Night Watch

TWENTY

Pat McKinney came back from Battaglia’s office in less than ten minutes. “I can’t get an audience. He’s in with the rackets guys gearing up to release the hedge fund story.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mercer asked.

“Let’s all be available to brainstorm with him at 9 A.M. tomorrow. Answer all his questions, and take Blanca into the grand jury in the afternoon.”

“You think she’ll come back?”

“He’s got to bring her in. She’s his meal ticket. I agree with Alex that he’s just grandstanding to push us forward.”

“We could slow this down,” I said. “Take a week or two to make sure we have all the documents we need to support Blanca’s story. Baby Mo can obviously make substantial bail-even a million or more-and we take his passport away. Where’s he going?”

McKinney’s head whipped in my direction. “Lem gets his hands on you for five minutes and you roll over like a spineless jellyfish.”

“It’s got nothing to do with Lem.”

“How did Papa Mo escape the revolution in the Ivory Coast? Somebody did him the courtesy of sending a private jet, and he’s never looked back yet. Any fifteen-year-old can buy a passport in Times Square, and our perp is airborne over the Atlantic. The press would crucify Battaglia if MGD skipped town.”

“I hear you,” Mercer said. “Nine tomorrow.”

“I’ll call Peaser myself,” McKinney said. “You got the first outcry witness locked in?”

We were all walking out of the conference room.

“Yes,” Mercer said, referring to Blanca’s colleague from room service, who was the first person she asked for help after the assault. “And the security team from the hotel who called 911. Everybody’s on board.”

Laura stepped into the hallway from her cubicle and motioned to me. I broke away as the group finished their conversation.

“I’ve got Mike on hold. Can you pick it up at your desk?”

I handed my files to Laura and ran for the phone. “What’s up?”

“I thought I’d come in early today. Caught up on my sleep and I’m ready for a little action.”

“What do you know about Luc?”

“Steady, girl. They’ve had one conversation with him, which I only know ’cause one of the guys in Brooklyn South owes me a few. Luc was very cooperative, very open with them. Don’t get your nose all out of joint.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“What? Now I’ve got to babysit your lover?”

“Sorry. I’m just rattled by all this and I don’t like being cut off from him when he might need me most.”

“You got a pair of jeans in the closet?”

“Always.” We had all been called out to crime scenes and grimy station houses at the unlikeliest times, and could occasionally sneak off to Yankee Stadium for an afternoon game. “Where to?”

“Grunge up, Coop. Checking into the Adonis of the Gowanus before the sun sets. We’re going fishing.”