1 Runaway Man (20 page)

“This is a bad day for the City of New York,” said Feldman, pausing to taste his soup. “I’ve got a special young man, a transcendent hero to the black community, dead in a hail of gunfire along with a fallen hero of our own. I’ve got the mayor screaming at me. I’ve got the media screaming at me. What I haven’t got is time for polite small talk. I’m on the air with Rachel Maddow in…” He shot his cuff, glancing at his watch. “Less than seventy-five minutes. And I’ve got three other on-air appearances to make before this night’s over. Kids from Charles Willingham’s neighborhood are throwing rocks and bottles at our men in uniform. The usual activists are already mouthing off. I’ve got to convince the black community that we’re doing everything we possibly can to bring his killer to justice.” He dipped a chunk of bread in his soup and shoved it into his mouth. “I brought you all here so we could talk frankly and openly about just exactly what the fuck is going on. It’s dicks on the table time, understood?”

Leetes and Seymour listened to him in steadfast silence, their gazes revealing nothing.

Legs and I worked on our soup. It was good soup. As we were finishing it, two waiters brought up our main course and side dishes on family style platters. There was a platter of veal piccata, another of roasted potatoes with peppers, another of spinach sautéed in olive oil and garlic. The waiters removed our soup bowls, topped off our water and wine glasses and then left us, closing the door discreetly behind them.

Commissioner Feldman helped himself to mammoth portions of everything and passed the platters around. As we were serving ourselves he turned his hooded gaze on Legs and said, “Lieutenant, what do
you
think is going on?”

Legs took a sip of water. “Bottom line? Someone’s systematically eliminating every single person who might know about Bruce Weiner’s connection to Kathleen Kidd, his birth mother.”

“
Alleged
birth mother,” Peter Seymour interjected right away. “What you’re stating is not an established fact.”

“We’re dealing with a consummate pro here,” Legs continued, ignoring him. “He stays one step ahead of us and makes sure he removes all traces of e-mail and cell phone contact between the parties. He took Bruce Weiner’s laptop and cell. Also Kathleen Kidd’s. And now Charles Willingham’s.”

Feldman mulled this over before he said, “Keep talking.”

“We’re concerned about the safety of the Weiner family. The Willoughby PD has their house under surveillance, and we’re keeping a body on any family member who goes out. Also on Bruce’s roommate, Chris Warfield.”

Jake Leetes shook his gleaming bald head. “Hold on a sec, Donnie. I’m missing something here.”

Feldman stared across the table at him. “And that is?…”

“I don’t see any connection between Charles Willingham and Kathleen Kidd,” he said.

Which I took to be Leetes jerking our collective chains. He knew every single dirty detail of what we knew—and a whole lot more. The Leetes Group was up to its eyeballs in this. By playing dumb he was simply trying to get Feldman to show him his hand.

Feldman glowered at him, no doubt thinking the exact same thing. Leetes glowered right back. What I was witnessing was a battle of wills between two extremely formidable men. Leetes was winning round one by refusing to concede a thing.

Feldman cut into his veal, chewing on it savagely. “What I’m about to say must never leave this room. It’s my understanding that Charles Willingham was secretly involved in a romantic relationship with Bruce Weiner. And that what happened outside of Stuyvesant Field House this afternoon wasn’t a gang-related shooting or a mugging gone bad. It was really about the circumstances surrounding Bruce Weiner’s adoption. Am I correct so far, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” Legs said.

“Unless,” Peter Seymour countered, “it was really about eliminating anyone who knew that Charles Willingham was a homosexual.”

Feldman swiveled his pompadour in Seymour’s direction. “
Including
Willingham himself? Are you shitting me?”

“Not at all. I’m offering you a perfectly viable alternative scenario,” Seymour answered in his rich baritone.

“What you’re doing,” Feldman shot back, “is trying to tell us that none of this shit has a thing to do with Kathleen Kidd. That you, the Kidd family counsel, hired Golden Legal Services to find Bruce Weiner on a totally unrelated matter. And that it’s just one big, fat coincidence that
all
of these folks are getting murdered one right after another.”

“I’m merely stating that I don’t think we’re in possession of enough of the facts yet to say for certain what is clear.”

