Parker 02 - The Guilty (6 page)

shoelace. I call every bluff I see. Remember that."

Bynes swallowed, flicked his eyes down to his wingtips.

"So what do I tell Ted Allen? He's pissed this Parker kid got

to the cops before we could."

Paulina leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes.
This

Parker kid. This Parker kid.

Her eyelids flew open.

"This Parker kid is a good reporter. Give me pages four

through seven tomorrow for coverage of the murder."

"That's a lot of copy. Are you sure you'll have enough to

fill that space?"

"Don't ask me that again. I could give a rat's ass what you

do with pages eight, nine and sixty-nine. Oh, and get Tamara

Finnerman to do a write-up of David Loverne's speech at the

Alzheimer's event last night. When my story runs, I don't

want people thinking we've had it in for him. Tell her to use

prose so syrupy and purple I'll be able to see the Crayola logo.

Tell Allen that between these two stories, the
Gazette
will be

limping within weeks."

Bynes laughed, then wiped a loose dribble of saliva from

his mouth.

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Jason Pinter

"I'm not going to tell him that. What, you think covering

a story we've already been scooped on will suddenly have

Wallace Langston quaking in his Doc Martens?"

Paulina smiled at him, crossed her legs.

"Every war begins with an opening volley. Parker's scoop

this morning was the
Gazette'
s opening volley. I'm not simply

returning fire, I'm coming back with a Howitzer up their ass.

You know my ex-husband was a state prosecutor. One thing

I learned from him, other than that men are as useful as dirty

bathwater, is that nobody remembers
how
you won, they

remember
if
you won. We simply take what Parker has, know

what he's going to know, and make it our own. Henry's a great

reporter, but after last year he's nervous, twitchy, and doesn't

want to rattle the cage any more than he already has. I have

someone who'll shadow him closer than his beard stubble,

and I'll be waiting to lay down the copy."

Bynes smiled. "I thought you said Finnerman was the one

who wrote purple prose."

"Trust me," Paulina said. "It'll look better on paper."

7

I was walking toward city hall alongside Jack O'Donnell,

nearly having to sprint to keep up. And his legs had an extra

thirty years of mileage. I dialed Amanda, figured I'd say hi

before radio silence. She picked up on the second ring. "Hey,

hon, can't talk for long, just wanted to say hi. I'm heading to

the press conference with Jack. Think I can smell the mayor's

cologne a mile away," I said into the cell phone.

"Hey, babe. No problem," she said. "I'm about to go into

the library and I think they've starting arming the cell phone

police with automatic weapons."

"Good thing you finally learned how to use the vibrate

button." Jack elbowed me.
Amanda,
I mouthed. He raised his

eyebrows.
Girlfriend.
He opened his mouth to say
ah.
Then

he ran his thumb across his throat.
Cut it off.
"Anyway, I'd

better turn this off. Jack is giving me dirty looks. I'll call you

as soon as this circus is over."

"Is it a three-ring circus, or does Athena Paradis warrant

four?"

"You know, I think they might green-light the ever-elusive

five-star circus. Just for Athena."

"The news ran video of Costas Paradis getting off his

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Jason Pinter

private jet this morning. I've never much sympathized with

billionaires, but you have to feel for the guy."

I said nothing. Didn't have to.

"Give Jack my best. Knock the story out of the park, Henry."

"Will do," I said. "Stay quiet." I hung up. Jack was holding

back a thin smile. "What?"

He allowed a small chuckle. "Like two sweet jaybirds, you

two," he said. "Hope you don't mind my taking amusement

in the love rituals of the young and naive."

I eyed Jack's hand, barren of any rings or jewelry other

than a swank Omega wristwatch. I knew he'd worn a ring,

years ago. He never showed any desire to discuss it.

I took my press pass out of my pocket and looped the

lanyard over my head. Jack did the same. We rounded the

corner and immediately became two small fish in the biggest

school I'd ever seen. There must have been five hundred

members of the press corps standing outside of city hall.

Dozens of cameras, many of them live, along with Brylcreemed reporters and onlookers peeking out of open office

windows for blocks in every direction. Millions of people

would be watching this conference, whether live or on the

evening news. Which made our jobs near impossible. How

do you find a shadowy corner when there are hundreds and

thousands of eyes scanning every inch?

We ducked under a rope and tried to push our way to the front.

"Easier to dig to China," Jack said. "Screw this. I don't

need to be close to hear Perez."

"He'll have the text up on his MySpace page within an

hour anyway."

"Perez has a MySpace page?"

"Facebook, too. Wants to hit the young voters."

"Do young voters like him?" Jack asked.

The Guilty

53

"I wouldn't vote for him," I replied. "A little too much selfpromotion for my tastes."

Jack pulled a pair of folding binoculars out of his pocket.

He stared through them, peered along the dais and around the

surrounding area. When he was done he passed them to me.

I took in the scene. The marble steps leading to city hall

were polished a gleaming white. The podium was empty,

waiting for Mayor Perez and, I assumed, Costas Paradis.

Three uniformed police officers stood on either side of the

podium. They stood straight, arms at their sides, guns visible.

I swung the binoculars from right to left. When I saw who

was standing directly to the left of the podium, I nearly

dropped the binoculars.

"I saw him, too," Jack said. "He's not here for you. Be a

professional."

"Professional," I said, my mouth dry. "Right."

Standing to the left of the podium was Detective Lieutenant Joseph Mauser. One year ago, Detective Joe Mauser had

chased me halfway across the country, shot me in the leg, and

barely escaped with his life after taking three bullets in the

chest.

