‘No, no,’ Dr No said. ‘We wouldn’t want any of that, Deputy Director. We’re not trying to impede your investigation.’ He shot Goldfinger a look, because of course they were trying to impede the investigation.
And Amanda would’ve known this already, so again Will had to wonder what she was angling for.
‘Deputy Director,’ Goldfinger began. ‘We would just ask that you do all you can to speed things along.’ He held up his finger. ‘Not speed, of course, because that would imply rushing. I would just say that you could please handle this expeditiously.’
She nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll do what I can. But I can’t have my people cleared out by Saturday. There are simply not enough hours in the day.’
Dr No asked, ‘Is there anything we can do to help expedite the process?’
Will felt an invisible zap come off Amanda. Dr No’s question was exactly what she had been waiting for.
‘I wonder if—’ She stopped herself. ‘No, never mind. We’ll do all we can.’ She started to stand. ‘Thank you for your time.’
‘Please.’ Goldfinger motioned for her to sit. ‘What can we do?’
She sat back down. She gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’m afraid it all comes back to Marcus Rippy.’
‘Fuck no!’ Kilpatrick had jumped to attention. ‘You’re not talking to Marcus. No fucking way, no fucking how.’
Amanda spoke to Goldfinger. ‘Look at this from my perspective. I have a highly decorated, much respected ex-police detective found murdered inside a building that is under construction. In the course of a normal investigation, the first thing I would do is talk to the building owner to eliminate him or her as a suspect and to generate a list of people who would have access to the building.’
‘I can give you a fucking list,’ Kilpatrick sputtered. ‘You don’t need to talk to Marcus.’
‘I’m afraid I do.’ She held out her hands in a helpless shrug. ‘I just need a few moments of his time, and a promise that he’ll have an open and honest conversation with us. It would go a long way toward repairing his reputation if he was shown to be helping a police investigation. On the record.’
‘Are you fucking kidding me? On the record?’ Kilpatrick had jumped to his feet. He told Goldfinger, ‘You can get five to ten years in this state for lying to a cop.’
Amanda asked, ‘What is your client planning to lie about?’
Kilpatrick ignored her, telling Goldfinger, ‘This fucking spider is trying to trap Marcus into saying something that—’
‘Kip,’ Dr No said, and Kilpatrick’s mouth shut like a trout.
Goldfinger told Amanda, ‘Deputy Director, perhaps you and I could speak in private?’
The three other lawyers stood in unison.
Amanda touched Will’s arm, releasing him. He headed toward the door.
Kilpatrick threw his hands into the air. ‘This is bullshit, man. Bullshit!’ The trio of lawyers had already dispersed. Will watched Kilpatrick from the hallway. He said ‘bullshit’ two more times before leaving the room. He tried to slam the glass door behind him, but it was on a pneumatic closer.
Like magic, Laslo appeared at Will’s elbow. Kilpatrick jabbed his finger at both of them, red-faced, furious. ‘Walk this peckerhead to the lobby, then come back to my office. Pronto.’ Kilpatrick punched the wall. The Sheetrock flexed but didn’t puncture. He kicked it to the same effect before stalking away.
‘Hey, peckerhead.’ Laslo indicated the long walk back to the lobby. ‘This way.’
‘Laslo.’ Will looked over the guy’s head, taking advantage of the half-foot difference. He wasn’t going to leave without Amanda, and something about the thug had rubbed him the wrong way. ‘You gotta last name?’
‘Yeah, it’s Go Fuck Yourself. Now start moving.’
‘Laslo Go Fuck Yourself.’ Will didn’t move. ‘You gotta card?’
‘I got my size ten up your ass if you don’t get movin’, buddy.’
Will forced a chuckle. He put his hands in his pockets like he had all day.
‘What the fuck are you laughin’ at?’
Will couldn’t tame the thing inside of him that wanted to piss this guy off. He thought about the old lady from the lobby, the way her bottom lip had trembled. Was that because of Laslo? Kip Kilpatrick? Will felt instinctively that something was there.
He told Laslo, ‘Mrs Lindsay warned me you’re a pistol.’
Laslo’s expression darkened, which meant Will had hit a nerve. Will wondered what the guy’s rap sheet looked like back in Boston. He imagined there was some weight to it. He had prison ink on the side of his neck and the look of a man who could take a beating and still win the fight.
Laslo warned, ‘You stay away from the old lady or I will fuck you up.’
‘You’d better bring a ladder.’
‘Don’t think ’cause you’re a cop I won’t take you down.’ Laslo put his hands on his hips, which Will thought was only appropriate for a man if he was standing on the sidelines at a game. Laslo’s tight shirt gaped open. The material was stretched so thin that he could’ve saved his dry-cleaning bill and painted it on. He glared at Will, asking, ‘What’re you lookin’ at, faggot?’
‘That’s a nice shirt. Does it come in adult sizes?’
The conference room door opened.
‘Thank you so much,’ Amanda called to Goldfinger. She smiled at Will, triumph putting a twinkle in her eyes. Marcus Rippy was important, but not as important as a two-point-eight-billion-dollar deal that everyone wanted a piece of.
Amanda asked Will, ‘Ready?’
Laslo jabbed his thumb down the hall. ‘This way.’
‘Thank you, Mr Zivcovik.’ Amanda took the lead toward the lobby. She asked Laslo, ‘Did you manage to find the phone number for Ms Polaski?’
He didn’t look away from Will as he passed her a piece of folded notepaper.
Amanda glanced at the number, then handed it to Will.
It was for the same disconnected line that was on everything.
Laslo yanked open the lobby door. ‘Anything else I can do for y’alls?’ He put on a hick accent that, layered on top of his Boston accent, made him sound like he was recovering from a stroke.
Amanda said, ‘Young man, surely you’ve lived down here long enough to know that y’all is a second-person-plural pronoun.’
The comment was meant to be the last, but Will had a question for Laslo. ‘Did you know Angie?’
‘Polaski?’ A toothy grin spread across his round face. ‘Sure, I knew her.’ He gave Will a knowing wink. ‘She had a cunt like a boa constrictor.’
‘Had?’ Amanda asked.
He slammed the door in their faces.
SIX
Faith sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair across from the nurses’ station inside the Grady Hospital ICU. There were armed guards at either end of the hall. The ward was full. Grady was Atlanta’s only public hospital, a level one trauma center that saw most of the bad cases the city had to offer. At any given time, at least a quarter of the patients were handcuffed to their beds.
She glanced up at the whiteboard behind the desk. Olivia, the head nurse, was updating the status of one of the patients. Grady admitted a lot of Jane Does, but Faith only cared about her potential witness, Jane Doe 2. She was still marked critical. The junkie’s surgery had taken four hours longer than planned. They’d had to rebuild her nose and throat. So much blood had been replaced that they’d basically put her into rapid detox from the coke. And now she was pumped full of morphine. She would be out of it for at least another hour, minimum.