The 6:20 Man

Chapter 33

“Devine, right?” said Cowl.

He had on jeans, a black shirt open enough to reveal dark, curly chest hair, and loafers. His hair wasn’t slicked back, like he wore it at the office. He was less Gordon Gekko and more tousled-hair man-child, but with something definite and important on his mind.

“I’m Travis Devine.”

“Come with me.”

He headed off and Devine followed. He glanced around and saw Michelle Montgomery staring at them. She raised her Cosmo and added a supportive look.

Devine thought they would head to a private room. Instead, Cowl led him outside, to the pool area. There wasn’t anyone else around, so it was private, and maybe prearranged. Devine spotted a beefy security guard hovering at the rear door, probably to make sure no one else came out here. The lights were lit, and fancy tiki torches kept the bugs away, though crickets sounded off all around them and the smell of freshly mown grass dominated. Cowl sat at a table next to the pool and motioned for Devine to sit across from him. Devine did and put his beer down.

Cowl didn’t look at him. He stared at the pool and then the wall beyond it.

Devine followed his gaze and saw the outbound train slowly passing by. The lights were on in the train, and through the gap he was used to looking at from the other side he could see a collection of weary New Yorkers. Their heads were bent and shoulders slumped, some half dozing, as they returned from battle to catch some sleep and get up the next morning to do it all over again.

“Poor assholes,” said Cowl.

“Why’s that?”

“Schlepping on a train in and out every day like mice on a tread-mill. But on the other hand, I need them to do exactly that to keep my dream going. But I’m not a total dick, despite what some say about me. I was born into money, and then by the time I could count, it was all gone, because my father and grandfather were morons. So I know what it’s like to have zip. I could have grown up a legacy kid, gotten into all the Ivy Leagues I needed through those connections. And then I could have become an entitled prick all nice and polite and holding my fork and cup just so, while I stab you in the back. Instead, I’m a street fighter who chooses to stab you in the front, which you have to admit is a lot fairer.” He eyed Devine, as though to make sure he was listening, really listening, to all this. “So, I know what it’s like to ride that train, but it’s partly a gravy train. They’re not doing it for free, and the lowest paid on there who work in my world make a shitload more money than most folks.”

“Okay. I get that.” Now Devine wondered if Cowl had allowed the gap to be there so those poor suckers on the train could see how opulently he lived. He was just that kind of a jerk.

“You live somewhere around here, right?” asked Cowl.

“But not this neighborhood. Out of my price range. I share a town house with three other people.”

“Uh-huh.” He drummed his fingers on the teak tabletop. “You knew Sara Ewes, I understand.”

“I did.” He hesitated, mulling over how best to play this. He decided to slide a stack of chips forward on the pass line and roll the dice. “Did you know her?”

Cowl knifed him with a glare. “I’m asking the questions, Devine, not you.”

Devine took a breath and rolled his neck from one side to the other, letting the tension ease.

“You want to throw a punch, throw it,” said Cowl, who was watching him closely. “Then I bury you under legal bills and you go to jail for assault.” He paused and made his own play. “And maybe for more than that.”

Devine didn’t take the bait. He reverted back to his military training. When in doubt, say nothing. When not in doubt, double down on that advice.

The train moved on with its beaten-down riders, and still Cowl did not speak. He was now staring at the dark pool waters so intently, Devine wanted to check to see if there was a body floating in there.

“I’m trying to come up with the best way of handling this, Devine.”

“Handling what?”

“The cops are interested in you; I hope you’re smart enough to know that. Otherwise, you have no business working for me.”

“They’ve talked to me. They know certain things. They’ve talked to other people. They have no proof I had anything to do with Sara’s death, because I didn’t.”

“Except for one thing, and it’s a big one.”

Devine knew exactly what that one thing was. The entry log, showing him in the building and on the fifty-second floor in the time window necessary to kill Ewes. “Then why haven’t they arrested me?”

“You can thank me for that” was Cowl’s surprising reply.

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.”

Cowl gave a sneering smile. “Right.”

Devine decided to attempt a draw to an inside straight. He pulled out his phone and laid it down in front of him. “I’ve spoken to Jennifer Stamos a couple times. Saw her at a bar, too.”

“Oh yeah? Why do I care?” Cowl didn’t even look at the phone.

Devine glanced down at it. “I heard you were mentoring her, like you were Sara.”

“I mentor dozens.”

“But they’re not all like Jennifer. They’re not all... sweet cheeks.”

Cowl now looked at the phone. “Maybe you are smart enough to work for me.”

“Maybe I am.”

“And maybe I need to think about this some more, rather than bring the hammer down, like I thought I was going to.”

“Maybe you should. Like you said, it’s delicate.” He paused and chose his next words carefully. “But then again, you can always just fire me.”

The man shook his head. “Friends close and enemies closer, Devine. That’s the way I do business. And thanks for confirming for me which one you are.”

He rose and walked away, leaving Devine to stare down at his phone and let out a tight, uncomfortable breath. Funny, when you’d been in a war and had killed others and been nearly killed yourself, you wouldn’t think a battle of words could stress you all that much. But getting fingered for a murder charge and spending the rest of your life in prison did give a man pause.

At least it does this man.

He rose and walked right through the palace, not making eye contact with anyone.

And outside, he ran right into Christian Chilton.