Swimming with Sharks (72 page)

“This case is the sole jurisdiction of the NYPD!” he yelled at the deputy US attorney. “Why are you interfering with our work?”

His face was red, and he was so angry that at first he didn’t even notice the other men.

Tate Jenkins smiled thinly. “Why are you so upset, Jerome? Cooperation between the agencies usually works out well.”

The police commissioner turned around abruptly and stared at the deputy director of the FBI in surprise.

“Jenkins,” he said, “this looks like a bigger operation. What are you doing here?”

“It’s big, all right.” Jenkins pointed to one of the vacant chairs across from him. “Take a seat, Jerome.”

The police commissioner, who normally projected confidence, suddenly seemed intimidated.

“Is there something I should know?” he asked. “Why is the FBI chasing this woman? Did she try to kill the president or something?”

“Take a seat, Jerome,” Tate Jenkins repeated. Lloyd Connors shot a quick glance at Nick, but the mayor just stared hollow-eyed off into space. It seemed like he had been in shock ever since they entered the hotel room.

“Connors,” Jenkins said, “please inform Mr. Harding about the situation.”

“What’s going on here?” A fine film of sweat had formed on Harding’s forehead, and his eyes flitted nervously back and forth. Lloyd Connors cleared his voice and prepared himself for one of the police commissioner’s fierce and almost legendary temper tantrums.

“We’re not just looking for Alex Sontheim because of Mr. St. John’s murder,” he stated calmly. “We expect her to testify with regard to a large-scale corruption scandal.”

“A corruption scandal?”

Harding may have seemed surprised to anyone else, but Connors detected a flicker of terror in the police commissioner’s eyes.

“We have evidence,” he continued, “that high-ranking officials of this city have regularly received large sums of money in exchange for certain favors. We have procured comprehensive evidence that includes names, amounts, and bank account numbers in the Cayman Islands, the Bahamas, and in Switzerland. Even if only a fraction of this turns out to be true, then this is certainly one of the largest bribery cases in the history of New York City, if not the United States.”

Jerome Harding’s face flashed red and pale in turns, but he didn’t collapse like the other men to whom Connors had given this speech in the past few days. Nick was right when he said that Harding would be a hard nut to crack. The police commissioner wasn’t intimidated that easily, and the fact that he had never withdrawn any money from the account in his name at Levy & Villiers made it unclear whether a corruption charge even applied to him.

“Unbelievable!” Harding managed to appear indignant. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

Jenkins leaned forward. His pale eyes were as cold as a fish’s.

“Because your name appears in our documents, Jerome.”

“Excuse me?” The police commissioner turned around quickly. The incredulous expression on his face would have seemed real if not for the sheer fear in his eyes.

“That’s a disgraceful accusation!” Harding was outraged. “And from whom—if I may ask—did I accept this money?”

“We’d like to know that,” Jenkins replied with a friendly smile. He crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest. There was complete silence, and only the muted noise of ringing telephones and hectic conversation could be heard from outside. Then Harding pushed back his chair with a jerk and stood up.

“This,” he said in a threatening, quiet voice, “is a truly incredible allegation! I’ve never ever accepted money from anyone! I’ve been the police commissioner of this city for almost eleven years now. I’ve succeeded in making New York a safer place during my time in office. I despise criminals of any kind, no matter if they are white collar or dealing crack in the subway! I have an impeccable reputation far beyond this city. I won’t let you depict me in public as someone who accepts bribes!”

He yelled out the last words, and his angry face was bright red. Jenkins listened to him with an impassive expression.

“So?” Harding put his arms on his hips and looked at the men in a challenging pose. “From whom did I supposedly accept money?”

Connors couldn’t help but admire Harding’s grit, and for a second he had doubts about his involvement in this affair.

“From Sergio Vitali,” someone said.

Harding turned around abruptly.

“Oh, Vitali again,” he said disdainfully and threw Nick a hostile look. “The ghost that has been haunting your sick brain for the last twenty years, Kostidis.”

“No,” Nick said, shaking his head, “it’s not a ghost. Definitely not. You know that as well as I do, Jerome.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Really?” Nick stood up and walked around the table.

His face was extremely pale.

“In that case, you have a short memory. I still vividly remember our conversation in my office the morning after Cesare Vitali was arrested and murdered.”

“He hung himself,” Harding interrupted him harshly.

“No, he didn’t,” Nick replied. “His own father sent someone to the Forty-First Precinct who gave thousands of dollars to a police officer to make sure Cesare Vitali was murdered. It was supposed to look like suicide.”

“You must be—” Harding started to say, but Nick continued undeterred.

“You were angry because I drew a connection between the shots fired at Vitali and the Colombian drug cartel and explained it to the press. I couldn’t understand why you were so mad that day, but then it dawned on me: Vitali had not only lured de Lancie to his side, but also you—a fearless fighter against crime. I told you that right to your face. Do you remember now?”

The police commissioner stared at him angrily, but remained silent.

“For years you have turned a blind eye to Vitali and his henchmen. In exchange for that, Vitali filled your account in the Caymans. You were far too smart to touch the money, but you knew the exact balance. A nice addition to your retirement, wasn’t it?”

“I never liked you, Kostidis,” Harding whispered. “You’re a self-righteous fanatic, a…a…damn it, stop staring at me like that!”

Nick was unmoved, but it almost made him sad to look at Harding.

“You were the biggest disappointment of them all,” Nick whispered. “I couldn’t believe it. I would have put both of my hands in the fire for you, Jerome.”

Harding bit his lip and lowered his head.

“What do you have to say about these allegations?” Jenkins asked.

“I won’t say anything without my lawyer!” the police commissioner snapped. “And if you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got work to do.”

