Marty grabbed it, went to the television, turned it on, popped the DVD into the player, found the remote and hit PLAY.
The screen brightened to a lighter shade of gray and suddenly he was looking at a row of well-fed white men with soft arms and softer stomachs sitting naked on a long wooden bench, their faces concealed with leather hoods.
Above them, a single bare light bulb swung from a black cord, casting shadows, throwing light. The camera panned left and Marty saw the object of their desire-in a large metal cage, a woman was lying naked on a gleaming metal necropsy table. She was young, fit, attractive. Cocooning her in duct tape was an older, powerfully built man, his dark hairy arms rolling her over and over, hoisting up her ass, shooting the tape through and around, pulling it tight. The woman’s lips moved and her head lolled sluggishly. She raised her head and seemed to scream, but there was no sound on this disc, only silence.
Marty clenched his jaw as the camera swung left.
The space was huge, open, industrial. Black walls, floor, ceiling. No windows. Smoke in the air. Strobe lights strummed at the rear of the room, briefly catching the jerky movement of other bodies, all wearing the same leather hoods, all naked and dancing. He thought of Judge Wood, of her naked friends and their dark car, and wondered where they were in this crowd.
The camera panned, stopped and zoomed in on the several people sitting across the room at the makeshift bar. And finally Marty saw faces. He leaned forward and saw faces. The leather hoods had come off and people were sitting on wide wooden stools. The bartender wore a black rubber apron and nothing else. He swung his hips and cracked open beers. He laughed while he served them.
Marty was startled to find that he knew the man, had seen his face time and again on television and in the press. He was Jackie Diamond, the well-known, right-wing, bible-waving, oil-rich, big-nosed senator from Arkansas. He was worth millions, hundreds of millions, and here he was wearing black rubber and serving canned beer to a group of naked men and women probably just as wealthy and as powerful.
The camera panned up and Marty glimpsed the image of a bull painted money-green on the wall above the bar. He pushed pause and the image froze. The bull was enormous and towering. It leaned over Diamond’s shoulder with bulging eyes and flaring nostrils, as though it would tear him apart if given the chance. A gold hoop shot clean through its snout. The rack of spotlights nailed to the ceiling illuminated it in a half-moon. The head was an exact replica of the tattoo he’d seen on Wood.
Marty turned off the television, ejected the disc and put it back in the stack. His hands were trembling. He was beginning to see all of it now. This club wasn’t just New York, it was nationwide and he was right in the middle of it.
He and Maggie Cain.
The car alarm stopped. Marty checked his watch, went to the file cabinets and pulled open the drawers. Empty. He turned on the computer and looked for files. None. They had been purged, the hard disk cleared and reformatted, which wasn’t a problem because the information was still ghosted there, assuming the person didn’t fully wipe it.
He opened the desk drawer and found empty folders, pens, pencils, a stack of printing paper, the usual. But what, if anything, had been in those folders? And why leave behind the DVDs? He checked himself. Why leave behind every DVD save for the one marked November 2007? It was no coincidence the disc was missing-November 5, 2007 had been scrawled in blood above Wood’s bed. He knew what was on it-more of what he’d just seen on the July DVD. Whoever took it obviously was on it. They didn’t want to be seen.
Was it Maggie Cain? She’d just been here. But not long ago, so had the person who killed Schwartz. So who took it?
He checked his watch. Forty minutes had passed and still she wasn’t here, and yet she said she was only three blocks away. He couldn’t wait for her. He’d already been here too long. He turned off the lights, slipped through the small door that was in Schwartz’s closet and stood in his bedroom.
And when he did, he was forced to rear back.
Facing him were two people-a man and a woman.
Marty went for his gun but the woman moved forward with such speed, he couldn’t get to it in time. She wrenched his arm behind his back and the man came forward. He removed the gun from Marty’s holster, patted him down and nodded once at the woman, who released Marty and said, “We will kill you if you move.”
She had an accent. Spanish? He looked at the man. Italian? “Who are you?”
The man cocked his head. “Mr. Spellman, we’re the end of your life.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
8:37 p.m.
For Spocatti, Spellman was just the beginning of a long night.
He appraised the man standing in front of him and could sense him trying to calculate a way out of the situation. Spellman was solid and well-built, and Spocatti sensed he probably was quick on his feet. But right now, without his gun, he was powerless. “Sit over there.”
“Which chair?”
“The chintz,” Spocatti said. “You couldn’t pull off the Stickley.”
He watched Spellman cross to the chair and sit down.
“Before I kill you, you’re going to answer some questions.”
“Before you kill me, I’m answering nothing.”
“Not quite.” He looked at Carmen, who was standing beside him, her hands on her hips. “Make the call.”
She withdrew her cell and Spocatti watched Spellman lean forward as she dialed. She put the phone on speaker and they listened to the ring. And then Spellman’s daughter, Katie, answered the phone.
“Hello?”
Spocatti drew his gun, pointed it at Spellman’s head and put a finger to his lips. “Is this Katie?”
“Who’s this?”
“A friend of your father’s.”
“Which friend?”
“It’s Mark,” he said. “We met a year or so ago at your sister’s birthday party. I was wondering if I could speak to your mother?”
“She’s out.”
“Oh,” he said. “Do you know how long she’ll be?”
“She’s with the creep,” Katie said. “We were told ten. I’m betting midnight.”
“That’s several hours away,” he said, disappointed. “And my wife and I are about to leave the city. Here’s what’s up. Your father is on a case and he wanted me to get you something quickly. He said it was important. If we stop by on our way to the airport, would you mind ringing my wife up so she can give it to you?”
She hesitated. “I’m not allowed to do that.”
“Can you call your mother and ask?”
“My mother only wants to be reached if it’s an emergency.”
Spocatti was unfazed. “I see,” he said. “Well, this isn’t one.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
He locked eyes with Spellman. “Look,” he said. “I’m supposed to keep quiet about this, but time is running out and we need to catch our flight. Can you keep a secret?”
“I guess.”
“Our dog had puppies a few weeks ago and your dad bought one for you and your sister. He wanted to bring it by tonight, but he got hung up and so he asked us to do it instead. He knows we’re leaving town for a few weeks and he didn’t want you to wait.”
“Dad bought us a puppy?” The thrill in her voice was unmistakable.
“He did.”
“What kind?”
“I can’t give away everything,” he said with a laugh. “Do you mind if we drop by? You can see what it is then. I’ll be in the car, but Michelle, my wife, will run the dog up to you.”