Flesh and Blood

by James Neal Harvey

“Way out, in a small town called Farmington. Ever been in that area?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Senator Cunningham grew up on the estate, spent all his boyhood there, except for when he was away at school. Which is another odd thing. For all his time in the public eye, it’s still hard to learn much about what his early life was like.”

  “I understand his father died when he was quite young.”

  “Both parents did. According to the obit that was in the Times, they were skiing in Austria, got caught in a spring avalanche. Clayton was their only son. He was eleven at the time. After that, the Colonel raised him.”

  The waiter was back to refill their glasses. When they were alone again, Shelley said, “Now tell me what you’ve found out about Jessica Silk’s death. You really believe she committed suicide?”

  He sidestepped the question. “What else could it have been?”

  “Maybe somebody didn’t want that story of hers to get out.”

  A series of impressions flashed through Ben’s mind: the absence of material on the article Silk had been writing, the marks he’d seen on her body when he went to the morgue, what the ME said he’d discovered in the postmortem.

  Shelley was watching him. “Well? Couldn’t somebody have given her a push?”

  He sliced into his steak. It was so tender he could have cut it with a fork. “No evidence of anything like that.”

  She was too bright to let it go by. “Come on, Lieutenant. This is a two-way street.”

  “Who says so?”

  “I do. How can I help you if you don’t trust me enough to tell me everything?”

  “Everything? That wasn’t our agreement.”

  “But that’s what I want. It has to be like that if it’s really going to work. Come on, what did you find out about how she died?”

  “The doorman said no one had gone to her apartment. When the police got there, the door was locked.”

  She drank some more of her wine. “This is delicious.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  “Did you go to the autopsy?”

  He looked at her and shook his head in wonderment. “You’re too much.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Good. Now what did you learn?”

  He had to smile. She was showing more intelligence than any of the detectives who’d conducted the investigation, and more drive. None of them had spotted the abrasions and burns on Silk’s body at the site of her fall and they hadn’t bothered to attend the postmortem. Maybe Shelley could be useful, at that. He decided to test her a little. “Anything I tell you is in absolute confidence?”

  “So help me.”

  “There were some marks on her that weren’t the result of her falling.”

  “What kind of marks?”

  “Bruises that might have been from rough sex.”

  Shelley put her fork down. “Then what I’d heard about the senator was true, wasn’t it? He put those marks there. They were having sex and he was knocking her around.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe again? How can you sit there and say that?”

  He leaned forward. “Because I’m a cop. In your business, you can get away with saying almost anything. But in mine, I have to have indisputable proof—evidence that will be accepted by a prosecutor, so he can use it to convince a grand jury to bring an indictment. No matter what I think went on, I don’t have evidence. A hunch isn’t good enough.”

  “But that’s what you think, isn’t it? You just said it was.”

  “So? Whatever occurred between Silk and the senator, it could have been consensual, nevertheless.”

  “Sure, but it’s still all the more reason to be suspicious of how she died. And you haven’t answered my question. Isn’t it possible that she didn’t jump off her balcony, that somebody shoved her?”

  “I told you, we don’t have any proof of that, either.”

  “Nothing to suggest that’s what happened?”

  Ben looked at her. If he told her about the burns or the semen the ME had found in Silk’s body, she’d probably leap up and start hollering. “I said there was no proof.”

  “Okay, I get the message.”

  “But now let me ask you something. You ever hear of someone named Orkis?”

  “Orkis? No, but it sounds sort of familiar. Who is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Somebody connected to what you’re working on?”

  “I don’t know that, either. It’s possible.”

  “Offhand, the name doesn’t ring any bells. But if I run across it anywhere, I’ll tell you.”

  “Good.”

  “How does it figure in this?”

  “You want some dessert?”

  “You’re trying to change the subject again, aren’t you?”

  “Sure. Do you?”

  “Yes, but I’m not going to have any. That’s another thing about my job. If I don’t stay in shape, I lose it.”

  “How about some coffee, then?”

  “Fine.”

  “We can have it at my place, if that’s okay with you.” He didn’t know why he’d said it; he hadn’t planned to, and he wasn’t trying to make a move on her. It had just popped out.

  But then she made him glad he’d offered. She smiled and said, “That sounds lovely.”

  27

  “Hey, I really like this,” Shelley said. She was standing at the windows in Ben’s apartment, looking down at the South Street Seaport. The night had turned cold and a brisk autumn wind was blowing, but throngs of people were strolling in the area, visiting the shops and the bars and the restaurants. There were lights on the docks and the ancient sailing ships and more lights twinkled from the spidery cables of the Brooklyn Bridge and from the buildings on the far side of the East River.

  Ben came out of the kitchen, carrying two china mugs of coffee. “I like it, too. Should be downright homey, if I ever get it furnished.”

  She took a mug from him and looked around at the living room. “You could use some help, at that.”

  “You volunteering?”

  “Sure, if you want me to.”

  “Okay, what would you do?”

