by G. K. Parks
“Okay, do we know who he is?”
“I brought the picture over to the OIO and ran it through facial rec,” Mark said, “and we got a hit on a Sean Svenstak. He works for Rodney Wheeler as his personal bodyguard.”
“Sven?” It was probably the same guy. “ESU took him out yesterday. He shot Jason Oster once. Wheeler shot Jason the first time.”
“We identified Svenstak among the dead, so I guess so.” Mark looked worried. “You can discuss that with the police. Let’s focus on something less morbid.” He searched his mind for the tidbits of information I was lacking. “Fingerprints came back on Paul’s keys. Once again, Svenstak’s name came up. I’m assuming he’s the guy that broke into Paul’s house, tampered with the water filter, and removed the bug that he told Romanski to plant. This guy really got around.”
“Yeah, good for him.” So Wheeler was pulling the strings all along. It wasn’t surprising. But how did Paul and Jason fit into it? And what was Rachel’s connection? These were the same questions I’d been struggling with, and it still didn’t look like we had any answers.
“The FBI has the memory card from the wireless video camera that Oster and Eastman set up. Although the files seemed corrupted, we found a hidden file on the card that the PD missed. It’s encrypted. It will be a while before they can crack it, but maybe it’ll prove useful,” Mark suggested.
“Wheeler said Oster tried to blackmail him. He wanted to use the video as leverage to protect Rachel.” I screwed my eyes closed, recalling his exact words. “Something was overheard. I don’t know if that’s why Oster established the surveillance in the room or if whatever was overheard was also caught on tape, but it might explain the connection we are still struggling to find.”
“I think you’re caught up, finally. Unless there was something else you wanted to know before we go inside and hear what the detectives have discovered in the last sixteen hours.”
“Are you sure Walton’s clean?” I asked. Mark told me that yesterday, but I didn’t know how he knew.
“Kendall ordered an expedited internal review. He’s clean. He was just following orders. It looks like Wheeler was an expert at thwarting his surveillance. I think Svenstak would run interference for him, so he could come and go as he pleased.”
“That’s probably added incentive for the hotel remodel. No cameras were near the elevators, so he could take them down to whatever floor he wanted, maybe slip out an employee entrance or exit, and return without anyone being the wiser.” Something pinged in my brain. “Do we know who was using the phone in Gordon Russell’s office when Paul Eastman received those calls and phoned back?”
“You’re thinking it was Wheeler.” Mark nodded, agreeing. “But why would Eastman call him or vice versa?”
“Let’s go find out,” I said, opening the car door.
Forty-three
After repeating everything from yesterday, writing a report, signing the report, and repeating it again, I found myself at Jacobs’ desk. He was sifting through the statements and trying to make heads or tails out of what exactly went down and who was involved. The two hotel employees that were taken hostage in the conference room, besides Russell and Eastman, had been cleared of any involvement. Even though the forty-eight hour hold wasn’t over, the police brass cut them loose.
“Romanski, Eastman, and Russell are still in custody,” Jacobs said, shutting one folder and opening another. “The hospital called and said Oster’s still in ICU. It’s touch and go.”
“Have you told Rachel?” I asked, wondering if she might confess in light of these facts.
“No. It’s his medical history; we’re not allowed to divulge information like that. His parents flew in from Miami, and we let them have access. But even that was pushing it.” He gave me a look. “You want to speak to her?”
“Yes.” I let out an inappropriate laugh. “It’s Friday, and I missed my yoga class. So maybe I should schedule a chat with the instructor to make up for it.”
Jacobs led me down the hall to one of the interrogation rooms and opened the door. “I’ll send Detective O’Connell in to assist. Don’t do anything I’ll regret in the meantime.” He walked out, and I knew the real reason behind it.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted, walking to the table and pulling out a chair. “How are you holding up?”
She shrugged. “I’m a cooperating witness. They haven’t arrested me, and the police keep saying I don’t need a lawyer. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk to them or you.”
