you soon.”

The coroner came into the dingy apartment. He let out a low whistle when he saw the body and then sniffed. “Well, this one was the first to get the treatment.”

Albert and Donovan both looked at him with questioning eyes.

The coroner shook his head. “You FBI boys feeling slow today? I had hoped that maybe you would have learned something since you left the FBI, Donovan, but it seems not.” He waited for a protest and just as Donovan opened his mouth, he continued. “There's quite a distinct odor here. I'm guessing he's been lying in this warm apartment for at least a week.”

Albert looked around the apartment. There was not much there. There was a bed and a cupboard. He went to the cupboard, pulled a glove onto his right hand and opened the drawers one by one. There was a wallet with Quinn Lang's driver license in one of the top drawers; the others contained some clothes and a few books. The top right drawer held a Bible.

“So Quinn Lang found God in jail.” he mumbled. He thumbed through the Bible, but there was nothing to suggest any passage he had been particularly interested in.

Donovan stood on the spot, waiting for someone to tell him it was alright to move. He did not want to disturb the scene. He was no longer an agent and he knew from experience how easy it was for a judge to overturn evidence if there was any reason to think the crime scene had been contaminated.

Albert went into the small kitchen and found nothing worthwhile. There were some eggs in the fridge and some used knives and pans. He checked the small bathroom and found a single toothbrush, a travel-size tube of toothpaste and a bar of soap. It was depressing, really. There was nothing here. Nothing to show a person had really lived a life. He found it sad how this is what three years in prison could do to a man's world.

“I've seen enough.” he mumbled as he walked past Donovan and out of the door. “Depressing place.”

Donovan followed him out and was behind him the moment the agent who had taken the fingerprints confirmed to Albert that the body was Quinn Lang.

Albert turned around and looked at Donovan. “And then there was one.”