  She studied the plain white walls, the blocky green sofa he’d bought on sale at Bloomingdale’s, the bench he was using for a coffee table, the fake Persian rug. “For one thing, I’d get rid of that sofa.”

  “That would leave no place in here to sit down.”

  “Buy some new stuff first. When it’s delivered, have them haul that one away.”

  “I don’t have time to do a lot of shopping.”

  “I said I’d help, right? You give me the word, I’ll do the shopping for you. New York is full of bargains, if you know where to find them. I could make this place look sensational, and it wouldn’t cost much at all.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Sure. If your girlfriend wouldn’t get jealous.”

  He grinned. “That a probe?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend. That is, I have some friends, but I’m not involved with anybody special. Are you?”

  “No. I was, for a while. With a VP of the company that owns the station. But there was a problem.”

  “Which was?”

  “He was cheating on me. We weren’t even married yet, and he had all these things going on the side. I’d be doing the eleven o’clock news and he’d be doing something else. Took me a year to catch on. Pretty stupid, huh?”

  Ben stood beside her and looked out at the river. The lights from the buildings and the bridge were reflecting from the fast-moving black waters. “Happens sometimes. At least you found out in time.”

  “Yeah, but even then I didn’t want to believe it. I should have known better. He kept telling me he’d reform, if only I’d give him another chance.”

  “So you gave him one?”

  “I gave him lots of them. It just made him more careful, o
r more inventive. I finally came to my senses, and then he left for a job at NBC. That was the end of it.”

  “And now you’re sadder but wiser.”

  “I’m not sad. Wiser, maybe, but not sad. Were you ever married?”

  “Nope. The ladies I’ve known all got tired of my lifestyle in a hurry. Crazy hours, too much pressure.”

  “Sounds like broadcasting.”

  “Does it?”

  “Uh-huh. For every Paula Zahn, there are all the nameless nobodies like me. We break our buns hoping for the big break, but then in a couple of years we burn out.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Watch the tube. We come and go, in case you haven’t noticed. Management’s position is, they have to give the audience fresh faces.”

  “So why stick with it?”

  “Because I’m determined, that’s why. I don’t quit.”

  “So I’ve seen.”

  “Touché, Lieutenant.”

  He went over to the sofa and sat down, while she stayed at the window for a few more moments, looking out at the lights. Then she joined him, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs under her. “At least this thing is comfortable.”

  “That’s why I bought it. How’s your coffee—need a refill?”

  “No thanks, this is fine.”

  It was funny, but she was turning out to be the direct opposite of what he’d thought the first time he’d seen her. She was strong-minded and persistent, but she was also straightforward, honest about herself, not afraid to admit her mistakes. Didn’t waste time feeling sorry for herself, either.

  “Did you grow up in New York, Ben?”

  “Oh yeah. Born here. My father died when I was a baby. We lived in the Bronx, not far from Yankee Stadium. I used to dream of playing there, but the closest I ever got was selling popcorn in the bleachers.”

  “You were a baseball player?”

  “Uh-huh. An outfielder. When I realized I’d never be able to hit a big-league curveball, I adjusted my ambitions.”

  She finished her coffee and put the mug down on the bench coffee table. “To becoming a police officer?”

  “Yes. My mother died while I was in the Marine Corps. When I got out, I went into the Academy.”

  “But you went to college, too, didn’t you? You didn’t learn all that stuff about genetics and psychological development just by reading.”

  “NYU. On a catch-as-catch-can basis, mostly at night. Took me eight years to get a degree.”

  “Must have been a grind.”

  “It was.”

  “But worth it, right?”

  “I hope so. How about you? You’re not a New Yorker, are you?”

  “Lord, no—I’m a real hayseed. Came here from Haven, Kansas. Bet you never heard of it.”

  “True.”

  “It’s about sixty miles northwest of Wichita. My father owns a drugstore there. I have one sister, who’s married with three kids and living in Salina. That’s an exciting place, too.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “In some ways, I envy her. She’s married to a dentist who has a successful practice. She’s very happy.”

  “You wish you were married to a dentist?”

  She smiled. “You know what I mean. I wish I was happy. Or contented, I should say.”

  “What would that take?”

  “Same thing most people want most—fulfillment. I’d like to do something worthwhile in television, be more than just one more blonde doing news spots on a local station. Maybe have a program of my own. Have guests on but deal with subjects worth talking about.”

  “So a successful career would fulfill you?”

  “Partly. But I want to make something good out of my personal life, as well.”

  “Such as a husband and kids?”

  “Absolutely. My memories of my own childhood are great. My parents got along well, which was a rarity.”

  “She must have given him a long leash.”

  “Spoken like a true chauvinist. But I’ll admit it, she did. At least she didn’t mind when he went off with his buddies a couple of times a year on fishing trips or hunting deer or pheasant.”

  “So long as that was all he hunted.”

  She laughed. “That’s right.”

  He was quiet for a time. Sitting here with her, the two of them relaxed and comfortable, was more than just pleasant. He was conscious of her closeness, of the animal attraction he felt coming from her. She was beautiful and sexy and he liked her very much. And from what he could tell, she seemed to respond to him the same way.