Feldman gaped at him in mocking disbelief. “Is that so? Because I think it’s plenty fucking clear—unless you purposely fog up the lens. What do
you
think, Jake?”

Leetes took a slow sip of his wine and swallowed it, shoving his thick, moist lower lip in and out. “Let me just say this, Donnie, because I think it needs saying: If I discover that anyone in my organization is involved in the shooting death of a New York City police officer, I will come forward with the facts in a heartbeat. I am talking full disclosure. You have my word on that.”

“I appreciate that, Jake.” Commissioner Feldman waited for Leetes to say something more. Like something useful.

Except Leetes had nothing more to say. He just went back to shoveling veal and potatoes into his mouth. He chewed with his mouth open and made a weird little
num-num-num
humming noise while he ate which was kind of endearingly cute—except not.

Feldman promptly lost it. “
That’s
the sack of shit you’re going to hand me?” he screamed at him. “You’re going to look me right in the eye, eat my food and hand me
that?
”

“The food’s good here.” Leetes calmly took another sip of his wine. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“Listen to what I’m telling you, Jake!” Feldman roared, stabbing the table with his index finger. “If you’re involved in this I
will
find out and I
will
put you out of business!”

Leetes grew a bit chestier now, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t make empty threats in front of other people. You sound like a blustering fool. I run a legitimate operation. I don’t have hired killers on my payroll.”

“But you know how to hire them.”

He let out a laugh. “Who doesn’t? So what?”

“And what about
you,
Counselor?” Feldman’s face was growing redder by the second. They didn’t call him the Human Hemorrhoid for nothing. “Have
you
got anything more to say?”

“The Kidd family is going through an extremely difficult time,” Seymour answered. “Beyond that, I can say very little. With all due respect, Commissioner, we’re straying into the realm of attorney-client privilege.”

“Fuck your respect!” Feldman hollered at him. “And fuck your attorney-client privilege! I’ve got people dropping like flies. I need answers!”

Seymour’s mouth tightened. “You say you need answers. And you have the resources of the largest police department in the United States at your disposal. If that’s the case, then why are we sitting here with an ill-mannered rock and roller and his little sidekick, Mister Bunny Bracelet?”

“I’m not supposed to take it off,” I offered as explanation. “If I do something heinous will happen to me.”

Seymour stared at me coldly. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation.”

“You’re the one who brought it up. You’re also the one who got me into this mess in the first place.”

“A mistake I shall be regretting for the rest of my life.”

“You mean because I found Bruce? Did you think I wouldn’t? Did you hire me to fail?”

Seymour refused to dignify my questions with a response.

“Lieutenant Diamond happens to be my best man,” Feldman told him brusquely. “There’s no one else who I’d rather have on this case. And Ben’s here because you put him here, like he said. If there’s a weak link at this table, Counselor, it’s you. All I’ve gotten out of you so far is silky-smooth bullshit. Will you at least acknowledge that Kathleen Kidd was Bruce Weiner’s birth mother? Can we get that one simple fact straight?”

Seymour moistened his lips with the tip of his pale pink tongue before he said, “Yes, she was. Should there be a DNA test, it will confirm that fact.”

“Who was the father?” Legs wanted to know.

Seymour blinked at him from behind his rimless spectacles. “We already discussed that this morning. It was a troubled teenaged boy at the Barrow School.”

“And where is he now?” Legs pressed him.

“It’s my understanding that he lives in Colorado. He has a wife and two children. He’s leading a productive life. And he has had no contact whatsoever with the Kidd family.”

Briefly, the private dining room fell silent—aside from the
num-num-num
sound Jake Leetes made while he chewed on his dinner.

Feldman shot his cuffs and smoothed his pompadour. “So Kathleen Kidd’s baby was adopted by the Weiners, and twenty-one years later, here we are. Kathleen is dead, her son Bruce is dead and Bruce’s lover, Charles Willingham, is dead—along with one of my men. Why now? Why do all of these people suddenly have to die?” He glanced at Legs. “Do you have anything more for me?”

