The sirens come closer and we join the queue waiting at a pizzeria. Now the sounds are deafening. At the end of the block, two police cars squeal to a halt at the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance to Grand Central. Our heads are down, but like everyone in the queue, we are expectant. A few seconds later, the car doors slam shut and four uniformed officers run into the station.
"Come on," I say, getting out of line.
Are you sure you want to run? Charlie asks me with a look.
I don't bother answering. Like he said, it's not about my anger anymore. Or some kind of revenge against Lapidus. It's about staying alive. And after nearly fifteen years as the Red Lantern, Charlie knows the value of having a head start.
"Do you know where we're going?" He — he asks as he follows me.
I'm running to the opposite end of the block.
"Not really," I say. But I have an idea.
Joey was the eighth person called. Naturally, the first was the insurer of the KRG company that had been in charge of underwriting the policy. Lapidus crushed him in microseconds and forced an immediate transfer of the matter to a loyalty claims analyst, who, when he learned of the amount in question, called the head of the loyalty claims unit, who called the claims chairman, who then he called the very president of
the company. From there, the president made two calls: the first to a forensic accounting firm and the second to Chuck Sheafe, president of Sheafe International, asking him personally to send his best investigator. Sheafe didn't hesitate for a moment. He immediately recommended Joey.
"Okay," said the president of the company. When can he be here?
"You mean her."
"What is he talking about?"
"Don't be sexist, Warren. Jo Ann Lemont," Sheafe explained. Does he want our best investigator or does he want an amateur?
That was it. The eighth call was to Joey.
"Do you have any idea who might have stolen that money?" Joey asked from his chair on the other side of Lapidus's desk.
"Of course, I don't know who stole that money," Lapidus shouted. What kind of stupid question is that?
Stupid, maybe, Joey thought, but he had to do it anyway. If only to see his reaction. If he was lying, there would be some clue. The averted look, a nervous smile, a blank look she could see in her eyes. As she brushed a reddish-brown lock off her forehead, he thought that was his gift—focusing attention and finding some clue—and he had learned it playing poker with his father; she later polished it off in law school. Sometimes he was into body language. Sometimes he was... elsewhere.
When Joey first walked into Lapidus's office, the first thing that caught her eye was the intricate Victorian-style brass doorknob. Embossed with an ovoid motif, it was cold to the touch, difficult to turn, and matched no other knob in the entire building. But as Joey knew—when it came to CEOs—that was precisely the point. Anything to impress.
"Is there anything else, Miss Le...?"
"It's Joey," she interrupted, raising her chocolate eyes from her yellow legal pad. Although he had a pen between his fingers and the pad in his lap, he had not written a single word; ever since his first notebook was subpoenaed as evidence in a case, he had learned his lesson. However, the presence of that blog helped people to open up. Also use first name. Please call me Joey.
"Okay, no offense, Joey, but if I remember correctly, she was hired to find our missing $313 million. So why don't we go back to it?
"Actually, that's exactly what I was about to ask..." she began, taking a digital camera out of her bag. Mind if I take some pictures?
For the insurance company's file only...
Lapidus nodded, and she took four quick snapshots. One in each direction. For Lapidus, it was just a minor nuisance. For Joey it was the easiest way to document a possible crime scene. "Let everything be recorded on film," they had taught him long ago. "It's the only thing that doesn't lie." Through the lens, Joey studied the cherry-paneled walls and Aubusson rug that filled the room with its rich burgundy hues. The entire office was filled with Asian objects: to her left, a framed calligraphy scroll on which was a Japanese poem celebrating spring; to her right, a pre-World War II piece of furniture that was a simple wooden chest with small drawers; and just ahead, behind Lapidus's desk, the obvious pride of her collection: a thirteenth-century samurai helmet from the Kamakura period. It was carved wood, lacquered glossy black, and inlaid with a silver crescent moon on the forehead. As Joey knew from an old history class in college, the shoguns—former military governors of Japan—used to use the silver insignia to identify their samurai and see how they performed in battle. Another boss who likes to keep his distance, Joey thought.
"How do you get along with your employees, Mr. Lapidus?" Joey asked as he put the camera back in his briefcase.
"How did I...?" He—he broke off, and he stared at her. Are you trying to accuse me of something?
"Not at all," he hastened to reply. But it was obvious that he had hit the nail on the head. I'm just trying to imagine if someone could have a reason to...
At that moment the door to Lapidus's office was flung open. Quincy walked into the room but didn't say anything. He just had a tight grip on the oval knob.
-Than? Lapidus asked. What's going on?
Quincy looked at Joey, then at Lapidus. Some things were better discussed in private.
