Gray Night (21 page)

 Benji nodded emphatically.

 “You’re not going to tell me until he’s gone are you?” John asked, without looking at me.

 I stood back and crossed my arms. “I made a promise.”

 John huffed and looked around in a hundred different directions, cursing under his breath before slapping the door all the way open and stepping back.

 “Don’t you dare make me regret this, Claire,” he said.

 Benji was swift to the door. “Dr. Spurling,” he said, turning back. “Good luck.”

 “Thanks Benji.”

 “Why does she get to call you Benji?” asked John.

 “Because it’s sexy when she says it. Do you want me to find you sexy, detective?” Benji cocked his head.

 “Get the fuck out of here,” John said, shoving him out and closing the door. “Happy now? So what did he say? And what the hell kind of arrangement did you make?” he spat.

 I took a moment to make sure I would continue calm and collected instead of losing my own temper right back. “Have you heard of the Auction?” I asked.

 Harris peaked out the blinds on the window at all the activity going on. “Jesus,” he mumbled.

 He turned back to me. “It’s literally an auction as I understand it. Drugs, guns, sex slaves, black market anything, favors, money, power. Name it and you can probably find it. That’s the rumor anyway. Sort of doubles as a convenient way of assembling underworld players. Lots of side dealing, power plays, that sort of thing. Last I heard Vitale had control of it since he bumped off the last of the old men.”

 “If the police know about it, how come no one has stopped it?” I asked, pacing beside the conference table.

 “Tried. Even succeeded a couple of times, but it keeps popping up around the city. Maybe even around New England now. It’s a major event, but exclusive. One night only. I haven’t heard of one in the city itself for maybe three or four years,” he said.

 He slipped a finger through the blinds on the window again and looked out at the bustling mishmash of authority running around. “Might explain things.”

 “Vitale,” I said stopping.

 “Vitale,” he agreed. “Jesus.”

 Diamond Jack, Joe Vitale, and the increasingly enigmatic Adrian Knight; the idea of being squished between all the bad guys was making a lot more sense.

 I needed to pick up Adrian and let him know what I’d discovered. We had a real direction now and very little time to work with.

 I passed John to leave, but he put his hands on my shoulders and gently forced me back.

 “Claire,” he said. “The arrangement?”

 I thought about lying to him. He wouldn’t like the deal at all, not the least of which would be because it all came back to Knight, and that was not where his focus needed to be. But nothing would be more hypocritical than me withholding information right then.

 “I told Benji that Adrian and I are investigating the theft for the museum and he said he knew Knight by reputation. He said Knight would owe him a favor in exchange for his assistance.”

 John crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall between the windows. “Of course it’s all about him. Why wouldn’t it be? So what was this favor he wanted that was valuable enough to talk to you and not to the police?” he asked.

 “He didn’t say,” I sighed.

 “Hngh,” he grunted.

 “Benji isn’t half as bad as you make him out.”

 “And I don’t see where this new found infatuation with Knight came from. You don’t know him at all, what that criminal trash is capable of. He’s a parasite with his hands in all kinds of seedy business. Only legitimate work he does costs the museum a fortune. You used to know it, too. He’s dangerous, Claire, more dangerous than you realize, and somehow he’s involved in this whole mess.”

 “John stop it. Just stop. I am going to get the book back and I am going to help find Henry and George’s killer, and I am going to use anyone and everyone I can who will help me do it. I didn’t ask to work with him, but as long as he’s a part of this, as far as I’m concerned, he’s an ally. I don’t care who he is or what he’s done or what he’s involved in. It doesn’t matter to me.” And, after having said it, I was surprised how true it was.

 “Even if he is behind the killings? Even if he’s making a move on behalf of someone else?” he asked, coolly looking at me again.

 “Please tell me we’re not going back to him as a suspect now. It’s obvious he wasn’t involved and—”

 “And you’re not taking it seriously! Did he tell you who he had me call to give his alibi? Did he?” John hollered.

 “No. But if you even think about insinuating I’m taking this lightly, this conversation is over,” I said, staring hard back at him.

