The Dark Tide Free for a Limited Time (6 page)

A month later—a few days after they’d finally held a memorial for Charlie, Karen trying to be upbeat, but it was so, so hard—the UPS man dropped off a package at her door.

It was during the day. The kids were at school. Karen was getting ready to leave. She had a steering-committee meeting at the kids’ school. She was trying as best she could to get back to some kind of normal routine.

Rita, their housekeeper, brought it in, knocking on the bedroom door.

It was a large padded envelope. Karen checked out the sender. The label said it was from a Shipping Plus outlet in Brooklyn. No return name or address. Karen couldn’t think of anyone she knew in Brooklyn.

She went into the kitchen and took a package blade and opened the envelope. Whatever was inside was protected in bubble wrap, which Karen carefully slit open. Curious, she lifted out the contents.

It was a frame. Maybe ten by twelve inches. Chrome. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble.

Inside the frame was what appeared to be a page from some kind of notepad, charred, dirt marks on it, torn on the upper right edge. There were a bunch of random numbers scratched all over it, and a name.

Karen felt her breath stolen away.

The page read
From the desk of Charles Friedman.

The writing on it was Charlie’s.

“Ees a gift?” asked Rita, picking up the wrappings.

Karen nodded, barely able to even speak. “
Yes.
”

She took it into the sunroom and sat with it on the window seat, rain coming down outside.

It was her husband’s notepad. The stationery Karen had given him herself a few years back. The sheet was torn. The numbers didn’t make sense to her and the name scrawled there was one Karen didn’t recognize. Megan Walsh. A corner of it was charred. It looked as if it had been on the ground for a long time.

But it was Charlie—his writing. Karen felt a tingling sensation all over.

There was a note taped to the frame. Karen pulled it off. It read:
I found this, three days after what happened, in the main terminal of Grand Central. It must have floated there. I held on to it, because I didn’t know if it would hurt or help. I pray it helps.

It was unsigned.

Karen couldn’t believe it. On the news she’d heard there were thousands of papers blown all over the station after the explosion. They had settled everywhere. Like confetti after a parade.

Karen fixed intently on Charlie’s writing. It was just a bunch of meaningless numbers and a name she didn’t recognize, scribbled at odd angles. Dated 3/22, weeks before his death. A bunch of random messages, no doubt.

But it was from Charlie. His writing. It was a part of him the day he died.

They had never given her back the piece of his briefcase they’d recovered. This was all she had. Holding it to her, for a moment it was almost as if she felt him there.

Her eyes filled up with tears. “Oh, Charlie…”

In a way it was like he was saying good-bye.

I didn’t know if it would hurt or help,
the sender had written.

Oh, yes, it helps
.
It more than helps….
Karen held it close.
A thousand times more.

It was just a jumble of stupid numbers and a name scratched out in his hand. But it was all she had.

She hadn’t been able to cry at his memorial. Too many people. Charlie’s blown-up photo looming above them. And they all wanted it to be upbeat, not sad. She’d tried to be so strong.

But there, sitting by the window, her husband’s writing pressed against her heart, she felt it was okay.
I’m here with you, Charlie,
Karen thought. She finally let herself really cry.

Down the street a man hunched in a darkened car, rain streaming on the windshield. He smoked as he watched the house and cracked the window a shade to flick the ashes onto the street.

The UPS truck had just left. He knew that what it brought would send things spinning. A short while later, Karen Friedman rushed out, a rain jacket over her head, and climbed into her Lexus.

Things promised to get interesting
.

She backed out of the driveway and onto the street, reversed, and headed back toward him. The man hunched lower in the car, the Lexus’s headlights hitting his windshield, glistening sharply in the rain as it went by.

Hybrid,
he noted, impressed, watching in the rearview mirror as it went down the block.

He picked up his phone, which was sitting on the passenger seat across from him, next to his Walther P38, punching in a private number. His gaze fell to his hands. They were thick, coarse, workman’s hands.

Time to get them dirty again,
he sighed.

“Plan A doesn’t seem to be moving,” he said into the phone when the voice he was expecting finally answered.

“We don’t have forever,” the person on the other end replied.

“Exactamente.”
He exhaled. He started his ignition, flicked an ash out the window, and took off at a slow pace, following the Lexus. “I’m already on Plan B.”

