Private Moscow

Chapter 11

I should have been toasting Karl’s magnificent achievement on his beachfront terrace in Long Island. Instead, I was in the passenger seat of Jessie’s car, watching the frozen city roll by. Even with winter at its worst, a few unfortunate souls were doomed to face the brutal chill of New York huddled in sleeping bags in the doorways of stores and churches. The city’s bleak indifference to their suffering was one of many things I’d experienced over the years that had taught me justice wasn’t given, it had to be fought for. And I was going to do whatever it took to ensure I got justice for my old friend.

Jessie drove us north, and after ten minutes in the midday traffic, we pulled into the parking lot beneath Forty One Madison, a thirty-six-story black glass and steel skyscraper that stood on the corner of Madison Avenue and East 26^th Street, overlooking Madison Park. Private New York was headquartered on the thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth floors. I’d chosen a midtown location to put Private New York at the heart of the action. Federal Plaza, Wall Street and NYPD Headquarters were a short drive away, and Grand Central and the city’s key residential neighborhoods were a brief cab ride uptown.

We took the stairs to the lobby and found a security guard and a janitor chatting by the front desk. Six elevators were all open and docked on the first floor and we went through the security barriers and took one up to Private’s New York HQ. When we stepped into the lobby, I saw signs of activity all over the place.

“I tasked some of the team to get a head start on the investigation,” Jessie said.

I followed her through a set of glass security doors into an open-plan office where a dozen investigators, administrators and analysts traded information on the Exchange shooting. Some of them stiffened when they saw me. It was a reaction I was used to. Even today, when I was probably at my most vulnerable, they wouldn’t see a grieving human being, they’d see a boss, capable of making or breaking careers. Or so they thought. In truth, life at Private was entirely in their hands. If they cleared their cases, their rise up the ranks would be almost inevitable.

Jessie and Rafael took me up a spiral staircase that stood at the edge of the building and, as we climbed, I looked out of the huge windows at the snow-covered city. Somehow the sunshine reflecting off the surrounding skyscrapers seemed brighter than ever. Maybe it was an effect of the freezing air, or perhaps I just wanted to see warmth wherever I looked.

We made our way through the executive floor and came to Jessie’s office, which was located in the northwest corner of the building. Jessie went in first and I followed.

Victoria Parker was sitting on one of two tan leather couches that faced each other. Sitting next to her was a woman in a black dress.

“Jack,” Victoria said as she got to her feet.

Her eyes were raw, but there was no sign of any fresh tears. She looked furious.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her as we embraced.

“Thanks,” she replied. “This is Letitia Jones.” She indicated the woman in the black dress. “She’s our... my attorney.”

Letitia shook my hand. She was mid-forties and had a cold, suspicious demeanor.

“How’s Kevin?” I asked.

“He’s at home with my mother,” Victoria said. “The doctor’s given him some sedatives.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated with a deep sigh. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“There isn’t anything anyone can say at a time like this,” Victoria replied. “You know that as well as anyone.”

I nodded. She was right. My personal interest in the case was clouding my professionalism.

“Would you like a drink, Mrs. Parker?” Jessie asked.

Victoria shook her head. “No, thank you. I want us to get down to business. I’d like to hire Private. I want you to find my husband’s killer.”