The 6:20 Man

Chapter 5

“Mr. Devine? Travis Devine?”

He looked over as the man got out of the car parked in front of the station, which also housed an Italian restaurant.

“Yeah?”

The man walked over. He was Black, about Devine’s height and lean, maybe forty-five or a bit older, bald head, and furrowed skin on his brow. He wore a dark blue suit that looked good on his athletic frame. His shoes were black and rubber soled. He flashed a badge and an official ID housed in a cred pack, like he was a magician doing a card trick. “Detective Karl Hancock, NYPD.”

Devine grew rigid. “What can I do for you?”

“You mind coming over to the car where we can talk?”

“What about?”

“Come on, what do you think? Sara Ewes. She’s dead, didn’t you know that?”

Devine didn’t like the guy’s manner. It was blunt and seemed to leap to lots of conclusions. The brown eyes, clearly visible under the streetlight, scrutinized Devine and came away suspicious.

“I heard about it, along with everyone else.”

“Right. This way, sir, if you don’t mind. Won’t take long.”

That’s what they always say. And before you know it, years have gone by.

He sat in the passenger seat of the car, where the smell of spilled coffee and the vapory veil of cigarette smoke was suffocating.

Hancock rolled down a window and said, “Sorry about that. Fact is, I don’t smoke and I don’t drink coffee and this isn’t my ride. And they ain’t supposed to smoke in here, but they do. Motor pool checkout. Serious budget cuts. Don’t think they’ve bought new wheels for ten years or so. Gotta dry-clean my clothes every time I pull duty in one.”

“No problem, I’ve smelled a lot worse.”

“That would be first in Afghanistan and then in Iraq, correct? Captain Devine?”

He didn’t like that the NYPD knew this about him. That showed they had already investigated him and sent a detective all the way out here on the very day Sara’s body was found.

“Former Captain. And I’ve been to bars in the city that smelled worse than those places.”

“You were wounded, twice. But you look all there.”

“Yeah, in all the places you can see.”

Hancock’s demeanor changed. “Is that right? You got problems up here?” He tapped his temple.

“No, I’m just fine up there.” Devine slid up his pants leg to reveal a thick, hardened scar that wrapped both ways around his calf like the tentacles of an octopus. “If you ever wanted to see the bomb pattern of an IED, there it is.”

Hancock glanced at the old wound and said, “Damn, looks like it hurt.”

“I didn’t have time to feel it. The blast knocked me ass-over-heels unconscious. But when I woke up, I did. Thank God for morphine.” He let his trouser leg drop. “But I thought you wanted to ask about Sara Ewes.”

The official notebook came out. “You knew her?”

“Yes.”

“How?” asked Hancock.

“We worked at the same firm, Cowl and Comely. But you knew that.”

“So how exactly did you know her?”

“We met at some company mixers. We went out in groups for drinks, some dinners before the recruitment BS was over and our noses got pressed to the grindstone. She was sort of a mentor to my intern class.”

“How did she strike you?”

“Talented and hard-charging. But why did you come all the way out here to ask me questions? I was there all day. I’ll be there tomorrow. And my understanding was she died by suicide, so why are the police involved?”

“It’s speculated that she killed herself. My job is to rule out all other manners of death. And you work on Saturdays?”

“In my world, Detective, it’s only the day after Friday. And I don’t see how I can help. I didn’t work directly with her. I haven’t seen her in months, in fact. Last time was a group dinner at Per Se, Columbus Circle. Over fifty people, with wine included. Must have cost the firm a small fortune. But it’s only money.”

“Impressive memory. I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday.” His words were flippant, his stare was not. “And the only time I’ll ever be inside Per Se is if someone croaks there.”

“In my line of work, you tend to remember things pretty exactly.”

“You work hard at that place, I take it?”

“Let’s put it this way — I have but one set of balls to give for Cowl and Comely, and that might not be enough.”

“You’re funny for an investment type.”

“I just crunch numbers and give them to the real investment bankers, and they make all the money and get all the girls.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

Devine knew the man didn’t really need to know this for his investigation. It was very American to be nosy about the wealth of the very rich. Whole industries were built around disseminating that information to the fascinated masses.

“The firm has various divisions, and the comp and profit sharing are split differently depending on which camp you fall into. Partners on the very low end get mid — seven figures. People like Bradley Cowl? Maybe a quarter of a billion or more per year in official comp and stock options. He also gets percentages of all the profit streams, so that goes on top of his base.”

Hancock was shaking his head this whole time. “I make a hundred and ten grand a year. And I thought I was doing great till you laid that shit on me.”

“How do you think I feel? I don’t even make what you make, and I see all those dollars on the screen every day and they just pass right by me.”

The man’s eyes glittered once more, like a dog picking up a scent. “And so you resent that? Them getting all the girls and the dough?”

“I resent no one about anything. You work hard, you earn it, it’s yours. I hope to do the same.”

“And the girls? Like Sara Ewes?”

“Give me a break, okay? I can get girls if I want to. And Cowl has a strict rule against employees dating.”

If he finds out we were seeing each other, I’m screwed.

“Okay. Anything else about Ewes?”

“Like what?”

“The usual. Depressed? Ever spoke to you about suicide?”

“Probably everyone who works on Wall Street at one time or another has contemplated suicide, either in pitiful jest or for real.”

“That include you?” asked Hancock.

“Look, I saw guys shot up, blown up, and cut up right in front of me. I’m not taking my own life because a Wall Street firm busts my chops.”

“So, nothing else you can tell me?”

Devine glanced out the car window and seemed truly amazed to see the stars in the sky.

His next words were said in a calm, even tone, because that was how he was suddenly feeling. “Sara was a nice person. She never talked to me about killing herself. She never seemed depressed, quite the opposite. She used to pep us up when we were getting ground down. But like I said, it’s been a while. And even a day at Cowl and Comely is like a lifetime, Detective Hancock.”

“So why stay?”

Devine assumed a stoic look and hit the Play button in his head. “It’s the American dream. I’m trying to create my own.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to give a shit about making truckloads of money.”

“You must have me confused with someone else. I do want the money and everything that comes with it. But there are a lot of things you can do with that money. You can use it to help other people.”

“So you’re busting your ass to help others?” Hancock said with a shit-eating grin.

“I did it in the Army. Any reason I can’t do it on Wall Street?”

“Come on. Just tell me the truth. It can’t be that bad.”

But Devine didn’t open his mouth, because he had nothing more to say.

And it was that bad.