“Did you hear about what happened yesterday? The man that threatened you is dead.” She met my eyes, searching to discover if my words were true.
Offering a small smile, she nodded. “Am I safe?”
“Yes, but,” I lowered my voice and glanced back at the two-way mirror, “Jason fought to protect you. I don’t know exactly what went down or how, but the men that threatened you and likely killed your ex-husband shot Jason. They tried to frame him, and when that plan failed, they shot him.”
Her eyes went wide, and she looked on the verge of tears. “Is he okay?”
“I won’t lie to you. It doesn’t look good.” I swallowed and scooted the tissue box closer to her. “Paul was with him. He tried to stop the bleeding in order to save him.” Since she accused Paul of working with the men making the threats, maybe this would give her the courage to open up about why she thought that connection was accurate.
“I thought he was behind it. That guy said Paul and Alvin stole his money, so I just assumed he was one of the bad guys.”
“Did Jason ever tell you about the surveillance camera that he and Paul set up?”
She wiped her eyes, focusing on the table. “When I told him about the man threatening me, he said he’d take care of it. He mentioned there was a tape.” She shrugged. “I didn’t know Paul had anything to do with it.”
“Do you know what was on the tape?”
“Information, something that the police could use to arrest the people responsible.”
“Why didn’t he just turn it in?”
She swallowed, looking guilty. “It would have cost him his job. He said it involved his boss and his boss’s boss. I thought it might have cost him his life. The man who threatened me was a scary son-of-a-bitch. He killed my cat. He killed Alvin. He,” she blinked, the tears rapidly falling, “he shot Jason.”
“Did you ever see the tape?” She shook her head, too overcome to speak.
O’Connell opened the door. He looked at me and then at Rachel. “We leave you alone for two minutes and you manage to upset this poor woman. What’s wrong with you?” I knew he was trying to appear sympathetic in order to keep her compliant, so I didn’t bother to respond to the quip. “Ma’am, is there anything I can get you?”
“No.” She whimpered and sighed. “When can I go home?”
O’Connell arranged for a unit to take her back to her place and accompany her upstairs. Officer Taylor was assigned to babysit and check her apartment for any evidence that might be out in the open and wouldn’t require a warrant while we guarded Rachel from any other possible threats and sorted through the remainder of the mess.
“What’d she say?” Jacobs asked when I returned to his desk. So I filled him in. “Any word on if the feds made headway on that memory card?” he called to O’Connell, who was on the phone. O’Connell shook his head. “It looks like our best chance of figuring this out is breaking through the encryption.”
“I’d say our best bet is getting Oster to talk.” I swallowed. The pang of guilt in my gut hurt a little more after Rachel’s breakdown.
“I hope he makes it.” Jacobs looked grim, and I remembered he took three shots at the elevator. We didn’t know what was going on at the time. Maybe if we realized someone else was pulling the strings, we could have stopped the situation before it started.
“Oster was going to confront Wheeler before Paul arrived,” I said. “He turned off the security system. He had a loaded weapon, and he seemed intent
to stop the party responsible.”
“That’s why he needed to know Rachel was safe,” Jacobs added. “Do you think he was going to kill Wheeler or try to force the man to turn himself in?”
“I don’t know.”
“How does your client fit into any of this?” Jacobs asked as O’Connell hung up the phone and joined us at the desk.
“Paul Eastman is a piece of work,” O’Connell began. “He’s admitted to countless schemes. Most of which have absolutely nothing to do with the crisis situation from yesterday.”
“Sounds like Paul,” I muttered. “Can I talk to him?”
“We can talk to him,” Jacobs corrected, not wanting me to be alone with Paul. The last time we were alone in a police station, he almost died.
Going into another interrogation room, I took a seat and waited for an officer to bring Paul in. Jacobs remained silent. He flipped through his notepad, reading information so he’d be well-versed for the questioning.
“Alexis,” Paul said, obviously relieved to see me, “is Jason okay? I had it wrong. God, I had it wrong.”
