The Betrayer (12 page)

Johnny was crossing the East River
via the Williamsburg Bridge. It was another warm June night, and he was just
another of the millions who would be out and about in Manhattan now that
summerlike weather was here.

Just another
thirtysomething, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt and boots, heading for
somewhere.

Stay out of my
way, and I’ll stay out of yours.

He had called for
the cab from his cell phone as he walked up to McCarren Park, just a few blocks
north of the apartment. He knew better than to have the driver come to his
door. Dickey McVicker had given him a wad of bills as they rode back together
from the meeting with Cat — three grand in twenties.

Financing
,
McVicker had called it.
Transportation, bribe money, etc. If you need more,
just let me know.
And I’ve alerted certain people that you’ll be out and
about, and that you’re under my protection.

As Johnny
pocketed the money, he thought of asking what that meant exactly. He already
knew that McVicker had influence, both with the underworld and, to an extent,
the police. But was he really this powerful? Could he really extend his
influence around Johnny — around a moving target — like a shield? But before
Johnny could ask, McVicker handed him a slip of paper and said,
Your brother’s
favorite dealer hangs out in a bar in Little Italy. You should start with him.

On the slip of
paper was a name and address.

How do you
know this?
Johnny had asked.

It’s one of my
bars. I make it a point of knowing everything that happens in my bars. I’ve
passed word to him that you’re coming, but he’s a cocky shit, likes to feel
that he has the power, so don’t let him give you the runaround.
McVicker
paused.
Every minute counts.

You know
something, Dickey.

I know that
Russian. He’s a vicious little fuck, just like his old man.

And the son of
the man who betrayed you, Johnny had thought.

McVicker had then
handed Johnny a third item: a cell phone.

Keep this with
you at all times. There’s a number in its contact list. Call it and you’ll get
me.

Johnny took the
phone, checked that it was powered up, then pocketed it as well.

Be careful but
be quick
,
McVicker said.
I’d like you to let me know what you
find out, as soon as you find it out.
He paused.
And don’t trust anyone.

Except you.

Except me.
He
had smiled then.
Always me.

Alone in the back
of his cab, halfway across the East River, Johnny was watching the city lights.
A long line of glowing high-rises, and below them the FDR crowded with cars. It
was the same view as from his kitchen window, only closer now by a mile.

Here we go, he
thought.

As the
Williamsburg Bridge ended and became Delancey Street, Johnny looked to his
right and saw the Delancey Bar and Grille. Early in the evening still, not yet
eight o’clock, but people were already gathered outside.

Seconds later the
cab was passing Clinton Street, and Johnny briefly glimpsed the spot where
Jeremy had parked his motorcycle — in view of a preschool’s security camera.

Looking at both
places hadn’t told Johnny anything he didn’t already know.

But he was here
now, in the heart of it, of whatever shit his crazy kid brother had stirred up.

Not technically
behind enemy lines, but for Johnny, considering what his life had become, close
enough.

He didn’t want to
do this, not one bit. He didn’t need it; there was more than enough on his mind
these days. Staying safe, making money, saving as much of it as they could,
just in case. He had burned through all of the money he’d inherited from his
father during his journey through Southeast Asia. A foolish thing, yes — and
what he wouldn’t do to have even half of it back. Or just a fraction of it. He
had come back to New York broke — on Haley’s dime, in fact — and had no one to
turn to but Dickey McVicker.

The more they
earned and stashed away, the less dependent on McVicker they were.

And should they
need to start all over again somewhere else, they could do so without depending
on anyone but themselves.

This appealed to
Johnny greatly.

But right now all
he cared about was getting back to his apartment, being in the comforting
darkness with the woman he had vowed to keep safe at all costs. He wanted to be
there right now, needed at this moment to feel a connection to her, so he sent her
a quick text asking how she was. She replied a half minute later.
Missing
you but fine. Watching the boys passing below.

Johnny smiled at
that. She was such a wiseass, loved to tease him in this way. She had brought
more than purpose and wisdom to his life — she had brought humor. He sent off a
second text, telling her that he’d be back as soon as he could, so whoever she
chose to have come up shouldn’t stay too long. He imagined her seeing that and
smiling, too.

He ended the text
with the emoticon of a smiley face — code that meant he wouldn’t be able to text
again for a while, the equivalent to ending a radio broadcast with “over and
out.”

She replied seconds
later with a text containing the same emoticon.

Over and out.

Before Johnny
realized it, the cab had reached its destination — Eldridge Street, a block
from the eastern edge of Roosevelt Park. Johnny paid the fare with McVicker’s
money and got out.

When the cab was
gone from sight, Johnny began crossing through the block-wide park.

Beyond it was
Little Italy.

Cat let Donnie Fiermonte in and
together they sat at her dining room table. She seldom had company — dinner
company, anyway — and had long since adopted this part of her apartment as the
hub of her home office.

On the table before
them was her notebook computer, up and running.

“What have you
got, Cat?”

