The Insider (18 page)

CHAPTER 16

The heavens opened up, hurling an early-morning deluge of rain and mothball-size hail down onto Wall Street amid the boom of thunder and crackle of lightning. Jay sprinted the last hundred yards to the McCarthy & Lloyd entrance, holding a copy of
The Wall Street Journal
over his head against the torrent, dodging umbrellas as he ran. He burst through the firm’s front door, nearly knocking over Paul Lopez on his way home after the graveyard shift.

“Sorry, Paulie.” Jay dropped the soggy paper in a trash can. “Looks like you had a tough night,” he said, noting Paul’s sour expression.

“It wasn’t too bad,” Paul replied tersely, “until about fifteen minutes ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got a call from Carter Bullock as I was about to leave. Literally as I was getting up from my chair to go home.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Seems he was in a conference room doing some work when you and I saw each other last night on the trading floor. When he came back to his desk, he found somebody going through the drawer I put the money transfer advice in.” Lopez pointed a finger at Jay. “That somebody was you.”

“I needed his calculator, Paulie,” Jay explained calmly. “I told him that.”

“I don’t care what the hell you needed or what you told him. Your going through his desk got me in a lot of trouble. I know I locked the drawer before I left the desk, and you told him it was open.”

“I’m sorry.” Jay’s face lighted up. “How about if I get you some box seats for a Yankee game? Would that make you feel better?”

Paul shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Good. I’ll arrange it.” Jay darted past Paul and into an elevator just as the doors were closing. When it stopped at the trading floor, he walked briskly to the arbitrage desk. It was only seven-thirty, but everyone else had arrived.

“Good afternoon,” Bullock said sarcastically as Jay put his briefcase down.

“Hello.”

Sally smiled at Jay from the other side of the bulkhead, but Oliver didn’t acknowledge him. The head of the arbitrage desk sat in his chair, slumped down, staring at his computer screen from beneath his dark eyebrows, hands clasped tightly in front of his mouth.

“Morning, Oliver,” Jay called.

Still Oliver said nothing.

“You and the boss are getting along really well these days,” Bullock observed dryly. “That should help you at bonus time.”

Jay started to say something, then spotted Ted Mitchell ambling across the trading room floor toward the arbitrage desk. Mitchell brokered stocks for high-net-worth individuals.

“Hello, everyone,” Mitchell said pleasantly, stopping between Oliver and Sally. “Oliver, I thought you might want to hear about a couple of rumors our desk has picked up so far this morning.”

“What rumors?” Bullock asked when it became apparent that Oliver wasn’t going to respond.

“The Street is talking about a leveraged-buyout group on the West Coast that’s about to announce a huge takeover bid for Bell Chemical,” Mitchell answered. “A bid that will be well above yesterday’s closing stock price. At least that’s the early word.”

Mitchell blurred in front of Jay as the words “Bell Chemical” buzzed in Jay’s ears like a swarm of angry hornets.

“And the other rumor concerns some company in the Midwest,” Mitchell continued. “I think the name is Simons. I’ve never heard of it before.”

Jay felt his mouth go dry. He stood up slowly and gazed over the bulkhead at Oliver, who was still staring blankly at his computer screen.

“Let’s check this out,” Bullock suggested, tapping commands onto his keyboard and pulling up company news on Bell Chemical. “Yup, it says right here that trading of Bell shares will be delayed at the nine-thirty opening of the New York Stock Exchange pending an announcement by the company,” Bullock read. “There’s a huge imbalance in orders for its shares.” Bullock slammed the desktop happily. “The reason for the imbalance has got to be a takeover announcement.”

“Are you guys long on Bell shares?” Mitchell asked.

“Sure as hell are!” Bullock shouted. “Shares of Simons, too. We own a large block of each company, thanks to this guy,” he said, pointing at Jay. He was giddy, like a young boy on Christmas morning who’d just been given the pony he’d been begging for all year. “Our new guy, Jay West, seems to have the Midas touch.”

Mitchell smiled at Jay. “That’s incredible, picking two takeovers like that. Congratulations. Bill McCarthy will be a happy man.”

“Thanks,” Jay muttered, not taking his eyes from Oliver, who still hadn’t moved.