 “The FBI, Claire. He wasn’t at the museum at the time of the murders because he was being interrogated by the FBI.”

 My rising frustration took a detour into curiosity. “The FBI. Early yesterday morning? Why?”

 “They wouldn’t say, but I’ve heard things around here since the Feds arrived. Apparently, Knight’s an informant, but he’s in some serious trouble. You know what it takes to be an informant? Knowledge. The kind you only get from being involved in that other world. I don’t have the details, but I heard words like gunrunner, cultural theft, war criminal, and murderer floating around the office about Knight. Word is, in a few days, he won’t be an issue for the bureau any longer. Feel free to read into that however you like, but did you know last week he was acquiring a piece for the museum? Found it on a smuggling ship out in the harbor. The Concordia.”

 “You overheard? Please tell me you’re not going to challenge him to a fight after school. Yes, he said he tracked some items to a smuggling ship. He didn’t mention the Concordia, but it didn’t seem to matter because no one believed him. How is any of this related?”

 “He was there. Security camera at one of the docks has him and a Nick Roarke on it four days ago, right after the Concordia returned to port.”

 “Yeah, okay. He said as much during his speech at the gala. What’s the problem?”

 “This stays between you and me. I’m serious. The Justice Department would hang us out to dry. If we were lucky enough to avoid a prison sentence we might have a chance to spend the rest of our lives asking ‘would you like fries with that?’”

 “I understand.”

 “I did some digging. The Concordia carried an arms shipment along with its other merchandise. It was supposed to dock in Durban, South Africa,” John said, taking more of a frustrated lecturing tone. I considered that an improvement.

 “At the gala, Adrian said the captain was a wanted fugitive out of Seattle or something. Said Roarke took him back West for the bounty. Assuming he’s telling the truth, and given the video footage of him and Nick back at port, I assume they brought the boat back. Which means it’s not on its way to Durban, South Africa.”

 He nodded.

 “So that’s the trouble then? Someone’s missing an arms shipment in Africa?” I asked him.

 “No. And no. The trouble is two people are missing an arms shipment. The unnamed receiving party, and the federal officers who raided the ship when they found out it was back in the harbor,” he said, tilting his head for added emphasis.

 “So what did they find?”

 “An abandoned gun-running ship without any guns and—”

 “And an alleged gun-runner one of the last people known to be on board,” I finished for him.

 “Yes. He was there and he was involved,” he said with finality.

 Disturbing? Yes. Concrete evidence? No. And still bore no relevancy to the task at hand. “Is it not strange that Adrian didn’t hide the fact he was on board. I mean he told a hundred people the other night. If he’s the evil genius mastermind you seem to think he is, then why go around telling everyone? You know it’s possible the crew took off with the arms. Or even a local rival. Is there not security footage all over the docks? Wouldn’t someone have noticed the massive amount of unloading it would have taken to move all of it?”

 “It’s not like the whole area is covered. He could have staked it out beforehand. Planned the whole thing. Maybe dumped them overboard or he—”

 “Could, according to Occam, also have tracked a stolen item someone wanted to get out of the country to a ship known to smuggle stolen items out of the country. Where’s the crew? What does the captain have to say?” I asked spreading my hands out. This entire line of thinking was a waste of my time.

 “I don’t know. It’s an ongoing investigation and I was lucky to learn as much as I did. We know, I know, all of this is more than idle speculation. He’s involved and I’m going to find out how.”

 I didn’t have time for this. “I need him John.”

 He glared.

 “I do. Because despite whatever you think I believe, he honestly wants to find who killed Henry and George and that is what all of us are supposed to be doing. He may always be running off God knows where, but the point is he’s there when I need him.” Which was odd. I meant to say he’s on our side.

 “Christ, Claire do you even hear yourself? What does he do when he’s gone? Who is he seeing? What is he planning, or covering up? I mean my God it’s obvious! I swear I should lock you up for your own good. Do you really hate me so much that you’d put your faith in him?” he snarled.