Legs’s gaze flickered. He did have something more, but was in no mood to volunteer it in front of Jake Leetes and Peter Seymour. “Nothing that I’m prepared to discuss at this time, Commissioner.”

“Why not?”

“It’s unconfirmed, sir. Nothing more than rumor.”

Feldman swiveled his hawk’s beak back toward Peter Seymour. “Why did you hire Ben to find Bruce Weiner? Who wanted him found?”

“A client,” he answered. “I can’t tell you anything more than that.”

“Jake, did your people prepare the background file on the Weiners that he passed to Ben?”

“We did,” Leetes allowed. “Pretty standard stuff.”

“Why weren’t you hired to find Bruce? Why was Golden Legal Services brought in?”

“Because,” Seymour explained, “we had been told that Ben has a special gift for finding missing young people.”

“Maybe the kid does,” Feldman conceded. “But Jake’s got hundreds of people on his payroll. Maybe even thousands. Is it thousands, Jake?”

“It’s thousands,” Leetes confirmed. “I’ve got offices in seventeen states now, Donnie. Still, if a client prefers to outsource a certain aspect of a job, that’s his right.”

“I’d like to know who bugged our office and our car,” I said, staring across the table at Leetes.

He brushed me off like I was a piece of carpet lint. “Son, I’m not here to answer your questions.”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Legs said to him.

But Jake Leetes had no intention of answering him either.

Feldman glowered. “Jake, when your people were preparing the file on Bruce Weiner did they find out that he and Charles Willingham were romantically involved?”

Leetes furrowed his brow. “Honestly?”

“That would be nice.”

“My people were aware that the two young men shot hoops together and went out for beers. But they were also aware that Charles had dated a number of attractive female students during his stay at Canterbury. I’m talking black, brown
and
white. The fact that he dated white girls wasn’t common knowledge, and it’s something you may want to look into. Certain types of people can get real upset about the interracial thing. My point is, there was no reason to suspect that Charles had anything out of the ordinary or weird going on in his personal life.”

“Being gay isn’t out of the ordinary or weird,” I pointed out.

“You’re absolutely right. I apologize for how that sounded.”

“Who’s behind these hits, Jake?” Feldman demanded. “Do you know?”

“There’s a million freelancers out there,” Leetes replied with a shrug.

“There aren’t a million who are this good. And you didn’t answer my question. Do you know?”

“I have no personal knowledge of who is responsible.”

“Bullshit,” Feldman snarled at him.

Which kind of threw a wrench into the whole frank, open talk thing. Not that there had been any frank, open talk. But at least we were speaking. Now we were just sitting there in smoldering silence.

Feldman heaved an exasperated sigh and tried again. “We believe that Katherine made her initial attempt to contact Bruce shortly before Thanksgiving. What we don’t know is how she found out that Bruce was her biological son.”

“She got the information from you, didn’t she?” I said to Peter Seymour.

“She most certainly did not. That’s an absurd notion. Why would you even think such a thing?”

“Because you and Kathleen were close. You’re the one person who she stayed in contact with when she was living abroad.”

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

I smiled at him. “You know I can’t divulge how I come by my information. It’s confidential.”

“Commissioner Feldman, I have somewhere else to be,” Seymour said indignantly. “Unless you have something more to discuss, something concrete, I’m leaving right now.”

“No, you’re not,” Feldman snapped. “Cool your jets, Counselor. We’re still not talking about what we came here to talk about. I mean the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. Why all of this shit is happening
now
. What it does or doesn’t have to do with Bobby the K’s gubernatorial bid. Only a total fucking moron would fail to wonder whether somebody’s trying to derail his campaign. And no one at this table is a total fucking moron. We go back a lot of years, Jake, but if you don’t step up and tell me what I need to know right now, I swear I will make it impossible for you to do business in the City of New York.”

Leetes held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll help you if I can, Donnie. You know that. What do you need to know?”

“Whether the smart money is for Bobby or against him. You know who I mean. The big boys with the big, deep pockets. Are they trying to put Bobby in or keep him out. Which is it?”

Leetes and Seymour exchanged a guarded glance before Leetes said, “In. Definitely in. This isn’t some kind of a power play. The big money’s all lined up behind Bobby the K. He’s a shoo-in.”