Even though Sahlberg had actually instigated the entire mess (albeit unintentionally), he was the one who got off the easiest. The police simply asked him to confirm Payne’s story that he had made contact earlier that day, and that they had agreed to meet at the Monongahela Incline. After assuring them that he had never seen any of the attackers before that day, Sahlberg was free to go. In the eyes of the police, his participation was little more than bad timing. Had his call not been placed on the same day as the assault on Payne, he would never have been involved in the ordeal. Apart from making sure he had survived the tear gas and the firefight unscathed, the police had no further need for him. He was only a footnote in their investigation.
Sahlberg had played the role of the innocent victim to perfection.
In any other city, Payne and Jones would have been brought to the local police station for questioning, but there was little chance of that happening in Pittsburgh. Because of his respect for the profession, Payne made sure that his company provided continuous contributions to Pittsburgh’s law enforcement community, and he put pressure on other titans of industry to do the same. Jones’s contributions were on a smaller scale and often under the table, but they were appreciated nonetheless. He regularly hired off-duty police officers and recent retirees for odd jobs at his private investigation firm, and he always paid well for their experience.
Over the years, the duo’s combined efforts had not only saved countless lives by outfitting the men and women of the police force and the fire department with the latest life-saving equipment; they had also helped those who couldn’t make their mortgage payments or afford holidays or presents.
Gotham might have Batman and Robin.
Pittsburgh had Payne and Jones.
The irony of the situation — at least with regard to how the duo was perceived — was that their roles should have been reversed. Payne was the more reserved of the two. If anyone would prefer to stand in the shadows and do his good deeds anonymously, it was Payne. Jones, on the other hand, was much more flamboyant. He gladly embraced the public spotlight, so much so that Payne was often forced to reel him in.
Yet somehow their friendship thrived.
Jones watched from his seat on the curb as Payne shook hands and said some final goodbyes, then headed to the ambulance where Sahlberg was resting. Three hours had passed, and the Novocain had fully worn off. In one way that was a bad thing, because his bottom lip was throbbing despite the ice pack he had used to control the swelling. To make matters worse, he was starving. He had asked several cops if they had any donuts, but all he got were dirty looks. Probably because he couldn’t pronounce ‘donuts’.
A minute later, Payne and Sahlberg made their way to where he was sitting. Until that moment, he hadn’t actually met the Swede. He stood as Payne introduced them.
‘DJ, this is Dr Mattias Sahlberg. He used to work with my father.’
‘Pleased to meet you, sir. I’m David Jones. I used to work with Jon, back when he was young.’
Sahlberg shook his hand and said hello.
Jones quickly turned his attention to Payne. ‘Listen, I can’t wait to hear about your dad and the good doctor, and I really can’t wait to hear why I just killed someone with my Cadillac, but right now, let’s focus on what’s most important. Can we get something to eat? I’m starving, and if I know you, you’re starving too.’
Payne laughed.
No one knew him better than Jones.
17
The moment Masseri was clear of the chaos at the Monongahela Incline, he tried to figure out where everything had gone wrong. He had ordered the guards at the upper station to descend as soon as their backup arrived, yet they had never appeared below.
He soon understood why.
Masseri called the backup team, and they told him that Sahlberg’s bodyguard — whoever he was — had dealt with the men on the trip down the hillside. While Sahlberg and his protector exited the car to face Masseri and the sedan, the men — now bloodied, battered and tied to the bench inside the cable car — were sent back to the upper station with several passengers. A short while later, the backup team had watched as the smaller goon was dragged to a waiting squad car. The larger one was taken from the station in a body bag.
After that, they had followed the police to determine where their colleague would be booked. They got word to Masseri, who arranged for one of his men to speak with the prisoner. Less than an hour later, the associate was walking into the police station.
‘My name is Marcus Lindo,’ he told the officer at the front desk. ‘I understand you have one of my clients in custody. A Mr Derek Paulsen. As his attorney, I am requesting that any and all questioning cease immediately, and that I be allowed to see Mr Paulsen in private.’
After filling out some paperwork, Lindo was led into an interrogation room. Derek Paulsen, the smaller of the two thugs that Payne had left tied up in the cable car, sat inside.
‘Your lawyer’s here,’ the officer informed him.
For the first time since he had been taken into custody, a glimmer of hope spread across Paulsen’s face. ‘Thank God.’
‘This isn’t going to work,’ Lindo informed the officer.
‘What isn’t?’
‘This room. I asked for a private meeting. You and I both know that if I ask for such accommodations, you have a legal obligation to provide them.’ He tapped the mirrored wall of the interrogation room. ‘Something without one-way glass. This conversation is privileged. That means you don’t get to listen or watch.’
Paulsen smiled at the exchange.
‘Fine,’ the officer grunted. ‘Give me a minute. I’ll see what I can do.’
He closed the door behind him.
‘Don’t say a word,’ Lindo said to Paulsen. He pointed at the mirror. ‘Not until we’re completely alone.’
A few minutes later, the officer reappeared and motioned for Lindo to follow him to a small room with cinder-block walls. The only things inside were two chairs. The only way in or out was a heavy iron door.
‘Does this work?’ the officer asked.
‘Yes, this is fine. Thank you.’ In contrast to his earlier indignation, Lindo’s response was polite, even grateful.
The officer wasn’t the least bit moved by Lindo’s tone. He simply stared at him blankly and whistled loudly. Moments later a second officer led Paulsen into the room. Before leaving, the officer unshackled Paulsen’s handcuffs.
‘Thank you for your kindness,’ Lindo said.
The cop sneered. ‘This isn’t kindness; this is wishful thinking. If your client decides to attack you, that’s one less lawyer we have to worry about.’
The first officer laughed loudly and patted his buddy on the back as the two cops left the room together.
Once the door was shut, Lindo was free to talk. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Better now. Did the Egyptian send you?’ Paulsen was referring to Masseri in the only way he could. He didn’t know his name; he only knew him by nationality.
‘He did.’
‘Great. So what’s the plan? How soon can you get me out of here?’
‘It won’t take long. But first I need to ask you a few questions. What happened at the incline?’
‘We got jumped,’ Paulsen said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘One minute we were sitting on the bench, riding the car to the lower station, and the next minute there’s a guy punching me in the face. He was an animal. He broke my ribs. My partner got it worse. Much worse. How’s he doing?’