“The code Jeremy
left was the password for his cell phone account.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Jeremy’s
billing cycle ended last week, and his call log only covers the current billing
cycle, so I can only see the calls he made in the past five days. He made
several to a nine-one-seven number, the last one being at six last night, seven
hours before he got shot at on Delancey.”

“Did you run the
number?”

“It’s a prepaid cell
phone.”

“So a dead end.”

“For that, yeah, but
at eleven o’clock last night he made a call to a landline up in Chappaqua.”

“And?”

“It’s registered
to a Jeffery Hall.”

“Any idea who he
is?”

“I logged on to
my work computer and looked him up. He’s a pharmaceutical rep. No warrants, no record,
not even a single traffic violation.”

“Why would Jeremy
call a pharmaceutical rep at eleven o’clock at night?”

“I don’t know.”

Fiermonte thought
for a moment. “The rep could be selling samples out of the back of his car,” he
suggested.

“Maybe.”

She was hesitant,
and Fiermonte knew why.

“It was a grainy
videotape at best, Cat. And just because Jeremy didn’t look high or strung out
at that moment doesn’t mean he’s stopped using.”

She brushed that
aside. “I was able to look up last month’s account balance. Jeremy’s plan allows
four hundred and fifty minutes. If he stays below that amount, his bill should
come in just under eighty bucks a month. The thing is, last month’s bill was
over three hundred dollars.”

“He made a lot of
calls last month, but barely any in the last five days.” Fiermonte paused. “Sounds
like maybe something came to an end a week ago. A friendship or relationship.”

Cat shrugged. “Three
hundred dollars in calls sound an awful lot like love to me.”

“But why didn’t
he just increase his plan, pay a little more for unlimited calls?”

“Maybe whatever
was going on, he wasn’t expecting it to last.”

“A love affair?”

“Johnny has a
history of being with married women. One might even call it an obsession.”

Fiermonte thought
about that. It was impossible for them to talk about this — and to sit as
closely as they were, both looking at the computer screen — and not be reminded
of their conversation over drinks a week ago.

A conversation
they had all but ignored since.

“I wonder if this
Hall guy is married.”

“He’s a sales
rep, so if he is, he’d be away a lot.”

“Giving his wife
and your brother a lot of time to talk on the phone.”

“Yeah.”

“Can we see any
of his texts?”

“No, just the
current call log.”

“The thing is,
Chappaqua’s less than an hour from the city. Why just talk a lot? Why not
actually get together?”

“No reason why they
couldn’t have done both.” She paused. “Jeremy can be a bit…intense. He scares
women off as fast as he attracts them.”

“So he left his
number and password in a way you’d find it but nobody else would, just so you’d
see the last number he called. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“No. There’s more.”

“What?”

Cat navigated
from the call log page to the main account page, then clicked on a tab marked Picture
Mail.

A folder opened,
showing a list of icons shaped like little cameras.

“Jeremy’s cell phone
camera must automatically upload any pictures he takes. Mine’s set to do that,
too. There are three pictures in this file.”

“What of?”

Cat clicked on
the first icon and a JPEG image opened.

The photo showed
a man walking down a city street. By the way the photo was framed — the man was
all but diagonal and the image was slightly blurred — it was likely that Jeremy
had taken the photo both discreetly and quickly.

But that didn’t
concern Fiermonte. What concerned him was that the photo was of Detective
Morris.

“Jesus,” he said.

“Exactly,” Cat
agreed. “According to the time and date stamp, this photo was taken three
nights ago.”

Fiermonte was
clearly intrigued. And concerned. “What’s the next photo?”

Cat clicked on
it. The photo that opened showed two men standing face-to-face, engaged in
conversation.

While the first
photo had concerned Fiermonte, this second one outright bothered him. At first
he didn’t recognize the second man, and then he did.

He was smoking.

“That’s the guy
who was manning the door at McVicker’s warehouse.”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck is
one of McVicker’s men doing with Morris?”

“That’s the question,
isn’t it?”

Again, it looked
as if Jeremy had taken this photo quickly and secretly.

“When was this
taken?”

“The night before
last.”

“I mean, Morris and
McVicker’s guy are standing, what, three or four feet from the camera. It’s not
like Jeremy could take a picture with his cell phone from a distance, right? So
he was standing right there with them. And the same for the first picture.”

“Jeremy met with
Morris three nights ago, and then Morris and this other guy the night before
last.”

“Could Jeremy
have taken these while walking by them? Without them knowing he was there?”

“I doubt it.”

“I’m not so sure,
Cat. I mean, they don’t seem to be looking in Jeremy’s direction in either
picture.”

“You’re thinking
he could have been following them?”

“It’s a possible
explanation.”

“I take it Morris
didn’t say anything to you last night about him meeting with Jeremy.”

“Not a fucking
thing.”

“Curious, huh?”

“Yeah.” Fiermonte
paused to think, seemed almost reluctant to ask for some reason. “So…what’s the
last photo?”

