The Insider (15 page)

Oliver picked up a straw from atop the glass, leaned down, and prepared to snort the drug.

A sudden banging on the hallway door caused him to drop the straw, then stand and hold his hands up as if he were about to be arrested.

The door burst open and Bullock stood in the foyer.

Oliver had been certain that he’d been set up by Kevin O’Shea, certain that O’Shea didn’t really care about insider trading but wanted to arrest Oliver on drug charges. That somehow O’Shea had found out about his cocaine habit and alerted the FBI or the New York City police or whoever the hell made drug busts. Oliver’s paranoia and insecurity had reached such levels that he’d even believed Abby was involved and that her disappearance was linked to the banging on the door, that she’d become a witness. He stared at Bullock, relieved to realize that another bullet had been dodged.

“What are you doing?” Bullock nodded at the cocaine.

“Nothing,” Oliver snapped, back in control. “Close the door. Make sure you lock it.”

Bullock obeyed, then walked slowly across the room until he was standing behind the wingback chair O’Shea had vacated only a few minutes before. “So this is what you’re doing when you disappear for the afternoon.”

“Shut up.” Oliver sat back down on the couch and snorted an entire line of cocaine. “Here, take some,” he offered, head tilted back to keep powder from falling from his nose. He held the straw out for Bullock.

“No.”

“How the hell did you know I was here?” Oliver asked suspiciously, dropping the straw beside the second line. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going.

“I followed you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to know where you were going.”

“Why?” Oliver asked again.

“Just curious.”

“Has your curiosity been satisfied?” Oliver allowed his head to fall back against the couch.

“No. Who was the guy that just left here?” Bullock asked.

“Kevin O’Shea.” There was no reason to be coy with Bullock about O’Shea’s identity. Bullock was in this thing as deeply as Oliver was, all the way up to his eyeballs. He knew everything about the investigation and the deal. There were no secrets between them. O’Shea was a moron for believing otherwise. “Assistant United States attorney for the southern district of New York.” The cocaine was beginning to have its desired effect. He was beginning to feel that power surging through his body. “The man who’s going to put Jay West behind bars and leave us free to trade.” Oliver smiled. He could feel the rush thrusting him forward like an avalanche. Life was good again. If only Abby were waiting in the bedroom for him, naked beneath the covers. Then life would be perfect. He missed her so much. It was frightening for him to realize that. He’d never missed anyone in his life.

“So that’s O’Shea.” Bullock moved in front of the chair and sat down. “Did you tell him that Jay pulled the trigger on the trades?”

“Yes.” There was that familiar postnasal drip. He swallowed several times in rapid succession, pulling the druglaced saliva down. “He seemed very happy.”

“I bet.”

“Did you put that one-month review into Jay’s human resources file?” Oliver asked, speaking more quickly now that the cocaine was taking over. “The one with the rating of two?”

Bullock smiled. “Absolutely. And I included a note explaining that Jay had refused to sign it, citing our out in his contract. That should make O’Shea happy, too.” Bullock laughed snidely. “I’ve been telling Jay how you’re going to fire him or Sally. How the contract has outs. It’s perfect.”

Oliver shook his head. “Poor kid. He has no idea what’s about to happen to him. No idea that a freight train is bearing down on him. Kevin O’Shea will take him down so easily.”

“I hope so.”

For several moments they were silent. Finally Oliver glanced at Bullock. “What do you think happened to Abby?”

“I don’t know, Oliver, but it scares the crap out of me. If what you told me is correct, she knows about our partners. About Tony and the others. If she went to somebody who isn’t privy to what’s been arranged downtown, we could have real problems.”

Oliver exhaled loudly, frustrated with his inability to contact her. “Carter, I’ve got to find Abby.”

