The 6:20 Man

Devine tensed more than a bit. “You’ll have to walk me through that one.”

“It’s delicate. It’s all delicate, Devine.” He abruptly sat up straight from his slouched position. “A dead body in a building invites all sorts of attention. Unwanted scrutiny for a firm like mine.”

“Why?”

“It’s obvious, Devine. Shit, are you that stupid?”

“Maybe.”

He held up one stubby finger, even as Devine’s mind wandered to the image of him walking out of that office zipping up his pants, not far from where Ewes had been strung up, while Jennifer Stamos was lying naked with her thighs still spread on a metal desk with a laminated top. Cheap on cheap.

Cowl said, “The one major asset I have isn’t money or talent, it’s respectability. People pay us enormous amounts of money because we are respectable. No scandal. No dirt. No Ponzi Bernie Madoffs, no bloodsucking Enrons, no dickhead Ivan Boeskys. They are the kiss of death.”

“A murder is not the same thing as financial crimes,” noted Devine.

“You have to go deeper than that, Devine. No one is implying that we’re stealing their money by Sara’s body being found there. But in the backs of their heads, clients will think, Do I risk it? Why go with them when I could go with Morgan Stanley or Merrill Lynch or one of their other competitors? And it doesn’t take much to move the needle, because we all do basically the same thing.”

“You can’t make the murder go away, Mr. Cowl. The cops are not going to stop investigating because you’re afraid it will cost you clients and business.”

“Which brings me back to you. Did you kill her?”

“No.”

“Did you hire someone to do it?”

“And give them my security card?”

“Why do you say that?”

Devine wasn’t about to give away his hacking game on that one. “How else could they have gotten in the building and accessed the floor Sara was found on?”

“Uh-huh.” And then Cowl unloaded a shocker. “And maybe there’s security video of someone who looks a lot like you coming in and out at the required time.” He glanced at Devine for his reaction to this.

Devine had looked down at his drink for precisely this reason. When he looked up, he was composed. “I’m no computer genius, but give me the right equipment and a little time, and I could put your face on somebody else’s body and walk it anywhere I wanted.”

“Is that right?”

“You just bought a company two months ago that does that very thing.”

“Cyber-Surgeon, yeah, I know. We’re going to flip that sucker in a year and make a killing, because, like you said, they can do that very thing. Which means truth becomes meaningless because you can invent your own. Not that people don’t already do that all the time. Only with this technology the lie becomes very convincing.”

“And there goes any proof of anything,” said Devine.

“Maybe, or maybe not, if the cops believe what they think they see? And then a jury does, too? You got about a million bucks to spend on the best lawyers? And that’s probably the minimum you’re going to need.”

“No, I don’t. Nowhere close.”

“Then I don’t care if you didn’t kill the woman, you’re screwed,” replied Cowl.

“Justice in America?”

“Reality in America. And for your information, we don’t have a ‘justice’ system in this country. We have a legal system. I got a whole platoon of in-house lawyers and fifteen more on the outside on retainer. All top of the heap in talent and connections. And I still don’t think it’s enough. Just the cost of doing business. Courthouse is open to every son of a bitch who wants to play the legal lottery. And I am one big target.”

“So why am I here?”

“I wanted to see what kind of guy you are, Devine. Military, combat guy, medals, blah, blah, blah, yeah, I got all that. But I wanted to talk to you, feel you out, poke inside your head.” He looked at the facial injuries. “Hurt much?”

Devine could tell the man knew what had happened from Stamos. “Not even a little bit.”