The Zero Night

10

As daylight bled into the dreary evening, Stride and Maggie bumped over railroad tracks and drove beside graffiti-covered train cars as they hunted through the streets of the Duluth Port for Broadway’s secret poker game. Near the bay, they crossed dirt and gravel lots flooded with rainwater. Heavy equipment, huge storage tanks, and pyramids of taconite loomed on both sides of the road. There were dozens of rusting, windowless buildings within spitting distance of the harbor that gave no clue what was inside. If the gathering place for the weekly game were anywhere near them, it was well hidden.

After two hours of fruitless searching near the docks, they were almost ready to give up. Then, as Stride headed north to merge back onto the freeway, he saw a dark Mercedes turn left on a frontage road a quarter mile ahead of them. Acting on instinct, he followed, hanging back and giving the Mercedes plenty of space. When it continued around a tight curve, Stride turned off his headlights and slowed down, but when he emerged on the other side of the curve, the Mercedes had disappeared. On the left side of the road was a dirt lot where several empty semitrailers were parked. Elevated train tracks loomed on the other side of a line of trees. On his right was a green warehouse with several loading-dock doors but no exterior windows.

“Where the hell did it go?” Maggie asked.

Stride followed the road to an intersection at a stop sign, then did a U-turn because the Mercedes was nowhere in sight. He kept his lights off as he retraced their route to where they’d lost the other vehicle, and then he pulled his Expedition onto a grassy slope and parked.

“Shall we?” he said.

They both got out of the truck. The area around them had a strange, dead calm. Pools of water in the potholes reflected the gray sky. They were close enough to the I-35 freeway to read the billboards.

Side by side, they walked around the curve in the road. There had once been a railway bridge here, but it had been torn down, and netting had been laid on the hills to prevent erosion. Trees grew from the slopes where the train tracks had once run. They stayed in the shadows as they examined the empty lot and the green warehouse in front of them. Stride caught the faintest breath of cigarette smoke hanging in the air. Someone was here.

A dirt entrance road ran beside the warehouse, leading to a fence that blocked off access to the rear of the building. The fence looked new and had electronic controls for the double-wide gates. It was topped with concertina wire. The muddy road continued on the far side of the gates, but they couldn’t see around the building walls. However, Stride could see fresh tire tracks.

He switched on the flashlight on his phone and aimed it at the warehouse wall. Near the roof, he could make out the white housing and pinpoint red light of a security camera focused on the gates.

“They know we’re here,” he commented.

Confirming that thought, the lone door on the side of the warehouse opened behind them, and the smell of cigarette smoke got stronger. A blond man wearing construction gear and a reflective yellow jacket approached them with a wary smile on his face. The man was heavily built and at least six foot five, and his hands were buried in his pockets, which likely meant he was clutching the barrel of a pistol. A walkie-talkie was clipped to his jacket.

He called to them firmly but pleasantly. “Folks, this is private property. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Stride held up his badge. So did Maggie. The presence of the police didn’t soften the man’s attitude.

“Do you have a warrant to be here?” he inquired.

“No,” Maggie replied casually. “No warrant.”

“Well, then once again, I’ll have to ask you to leave. Cops or not, this is still private property.”

“The sign says you manufacture and store children’s playground equipment,” Stride noted, with a glance at the sign on the warehouse wall. “This is quite the security operation for a business like that.”

“We’ve had break-ins,” the man replied.

“I guess you can’t be too careful with those suburban mommies.”

The man didn’t laugh. He extended one arm toward the road. “Anyway, if you wouldn’t mind, Detectives...?”

“It’s strange that you haven’t asked why we’re here,” Stride went on. “Generally, when cops show up, that’s the first question we get. You don’t seem very curious about why we’re standing at your fence.”

“Okay. Go ahead and tell me. Why are you here?”

Maggie glanced up at the roof of the building and spoke toward the camera instead of the man in the construction jacket. “We want to talk to Broadway.”

“Who?”

“You heard me,” Maggie said.

“I don’t have any idea who that is.”

Maggie shrugged and pulled out her cell phone. “No problem. We must have made a mistake. And listen, I’m sorry to hear that you’ve had break-ins around here. That’s not acceptable. Tell you what, I’m going to bring in a squad car and have a couple of uniformed officers park right here on the road all night. That should scare away anybody who’s thinking about ripping you off.”

She gave him a sweet smile, and the man’s pale Scandinavian face darkened with anger. He backed away, whispered into his walkie-talkie, and then told them, “Wait here.”

The man disappeared inside the warehouse door.

Not even five minutes later, they heard a noise from the other side of the fence. An overhead spotlight illuminated the rough ground. Another man emerged from behind the rear wall of the warehouse and walked into the light. This man was small, no more than five foot six, and probably in his midthirties. He had wavy, dark hair brushed back, giving him a high forehead, and wore sunglasses though it was well into the evening. He was dressed impeccably in a deep-purple suit, white shirt, tie, and pocket square. As he walked, he nimbly avoided the puddles that would have splashed his black leather shoes.