 “Stop making everything about us. There is no us. I don’t have to defend myself to you, but just so you know, I’m putting my faith in myself. I’m sorry I didn’t fit into your manipulative, control freak little world.” Which was an old argument that had no place here right now either. I sighed. “You’re a good detective John. A good detective doing a hard job.”

 I’d insulted him and followed with a compliment then watched him struggle with what to say.

 “You’re not the only one that lost a friend. I’m doing the best I know how,” I said, turning away. To his credit, he didn’t stand there like an idiot yelling after me when I left and I was grateful for both our sakes.

Chapter Nineteen

 Adrian wasn’t waiting for me when I pulled his old Chevelle to the curb outside the busted doors to Roarke’s office building so I shut the car down and went inside.

 My shoes crunched on the unavoidable glass that filled the lobby. Fascinating there wasn’t more blood. Or any at all. I remembered a shadowy figure standing in the doorway, face bloodied and torn, staring at me as I drove away. Was that only last night?

 I don’t know. Maybe it was due to the massive mental and emotional exhaustion yesterday or maybe I was so afraid last night for, and of if I was being honest, Adrian. The fight, our flight, and then Adrian’s haunted ruin on the Hudson kept my mind blessedly busy, but here, climbing the steps to the fourth floor office, I felt the building pressure of being alone again.

 It wasn’t fear. The stairway was well lit by the midday sun shining through the windows and I would be able to hear anything walking through the lobby with all that glass. Though, I shivered at the thought of any
thing
.

 I told myself taking the stairs at a run was great exercise as I passed the second and third floors. I didn’t consider what I might be running into until I was already on the fourth floor.

 The hall on the fourth was clear and I relaxed, leaning against the wall to catch my breath before going into Nick’s office. I hadn’t realized how much damage the place had taken last night. The hallway was a mess. Glass from Nick’s shattered window was everywhere and the hall had two Adrian-sized holes in the sheetrock. I hadn’t taken the time to appreciate how injured he must have been even before the elevator fell.

 I walked through the still open door to the office and Adrian wasn’t there either. Which I more or less expected given how loud I ran upstairs and finding no one at the top, but it was still distressing.

 But not as distressing as the grinding, popping sound like someone marching on hard snow, echoing up the stairwell. Or crunching glass. Someone was downstairs.

 I tried thinking of whom all it could be, but it was a futile exercise. I didn’t yell down either, though that was just as silly. The car was sitting right by the door, so whoever it was knew someone was here. Still, it didn’t seem like a great idea to volunteer my location.

 I tossed my purse onto the desk and dug out Nick’s .38 I’d brought to return. I carried it around the desk to check the drawer where I had seen the box of ammo the day before. The drawer wasn’t there.

 “Right,” I said, looking at everything scattered on the floor behind the desk. Adrian ripped it out last night looking for the gun.

 I found the box of ammo, reloaded the cylinder, and positioned myself behind the desk, ready to fire as I listened to stairs creak. I aimed high to catch them right in the head like Adrian had. Two of the men last night fell over three stories on top of an iron elevator cage, survived, and tore through it. The one Adrian put two rounds in the back of his head had stayed down. Which, now that I thought about it, where was the body? He died; Adrian executed him, right there in the middle of the room. There was blood but no body. What the hell?

 Footsteps in the hall brought my concentration back full circle. They were getting close. I saw movement through the broken blinds of the window. This was it.

 “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you people!” said the terrified teenage boy in the doorway.

 I shrieked, jerking the gun away from his head. “What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you? What are you doing wandering around an empty building? Are you trying to get shot? Who are you?” I said, letting out the rush of breath I’d held in.

 “I ain’t—” he stopped and shook his head in frustration. “I’m not wandering around. I’m here to see Adrian Knight. You work for Roarke or something?”

 I tossed the .38 back in its drawer and took a second to calm down before introducing myself.

 “I’m Dr. Spurling and no I do not work for Mr. Roarke. I’m an associate of Mr. Knight. Who are you?” I asked, fighting the well of different emotions still subsiding and trying to find the right one. I’d almost murdered a child.

 “Oh, yes ma’am. Sorry, Doctor. I’m Thomas,” he said, walking in and avoiding the debris.