CHAPTER 13

“Hi,” Sally called, following the maître d’. She clasped Jay’s arm as they came together, kissed him on the cheek, then sat in the chair he was holding out for her. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she apologized, slightly out of breath.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jay sat in the chair beside hers at a small table next to the window, unable to take his eyes off her. The short, low-cut black dress clung to her slim body, revealing most of her long, toned legs and delicate shoulders. Adorning her soft lobes were simple diamond earrings, shimmering in the chandelier light. When he looked away, he noticed that several men in the restaurant were paying close attention to her. “You look great.”

“Thanks. I’m ashamed to say it, but I’ve been getting ready since five.” She moaned. “And I’m still late.” She reached across the plates, silverware, and glasses and squeezed his fingers. “I’ve missed you all week.”

Jay gazed into her eyes. The pace on the desk had been frantic, and they’d hardly had a chance to speak. But Friday at five o’clock he’d answered one of his phone lines and been surprised to hear Sally’s voice. She was calling from a conference room, requesting a Saturday-night date. Dinner at the River Cafe. Eight o’clock. Just the two of them. He’d glanced at Bullock, sitting a few feet away reviewing a memo, and accepted the invitation with a simple “sure” so Bullock wouldn’t suspect. Sally hadn’t returned to the desk after the call, and when she hadn’t arrived at the restaurant on time, he was certain that he’d been stood up. But there she was, looking even better than she had at the yacht club, if that was possible. He realized how much he’d been looking forward to this.

“I’m glad you called yesterday,” he admitted.

“That was pretty courageous, wasn’t it? I surprised myself.”

A waiter arrived with a bottle of chardonnay, served it, and retreated without a word, sensing that the couple would be taking their time that night.

“Here’s to us,” Sally said, picking up her glass.

“To us,” Jay repeated, touching his glass to hers. It was so easy with her. He tried to stay focused on the fact that he had several important things he needed to ask her. But that was going to be difficult. He didn’t want to spoil the mood.

“It’s beautiful.” She nodded out the window at the skyline of lower Manhattan towering above them across the East River. Lights inside the office buildings were illuminated brightly even though it was Saturday evening. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Sally spoke up. “Did anyone ever hear from…” She paused. “What was the young woman’s name who mailed her resignation to Oliver this week?”

“Abby,” Jay answered. “Abby Cooper.”

“That’s it. I met her in passing on Tuesday. She seemed very nice.”

“She is,” he agreed. “And no, I don’t believe anyone has heard from her.”

“Do you find that strange?” Sally asked, taking a long drink of wine.

Jay watched the wine disappear. She seemed nervous. “I do.” For a moment he considered telling Sally about what he had witnessed in the storage room, but decided against it. “Abby isn’t the type of woman to mail in her resignation. She is a very responsible person, not the kind to let people down.”

“Did you know her well?” Sally asked, finishing what was left in her glass.

Jay picked up the wine bottle from the ice bucket and refilled her glass. “I’ve only been at McCarthy and Lloyd for about a month, but we got pretty close in that time. In a friendly way,” he added.

“Have you tried to contact her?”

“I’ve left several messages on her answering machine at home, but I haven’t heard back from her.”

“I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but maybe it makes sense to contact a relative. Human resources must have the name of someone to call in an emergency.”

“That’s a good idea.” Jay didn’t tell Sally that he had already found the number for Abby’s parents in Brooklyn before people from human resources had come down Thursday afternoon to clear out her position on the desk. He didn’t want Sally to know how concerned he was. “You were kind of sneaky about arranging this date,” Jay said, changing the subject, “calling from the conference room.”

She toyed with her earrings for a moment. “I didn’t want Bullock to get the wrong idea. He’s so damn nosy, especially with you,” she said. “He listens to every word you say when you’re on the phone. He tries to act as if he isn’t listening, but I can tell he is. It must be very annoying.”

“It is.”

“I’m not worried about Oliver,” Sally said. “He wouldn’t care if he knew we were out tonight. In fact, he’d probably be very happy for us. But Bullock’s another matter.”

“Why did you say that about Oliver?” Jay asked. “About Oliver’s being happy for us.”

