Fulco let out a laugh. “Now you sound like Jessie.”
“You should try to sound more like her, too.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe I should.” To her surprise, he actually seemed to consider her words.
34
Leary hated hospitals—especially when he was the patient. The police had insisted, though, both for his own sake and to create an official record of his injuries. He knew the drill and had come here without objecting, but he was itching to get out of here. Every minute spent talking to doctors and undergoing tests instead of bringing the cops up to speed on the facts reduced the chances that the two men who had attacked him would be apprehended. He knew the muggers—or hired thugs, as he suspected—had not succeeded in doing any critical damage to him. Scratches and cuts, yes. Some bruised ribs. One of his knees ached, as did his elbow. But he was fine.
“Leary.”
He looked up and saw Jessie. She stared at him. Brought her hands to her face. “Oh God.”
“I’m okay. I’m fine.”
“You look awful.”
“I need to get to the police station, look at mugshots.”
“I took care of that,” Jessie said. “The police are coming here.”
“They are?”
“I just spoke with the doctor. The tests are almost done, but it’s important that they make sure you’re okay. We don’t want you to walk out of here like a tough guy only to collapse in your apartment and crack your head on the coffee table.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
She sat on the edge of his hospital bed and rubbed his arm. The warmth of her touch calmed him. She leaned over to study him, her face taut with worry. “So, are we going to talk about this new hobby of yours?”
He sighed, and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his torso. “I was just asking some questions, talking to some people. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
She frowned. “You kept it from me.”
“I didn’t want you to … I don’t know … feel bad for me. It seemed pathetic, an ex-cop chasing after a three-year-old case.”
“You should have told me.”
He nodded, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. “I know. I’m sorry. But listen—I know this is hard to believe right now, but this attack is good news for both of us. Those guys were sent by someone who didn’t like the questions I was asking. Questions about a connection between supposed self-defense killings and a company called CBL Capital Partners. Don’t you see? I solved both of our self-defense cases. I found the bad guys.”
Jessie did not look convinced. “Let’s talk about this when you’re in a calmer frame of mind.”
She thought he was raving. “No, Jess, listen to me. This isn’t just a murder. It’s a conspiracy.”
“I know that seems true to you right now. But it’s not the most likely explanation for what happened to you tonight. It’s the conclusion your brain naturally jumped to because you were already thinking about CBL when you were attacked. It’s tunnel vision. If you calm down and force yourself to think objectively for a second—”
“For God’s sake, don’t patronize me! I’m a homicide detective!” Yelling caused pain to bolt through his temples, but when he realized what he’d said, the embarrassment hurt more. “I mean I think like one. If the men who attacked me were really muggers, they would have taken my wallet and run.”
“They did take your wallet.”
“But they didn’t run. They tried to kill me.”
“You saw their faces. Maybe they were afraid you could identify them.”
“So they decide to what? Stab me? Beat me to death? They’re going to commit murder for the fifty dollars in my wallet? Any thug with even a tiny bit of street experience would know the risk outweighed the reward. They came to kill me.”
“Okay,” Jessie said. “Maybe they did. But that still doesn’t automatically mean they were hired by this CBL company. A lot of people probably want to hurt or kill you.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. You were a cop. Cops make enemies. Maybe someone decided to get some revenge, especially now that you’re not a cop anymore and don’t have a police force backing you up.”
Leary shook his head. “If it was revenge, that would mean it was personal. I would have recognized them. But I didn’t. I’ve never seen them before.”
“People change their appearances. Gain or lose weight, change their hair styles. Or maybe they were the brothers of someone you put in prison, or cousins or friends.”
“Why are you trying so hard to change my mind?”
“Why are you trying so hard not to consider other possibilities? It’s almost like you … like you want it to be a conspiracy.”
“Don’t you?” Leary said. “If CBL tried to kill me, it means we’re on the right track. It means we’re close to—” He stopped abruptly as he saw her point. Damn. He did want CBL to be responsible for the attack. He was making a classic investigatory mistake—reaching a conclusion first, and then searching for evidence to support it, when he should be looking at all of the evidence and following it to a conclusion.
The sound of a man clearing his throat caught their attention and they both looked up. Two men approached Leary’s hospital bed. Leary’s spirits lifted at the sight of them.
Jessie made room as one of the men, a detective named Matthies, pulled a bulky laptop from his bag and placed it on the food tray clamped to Leary’s bed. The tray leaned under its weight, and Leary grabbed the computer and moved it to his lap before the table could break. Matthies’s gaze followed the laptop with a disapproving look.
“Maybe you shouldn’t hold heavy things,” the detective said. “You know, there could be something broken or torn inside you. I got beat up once, and—”
“I’m fine,” Leary said, maybe a little too sharply. “Nothing broken. No big deal.”
The other cop, Mannello, leaned over Leary to get a closer look. “Looks like you did ten rounds in a cage match.”