Mitchell nudged Oliver’s chair. “This ought to be a nice ride, Ollie. You haven’t had a couple of big hits like this in a while. Not since the spring, right?”

Jay’s eyes flashed to Mitchell’s. It was the first he’d heard of any slump on the arbitrage desk.

“That’s right,” Bullock agreed. “I guess Jay was exactly what we needed.” He slapped Jay on the back. “Way to go, pal. I know Oliver and I weren’t very supportive when you went out and bought those shares on your own, but you certainly proved us wrong.”

Mitchell smiled at Jay. “Let me be the first one to shake your hand,” he said, leaning over the bulkhead.

But Jay wasn’t listening. He was watching Oliver, who had risen from his seat and was walking slowly toward the elevator.

Bullock nodded at Sally, who scrambled from her seat and raced after Oliver.

“What the hell is wrong with everybody around here?” Mitchell asked, pulling his hand back and giving Jay an irritated look. He glanced at Bullock, then grunted an obscenity and walked away.

“You bastard, Bullock,” Jay whispered. “Why the hell did you tell Mitchell that I went out and purchased the shares on my own? You know that’s not true.”

“I wanted you to get some much-needed credit,” Bullock answered. “If McCarthy hears that the stock purchases were your idea, it’ll be good for you.”

“You don’t care whether I get any credit,” Jay snapped. “You and Oliver—”

“Hey!” Sally was back. Her face was ashen. “Oliver got on the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor.” She was speaking in a harsh whisper. “He wouldn’t respond to me. Something’s wrong.”

Bullock rose from his seat and ran for the elevators, Jay and Sally right behind him.

“What could be the matter with him?” Sally asked as the elevator doors closed and the car began to climb. She, Bullock, and Jay were the only occupants. “He was like a zombie.”

“He’s got pressures at home,” Bullock answered, watching the numbers light up over the doors, banging his fist against the wood paneling of the car. “I think he’s on some kind of medication, too. He’ll be all right. He probably won’t even be up here.”

Jay studied Bullock’s face. For the first time since Jay had known him, Bullock seemed unnerved.

The elevator doors opened onto the fifty-seventh floor of the building, the reception area of a law firm. The name of the firm hung in bold black letters on the mahogany wall behind the receptionist, who gave them a quizzical look as they spilled out of the car and headed toward a sign pointing to the stairs.

At the top of the steps they burst through a metal door onto the roof. The wind howled as Jay put a hand above his eyes to shield them from the lashing rain and scanned the roof for any sign of Oliver.

“There!” Sally yelled.

Jay followed Sally’s gesture and saw Oliver sitting on the wall running around the perimeter of the building. Instinctively Jay sprinted toward him.

Oliver sat facing them, his back to the sickening drop on the other side. He was rocking back and forth, his feet not touching the roof, ankles crossed. “Hello, everyone,” he said loudly, a strange smile on his rain-streaked face. The smile faded as they came nearer, and his eyes flicked rapidly several times from side to side. “Don’t come any closer!” he warned.

“Stay away from him, Bullock,” Jay yelled. Bullock was ignoring Oliver’s pleas, heading right for him. “Christ, you’ll make him jump.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Bullock snarled, hesitating for a moment, then moving forward again more slowly this time.

As Bullock inched forward Oliver stood up, legs spread wide and hands out, his body soaked and shaking, the wind tearing at his clothes.

“Carter, stop,” Sally begged, hands over her mouth.

“If he looks down, he might lose it!” Jay yelled. “He may not even know where he is right now.”

“He knows,” Bullock hissed, edging closer, now only a few feet from Oliver.

Jay followed, just behind Bullock.

“Don’t take another step,” Oliver yelled. “Please, Carter. Leave me alone. Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m saving you, Oliver,” Bullock answered through gritted teeth. “You know this is for the best.”

“Don’t do this to me! Please!” Oliver raised his arms and spread them wide, then leaned back and gazed straight up at the black sky.

“Bullock, he’s going to go over!” Jay shouted. “Stay back!”

But Bullock lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Oliver’s legs. Oliver’s arms flailed as he lost his balance and began to fall backward.

As Bullock let go of Oliver’s legs, Jay clamped down on Oliver’s forearm, breaking his backward momentum. For a second they were perfectly balanced, Oliver’s body out over the edge with nothing between himself and Wall Street, Jay braced against the wall, and Bullock kneeling below them.