  Yet he didn’t want to make a pass at her. He wondered why. Probably because he felt she might rebuff him, and that would cheapen whatever existed between them, turn it into something else before it ever had a chance to get started. The truth was, he was sick of one-night stands, relationships with women that were based on sex and not much else.

  He put his mug down. “I have a bottle of brandy, if you’d like some.”

  “No thanks. I’ve had enough to drink for one evening.”

  “Speaking of the eleven o’clock news, do you have to get back?”

  “No, I’m off tonight.” She looked at him. “If I tell you something, I hope you won’t get the wrong idea about me.”

  “I won’t. What is it?”

  The blue eyes were very steady. “I like you a lot, Ben. And I don’t want to leave here tonight. I’d love it if you asked me to stay.”

  He felt like a kid on Christmas morning, maybe even better than that. Taking her into his arms, he said, “I was worried you’d get the wrong idea, too.”

  She smiled. “I think it’s the right idea. We’re on the same team, aren’t we?”

  “We are now,” he said.

  28

  In the morning, Ben woke up feeling wonderful. Better than he had in weeks. He was alone in his bed, but a tantalizing aroma of coffee was drifting in from the kitchen, which meant Shelley had been busy. He got up and went into the bathroom. After brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face, he put on a robe and followed his nose to the coffee.

  A fresh-brewed pot was sitting on the counter. But to his disappointment, he saw that she’d left the apartment. A note on the refrigerator said she had work to do and would call him later. The note was signed, “Your partner in crime.”

  He yawned and looked at his watch. Christ—after eight o’clock. Sleeping this late was another thing he hadn’t done in a long time. He had a quick mug of the coffee and after that he showered, shaved, and dressed.

  Back in the kitchen, he poured himself another mugful and, while he drank it, thought about what his next moves should be, continuing to run over the case in his mind. Clay Cunningham was high on the list of people he wanted to talk to further, and so was the sister, Ingrid. He wasn’t through with Ardis Merritt, either.

  There was also something strange about the brokerage investigation, and not merely that the prosecutors hadn’t come up with proof of what was obviously illegal trading. Ben was no CPA, but he’d taken courses in finance and accounting, and he was curious about the numbers. When he’d checked through them, he found they raised more questions than they answered. He made a mental note to take another hard look.

  Then he rinsed out the mug and the pot and left the apartment. He’d catch up with some breakfast later.

  There was a garage in the basement of the building, which was a good thing—leave a car on the street and you might never see it again, even though this area was better than a lot of others. He took the elevator down to the garage, got into the Taurus, and drove to the Criminal Justice Building. The trip took less than fifteen minutes.

  When he walked into the investigators’ area, Jack Mulloy was already at work. The detective jumped up and followed Ben into his office.

  “You seen the papers?” Mulloy asked.

  Ben took off his coat and hung it on the wall hook, then sat at his desk. “No, why?”

  “Today’s story on the senator is on
page five. Another couple days and it’ll be gone altogether.”

  “Fame is fleeting, Jack. You get a reply on Orkis?”

  Mulloy took one of the visitor’s chairs. “Albany didn’t have anything; neither did VICAP. But I’ll keep looking. Right now, I’m tabulating copies of trading confirmations from the brokerage. How’d you make out with the files?”

  “Okay, but the more I see, the more I wonder. Cunningham Securities has made profits that weren’t just big, they were obscene. Yet a large part of that money was swallowed up, fell in a black hole. Let me show you what I mean.”

  Ben unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out the stack of files. He laid out sheets on which he’d penciled figures, and Mulloy came around the desk and peered over his shoulder.

  “I ran the numbers on the amounts involved in the acquisitions and then I went through the company’s financials. According to the statements, the company’s core business is in two areas. One is the buying and selling of securities, option contracts, futures, and mutual funds, for both individual and institutional clients. The income from that business is commissions. Correct, so far?”

  “Sure. Go on.”

  “The other area is investment banking, which entails direct investment and underwriting. Plus arbitrage. That’s where the acquisition deals were made and where the bulk of the company’s profits came from. Total revenues were just over eight hundred million last year. Deduct operating expenses and the brokerage showed a pretax profit of two hundred twenty million.” He pointed. “Net earnings were a hundred fourteen million bucks.”

  “Also right. So?”

  “I spoke to several publicly traded brokerage houses. Merrill Lynch, Morgan Stanley, some others. I took the figures they gave me and compared them to Cunningham’s. What I found was that Cunningham’s profits were more than twice the average, as a percentage of revenues.”

  “Okay, but we already know the reasons for it. Our problem is not being able to prove it.”

  “Very true. But it also occurred to me that if we knew where that money wound up, it might lead us to something the prosecutors could take to a grand jury.”

  “Yeah, I see where you’re going.”

  “According to the records, some of the money stayed in play, was used for other deals. But big chunks of it went to the holding company, Cunningham Mining. It was transferred through their bank, Fidelity Trust, where Cunningham’s a director, by the way, and so’s his sister. The senator was, too, before he died.”