“One of the guys was big.” Leary opened the laptop. Matthies sat on the edge of the bed where Jessie had sat a moment before. He leaned over the keyboard, touched the track pad, and clicked a few times. The laptop’s screen filled with a grid of unflattering photos. It was the electronic equivalent of the thick, photo-album-style mugshot books cops used to show to victims and witnesses back in the old days.
Leary scrolled through a seemingly endless collection of mugshots, hoping he would find one or both of his assailants glaring out at him from the screen. Chances were good that neither was an upstanding citizen. But none of the faces matched. Eventually, he sighed and shook his head.
“None of them even look like possibles?” Matthies said.
“No.” Leary was certain. If either of the two men had appeared in the mugshots, he would have recognized them.
The two detectives looked like they might press him to take another look, but Jessie, who was standing at the side of the bed with her arms crossed over her chest, said, “He would know.” Something in the tone of her voice convinced them to stand down. Matthies closed the laptop and put it back in his bag.
“Okey-dokey.”
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Jessie said to them. “We appreciate it.”
“No problem. Cop gets mugged—even an ex-cop—it’s a priority,” Mannello said.
Leary and Jessie waited until the two detectives left. Then she turned to him, a look of concern softening her features again. “What do you think it means, that their photos weren’t in the system?”
“Those guys were definitely career criminals. I wasn’t their first victim. If the PPD doesn’t have their faces on file, it means CBL—or whoever’s behind the attack—must have recruited them from outside Philly. Probably from another state.”
Jessie frowned. “That would mean resources, reach, sophistication.”
“Like a well-funded corporation.”
&
nbsp; “Maybe.”
He caught her looking at her watch. “You should go,” he said. “You have a big day in court tomorrow.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ll be fine here.”
He could see her struggling with the question of what to do. Finally, she said, “You need to promise me you’re going to stop this. No more detective work.”
“I won’t promise that,” he said. He wouldn’t lie to her. “I’m seeing this thing through to the end. I’m solving it.”
He was close now. The attack told him that much. Talking to Lydia Wax and David Whittaker had made someone uncomfortable. He didn’t intend to stop now, when he might be days away from solving two crimes.
“Solving murder cases isn’t your job anymore.” There was an edge to Jessie’s voice, and he heard both sympathy and exasperation in her tone. “You’re not a cop anymore. You don’t have a partner, or a badge, or access to backup. You shouldn’t be out risking your safety investigating a three-year-old case—or my current one. That’s my job and Fulco’s job, and Emily is helping now, too.”
Graham was helping? Jessie had asked her for help rather than come to him? He turned away from Jessie, not wanting her to see the hurt in his eyes. “None of you found CBL,” he said. There was bitterness in his voice, and she seemed to pull away at the sound of it. “I did.”
“Yeah, you did.” She wiped a hand across her face. When he looked at her, he saw a smear of tears beneath her eyes. “And look what happened. You could have been killed. You need to rest and heal, and then go back to living a civilian life.” She leaned over the bed and kissed him. Her lips, warm and soft, lingered against his, relieving him of most of the hurt he’d felt a moment before. “Please.”
After she was gone, and Leary was waiting to be discharged from the hospital, he thought about what she’d said. She was right, of course. The police, while far from safe, enjoyed more protection from violence than an average person, by virtue of the department’s procedures and the psychological intimidation a badge had on most criminals. As a civilian, Leary was on his own.
On the other hand, he’d always believed the best way to remain safe from a criminal was to put that criminal behind bars, or in the ground. He was good at doing that, and always had been, and he knew how close he was to doing it now. All he was missing was solid evidence of the connection between CBL and its victims. Once he found that, he was confident he could fit the rest of the pieces together and bring down the company and the evil people running it. He couldn’t stop now.
35
Leary left the hospital as soon as he could, spent a restless night at home, and then headed out first thing in the morning to continue his investigation. He knew he was doing exactly what Jessie had asked him not to do, but he also knew he was close to solving two murders—maybe more—and he couldn’t stop now. Not even for her.
At the intersection of Broad and Market, Philadelphia City Hall rose from Center Square. Once the tallest building in the city, it was opulent and lavish, adorned with columns and sculptures and a clock tower topped with a huge bronze statue of William Penn. To Leary, the building, which was the seat of government for the city, had always looked like a castle—something more at home in Disney World than downtown Philly. It was one of the city’s more famous tourist attractions, and for good reason. But Leary wasn’t here this morning for the tour. He had an appointment.
He tried to ignore the sidelong glances and outright stares as he passed through security and limped across the lobby to a small waiting area. His body still ached, and although a suit and tie covered most of his injuries, he was aware of how swollen his face looked, and of the bruises, stitches, and bandages.
He had made an appointment to meet with a man named Patrick Perez. Perez was a longtime city council employee, and had, until recently, been a legislative aide to Corbin Keeley. Leary suspected that CBL Capital Partners had arranged for Keeley’s death in furtherance of some profit motive, the same type of motive they’d had with Terry Resta. Resta had stood in the way of a real estate purchase because he’d been an owner of the land CBL wanted to acquire, and had been unwilling to sell. Leary didn’t know how Keeley had gotten in the company’s way, but chances seemed good that his role as a city councilman had played a part. Leary hoped that Perez might help him identify a connection between the dead councilman’s politics and the company’s business.