She took another sip of wine and shrugged. “When he and I were coming back from our meeting in midtown last week, he told me that he and Barbara had noticed…” Sally hesitated.

“What?” Jay prodded.

“It’s a little embarrassing.”

“Come on.”

“He said it was obvious that you and I had enjoyed each other’s company on the sailboat. And at dinner.” She looked straight into his eyes. “He said he wouldn’t have a problem if we saw each other socially, as long as we kept it out of the office.”

“He said that to you?” Jay broke into a grin.

She pointed at Jay. “You too?”

Jay nodded. “After dinner at the yacht club.”

Sally laughed. “That’s just like Oliver. He can be such a jerk sometimes, but then he can be really great, too.”

“Exactly.” Jay watched the diamonds sparkle. “What did you mean when you said you didn’t want Bullock to get the wrong idea? What’s the
right
idea?”

She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the back of her hands. “Would you mind if I said something very forward?”

“No.”

“I’m not sure exactly what the right idea is, but I do know I want to find out.” She paused, still locked onto his eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been really attracted to anyone,” she said. “And don’t worry, I’m not rushing into anything or asking you to, and I’m very conscious that we have to be careful because we work together. But I would like to see you outside the office.”

“Sounds good. I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

For a moment they stayed on each other’s eyes, then they looked away at the same time, both aware that things had suddenly become much more complicated.

“Tell me more about yourself.” Jay finally broke the silence.

“What do you want to know?” Sally was staring at the skyline across the river, now fully shrouded in darkness.

“You said you were from Gloucester.”

“Yes, I grew up on the south shore of Cape Ann. It was a very nice place to live. I was fortunate. My family had money, I won’t deny it. After prep school I went to Yale. The fact that my father was an alumnus and a regular donor to certain scholarship funds certainly didn’t hurt my application. He helped me get into Harvard Business School as well.”

“Did he help you get your job at that financial firm in San Francisco after Harvard?” Jay asked.

She shook her head. “No, I got that on my own.”

“How did you hear about the job at McCarthy and Lloyd?”

“A headhunter.” She took a long swallow of wine, and a melancholy expression came to her face. “I wish my parents could have known about my getting this job. They would have been proud of me.”

“I’m sure,” Jay agreed. He shook his head sadly. “It’s terrible about your mom and dad. You said it was a plane crash, right?”

“Yes.”

“Two years ago?”

“Mmm.” She finished her wine and put the empty glass down on the linen tablecloth. “Again, bartender.”

Jay poured each of them another glass, then gestured to the waiter, indicating that they needed another bottle.

“Do you have any more questions for me, Perry Mason?”

Jay thought he detected a faint trace of aggravation in her voice. “Prying too much?” he asked. “Am I being too Bullockesque?”

“No, just persistent.” She picked up her glass and moved it slightly from side to side, watching the wine sway.

“Are you involved with anyone?”

“What?” she asked, surprised by his blunt question.

“Is there someone in San Francisco?” Jay pushed.

“Now that’s a Bullock question.”

“Just the same.”

Sally hesitated. “There was,” she said slowly. “But there isn’t anymore.”

The waiter returned to serve the second bottle of wine, and they fell silent.

“Now it’s my turn,” Sally said when the man was gone.

“Okay.”

“What about you? Is there someone in New York I should know about? Someone who wouldn’t be happy if she knew we were out tonight?”

Jay shook his head. “I’ve dated a few women, but no one of any consequence. No one I’ve become serious with. I’ve been too busy working.” He waited for another question, but nothing came. “That was easy.”

“Oh, I’m not finished.”

“Fine. Ask me anything you want.”

“Okay, why do you insist on being a daredevil?”

He gave her a strange expression, uncertain what she was getting at. “I don’t understand.”

“On Wednesday you jumped out of the bosun’s chair from seventy feet. That night you went up on top of that wall when we were on the roof of your building.” She searched his eyes. “There must be a reason that you did those things.”

