The Kept Woman (Will Trent 8) (20 page)

‘Have you ever heard of her?’

‘Sure.’ He slapped the basketball to make it spin faster.

‘In what capacity?’

‘Uh, let’s just say she provided a service.’

‘Background checks? Security?’

‘Snatch.’ Kilpatrick got a look on his face that made Will want to punch him straight out the window. ‘She provided girls for some of my parties. Nothing was expected of them. I just asked that they be experienced.’ He paused, and added, ‘Conversationalists. Experienced conversationalists. Like I said, nothing sexual was expected of them. They were all adults. They were paid for their conversation. Anything else was their choice.’

‘Choice,’ Will repeated, because he knew for a fact that Marcus Rippy preferred women who didn’t have a choice.

Amanda summed it up. ‘So you’re saying that Angie Polaski provided escorts for your parties?’

Kilpatrick nodded, his eyes on the spinning ball.

Will had to admit there might be something to what he was saying. Angie had loved working vice. She was always more comfortable walking the line between cop and criminal. She also
knew her share of prostitutes, and she never had any problems with women making money any way they knew how.

Kilpatrick said, ‘My clients are high-profile celebrities. Sometimes they want a little discreet company. It’s hard for them to meet women.’

Amanda asked, ‘You mean other than their wives?’

Will thought about the working girls that Angie knew. They were low-level streetwalkers, drug addicts, some of them toothless, all of them desperate, none of them more than a few years away from a prison cell or a grave. Will might be able to imagine a world in which Angie pimped out some girls and told herself that she was doing them a favor, but the girls she knew were not the kind of ladies that Kilpatrick’s clients would want to meet.

Kilpatrick said, ‘So, that’s what you wanted to know? What Polaski was doing for me?’

‘Do you have her current address?’

‘Post office box.’ He picked up the phone, punched in some numbers, and said, ‘My office.’ He hung up the phone. ‘My guy Laslo can give you the details.’ Laslo again. Will was right to assume the bullet-headed Boston thug was an extra pair of dirty hands.

Amanda asked, ‘How did you meet Ms Polaski?’

Kilpatrick shrugged his shoulders. ‘The way you meet these kinds of people is, they’re just there. They know what you’re looking for and they offer to take care of it for a price. Easy.’

Will said, ‘Like bribing witnesses in a rape trial.’

Kilpatrick looked at him. Something like a snort came out of his nose. ‘Yeah, now I remember who you are.’

Amanda asked, ‘What about a phone number?’

‘Laslo will have it. I don’t deal with tradespeople.’

‘Right,’ Will said. ‘You just mail them the checks from your personal bank account.’

Amanda shot Will a daggered look. She told Kilpatrick, ‘We found a check written to Angie Polaski, drawn from your bank account.’

‘The agency only pays for drinks and dinners. Anything else is on us.’ Kilpatrick explained, ‘ “Business development” is what we call it on our taxes.’

Amanda said, ‘Let’s talk about another development. The one where we found a dead body this morning.’

He started to spin the ball again. ‘I’ll let you get that from the horse’s mouth.’

Amanda said, ‘Does that mean that everything you’ve told us thus far has been from the horse’s other end?’

Kilpatrick took a beat to get her meaning.

There was a knock at the door. Laslo said, ‘Boss, they’re ready.’

Kilpatrick dribbled the basketball as he walked across the office. ‘Get these people Polaski’s deets. They’re cops. They’re looking for her.’

‘Big surprise.’ Laslo grabbed the ball and shot it toward the hoop on the wall.

Kilpatrick started to go for the rebound.

Amanda snaked the ball and put it down on the closest chair. ‘We’re ready when you are, Mr Kilpatrick.’

He eyed the basketball, but thought better of it. ‘This way.’ He started down the hallway. ‘The development is scheduled to break ground next week. We’re calling it the All-Star Complex.’

She asked, ‘We?’

‘Yeah, that’s thanks to you guys.’ Kilpatrick led them past a bunch of closed office doors. ‘Funny thing about that jacked-up rape charge you laid on Marcus. The other investors were looking for someone else to step in, and we realized we were missing a larger opportunity.’

‘Meaning?’

‘We pitched the investment to some of our higher-end clients. We realized we could expand the complex into a live/work community.’