One of the things Karen had to deal with in the weeks that followed was the liquidation of Charlie’s firm.

She’d never gotten deeply involved in her husband’s business. Harbor was what was termed “a general limited partnership.” The share agreement maintained that in case the principal partner ever became deceased or unable to perform, the assets of the firm were to be redistributed back to the other partners. Charlie managed a modest-size fund, with assets of around $250 million. The lead investors were Goldman Sachs, where he had started out years before, and a few wealthy families he’d attracted over the years.

Saul Lennick, Charlie’s first boss at Goldman, who had helped put him in business, acted as the firm’s trustee.

It was hard for Karen to go through. Bittersweet. Charlie had only seven people working for him: a junior trader and a bookkeeper, Sally, who ran the back office and had been with him since he’d first opened shop. His assistant, Heather, handled a lot of their personal stuff. Karen pretty much knew them all.

It would take a few months, Lennick advised her, for everything to be finalized. And that was fine with her. Charlie would’ve wanted them all to be well taken care of. “Hell, you know better than anyone that he practically spent more time with them over the years than he did with me,” she said, smiling knowingly at Saul. Anyway, money wasn’t exactly the issue right now.

She and the kids were okay financially. She had the house, which they owned clear, the ski place in Vermont. Plus, Charlie had been able to pull out some money over the years.

But it was tough, seeing his baby dismantled. The positions were sold. The office on Park Avenue was put up for lease. One by one, people found new jobs and began to leave.

That was like the final straw. The final imprint of him gone.

About that time the junior trader Charlie had brought into the firm just a few months before, Jonathan Lauer, called her at home. Karen wasn’t around. He left a message on her machine: “I’d like to speak with you, Mrs. Friedman. At your convenience. There are some things you ought to know.”

Some things…
Whatever they were, she wasn’t up to it right then. Jonathan was new; he had started working for Charles only this past year. Charlie had lured him from Morgan. She passed the message on to Saul.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” he told her. “All kinds of sticky issues, closing down a firm. People are looking out for their own arrangements. There may have been some bonus agreements discussed. Charlie wasn’t the best at recording those things. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that right now.”

He was right. She
couldn’t
deal with that right now. In July she went away for a well-needed week at Paula and Rick’s house in Sag Harbor. She rejoined her book group, started doing yoga again. God, how she needed that. Her body began to resemble itself once again and feel alive. Gradually her spirits did, too.

August came, and Samantha had a job at a local beach club.
Alex was away at lacrosse camp. Karen was thinking maybe she’d look into getting a real-estate license.

Jonathan Lauer contacted her again.

This time Karen was at home. Still, she didn’t pick up. She heard the same cryptic message on the machine: “Mrs. Friedman, I think it’s important that we talk….”

But Karen just let the message tape go on. She didn’t like avoiding him. Charlie had always spoken highly of the young man.
People are looking out for their own arrangements….

She just couldn’t answer. Hearing his voice trail off, she felt bad.

It was September, the kids were back in school when Karen ran into Lieutenant Hauck, the Greenwich detective, again.

It was halftime of a high-school football game at Greenwich Field. They were playing Stamford West. Karen had volunteered to sell raffle tickets for the Teen Center drive for the athletic department. The stands were packed. It was a crisp, early-autumn Saturday morning. The Huskies band was on the field. She went over to the refreshment stand to grab herself a cup of coffee against the chill.

She almost didn’t recognize him at first. He was dressed in a navy polar-fleece pullover and jeans, a young, pretty girl who looked no more than nine or ten to Karen hoisted on his shoulders. They sort of bumped into each other in the crowd.

“Lieutenant…?”

“Hauck.” He turned and stopped, a pleased glimmer in his eye.

“Karen Friedman.” She nodded, shielding the sun out of her eyes.

“Of course I remember.” He let the girl down. “Jess, say hi to Mrs. Friedman.”

“Hi.” The pretty girl waved, a little shy. “Nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, sweetie.” Karen smiled. “Your daughter?”

The lieutenant nodded. “Just as well,” he groaned, clutching his back, “she’s getting way too big for me to do this for very long. Right, honey? Why don’t you go ahead and find your friends. I’ll be over in a while.”

“Okay.” The girl ran off and melded into the crowd, heading in the direction of the far sidelines.