“Take a seat, Mr. Eastman,” Jacobs urged as the officer moved to hook Eastman’s handcuffs to the bar in the table. “That won’t be necessary, Billy.” The officer nodded and left the room.
“Jason’s at the hospital. We don’t know enough yet,” I said.
“It sounds like you’ve been cooperating with the other detectives,” Jacobs began, forcing Paul to focus on something besides the grim news. “You’re the only person who knows what happened in that elevator. Would you care to explain?”
“Yeah, okay. I owe it to Jason, I guess.” He blew out a breath. “After we fought for the gun, he dragged me into the elevator. He kept saying that he didn’t kill Alvin, and he would never tell Rachel to sneak into my apartment. He said he didn’t poison me, but he knew what was going on.”
“Did he tell you?” I asked.
“Yeah. We got stuck in the elevator. The doors locked, and we couldn’t get out. So while we’re inside, Jason tells me that Frank Costan was staying at the hotel and making a deal with the hotel owner. He never told me what the guy’s name was, but from what you and Mark were talking about in my motel room, I knew it was Senator Wheeler.”
“Go on,” I urged, hoping Jacobs wouldn’t think too hard about a federal agent discussing an open investigation in front of a suspect. The last thing I wanted to do was get Mark in trouble.
“Anyway, after Jason discovered that Frank Costan was at the hotel, he told Mr. Russell, who said he reported it to the FBI. The FBI was supposed to be staying in room 709, according to what Mr. Russell told Jason. So Jason took the camera and set it up inside to see what was happening.”
“Why?” Jacobs asked.
“He didn’t say, but I think it had something to do with Rachel.” Eastman looked flummoxed. “That part never made much sense to me.”
“Did he tell you what was on the tape?” I asked, getting Paul back on track before he went off on one of his tangents.
“He said he had proof that Wheeler was behind Frank Costan’s murder, and that he overheard three people talking about killing Alvin and poisoning me. At first, I thought maybe he was just saying that so I’d stop accusing him, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made.”
“Then what happened?” Jacobs asked.
“The elevator lurched. The doors opened, and that big guy was pointing a gun at us,” Paul said. “We weren’t prepared for that. I wanted to fight him off, and I got a good swing in. But he overpowered me. I thought Jason would jump in since there were two of us, but he told Jason he better cooperate unless he wanted to risk it all.” Paul looked bewildered. “He makes us go up to the tenth floor and puts us in the conference room. A few minutes later, that goon and Wheeler come to get Jason, and I didn’t see him again until the big guy dragged me down the stairs to talk to you.”
Jacobs made a couple of notes. It sounded plausible, but Paul was leaving out a few important details. Giving him a hard look, I got up from the chair and paced the interrogation room. The silence was oppressive, and Paul began fidgeting.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I asked, my voice echoing in the room. “It’s time you come clean. Because if I start asking questions, you’re gonna look guilty as sin.” I didn’t know how much Jacobs knew about the phone calls Paul made and received prior to showing up at the hotel, but he’d find out soon enough.
“Alexis,” he shook his head, hoping I’d keep quiet, “I told you what I could.”
“You skipped out on Mark.” I waited, hoping he’d say something. He bowed his head, appearing like a scolded puppy that urinated on the rug. “Who did you call?” His head shot up. “Or should I ask who you called back? We have the number and the phone records. You used Mark’s phone. It’s not some big secret. Plus, Mark’s name and credit card were on the room. Of course, we have your phone records.” The anger was coming through in every syllable, and Jacobs glanced at me, hoping I could keep it under control.
“I phoned Wheeler.”
Those words made me sick, and I walked out of the interrogation room. Paul Eastman hired me to protect him, and then he put himself in contact with the man who less than twenty-four hours ago planned to put a bullet through my brain. I couldn’t stay in that room. I couldn’t listen. Jacobs could fill me in. Once again, Paul lied to me, and this time, it almost got me killed.