Then Jay felt a tremendous weight against his shins and searing pain, and for a moment he lost his grip as Oliver’s wet shirt shredded in his fingers. But he lunged and grabbed Oliver once more, hauling him back toward the roof, not letting go until he lay on top of Jay on the roof in a drenched heap. For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” Oliver whispered.

Before Jay could say anything, Bullock was pulling Oliver up and escorting him toward the door, his arm around Oliver’s shoulder.

“Are you all right?” Sally knelt beside Jay as he rose on one elbow.

“Yeah,” he groaned, his right knee throbbing.

“You saved Oliver’s life.” Her eyes were wide open and she was breathing hard. Rain and wind were whipping through her hair. “God, I thought you were both going over. You could have been killed.” She threw her arms around him and held him tightly.

“It was a reflex, and probably a stupid one,” Jay said. “I didn’t even think about it. If I had, I might not have done it.” He glanced up into her face and saw her terror. “It’s over, Sally. I’m fine.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“What is it, then?” She was staring off into the distance, her mouth wide open. There was something else. “Talk to me.”

She looked down at him and ran her fingers through his dripping hair. “Did you feel anything against your legs when you were holding on to Oliver?”

Jay thought back to those seconds, suddenly aware of a throbbing in his knee. “Yes, I think so, but I’m not certain what it was. It must have been the wall as I braced myself against it.”

“It was Bullock,” she whispered.

“What?”

“He was trying to make it to his feet—to help, I thought—but then he fell, or maybe he slipped. The roof was wet, but…” Sally looked away.

“But what?”

She hesitated, not certain she wanted to continue. “It looked as though he fell against your legs on purpose. Almost as if…”

But her voice faltered, or her words were swallowed up by a roll of thunder. When the rumble faded, they rose slowly and headed toward the door leading back into the building. Jay was never exactly certain which had occurred—whether Sally had held back or the thunder had drowned out her words—but it didn’t matter. He knew what she was trying to say.

The young woman tucked the bedspread tightly beneath the pillows, chopping at the crease with the back of her hand. When she finished, she checked the room once more, nodded to herself, and headed toward the door. It was ready for another customer. She sighed as she pulled the door shut. The next day she would clean the same room the same way.

“Hello.”

The maid shrieked softly, startled by the tall stranger standing before her in the hallway. He looked disheveled, as if he’d been caught outside in the morning storm that had buffeted the city. She clutched her chest, her heart pounding.

“I’m sorry if I surprised you,” Jay apologized.

“It’s okay,” she answered nervously, placing two used towels down on the cart beside her. “You caught me a little off guard. That’s all.”

Jay checked the hallway. They were alone. “I need to ask you a couple of questions. It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Look, I’ve got a lot of rooms to—”

Jay pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his shirt pocket and held it out.

The young woman shook her head. “I’m not that kind of girl, mister. And if the Plaza management ever heard that I did something like that, I’d be fired. I need this job.”

“What?” For a moment Jay didn’t comprehend, and then suddenly he understood. “Oh, Jesus, no. I don’t want you to come to a room with me. I really do want to ask you a few questions.”

“Now it’s a
few
questions.” She grabbed for the twenty, but Jay pulled it away before she could snatch it. “Before it was a couple.”

“You don’t get the money until I get answers.”

“Okay, but hurry,” she said, irritated at the imposition. “My boss could show up any second.”

“One of the other maids said you were working this floor of the hotel Tuesday a week ago,” Jay said quickly, pointing over his shoulder at the suite behind him. One of the secretaries on the arbitrage desk was aware that McCarthy & Lloyd had been renting it for years and had told Jay when he asked. “Is that right?”

“I came in at four and left at midnight. So what?”

Jay removed two photographs from his suit pocket. The first was of Abby, a picture Abby’s father had given him at the end of their walk the night before. “Do you recognize this woman?”

The maid took a quick glance at the picture. “Yes, I saw her going into that suite a couple of times over the past few months.”

Jay showed her the second photograph. “Take a look at this one,” he ordered. It was the picture of Oliver sitting between Sally and Jay on the sailboat. “Do you recognize anyone in this photograph?”