He tensed again. He got up and refreshed their drinks as Hammer told him about Blair Mauney III and what had happened this night. She told him about the paperwork in Mauney's rental car. Cahoon listened, shocked, the blood draining from his face. He could not believe that Mauney was dead, murdered, his body spray-painted and dumped amid trash and brambles. It wasn't that Cahoon had ever particularly liked the man. Mauney, in Gaboon's experienced opinion, was a weak weasel with an entitlement attitude, and the suggestion of dishonesty did not surprise Cahoon in the least, the more it sank in. He was chagrined about US Choice cigarettes with their alchemy and little crowns. How could he have trusted any of it?
"Now it's my turn to ask," Hammer finally said.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Jesus," he said, his tireless brain racing through possibilities, liabilities, capabilities, impossibilities, and sensibilities.
"I'm not entirely sure. But I know I need time."
"How much?" She swirled her drink.
"Three or four days," he said.
"My guess is most of the money is still in Grand Cayman, in numerous accounts with numbers that aren't linked.
If this hits the news, I can guarantee that we'll never recover the cash, and no matter what anybody says, a loss like that hurts everybody, every kid with a savings account, every couple needing a loan, every retired citizen with a nest egg. "
"Of course it does," said Hammer, who also was a faithful client of Gaboon's bank.
"My eternal point, Sol. Everybody gets hurt. A crime victimizes all of us. Not to mention what it will do to your bank's image."
Cahoon looked pained.
"That's always the biggest loss. Reputation and whatever charges and fines the federal regulators will decide."
"This isn't your fault."
"Dominion Tobacco and its secret, Nobel-potential research always bothered me. I guess I just wanted to believe it was true," he reflected.
"But banks have a responsibility not to let something like this happen."
"Then how did it?" she asked.
"You have a senior vice president with access to all commercial loan activities, and trust him. So you don't always follow your own policies and procedures. You make exceptions, circumvent. And then you have trouble." He was getting more depressed.
"I should have watched the son of a bitch more closely, damn it."
"Could he have gotten away with it, had he lived?" Hammer asked.
"Sure," Cahoon said.
"All he had to do was make sure the loan was repaid. Of course, that would have been from drug money, unbeknownst to us. Meanwhile, he would have been getting maybe ten percent of all money laundered through the hotels, through the bank, and my guess is we would have become more and more of a major cash interstate for whoever these bad people are. Eventually, the truth would have come out. US Bank would have been ruined."
Hammer watched him thoughtfully, a new respect forming for this man, who prior to this early morning, she had not understood, and in truth had unfairly judged.
"Just tell me what I can do to help," she said again.
"If you could withhold his identification and everything about this situation so we salvage what we can and get up to speed on exactly what happened," he repeated.
"After that, we'll file a Suspicious Activity Report, and the public will know."
Hammer glanced at her watch. It was almost three a. m.
"We'll get the FBI on it immediately. It will be in their best interest to buy a little time, too. As for Mauney, as far as I'm concerned, we can't effect a positive identification just yet, and I'm sure Dr. Odom will want to withhold information until he can get hold of dental records, fingerprints, whatever, and you know how overworked he is." She paused, and promised, "It will take a while."
Cahoon thought of Mrs. Mauney III, whom he had met only superficially at parties.
"Someone's got to call Polly," he said.
"Mauney's wife.
I'd like to do that, if you have no objections. "
Hammer got up and smiled at him.
"You know some thing, Sol? You're nowhere near as rotten as I thought."
"That works both way, Judy." He got up.
"It certainly does."
"You hungry?"
"Starved."
"What's open at this hour," he wondered.
"You ever been to the Presto Grill?"
"Is that a club?" He grabbed his car keys.
"Yes," she said.
"And guess what, Sol? It's about time you became a member."
Chapter Twenty-six
For the most part, only people up to no good were out this hour, and as West drove seedy "Newsroom," an unfamiliar voice answered.
"Andy Brazil," West said.
"He's not in."
"Has he been in at all the last few hours?" West asked, frustration in her tone.
"Have you heard from him?"
"Not that I know of."
West hit the end button, and tossed the phone on the seat. She pounded the steering wheel.
"Damn you, damn you, Andy!" she exclaimed.
As she cruised, her phone rang, startling her. It was Brazil. She was sure of it as she answered. She was wrong.
"It's Hammer," her chief said.
"What in the world are you doing still out?"
"I can't find him."
"You certain he's not home or at the paper?"
"Positive. He's out here courting trouble," West said rather frantically.
"Oh dear," Hammer said.
"Cahoon and I are about to have breakfast, Virginia. Here's what I want you to do. No information about this case, and no identification until I tell you otherwise. For now, the case is pending. We need to buy some time here because of this other situation."
"I think that's wise," West said, checking her mirrors, looking everywhere.
tw She had missed Brazil by no more than two minutes, and in fact, unwittingly had done so a number of times during the past few hours.
She would turn onto one street just before he drove past where she had been. Now, he was cruising by the Cadillac Grill on West Trade Street, and staring out at boarded-up slums haunted by the rulers of the night. He saw the young hooker ahead, leaning inside a Thunderbird, talking to a man looking for a good investment. Brazil wasn't in a shy mood, and he pulled up closer, watching. The car sped off, and the hooker turned hostile, glazed eyes on Brazil, not at all happy with the intrusion. Brazil rolled down his window.
"Hey!" he called out.
Poison, the prostitute, stared at the one known on the street as Blondie, mockery in her eyes. She started strolling again. This pretty-boy snitch followed her everywhere, had a thing about her, and was still working up his nerve, maybe thought he was going to get something more to leak to the police and the newspaper. She thought it was funny. Brazil unfastened his seatbelt. He reached to roll down the passenger's window. She wasn't going to get away from him this time.
No sir, and he tucked the. 380 out of sight beneath his seat, as he crept forward, calling out to her.
"Excuse me! Excuse me, ma'am!" he said again and again.
"I need to talk to you!"
Hammer was rolling past at this very moment, Cahoon following in his Mercedes 600S V-12 sedan, black with parchment leather interior.
He wasn't entirely within his comfort zone in this part of the city, and he checked his locks again as Hammer got on her police radio and told the dispatcher to ten-five Unit 700. Immediately, she and West were on the air.
"The subject you're looking for is at West Trade and Cedar," Hammer said on the air to West.
"You might want to head this way in a hurry."
"Ten-four!"
Officers in the area were perplexed, even a little lost, as they overheard this transmission between their highest leaders. They were still mindful of their chief's feelings about being followed and harassed. Maybe it was wise to sit this one out for a minute or two, until they had a better idea about what exactly was going down. West gunned the engine, racing back toward West Trade.
v9 Poison stopped and slowly turned around, seduction smoldering in her eyes as she entertained notions this snitch in the BMW couldn't even begin to imagine.
'% Hammer wasn't so sure this was the right time to introduce Cahoon to the Presto Grill. Trouble seemed to rise from the street like heat, and she had not gotten where she was in life by ignoring her instincts. Only in her personal life had she looked the other way, turned the volume down low, and denied. She swung off into the All Right parking lot across from the grill, and motioned out her window for Cahoon to follow. He stopped by her unmarked car and his window hummed down.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Park and get in," she said.
"What?"
She furtively scanned their surroundings. Something bad was out there.
She could feel its foulness, detect the scent of the beast. There was no time to waste.
"I can't leave my car here," Cahoon reasonably pointed out, because the Mercedes would be the only car in the lot, and possibly the only vehicle within fifty miles, that cost roughly one hundred and twenty thousand dollars.