Cat clicked on
the final icon. This photo was the blurriest of the three. It showed a man dressed
in black who all but filled the frame. Though his body was a blur, his face,
strangely, was relatively clear.

Clear enough to
see his features.

“That was taken
just after midnight last night,” Cat said. “That has to be our shooter. Same
clothes, same hat, everything.”

“Jesus,” Fiermonte
said again.

“My guess is the
blood on the visor is his. Jeremy must have hit him with it at some point. Maybe
between that blood and this photo, we can find out who he is. And who he works
for.”

Fiermonte sighed,
then: “Can you e-mail these to me? The photos and the numbers.”

“I already did,
while I was waiting for you.”

Fiermonte was
looking at the screen. Something had caught his eye.

“There’s another
folder marked Received. Anything in that?”

Cat hesitated.

Fiermonte looked
at her. “What?”

“It’s just a
photo.”

“Of what?”

“A woman.” She
shrugged. “A naked pic, that’s all.”

“Let me see it.”

Cat didn’t want
to, felt sympathy for the woman, but she knew he needed to see it. She switched
to that folder and opened the only photo it contained.

The nude woman
was a brunette, early forties. She was standing before a bathroom mirror, a cell
phone in her hand, her hand held off to the side slightly. Her build was
different from Cat’s — less athletic, more womanly. Better curves, fuller
breasts. Her chin was held up a bit, in a way that struck Cat as being bold.

Cat felt as
though she were invading this woman’s privacy. And her brother’s.

“I fucking know
this woman?” Fiermonte muttered.

Cat was genuinely
surprised by this. “What?”

“I know her. I’ve
seen her.”

“Where?”

“When I went to
the restaurant where Jeremy was working last month, to check up on him, she was
there. Sitting at the bar. The place was being renovated, and she was the
designer.”

“Did you get her
name?”

“No. But I bet
you a drink she’s Mrs. Jeffery Hall of Chappaqua, New York.”

Fiermonte removed
his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed 411.

“What are you doing?”
Cat asked.

“Calling
information for the number of that restaurant. Someone there should be able to
give me her name.”

“And then what?”

“If it is her,
we’re going up to Chappaqua.”

“When?”

“Tonight?”

“And if her
husband is home?”

“Let’s hope for
her sake he’s not.”

Fiermonte said
into the phone, “Manhattan, Messina’s. A business, Seventh Avenue.” As he
waited for his call to be connected, he said to Cat, “E-mail me that picture,
too.”

“Do you really
need it, Donnie?”

“I’ll be discreet,
I promise.”

Cat closed the
photo, then sent it as an attachment to Fiermonte’s office e-mail address.

When Fiermonte’s call
to the restaurant answered, he asked for the manager, then gave a quick story
about how he had been in there recently and how impressed he was with the
renovations, and might he get the name and contact information of the designer
responsible? The whole thing took less than a minute.

Ending the call,
he said, “Elizabeth Hall. She’s not a Manhattan designer, though. She works out
of her home in Chappaqua. Get your jacket.”

“Maybe I should
go alone,” Cat suggested.

“Why?”

“It’s someone’s
life, Donnie. Would you want a stranger to knock on your door and start asking
you
difficult questions in front of your wife?”

“I’ve got nothing
to hide.”

“Don’t you? And
besides, we now have another reason to keep this quiet, no? I’ll be going there
as a concerned sister. No big deal. But you’re still an assistant state
prosecutor, right? That makes it a big deal.”

“I’ll ride up
with you.”

“And what, sit in
the car? ‘Just ignore the man out there in your driveway, Mrs. Hall, while I
ask you if you’ve been sleeping with my kid brother.’ It’s just Chappaqua,
Donnie. An hour there, an hour back, an hour maybe to talk. That’s if she’s able
to, that’s if she’s even home.”

Fiermonte said
nothing for a moment, then backed down. “Alright, fine. Go have a woman-to-woman
with her. Just take good notes, okay?”

“I always do.”

“And be careful.”

“It’s Chappaqua,
Donnie.”

Later, as she got into her
Mustang, Cat thought better of just driving up there blind. If no one was home,
it would be a waste of time. And if Elizabeth Hall and her husband were both
there, well…

She called Hall’s
landline number and listened to three rings before the call was answered and a female
voice said, “Hello?”

Something about
the voice told Cat that this woman already knew who was calling.

But how could she
know that?

Cat identified
herself, and before she could ask to whom she was speaking, the woman said, “Is
Jeremy dead?”

So Elizabeth Hall, then.

“No,” Cat
answered. “Not that we know of. But he is missing, and I was hoping you could
help.”

“It’s the same
thing that happened to your father,” Elizabeth said.

Cat hadn’t
thought of that till now.

Her next thought
was that this woman knew things.

“Can we meet and
talk?” Cat said. “I could drive up there.”

“I’d rather we
didn’t meet at my house.”

“I understand. Name
a place and I’ll be there.”

“There’s a coffee
shop near the train station here. It’s on the far side of the parking lot. Would
that do?”

“I’ll be there in
an hour.”