A few minutes later, a man emerged from the elevators and approached him. Tall and slim, mid-thirties, Latino. He had neatly-styled black hair, an olive complexion, and a blinding smile. He extended his hand and said, “Detective Leary? I’m Patrick Perez.”
“Good to meet you,” Leary said as he shook the man’s hand.
Perez’s gaze seemed to take in Leary’s battered appearance. “Are you alright?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks. Listen, just so we’re clear, I’m not a PPD detective anymore. I’m working privately on this.” Leary hoped Perez wouldn’t ask what that meant, since Leary himself wasn’t sure. He did not have a private investigator’s license—or a client, for that matter. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I know I’m taking time out of your day. I appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem,” Perez said. “Corbin wasn’t just my boss. I considered him a friend. I want to help.”
Leary nodded. “Good. Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
“I have a room for us on the fifth floor.”
A few minutes later, Leary eased himself into a chair in a nondescript room with no windows. Perez sat across a small table from him.
“Do you want a cup of coffee? Water?”
“No thanks,” Leary said.
“Soda?”
“I’m good.”
Perez looked disappointed, and Leary pegged him as the kind of guy who was a little too eager to please. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. In his experience, the eager-to-please personality type, while cooperative, could sometimes be too cooperative. Useful information could get buried under an avalanche of facts and observations.
“What can I tell you about Corbin?” Perez said.
“Well, I’m specifically looking for enemies he may have had in connection with his work here at City Hall.”
Perez’s forehead wrinkled. “I thought his girlfriend killed him because he … you know….”
“Is that what you believe happened?”
Perez picked up a pen from the table and twisted it in his hands. “I don’t know. He never seemed like that kind of person to me. I was familiar with the rumors, of course, but I guess I just hoped that’s all they were.” His gaze met Leary’s. “You think that stuff’s not true?”
Leary observed the hopeful look in the aide’s face and hated to crush it, but the facts were the facts. “I wish I could tell you the abuse allegations were fabricated, but it looks like Keeley had a history of being physically abusive. His ex-wife confirmed it, and she has no reason to lie. We don’t know for certain if he acted the same way with Brooke Raines, but….”
Perez nodded glumly. “I understand.”
“What I’m here to figure out is whether his history might have been used against him, as a way to kill him under cover of a credible self-defense claim.”
“You mean like it was staged?” Perez looked confused. “Is that what the DA’s office believes?”
“I’m helping them with the investigation. That’s why I’m asking you if his political activities led to any enemies.”
He watched Perez mull over the question. “It’s hard to say. I mean, yes, he definitely made enemies. In politics, it’s impossible to please everyone. For every decision you make, some people benefit while others lose. You know what the city council does, right?”
Leary actually wasn’t all that sure he did know. “Give me the high-level overview.”
“Do you remember your elementary school social studies class, where they taught you the three branches of government? This is the legis
lative branch. Think Congress at the federal level, only this is city government.”
“So they make the laws,” Leary said.
“That’s their primary function. They have meetings every Thursday morning at 10:00 AM in room 400, one floor down from where we’re sitting now, from September to June, with a month off for the holidays. There are also standing committees where council members hear testimony and review proposed bills in depth.”
“Was Keeley on any standing committees?”
“Sure,” Perez said. “He was on several.”
“As his legislative aide, were you aware of the bills he was looking at?”
Perez nodded. “Oh yeah, of course. I provided Corbin with all kinds of support—administrative, research and analysis, that sort of thing. I kept track of all of the legislation he had an interest in.”
Leary leaned forward. “I’m looking for some kind of legislation or other activity Keeley was involved with, where his involvement came between a company and a lot of money. I can only guess at the details. Maybe Keeley was going to shoot down a bill funding some kind of program, or he was choosing between two different companies where only one would benefit.”
“And his death now clears the way for this company to get its payday?” Perez said.
“That’s the theory. Can you think of anything that fits?”
Perez leaned back in his chair. “I could come up with a hundred scenarios like that. But we’re not talking about big money. Not big enough to justify setting up an elaborate murder. The only big one that comes to mind is the prison project.”
“You’re talking about the city’s plans to build a new prison?” Leary remembered reading about it in the Philadelphia Inquirer. There was general agreement that the city’s overcrowded prison system needed relief, but the project had stalled in the planning stage because no one wanted the new facility built in their backyard.
“Exactly,” Perez said. “There’s a proposed plan to construct the prison on a sixty acre tract of land that’s currently privately owned. The city council is scheduled to vote on a bill that would authorize the expenditure of ten million dollars to buy the property. Before his death, Corbin was planning to vote against the bill, because he thought the site was too close to his district and putting a giant prison there would wreak havoc on his constituents’ property values.”
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