Amanda asked, ‘What about a phone number?’
‘Laslo will have it. I don’t deal with tradespeople.’
‘Right,’ Will said. ‘You just mail them the checks from your personal bank account.’
Amanda shot Will a daggered look. She told Kilpatrick, ‘We found a check written to Angie Polaski, drawn from your bank account.’
‘The agency only pays for drinks and dinners. Anything else is on us.’ Kilpatrick explained, ‘ “Business development” is what we call it on our taxes.’
Amanda said, ‘Let’s talk about another development. The one where we found a dead body this morning.’
He started to spin the ball again. ‘I’ll let you get that from the horse’s mouth.’
Amanda said, ‘Does that mean that everything you’ve told us thus far has been from the horse’s other end?’
Kilpatrick took a beat to get her meaning.
There was a knock at the door. Laslo said, ‘Boss, they’re ready.’
Kilpatrick dribbled the basketball as he walked across the office. ‘Get these people Polaski’s deets. They’re cops. They’re looking for her.’
‘Big surprise.’ Laslo grabbed the ball and shot it toward the hoop on the wall.
Kilpatrick started to go for the rebound.
Amanda snaked the ball and put it down on the closest chair. ‘We’re ready when you are, Mr Kilpatrick.’
He eyed the basketball, but thought better of it. ‘This way.’ He started down the hallway. ‘The development is scheduled to break ground next week. We’re calling it the All-Star Complex.’
She asked, ‘We?’
‘Yeah, that’s thanks to you guys.’ Kilpatrick led them past a bunch of closed office doors. ‘Funny thing about that jacked-up rape charge you laid on Marcus. The other investors were looking for someone else to step in, and we realized we were missing a larger opportunity.’
‘Meaning?’
‘We pitched the investment to some of our higher-end clients. We realized we could expand the complex into a live/work community.’
Amanda said, ‘So like Atlantic Station, but in an area that is historically more crime-ridden.’
Will smiled. She had a point. Atlantic Station had been pitched to the city as a dream development that would turn an area of blight into a thriving tax base. As with most dreams, reality had come crashing down in the form of a spike in sexual assaults, muggings, carjackings and vandalism. At one point, a couple of more enterprising bank robbers had strapped a chain around an ATM machine and pulled it out of the wall with their truck.
Kilpatrick had obviously handled the Atlantic Station question before. ‘Those were growing pains. It happens. The whole thing’s been turned around, as I’m sure you know. And also, the developers didn’t have the benefit of eight of the most talented, tremendous athletes the world has ever known, ready to promote the project to make sure it succeeds.’ He threw his hands out like a carnival barker. ‘Think about it. Marcus Rippy alone has over ten million Facebook fans. His Tweets and Instagram reach twice as many as that. He puts up one post about a dope club or a hip shop he’s excited about and within the hour the place is flooded. He’s a taste-maker.’
Kilpatrick turned the corner and they were facing a vast glass-walled conference room with a table that could accommodate fifty people. Will forced himself not to flinch in disgust when he noticed the four lawyers already in the room. Kilpatrick must have called in the big guns the minute Amanda had requested a meeting.
Will recognized them all from the Rippy rape investigation. The interchangeable Bond villains: two old white men, each with a gorgeous thirty-ish woman dressed to kill sitting beside him. Kilpatrick ran through the introductions, but Will had already designated their Bond status from before. Auric Goldfinger was at the head of the table, his patches of Chia-like gold hair and thick German accent earning him the name. Obviously his blonde underling was Pussy Galore. Then there was Dr Julius No, a man who for some reason always kept his hands under the table. His sidekick was Rosa Klebb, named not for her looks, which were fantastic, but because her pointy high-heeled shoes seemed like the type that would have poison-tipped knives inside of them.
Goldfinger said, ‘Deputy Director, Agent Trent, thank you both for coming. Please sit.’ He indicated a chair with a cup of tea in front of it, two seats away from Rosa Klebb.
Will pulled out two chairs from the opposite end of the table, about half a mile away from the Bond quartet, because he knew that’s how Amanda would want to play it. She glanced up at Will as they sat down, her eyes going to his bare neck, and he got the feeling that she was really annoyed that he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie.
Will was annoyed too. He could’ve at least worn his gun on his hip. He needed some armor against these people. They didn’t roll out of bed for less than three thousand bucks an hour. Each. The combined receipt for this meeting was probably more than Will’s take-home pay.
He looked at Kilpatrick, but Kilpatrick was obviously no longer in charge. He had slumped into a chair, rolling an unopened bottle of red BankShot between his hands.
‘So.’ Amanda chose to forgo subtlety. ‘I’m trying to understand why it takes four lawyers to answer one simple question.’
Goldfinger smiled. ‘It’s not a simple question, Deputy Director. You asked for details on the property in which the victim was found. We are simply here to give you the larger picture of the situation.’
Amanda said, ‘In my experience, there’s always a larger picture where murder is concerned, but again, it’s never taken so many lawyers to draw it for me.’
Will watched them carefully. No one spoke. No one moved. Despite her question, Amanda didn’t seem displeased to find herself talking to the lawyers. If someone had asked Will for his opinion, he would’ve guessed that she’d somehow contrived to put them all in this room.
The only question was why. Amanda set aside the tea bag and drank some tea.
Finally Goldfinger looked at Dr No, who in turn nodded to Rosa Klebb.
Klebb stood up. She stacked together some folders. She walked around the conference table, which was about the width of a sequoia. Will could hear her pantyhose scratching against her tight skirt. He looked down at her extremely high-heeled shoes. The soles were red because they could stop a man’s heart. Sara had a pair from the same designer. He preferred them on Sara.
‘This is a packet on the development,’ Goldfinger told them. ‘It’s the same presentation we shared with the mayor and governor last month.’
Amanda would’ve already heard about the project. She had talked to the mayor this morning and was briefing the governor at the capitol when Will had given her the slip. She didn’t volunteer this information. Instead she glanced at the folder, which had a massive star logo in the center. She handed her packet to Will. He put it on top of his packet and placed both at his elbow.
Dr No leaned over, his hands still tucked under the table. ‘We’ll have to ask you to keep this information to yourselves. There’s a press embargo until the official announcement. You can read the details about the development in the packet.’
Amanda waited.
Goldfinger explained, ‘The All-Star Complex will have a sixteen-screen movie theater, a thirty-story hotel, a twenty-story condominium complex, a farmers’ market, an outdoor shopping mall with high-end boutique and chain stores, exclusive town homes, a members-only nightclub and of course a full-sized basketball court adjacent to what we’re calling the All-Star Experience, an interactive museum showcasing all that is wonderful about NCAA basketball.’