Amanda said, ‘So like Atlantic Station, but in an area that is historically more crime-ridden.’

Will smiled. She had a point. Atlantic Station had been pitched to the city as a dream development that would turn an area of blight into a thriving tax base. As with most dreams, reality had come crashing down in the form of a spike in sexual assaults, muggings, carjackings and vandalism. At one point, a couple of more enterprising bank robbers had strapped a chain around an ATM machine and pulled it out of the wall with their truck.

Kilpatrick had obviously handled the Atlantic Station question before. ‘Those were growing pains. It happens. The whole thing’s been turned around, as I’m sure you know. And also, the developers didn’t have the benefit of eight of the most talented, tremendous athletes the world has ever known, ready to promote the project to make sure it succeeds.’ He threw his hands out like a carnival barker. ‘Think about it. Marcus Rippy alone has over ten million Facebook fans. His Tweets and Instagram reach twice as many as that. He puts up one post about a dope club or a hip shop he’s excited about and within the hour the place is flooded. He’s a taste-maker.’

Kilpatrick turned the corner and they were facing a vast glass-walled conference room with a table that could accommodate fifty people. Will forced himself not to flinch in disgust when he noticed the four lawyers already in the room. Kilpatrick must have called in the big guns the minute Amanda had requested a meeting.

Will recognized them all from the Rippy rape investigation. The interchangeable Bond villains: two old white men, each with a gorgeous thirty-ish woman dressed to kill sitting beside him. Kilpatrick ran through the introductions, but Will had already designated their Bond status from before. Auric Goldfinger was at the head of the table, his patches of Chia-like gold hair and thick German accent earning him the name. Obviously his blonde underling was Pussy Galore. Then there was Dr Julius No, a man who for some reason always kept his hands under the table. His sidekick was Rosa Klebb, named not for her looks, which were fantastic, but because her pointy high-heeled shoes seemed like the type that would have poison-tipped knives inside of them.

Goldfinger said, ‘Deputy Director, Agent Trent, thank you both for coming. Please sit.’ He indicated a chair with a cup of tea in front of it, two seats away from Rosa Klebb.

Will pulled out two chairs from the opposite end of the table, about half a mile away from the Bond quartet, because he knew that’s how Amanda would want to play it. She glanced up at Will as they sat down, her eyes going to his bare neck, and he got the feeling that she was really annoyed that he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie.

Will was annoyed too. He could’ve at least worn his gun on his hip. He needed some armor against these people. They didn’t roll out of bed for less than three thousand bucks an hour. Each.
The combined receipt for this meeting was probably more than Will’s take-home pay.

He looked at Kilpatrick, but Kilpatrick was obviously no longer in charge. He had slumped into a chair, rolling an unopened bottle of red BankShot between his hands.

‘So.’ Amanda chose to forgo subtlety. ‘I’m trying to understand why it takes four lawyers to answer one simple question.’

Goldfinger smiled. ‘It’s not a simple question, Deputy Director. You asked for details on the property in which the victim was found. We are simply here to give you the larger picture of the situation.’

Amanda said, ‘In my experience, there’s always a larger picture where murder is concerned, but again, it’s never taken so many lawyers to draw it for me.’

Will watched them carefully. No one spoke. No one moved. Despite her question, Amanda didn’t seem displeased to find herself talking to the lawyers. If someone had asked Will for his opinion, he would’ve guessed that she’d somehow contrived to put them all in this room.

The only question was why. Amanda set aside the tea bag and drank some tea.

Finally Goldfinger looked at Dr No, who in turn nodded to Rosa Klebb.

Klebb stood up. She stacked together some folders. She walked around the conference table, which was about the width of a sequoia. Will could hear her pantyhose scratching against her tight skirt. He looked down at her extremely high-heeled shoes. The soles were red because they could stop a man’s heart. Sara had a pair from the same designer. He preferred them on Sara.

‘This is a packet on the development,’ Goldfinger told them. ‘It’s the same presentation we shared with the mayor and governor last month.’

Amanda would’ve already heard about the project. She had talked to the mayor this morning and was briefing the governor at the capitol when Will had given her the slip. She didn’t volunteer this information. Instead she glanced at the folder, which had a massive star logo in the center. She handed her packet to Will. He put it on top of his packet and placed both at his elbow.