Returning to the bullpen, I spotted Mark speaking to O’Connell. Mark grabbed a chair and pulled it over for me. “You don’t look so good,” Mark said. “Is everything all right?”
“Eastman called Wheeler. That’s who he spoke to in Russell’s office.”
“Fuck,” Mark growled. He gave me a quick glance and went down the hallway to the interrogation room.
We had discussed in detail our suspicions on Wheeler and Costan, as well as the FBI’s investigation, in Paul’s presence. I thought back to that night in the motel room when we laid most of the cards on the table while Paul slept. What if he was pretending? How much evidence and money did Wheeler hide before everything blew up yesterday? Why would Paul call him?
“Are you okay?” O’Connell asked.
“Yeah, I just needed a minute. And now I need to see what excuse Eastman could possibly come up with.” I stood. “Care to join me?” We went down the hallway into the observation room and stood on the other side of the two-way mirror.
“I thought I could help,” Paul insisted. “You said Alvin was informing to the FBI. I thought if I offered to make a deal with Wheeler, he’d give me some valuable information, and I could use it to turn him in. Alexis said you didn’t have any hard evidence, so I thought this was the way to get it.”
He rambled on about how he initially called to warn Wheeler that he was under investigation, and then he lied and told the former senator that he had access to some fictitious evidence. Paul offered to exchange the evidence for a significant sum of money. He planned to make the exchange, record the meeting, and use it to finalize the case against Wheeler, finally bringing the party responsible for Alvin’s death to justice.
The problem with his idiotic plan was two-fold. First, there was no actual evidence, and second, he let it slip that Wheeler was under suspicion for Alvin and Costan’s murders. That’s when the former senator put his silver tongue to good use and spun a story of Jason Oster being responsible. That was how the final call between the two ended and why Paul rushed to the hotel to accuse Jason.
“Is that hero worship?” O’Connell asked. “Let me guess, the guy fell head over heels for you and wanted to do something to impress you. And this was his genius move.”
“It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Paul wanting to prove he’s something he’s not. Hell, he wants to be you, Nick.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, he wanted to be a cop, but he didn’t make the cut. So he works private security, gets disenchanted, tries to be a corporate spy, can’t hack that, and pul
ls a dumbass move.” I sighed.
“Should I worry about you turning into him?”
“I do stupid things, but I hope I never endanger so many people that ESU and HRT have to intervene.” I took a deep breath, aggravated with Paul. “This is what I get for discussing a case with a client. Maybe I’m a failure at the private sector too.”
Forty-four
I arrived home that night to find my apartment turned into a Valentine’s Day card. Flowers and candlelight littered the empty spaces on my counters and tables. A lemon drop martini was immediately poured from a shaker and handed to me while I lifted the bottle of Cristal out of the ice bucket and noted the chocolate covered strawberries on a platter in the fridge which were meant for after dinner.
“Did you invite your girlfriend to my place?” I asked, uncomfortable with the over the top sentiment.
When Martin managed to pull his lips away from mine, he smirked. “Don’t tell her.”
“Is this so we won’t fight?” I asked, gesturing around the room. “Because under normal circumstances, this is the type of thing that normally leads to a fight.”
“Drink your martini,” he purred, returning to the stove to finish heating whatever dish he decided went with the rest of the extravagance. “And for the record, I didn’t leave your apartment at all today. I think it’s completely possible to stay here forever, just like you wanted.”
“So how did the champagne arrive? I know I don’t stock those in my liquor cabinet.” I eyed a new bottle of scotch with a bow. “What do I owe you for the scotch?”
“Just say thank you.”
“Thank you.” I hated when he did stuff like this, but there was no point in arguing. “Do you want to tell me what you’re planning on doing?”
“First, we’re going to eat because you said you were starving this morning and barely ate a piece of toast. Then we’re popping open the champagne, grabbing the strawberries, and we’re not surfacing from the bedroom for the next few days.” He spun, reaching for the serving platter. “And if you need to be a little drunk to agree to those terms, I will keep pouring the lemon drop martinis you love until I get my way.”