I had followed Mauser's recovery over the months. Visited

his guarded hospital room and was turned away by the very

cops who'd wanted me dead before they found out the truth.

After two months in the hospital--fully recovered, minus

one spleen, two ribs and twenty pounds--Joe Mauser transferred from the FBI to the NYPD. He attributed the transfer

as a tribute to his fallen brother-in-law and in-arms, John

Fredrickson. The man whose death I was responsible for, indirectly or not. Mauser wanted to be closer to his sister, Linda,

John's widow. In various interviews, Mauser insinuated that

he held no ill will toward me. That given the circumstances

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Jason Pinter

he would have defended his life and honor, as well. But a

wound is a wound, no matter how it's caused, and the simple

fact was his brother-in-law would still be alive if not for me.

Mauser had sold the book and film rights to his story for

a reputed seven figures. He said the money wasn't for him,

but would feed his sister's family, educate her fatherless

children. If not for Mauser, my life wouldn't have been saved

by a beautiful stranger. The same woman who now shares my

bed. I guess we could call it even.

Mauser looked good, healthy and even a little tan. He

looked like the kind of man who was proud to serve his city.

And I was glad to finally be on his side.

I could barely hear over the noise as reporters chirped into

cell phones, cameras ran their feeds. Suddenly a hush came

over the crowd and I saw Mayor Dennis Perez stride to the

podium through the massive columns bracketing city hall.

Walking alongside Mayor Perez was Costas Paradis. The

normally confident man looked pale, tired. But looking

through the binoculars, I could see the anger that burned for

his murdered daughter.

The mayor wore a striped gray suit and walked with a

purpose. His mustache was neatly trimmed as always, but his

eyes were bloodshot. He probably hadn't slept since Athena

died. And Costas wasn't the kind of man to mourn. He was

the kind of man whose grief turned to anger, whose anger

turned to rage, and whose rage could scorch the earth. I just

stood and hoped they found the killer before more families

experienced that grief.

The crowd grew quiet. Though the majority in attendance were paid to speak, discuss and bloviate as loud as

humanly possible, they also knew that if they missed a

single word they could miss a scoop, fall behind, give

The Guilty

55

people a reason to pick up a paper or watch a newscast other

than theirs.

I thought about Wallace's sign by the elevators. Then I

looked at the sea of microphones and suits. Just like a

marathon, a giant mass beginning as one. But that wouldn't

last. The good ones would break away.

Mayor Perez stepped to the podium. Costas Paradis stood

next to Perez, and I could sense the mayor's discomfort, like

a child forced to admit wrongdoing in front of an angry

parent.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. His eyes traveled from

right to left. Making sure he made eye contact with every

camera he could. Give each station their half second of exclusive content. "At approximately one thirty-seven this

morning, Athena Paradis was shot and killed as she was

leaving a nightclub. This is a shocking and heinous crime, perpetrated by an individual whose depravity knows no bounds.

At this very moment we have unleashed the very best men

and women upon the crime scene to establish just who is responsible for Ms. Paradis's death, as well as their motives in

doing so. No stone will remain unturned, not a second will

go by where Ms. Paradis's murderer will have a chance to

breathe."

Jack was scribbling in a notepad. I was watching their

eyes. Mayor Perez. Costas Paradis. Joe Mauser. There was

worry in them. Right then I knew they had nothing.

The mayor continued.

"The true test of a city is challenge. The test of a family is

grief. In this investigation, we will grieve for the memory of

Athena Paradis, but rise to the challenge of bringing her killer

to justice."

"Second book," Jack said, pen hanging from his mouth.

56

Jason Pinter

"What?"

"That line. From Perez's second book. Just made himself

another ten K in royalties right there."

I shook my head as Perez continued. "What we do know

at this time is that the shooter is most likely a lone assailant,

the murder weapon a high-powered rifle which was discharged from the roof of a building several blocks away from

the club where Ms. Paradis was performing that evening. We

have taken casts of footprints discovered at that rooftop, and

are matching them with known offenders as we speak."

Bullshit,
I thought.
Officer Lemansky told me the rooftop

was covered in gravel. Unless they developed some way to

detect footprints in rocks, they're throwing us a hollow bone.

He continued. "We have many unfortunate witnesses to the

crime itself, but as of yet nobody has come forward who has

been able to positively identify the assailant."

At this point Costas Paradis moved a half inch closer. His eyes

seemed to be burning a hole through Mayor Perez's neck. The

mayor swallowed. He held his hand up, index finger extended.

"Let me assure you that the NYPD is using every available resource to find this heartless and soulless coward, and

the NYPD will not rest until the assailant has been brought

to justice."

Perez's eyes became sorrowful and he lowered his head.

"At this time I would like to express my sincerest condolences to the Paradis family. I have known Athena's devoted

father, Costas, for many years, and suffice it to say his daughter's death is not only felt by the Paradis family, but is felt by

his family and friends both in this city and around the world.

Justice will be served."

Hotel Paradis, Paradis Park, Paradis Skating Rink,
I

thought. Not only was there a murderer loose, but there were

The Guilty

57

millions, perhaps
billions
of dollars at stake. Maybe Perez

should quote a few more lines from his book. Catching

Athena's killer was not only a moral and legal priority, but

one the mayor needed to help pay for those campaign reelection ads with spiffy production values.

Perez went on for another few minutes. He spoke a great

deal but said very little.

"I've seen mimes more eloquent," Jack said. He leaned in