Dr No leaned over, his hands still tucked under the table. ‘We’ll have to ask you to keep this information to yourselves. There’s a press embargo until the official announcement. You can read the details about the development in the packet.’

Amanda waited.

Goldfinger explained, ‘The All-Star Complex will have a sixteen-screen movie theater, a thirty-story hotel, a twenty-story condominium complex, a farmers’ market, an outdoor shopping mall with high-end boutique and chain stores, exclusive town homes, a members-only nightclub and of course a full-sized basketball court adjacent to what we’re calling the All-Star Experience, an interactive museum showcasing all that is wonderful about NCAA basketball.’

Amanda asked, ‘How will this be financed?’

‘We have several private investors whose names I’m currently not at liberty to release.’

‘And foreign investors?’ Amanda prodded.

Goldfinger smiled. ‘A project of this scope requires many, many investors, some of whom wish to remain behind the scenes.’

‘Including yourselves?’

He smiled back a non-answer.

She said, ‘The construction company is LK Totalbyg A/S, based in Denmark.’

‘That is correct. As you know, Atlanta is an international city. We reached out to international investors. It’s a win–win for everyone involved.’

Will thought about the people who actually lived in Atlanta who would be investing whether they wanted to or not. The perks that the government handed out for these kinds of projects were phenomenal. City-funded bond initiatives, decades-long state and local tax deferments, new roadways, new infrastructure, new traffic lights and cops to keep the area safe—basically all the cold, hard cash that always made these developments possible for the rich guys who touted the glories of private enterprise and talked about pulling themselves up by their bootstraps.

The American Dream.

‘Deputy Director.’ Dr No leaned toward Amanda as if they weren’t separated by an ocean of hardwood. ‘As both the mayor and governor have repeatedly expressed, both the city and state are very excited about the development. The proximity to the Georgia Dome, Georgia Tech, Centennial Village and SunTrust Park means the complex will be a mecca for tourists.’

Will thought that Chattahoochee Avenue was a bit far out to be a mecca for anything, but he had to assume these guys had seen a map.

Goldfinger said, ‘We’re hoping that the All-Star Experience will rival downtown’s College Football Hall of Fame. I don’t have to tell you what it would do for the city’s economic opportunities if we could secure more vital slots in the March Madness rotation.’

‘Sounds impressive.’ Amanda didn’t have to know about sports to understand that this was big business. She looked down the table, expectant. ‘And?’

Dr No took over. ‘And we would hope that you would understand that this is a delicate undertaking.’

Pussy Galore chimed in. ‘It’s not just the nuts and bolts of building such an impressive complex. We’ve put a lot of time and effort into making the announcement about the project’s existence. You only get one opportunity to make that first big splash. We’ve got all of our all-star investors lined up to attend. We’re flying in reporters from New York, Chicago and LA. We’ve booked suites and restaurants. We have a massive two-day party planned, culminating in a ground-breaking at the site. We’ve worked the press into a frenzy. It’s very important that none of this is tainted by lingering doubt about any of the investors.’

Goldfinger added, ‘Or about the site.’

Amanda said, ‘If that means you’re worried we’re going to charge your client with rape again, I can put your minds at ease.’ She smiled. ‘This is a murder case, so if we make any charges, it will be for murder.’

The room lost all of its air.

Goldfinger smiled, and then the smile turned into a laugh.

Dr No joined in, his hands still below the table so that he looked like a lemming caught in a blender.

Amanda asked, ‘When is this party planned?’

‘This weekend.’

‘Ah,’ she said, as if she finally understood, but Will would’ve bet his life that she knew about the launch before she walked through the door. The mayor and the governor would’ve both
been pressuring her harder than the lawyers to wrap up the investigation so the project could get under way. The city needed the jobs. The state needed the money.

Amanda told them, ‘The fact remains that a dead man was found inside the nightclub. We’ve got a large crime scene to process. Even with overtime, it will take at least until Saturday to catalog and photograph all of the evidence.’

Not for the first time, Will admired Amanda’s lying skills, because there was no way that crime scene would take that long to clear. She was playing the long game here. He just couldn’t see the end point.