He came up to the fence and gave them a tight smile, which made dimples in his cheeks. “Lieutenant Bei, Lieutenant Stride,” he said in a polite, youthful voice. “I understand you wish to talk to me.”

“You’re Broadway?” Maggie asked.

“I am.”

“Want to tell us your real name?”

Another smile flickered on his lips. “I imagine once Cher became Cher, she didn’t refer to herself as Cherilyn Sarkisian very often.”

“Okay. Well — Broadway — how about we talk about the illegal gambling operation you’re running inside this warehouse?”

He tugged on the cuffs of his shirt, making sure that the exact proper distance extended from the sleeves of his suit coat. When he answered her, it was with friendly condescension. “Maggie. Jonathan. Do you mind if we dispense with the formality of titles? I make it a point to know the police in the areas where my businesses operate, so I’ve been looking forward to having the pleasure of meeting you for some time. I’ll also pay you the respect of not referring you to my lawyer or wasting your time making you apply for warrants that no judge is likely to grant. I’m sure the day may come when you’ll think it’s worth your energy to try, but for tonight, let’s focus on why you’re really here. Fair enough?”

“Why do you think we’re here?” Stride asked.

“Gavin Webster.”

“I take it you’re aware that his wife has been kidnapped,” Stride said.

“I am. What a terrible thing.”

“Someone gave Gavin one hundred thousand dollars in cash to pay the ransom. Was that you?”

Broadway shrugged. “I’m not sure how it helps you for me to say yes or no. Neither answer gives Gavin his wife back. So why don’t you pick a question that will actually assist you in your investigation, and I’ll do my best to answer.”

“Who else knew Gavin was part of your game?”

Broadway squinted one eye in what looked like genuine puzzlement. “Why is that a concern for you?”

“Because one hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money,” Maggie snapped. “Most people — even rich people — can’t put their hands on that kind of money in cash in a couple of days. But the kidnappers seemed to know that Gavin would have access to someone who could make that happen. Namely you. That suggests that the kidnappers knew about Gavin attending your private parties.”

A frown creased Broadway’s smooth face. “Interesting. That’s a theory I hadn’t considered, and I admit, it has some merit. Would you mind if we spoke hypothetically for a moment?”

Stride chuckled. “Go ahead. Who knew Gavin plays poker here? Hypothetically.”

“Well, assuming one were to stage private gatherings in which people sought entertainment, any number of individuals might be aware of the participants. Other players, security guards, drivers, waitresses, bartenders, singers, strippers, magicians, what have you.”

“What the hell do you have going on in there, Broadway?” Maggie asked. “Caesars Palace?”

He gave them another faint smile. “I’m merely saying it would be a long list.”

“We’re accustomed to long lists. Can you give us names?”

“Regrettably, no. As I indicated, I’m speaking purely hypothetically. And if you were to go after the records of my hypothetical business... well, you can imagine I’d need to decline in order to protect the privacy of my workers and guests. That would mean you’d have to have probable cause for a warrant, and I just don’t think you’ll get too far with that, even with a friendly judge. On the other hand, I will offer you this. I’ll conduct an internal audit of my personnel, and if I find any information that I think might reasonably be of interest to you, I’ll make you aware of it. In return, I’d ask that you not hassle me or my friends simply for the sake of harassment. Yes, I’m aware that you can inconvenience me and force me to relocate, but you’re not going to shut me down anymore than you can shut down the drug trade or the sex trade. Supply follows demand, not vice versa.”

Stride shook his head. Broadway was a cool customer. He had the quiet arrogance of someone who was sure he held all the cards. And he was right. They had nothing on him, no leverage to make him talk.

“Off the top of your head, can you think of anyone you’d consider a suspect in this abduction?” Stride asked. “Someone we should look at right now? You must know that time is critical. If Chelsey Webster is still alive, she won’t be for long. We need to find her.”

Broadway smoothed his lapels. “I’m not insensitive to your problem, Jonathan. I really do want to help, and if I believed I knew someone who could have perpetrated this terrible crime, I’d tell you. However, in all seriousness, I can’t think of a name to give you. A person in my line of work tends to screen employees carefully. Guests, too. Any type of criminal record would get you crossed off my list.”

Stride glanced at Maggie. There wasn’t anything else to do here.

“All right... Broadway,” she said. “We’re done for now. Trust me when I tell you we’ll meet again.”

“I have no doubt. But I’m glad to have met both of you.”

They headed through the gravel lot, but Broadway called to them before they’d gone too far, and they both returned to the fence. As they waited there, Broadway removed a remote control from his pocket and pointed it at the camera mounted near the roof of the warehouse. The small red light went dark.

“One more thing,” he said. “This is a little bonus for you. Off the record, not from me, not for attribution or inclusion in any court filings. Consider it an investment in our relationship.”

“What is it?” Stride asked.

“Hundreds. Look for hundreds.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

Broadway rubbed his fingers together, the unmistakable signal for money. “The ransom was paid in hundred-dollar bills. Exclusively hundreds. You might find that helpful in locating the kidnappers. If I were you, I’d keep an eye out in town for someone passing them around.”