“Nine?” Karen guessed, an inquisitive arch of her eyebrows.

“Ten
. Somehow she still pushes for the Big Ride. I figure I’ve got another year or two at best before she’ll start to cringe if I ever offer to do it again.”

“Not girls and their daddies.” Karen shook her head and grinned. “Anyway, it’s sort of like a bell curve. At some point they come all the way back. At least that’s what I’m told.
I’m
still waiting.”

They stood around for a minute, bucking the flow of the crowd. A heavyset guy in a Greenwich sweatshirt slapped Hauck on the shoulder as he went by. “Hey,
Leg…”

“Rollie.” The lieutenant waved back.

“I was just headed to get some coffee,” Karen said.

“Let me,” Hauck offered. “Trust me, you won’t be able to beat the price.”

They stepped over to the refreshment line. A woman who was running the coffee station seemed to recognize him. “Hey, Ty! How’s it going, Lieutenant? Looks like we could use you out there today.”

“Yeah, just gimme about twenty of these straight up plus a shot of cortisone in both knees and you can put me in.” He pulled out a couple of bills.

“On the house, Lieutenant.” She waved him away. “Booster program.”

“Thanks, Mary.” Hauck winked back. He handed a cup to Karen. There was a table free, and Hauck motioned her toward it and they each grabbed a metal chair.

“See what I mean?” He took a sip. “One of the few legal perks I have left.”

“Rank has its privilege.” Karen winked, pretending to be impressed.

“Nah.” Hauck shrugged. “Tailback. Greenwich High, 1975. Went all the way to the state finals that year. They never forget.”

Karen grinned. She brushed her hair back from under her hooded Greenwich High sweatshirt and cupped her hands on the steaming cup.

“So how are you doing?” the detective asked. “I actually meant to call a couple of times. When I last saw you, things were pretty raw.”

“I know.” Karen shrugged again. “They were then. I’m doing better. Time…” She sighed, tilting her cup.

“As they say…” The lieutenant did the same and smiled. “So you have kids in the high school?”

“Two. Samantha’s graduating this year. Alex is a sophomore. He plays lacrosse. He’s still taking things pretty hard.”

“’Course he is,” the lieutenant said. Someone brushed him in the back, rushing by. He nodded, pressing his lips together. What could you say?

“You were looking into a hit-and-run then,” Karen said, shifting gears. “Some kid out of Florida. You ever find that guy?”

“No. But I did find out why your husband’s name was in his pocket.”

He told Karen about the Mustang.

“‘Charlie’s Baby.’”
She nodded and smiled. “Figures. Still have it. Charlie asked in his will not to sell it. How about it, Lieutenant? You want your own American icon, only year they
made the color Emberglow. Only costs about eight grand a year to take it out of the garage a couple of times?”

“Sorry. I have my own American icon. College account.” He grinned.

The PA announced that the teams were heading back on the field. The Huskies band marched off to a brassy version of Bon Jovi’s “Who Says You Can’t Go Home?” The lieutenant’s daughter ran out of the crowd and yelled, “
Daddy,
come on! I want to sit with Elyse!”

“Second half ’s starting up,” the lieutenant said.

“She’s pretty,” Karen said. “Oldest?”

“My only,
” the detective replied after a short pause. “Thanks.”

Their eyes met for a second. There was something Karen felt hiding behind his deep-set eyes.

“So how about a raffle ticket?” she asked. “It’s for a good cause. Booster program.” She chuckled. “C’mon, I’m running behind.”

“I’m afraid I already paid my dues.” Hauck sighed resignedly, patting his knees.

She tore one off the pad and penciled his name in the blank. “It’s on the house. You know, it was nice what you said to me that day. About how you knew how I felt. I guess I needed something then. I appreciated that.”

“Man…” Hauck shook his head, taking the raffle slip out of her hand, their fingers momentarily touching. “The gifts just don’t stop coming today.”

“Price you have to pay for doing a good deed, Lieutenant.”

They stood up. The lieutenant’s daughter called out impatiently, “Daddy, c’mon!”

“Good luck with the raffles,” he said. “You know, it might be good if you actually ended up
selling
a few of them today.”

Karen laughed. “Nice to see you, Lieutenant.” She shook her fists like imaginary pom-poms.
“Go Huskies!”

Hauck waved, backing into the crowd. “See you around.”