“You’re crazy. I think you must have stayed out in the sun too long when you visited your parents down in South Carolina one time. Wasn’t that where you said they went when they moved from Gloucester?”

Sally put her glass down slowly and focused on the candle flame. “Why do you keep doing that?” Her voice was trembling slightly.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently.

“Why do you keep testing me on my background?”

“Huh?”

“It’s as if you’re checking me out, or trying to trap me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You alluded to my living in San
Francisco
before coming to M and L. I told you on Wednesday that the firm I was working for was headquartered in Los Angeles, but I worked in the San
Diego
office.”

“Sally, I—”

“Then you referred to my parents’ airplane crash occurring two years ago. I told you before, it happened
one
year ago. Now you’re trying to trick me into saying that my parents lived in South Carolina after leaving Gloucester. I distinctly remember telling you they moved to Florida.” She shook her head. “I know your memory is quite good. I’ve seen that over the past few days on the desk. Bullock even said something about it. I was willing to believe that you slipped the first two times, but the South Carolina thing is too much. It’s stupid. Why are you putting me through this?”

“I’m sorry, Sally.” There was no reason to deny what he had been doing. She was absolutely right, and he would look foolish by continuing to protest. “I have no excuse.”

“But why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” he said lamely. He couldn’t explain to her how disturbing he found the events of the past week. The Bell Chemical coincidence, the way Oliver had pressed him into making the Simons and Bell trades, her familiarity with New York despite claiming never to have spent much time in the city, the phone off its base, the warm computer, and her claim that she’d used the Internet on his computer when he wasn’t on-line. “Maybe I’m feeling strange because all of a sudden I’m interested in someone for the first time in a long time. You know?”

“No, I don’t,” she said flatly, staring at him, searching for the truth.

The freighter churned steadily through the warm Indian Ocean waters, sliding southwest through the night over calm seas toward the southern tip of Africa and the Cape of Good Hope. From there the captain would turn the ship north and begin the long voyage up Africa’s western shore toward Antwerp, his destination.

He peered out from the bridge at the horizon, searching for any lights that might warn of an unfriendly situation—an authority interested in searching his ship for the cache of automatic weapons, grenade launchers, surface-to-air missiles, and mortars hidden below. He was a veteran of gun-running trips, and he knew that situation was unlikely in these waters. Here it would more likely be pirates who would board his freighter searching for treasure. But he was ready for that possibility as well. Unless the pirates possessed an over-whelming force, they would be dead ten minutes after boarding, their bodies tossed to the sharks and their boat sunk without any risk of legal retribution. The same authorities who would imprison him and confiscate the weapons in his hold would turn a blind eye if he did away with ten or fifteen modern-day Blackbeards.

When the ship neared Europe the next week, he would begin to worry more about navies and coast guards. Years ago, only a deckhand at the time, he had been aboard the
Claudia
off the coast of Ireland when it had been captured on the last stage of its voyage from Libya full of arms for the provisional wing of the Irish Republican Army.

The lights of lower Manhattan loomed over Jay and Sally as they walked slowly down the Brooklyn Heights promenade, a half-mile brick walkway overlooking the East River in the fashionable neighborhood of million-dollar brownstones and tree-lined streets.

Sally’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest, the way they had been all through the end of dinner. “Look, I’m really sorry,” Jay began, glancing around through the streetlights’ soft glow. There were only a few other people on the promenade. “I really am.”

“It’s all right,” she said coldly.

He reached out, took her by the arm, and guided her to the wrought-iron railing at the edge of the walk-way. Far below them the black waters of the East River flowed silently into New York Harbor. “I want to tell you something.”

On the walk from the restaurant she had let her hair down, and a wisp of a breeze pushed several blond strands across her face. She brushed them out of her eyes. “What?”

He could see that she wasn’t really interested. He hoped what he was about to say would change that. “The crack you made about me always being a dare-devil. Jumping from the bosun’s chair and up onto the wall.”