Page 36

Thirty-Six

Thursday 10am

Charlie dressed with care for his visit to Sabrina Sully. He decided against shaving because the stubble covered up the worst of the bruises — just trimmed the edges a bit, so that it looked deliberate. He donned the dark glasses, and at first glance, he didn’t look like the victim of a beating. He was clean, tidy and smelled of soap. It would have to do. A bus took him from mid-town up the west side of the park. Sabrina’s apartment building was on a quiet street. He looked around for a car park attached to the building, but if there was one, he couldn’t see it. The street was filled with parked cars, and there were plenty of black SUVs. He didn’t have time to take a close look at each of them — he had lies to tell, so he pressed the buzzer for Sabrina’s flat. Sabrina let him in without comment, and as before led him to the balcony. It was much cooler than on his last visit, so he kept his coat on. Sabrina didn’t appear to feel the chill. She was in athletic clothes, looking well rested, fit and toned, still showing no signs of grief.

“Mrs Sully,” he began, “I would like to talk to you about Kaylan’s bank accounts.”

“Oh, yes? I can’t pretend I don’t need the money. His grandmother’s inheritance you know. It should have come to me of course. It was far too much money for a teenager and he used it to hurt me and his father. I don’t know how I came to have such a selfish child, but of course that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him. No mother should have to go through what I’ve been through …”

When she paused to take a breath, Charlie said, “I have an idea that Kaylan may have borrowed some money from your brother, Andrew Dwyer.”

“My brother has been a saint, an absolute saint. He’s very well-connected. Politically. A close friend of President Trump. A close friend. We need more like him, but instead we’re getting all this wokeness, and rainbow flags and our children being corrupted. It’s disgusting what this country has come to.”

Did she really believe this stuff, or was it a defence mechanism for trying to cope with the mess her life had become? All Charlie knew for sure was that Sabrina was consistent, so her next topic would be immigrants. It was and he tuned her out until she paused for breath again.

“I think I may be able to get your brother’s money back if he’s prepared to act quickly. Once the FBI or the police find out, all the accounts will be frozen.”

“Isn’t that typical? The federal government has no business interfering in people’s private affairs, but that’s never stopped it. Of course, Andrew wants his money back, though I’d be very interested to know how you know about it.”

“I visited your son in prison in the UK,” Charlie said. It was true, though had no bearing on anything they were discussing today. Happily, Sabrina took the bait.

“He should never have been in prison in the first place. He should have been sent straight home. That art school was a disaster for Kaylan. They should have refused his money and he should have gone to work for his father. That professor turned his head with communist ideas. His father was in cybersecurity. The company is still going, but it’s nothing without Roger. Nothing.”

Charlie nodded his head. Reasoning with Sabrina would be a waste of effort. All he needed was to get the time and place of the meeting across. If she could answer a simple question as well, that would be a bonus.

“Mrs Sully, your husband was murdered outside a parking garage. The implication was that he’d driven from Chicago to New York. I’m surprised he didn’t fly.”

Sabrina leaned forward and looked him in the eyes. Her eyes blazed with sincerity and the muscles in her shoulders and neck stood out with the effort of communication.

“Airplanes have so many stupid, stupid, rules about guns. My husband believed in freedom. We need to arm ourselves against what’s coming.” And Sabrina was off on a diatribe against gun control. Roger Sully had driven for twelve hours so that he could bring a gun. Charlie reflected that it had done him no good at all. Schadenfreude. That was the word, wasn’t it? Or was it hoist by his own petard? He still had to tell Sabrina about the meeting for Andrew Dwyer. It took him another fifteen minutes. But he thought the message had got through the cascade of words.

As he walked down the stairs and into the lobby of the apartment block, Charlie’s phone buzzed with a text.

Supt Kent: Message passed to appropriate people. Brody Murphy will be contacting you. See him. He’s legit. If the bait is not taken, I want you on the first available flight back here. No arguments. Be careful.

Then another one.

Supt Kent: When you get back, we’ll be talking about the chain of command. For now, good luck.

Charlie smiled.

* * *

Charlie didn’t need telling to be careful. He was poking the large, angry bear with a very short stick but it was the best he could do. The knowledge that he would almost certainly not face trial for murdering Kaylan Sully if he was arrested didn’t make him any more inclined to risk it. He wanted to go home with Tom, not spend months in some awful New York detention complex while the wheels of justice ground on. The words Rikers Island sent shivers down his spine, and not in a good way. But as well as the possibility of being arrested, there was the real possibility of being shot. Everyone involved, except him, carried a gun and appeared happy to use it. He needed back-up and the only back-up he had on this side of the Atlantic was Brody Murphy. There was no need to wait for his call.

“Charlie. We need to talk,” Murphy said when he answered his phone.

“When and where?”

Murphy gave Charlie the name of a coffee shop. It wasn’t far from where Sabrina lived, so he set off to walk. The weather was still chilly, and rain looked like a distinct possibility but Charlie enjoyed the walk. He thought he would always like the way the city looked, or at least those bits of it he had seen — mostly Harlem, with a few excursions to Midtown and a single visit to Greenwich Village. He’d spent time in Central Park and walking up and down the fine streets on either side. He liked Harlem. It was less crowded than midtown, more open with its trees and wide streets. There were pockets of poverty but there were pockets of poverty in his apparently prosperous Welsh town. He was sorry he wouldn’t be getting the chance to know the city better, because one way or another, he and Tom were going home as soon as Tom was fit to travel. Maybe they’d come back. Or maybe they’d go to Amsterdam, or Copenhagen, or Seville.

Murphy was looking at his phone when Charlie arrived. He had a bulging carrier bag on the table in front of him and when Charlie sat down, Murphy pushed the bag toward him. Charlie looked inside.

“What’s this?”

“Bullet-proof vest.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Okay”

“It’s a big risk. If it was my choice, you wouldn’t be going, but I have bosses and they want it to happen. This is the best I can do.”

“Then thank you.”

“My bosses think you should wear a wire.” Murphy produced another parcel from the seat beside him. “Drink your coffee and then we can hit the restroom so you can take your shirt off for me.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Charlie laughed. “Sorry, Brody, mate, but you aren’t my type. Plus, if you’re going to feel me up, you should at least buy me dinner first.”

Brody blushed neon pink.

“Okay,” Charlie said. “I’ll settle for a cinnamon roll. And, the thing I really need from you is the address of Dwyer’s construction site. Because they took me there in a closed van, beat me up and then kicked me out in the middle of Harlem by that police station you rescued me from. I’ve been setting up all these meetings with no idea where the place is.”

This time it was Murphy’s turn to laugh. But he did tell Charlie where the construction site was.