-It is there? a hoarse voice called from the corridor. Before Quincy could answer, Officers Gallo and DeSanctis burst into the office.
Joey smiled at the interruption. His suit bagged from wear...protruding belly...cheap, race-scarred shoes. These two were not bankers. Which meant they were security or...
"Secret Service," Gallo said, showing the badge on his belt. Can he forgive us for a moment?
Joey couldn't help but look at the cut on Gallo's cheek. He hadn't seen it when he entered the office.
"Actually, I think we're all in the same boat," Joey said, hoping to sound nice.
He represented Chuck Sheafe.
He didn't mention his boss's name very often, but Joey knew full well how trust worked when it came to law enforcement agencies. Fifteen years ago, Chuck Sheafe had been the third in command in the Secret Service. To the agents that meant he was family.
"Is he working for the insurance company?" Rooster asked.
It wasn't the reaction she expected, so she just nodded.
"Then she's still a civilian," Gallo snapped. As I said: Please excuse us.
-But...
"Bye, miss, no...
"You can call me Joey.
Rooster turned his head with a scavenging look, again revealing the ugly cut on his cheek. She didn't like being interrupted.
"Bye, Joey.
Joey, too smart to insist, tucked her notepad under her arm and headed for the door. The four men watched her as she crossed the room, something that didn't happen often. With her relatively athletic build, she was an attractive woman, but not breathtakingly beautiful. However, she gave no sign of perceiving her gazes. She made her living knee-deep in male ego. There would be time enough to fight later.
As the door closed behind Joey, Lapidus rubbed his palm against his bald spot.
"Please tell me you have good news."
Quincy tried to respond, but no sound came out. He put his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking any further.
-Are you okay? asked Lapidus.
"Shep is dead," DeSanctis said.
-Than? Lapidus asked with wide eyes. Is he...? How...?
"Three shots to the chest. We went in when we heard the noise, but it was too late.
The room was silent again. Nobody moved. Not even Lapidus. Neither did Quincy. No one.
"I'm sorry to lose him," Gallo added.
Clutching his chest, Lapidus slumped into his chair.
"Was it for the money?"
"That's what we're trying to find out," Gallo explained. We're not sure how they did it, but everything seems to indicate that they may have received help from Shep.
Lapidus looked up.
"What does he mean by them?" "That's the other part..." he said.
DeSanctis, intervening again in the dialogue. He looked at Gallo as if asking permission. When Gallo nodded, DeSanctis crossed the room and settled his tall, lean frame into one of the armchairs in front of Lapidus's desk. As far as we know, Shep was killed by either Charlie or Oliver.
"Oliver?" Lapidus asked. Our Oliver? That boy couldn't...
"He could... and he did," Gallo insisted. So that he doesn't come out with innocent child crap on me now. Thanks to those two I have a man with three holes in his chest and a financial investigation that has turned into homicide. Add that to $313 million and you have one of those cases that gets hearings in Congress.
Lapidus remained dejected in his chair, while the consequences of what he had just heard settled heavily on his shoulders. He was lost in his thoughts and avoided looking at anyone present, keeping his gaze fixed on the Japanese bronze letter opener that he had on his desk. Then, suddenly, he jumped out of his chair. He was speaking in a hurry.
"On Friday, Oliver used my password to transfer money to a Tanner Drew account.
"Well, that's something we should know," Gallo said, sitting down next to DeSanctis. If there is any indication of malvers…" Gallo interrupted his speech when he noticed that there was something on the seat cushion. He reached under his thigh and pulled out a blue and yellow pen bearing the University of Michigan logo. Michigan, he thought. "The same place that Chuck Sheafe, Joey's boss, attended..."
"Where did this come from? Gallo asked, waving his feather in front of Lapidus. Its yours?
"I don't think so," Lapidus said. No, he had never seen her...
Gallo removed the cap, furiously unscrewed the barrel of the pen and waved both pieces on the desk. An ink refill fell out... a small metal spring... and from the back of the pen: a clear plastic tube filled with wires, a tiny battery, and a miniature transmitter. A hole in the base housed the built-in microphone.
"Son of a bitch!" Rooster burst out. He tossed the quill against the wall, where he missed the Japanese calligraphy scroll by inches.
-Be careful! Lapidus yelled as Gallo jumped from his seat.
Gallo tossed the chair to the floor, ran to the door, seized the oval knob, and yanked with all his might.
"Can I help you?" Lapidus's secretary asked from her usual place behind the desk.
Gallo hurried past her and looked down the hall…near the restrooms…next to the elevator. It had come too late. Joey had been gone for a while.