“We’re almost there,” Chester said. Morgan nodded, looked out the window across the river.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear fire trucks screaming.
17
For at least a minute, I couldn’t hear a thing. The ringing in my ears pounded like I was being pummeled by a hammer, and shutting my eyes and clasping my hands over them didn’t do a thing. A dozen of us had run to the corner, under the scaffold of a construction site, to escape the brick and ash that was dropping from the sky like small mortar shells.
I looked up at the Park Avenue building, still shocked to see the gaping hole where Brett Kaiser’s apartment had once been. Where just a moment ago I’d seen his blinds close. Where just a moment ago I’d questioned the man about his potentially illegal dealings with a company that may or may not have been responsible for the death of my brother.
Where a man and his wife once resided. Where at least one of them was now dead.
As the world slowly came back into focus, I could hear the sirens of police cars and fire trucks speeding to the scene. Onlookers stared at the building with masks of horror. Mouths open wide, hands covering them, tears streaming down their faces.
Then I saw Donald, my new good friend, standin across the street, his face covered in soot, his lower lip trembling as he watched flames lick at the open space where there used to be a window.
Dozens of people were pouring out of the building, screams and cries when they saw the devastation above them. Some people wondered whether it was a terrorist attack, or another prop plane accidentally banking into a residential building. I wasn’t sure if the truth, that Brett
Kaiser had undoubtedly been murdered, would comfort them or make it worse.
When the first cop car pulled up, four officers exited and stood outside of the building looking up. One of them was barking into a walkie-talkie. I watched a small piece of gray ash float down and nestle itself on his brown mustache. He didn’t notice. The other cops looked at it for a moment, then turned back to the burning building.
A fire truck pulled up, and immediately nearly a dozen of New York’s finest went to work hooking the hose up to a hydrant in front of the building. As they did this, I walked over to the cop car. When he noticed me coming, one of the officers turned to me.
“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to step back. We don’t know how much damage there’s been to the structure of the building.”
“I understand that,” I said, taking my wallet from my back pocket. I slid my business card out and handed it to him. “My name is Henry Parker, and I’m with the Gazette. ”
He rolled his eyes and prepared to hand the card back to me. “Mr. Parker, I-”
“I spoke with Mr. Kaiser. Just minutes before this happened. I don’t know if I was the last person to speak with him but…I thought someone should have this in case they need to get in touch with me. If there are any questions.”
The cop looked at my card, understanding. He nodded, then slipped it into his uniform. “I’ll give it to the lead detective,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. “And good luck.”
He nodded, turning back to the gaping hole in the brick building.
I walked a few blocks away, making sure I could hear right again and was away from the commotion that would surely envelop that area for the next few days. I took out my phone and called Jack. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Henry, good timing. Brett Kaiser left about twenty minutes ago. I think he’s headed toward you. I didn’t get much, but if you-”
“Brett Kaiser is dead,” I said. There was a pause on the other end.
“Wait…what did you say?”
“I said he’s dead, Jack. I caught up with him about ten minutes ago when he pulled up in front of the building.
I talked to him for about thirty seconds, then he went upstairs. And less than a minute after that, somebody turned his apartment into a gigantic barbecue pit.”
“Wait a damn minute,” Jack said. His voice was uneven, shaky. I’d never heard Jack like this before.
Scared. It put a lump in my stomach, as the enormity of it all began to sink in. “You’re saying somebody killed
Brett Kaiser?”
“A few times over,” I said. “Somebody wanted to make sure he didn’t have a chance to talk to anyone. But I do know that he knows about 718 Enterprises, and if I’d had him another minute he would have spilled everything.”
“Jesus, be careful, Henry. It’s possible somebody saw him talking to you.”
“Wait, no way, how could they…”
“Don’t be stupid,” Jack said. “If someone knows he was talking to you, they might think he told you something.”
“But he didn’t,” I said, pleading my case with nobody.
“Whoever killed him doesn’t know that,” Jack said.
“Be careful. Meet me back at the office in half an hour.”
“No can do,” I said, unsure of why I was going to do this but sure that I needed to.
“And why the hell not?”
I couldn’t tell Jack. If he knew, it would toss our whole relationship into jeopardy. But we had the same blood, the same gene that refused to allow us a moment’s breath, that refused to give us rest if there was one unanswered question. But Paulina had nearly ruined his career. And he couldn’t know.
“I have to meet someone,” I said. “A source. I’ll be back in a couple hours. We’ll catch up then.”
“Fine, Henry. But watch your back.”
“I will,” I said, and then hung up to go meet the one person I was absolutely sure would never have my back.
I opened the phone back up, and called Paulina Cole.
18
The diner smelled the same as I remembered it. Diners never changed, but I had a history with this one.
Fried onions, eggs, hash browns, stale coffee. Today was only the second time I’d ever set foot in here, and once again my only companion would be Paulina Cole.
I wasn’t a big fan of diner food in general, with the exception of Sunday mornings when a late breakfast consisting of a mushroom-and-Swiss omelet with a cup of hot coffee was better than a Swedish massage.
Meeting Paulina was pretty much the opposite of all of that.
Paulina Cole was waiting for me in a back booth, a half-empty cup of coffee in front of her. There was no food, no condiments, just the coffee. She was wearing a flannel shirt over a tank top, her hair done back in a bun.
Her eyes, a fierce green that normally seemed to ache for you to put up a fight, were subdued. She wore a minimum of makeup, no perfume that I could smell. This was unlike Paulina, whose switch seemed to be permanently set to “on.”
“Thank you for coming,” she said as I sat down. I nodded, unsure of how to feel.
“The last time I was this close to you,” I said, “I was ready to hurl you in front of a speeding bus.”
“Understandable,” she replied.
“You tried to ruin his life,” I said. “Jack O’Donnell has done more for this city and for this industry than you ever will. And you try to throw it all away for what? To sell a few extra copies? To put a big old smile on Ted
Allen’s face?”
“Henry,” Paulina said.
“Don’t try and justify it to me,” I said. “You’re a coward.”
“If I was a coward,” Paulina said, her voice taking on a metallic edge, cold and lifeless, “I would have hidden a drinking problem for years. I would have mortgaged the futures of my coworkers and my employer by reporting with enough liquor in me to inebriate all of Green Bay. I wasn’t the coward, Henry. Jack was. If I’m the coward for telling the truth about Jack, you have a pretty warped view of what it means to be a reporter.”
“Jack wasn’t news,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Millions of people are losing their livelihoods. So what gets plastered on your front page? An old man and his drinking problem.”
Paulina laughed, and I felt anger rising within me.