Connors rummaged in his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper. “I have an arrest warrant for you, Mr. Harding. You are under arrest for corruption, obstruction of justice, failure to report planned crimes, providing preferential treatment, and multiple counts of coercion.”

“Kiss my ass, you punk.” Harding laughed disdainfully. “I’ll wipe my ass with your arrest warrant!”

“If you say so.” Connors remained calm. “In that case, we can add resisting arrest to the list.”

He walked across the room and opened the door to signal the two US marshals waiting outside.

“Mr. Harding?” one of the deputies said as he pulled out the handcuffs. “Come with me, please. You have the right to remain silent—”

“I know my rights!” Harding snapped at the man and turned toward Jenkins, Connors, and Engels. “You’ll live to regret this! My lawyer will tear you apart—all of you and your ridiculous arrest warrant! There’s going to be a hefty claim for damages!”

“I hope you can afford a good lawyer now that your foreign assets have been seized by the IRS.” Connors smiled coolly. “I’m afraid that you’ll also be prosecuted for tax evasion.”

Harding’s eyes narrowed as the handcuffs clicked shut.

Connors nodded. “Take him out through the basement. I don’t want his arrest to be public. He’s not allowed to make a phone call until further notice.”

While the others discussed the next course of the operation, Nick once again lapsed into a state of dull brooding. He wanted to drive around the city with the police and personally search the warehouses, docks, and known gangster hangouts on the Lower East Side and in Little Italy. But instead, he sat in this office, extremely tense, as he waited for the sparse updates coming in. Unfortunately, all the leads that had looked so
promising had come to nothing so far. Two staff members at the Portland Square Hotel remembered some men hanging around in the hallways, but the descriptions were so contradictory that the police artist gave up after a few minutes in complete exasperation.

Nick bitterly reproached himself for not being on the alert for possible pursuers as he rushed to Alex. He couldn’t rid himself of the gnawing thought that he was the one who’d put Vitali on Alex’s trail. Why hadn’t he listened to his instincts and convinced her to come with him? If he had insisted, she would be safe now. Nick buried his face in his hands. Seeing the bloodstains all over the hotel room had triggered the same terrible feeling as the moment when the car exploded with Mary and Christopher in it.

“What do you think, Nick?” Connors asked, and Nick jerked up.

“W…what? About what?”

Lloyd Connors looked at the mayor with concern. He had a feeling that for Nick, there was more to this than uncovering a bribery scandal. Connors noticed the dark circles around Nick’s eyes. He would have loved to say something encouraging to him, but there was unfortunately nothing to say. If the woman was actually in Vitali’s clutches, then the odds were definitely against her.

Alex regained consciousness, but she had completely lost any sense of time and space. The hard mattress she was lying on smelled old and musty. She tried to open her eyes, but the men had blindfolded her. Her head buzzed from Sergio’s blows, and her mouth was dry as a bone from the ether that they had used to knock her out. Her bound hands and feet were numb. The memory of what had transpired suddenly rushed back.

“Totally tame, the little wildcat,” a man behind her said in Italian, and Alex barely dared to breathe.

“I’ve never banged such a fine lady before,” she heard a second man say. “The boss said we can do whatever we want, didn’t he?”

Alex swallowed frantically, and her body stiffened in fear. She couldn’t expect any sympathy, especially after hitting one of the guys over the head with a bottle. But maybe they would leave her alone if they thought she was unconscious.

“We could have a little fun with her, right?”

“Why not? The boss won’t be back for a few hours.”

While the men talked to each other in hushed tones, Alex realized the utter hopelessness of her situation. No one knew where she was, and her arms and legs were bound. Why hadn’t she listened to Nick this morning and gone with him? Her thoughts were racing, but there was no possibility of escape. She was completely and utterly at Sergio’s mercy.

“Let’s go,” one of the men said. “I have to take a leak. And then we’ll get the others. I’m sure they want to have some fun, too.”

They moved away. A door opened and closed again with a faint squeak. The room had to be quite large. It smelled damp and unused, like an old basement.

“Hello?” Alex whispered hoarsely after a while, but no one answered. Apparently, both of her guards had left the room. As she moved her hands and feet, the numbness turned to a painful prickle.

She managed to sit up and lean against a tiled wall. She rubbed her head against her shoulders, rotating her arms until the duct tape around them slowly loosened. With her fingernails, she worked on the tape around her ankles. Sweat streamed from her pores from the exertion, and her heart pounded. The men could return at any moment, and then her efforts would be in vain.

Her blindfold loosened and she finally caught a glimpse of the room where she was being held. The room was completely empty, and there were circular tracks on the ceiling. It looked like a slaughterhouse, which meant that she was likely in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District in Chelsea,
between Ninth and Eleventh Avenues. She ripped the tape from her feet and stood up. Dizzy, she forced herself to walk across the room to a metal shelf. She ripped the tape around her wrists on a sharp edge, not caring whether she might cut herself.

Alex frantically looked for an escape route. She could reach the frosted glass skylights if the decrepit metal shelf would hold her weight. She had to at least give it a try. She climbed up the wobbly shelf as fast as she could. She could reach the edge of the window with her fingertips. Desperately, she shook the rusty window lever, and it moved a fraction of an inch at a time. Suddenly, the skylight popped open. Alex wanted to jump for joy.

At that moment, the door opened at the other end of the large room. The men knew immediately what was going on, and they hollered wildly at each other and ran toward her. Alex gripped the window ledge, mustered all of her strength, and pulled herself up. She kicked the shelf with her foot, and it came crashing down. Panting from exertion, she hurled her body through the open skylight and dangled outside. The drop on the other side was about twelve feet, but she didn’t care. She kept slipping, let her feet slide down the wall, closed her eyes, and let go.