Jessie Black Box Set 2

by Larry A Winters

  “The PPD investigation is closed. How are you going to explain this to your superiors?”

  “How are you?” she shot back.

  They stood for a second, staring at each other in the parking lot. A chilly fall breeze made Graham’s jacket flap around her.

  “Well, we’re not going to learn anything by having a staring contest with each other,” Leary said.

  The statement was true, but she still held eye-contact until he looked away first.

  “What was your game plan?” he said.

  “Ask him about the lawsuit. Ask him about the accident. See if I can shake him up.”

  Leary nodded. “You’re good at shaking people up.” Hurriedly, he added, “I meant that one as a compliment.”

  “I know.” She gave him a smile and he seemed to relax. “I always wondered what it would have been like to work with you in the Homicide Division. I guess this is pretty close.”

  “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

  They walked to the building. Graham couldn’t help staring at the expansive lobby. The plain exterior of the building had not hinted at the opulence within. A huge glass display case dominated the waiting area, featuring an array of toys. Artifacts from the company’s history, she guessed. Apparently, Boffo was a successful venture.

  There was a woman in a suit sitting on one of several couches. She glanced up at them as they entered, then returned her attention to her phone. Graham crossed the wide space and approached the receptionist.

  “We’re here to see Douglas Shaw.”

  The woman peered at her through stylish glasses. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Don’t need one.” Graham held up her badge.

  “Is there someone else who could help you? Mr. Shaw is the president and CEO of the company. His schedule is very busy—”

  “I’m a detective with the Philadelphia Police Department, and my colleague here is with the District Attorney’s Office. We’re here to speak with Mr. Shaw.”

  “Give me a moment, please.” She lifted a phone from her desk and touched a button, then turned her chair and conversed quietly with the person on the other end of the line. She put down the phone. “Mr. Shaw can make some time to see you.”

  “Thanks.”

  A man emerged from a doorway and approached the desk. He looked more like one of the toys in the display case than an actual human being—exaggeratedly brawny, like a bad knockoff of a He Man action figure, his body barely able to fit in the suit he’d stuffed himself into. He did not speak or introduce himself. He gestured for Graham and Leary to follow him.

  Leary caught her eye, arched a brow. She moved her shoulders in a slight shrug.

  The man led them toward a bank of elevators, then kept walking. Graham realized there was another elevator, set apart from the others, with a keypad instead of a call button. The man tapped a code into the keypad.

  “My name’s Mark Leary, by the way. And you are?”

  The man stared at Leary. Leary stared back. Either the guy was mute, or he had the social etiquette of a recluse. Or a thug, she thought.

  The elevator doors opened, revealing a spacious elevator car. The man gestured for them to step inside.

  More silence as they rode to the top floor. There was a vein just under the shelf of the man’s chin that pulsed rhythmically. Graham couldn’t help staring at it. She’d dealt with meatheads like this guy before—lots of criminals liked to walk around with oversized goons—but something about this particular oversized guy intrigued her. Maybe it was the strangeness of seeing him in an otherwise typical corporate environment.

  The elevator doors opened directly onto Douglas Shaw’s office suite. The space was massive, the size of four or five normal offices put together. Three of the walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, with a view of a lake Graham hadn’t noticed on her drive into the office park. Seated behind a large, glass desk was a gray-haired man who must be Douglas Shaw. He rose from his chair and came toward them. With a nod, he dismissed the big man. He extended a hand to Graham.

  “I’m Douglas Shaw.” His tone was clipped and aristocratic. She disliked him immediately.

  “Emily Graham.” They shook hands. Shaw’s grip was firm. “This is Mark Leary.”

  “My receptionist did not tell me the purpose of your visit.”

  “She didn’t know it.”

  “Is this about Kelly Lee’s accident?” he said.

  Graham and Leary exchanged a look. “Why would you assume that?” Leary said.

  “I can’t imagine any other reason you would be here. I heard about the accident.”

  “You don’t sound too broken up about it,” Graham said.

  “I’m not, Detective Graham. And frankly, I’m too old to bother pretending. Kelly Lee was a bottom-feeding ambulance chaser. The world is better without her.”

  Graham’s own thoughts about Lee’s death had been almost exactly the same, but hearing Shaw speak them aloud made her recoil both from him and from herself. Shaw was cold, hard, indifferent. She didn’t want to be like him.

  “I gotta say,” Leary said, “you’re about as different as possible from what I’d imagine a toymaker to be.”

  “I’m not a toymaker. I’m a businessman.”

  Graham noticed that their musclebound escort had not returned to the elevator. Instead, the big man stood erect against the wall, watching. Apparently, Shaw did not intend their meeting to be a long one.

  “As a businessman, you must have been pretty concerned about the class-action lawsuit Ms. Lee was bringing against your company,” Graham said.

  “Technically, she was not bringing a class-action lawsuit. In order to do that, you need a court to certify the class under Pennsylvania law. She was in the process of seeking certification, which I understand the judge was going to deny.”

  The man’s air of confidence surprised her. “How would you know that, if the judge hasn’t ruled yet?”

  “Call it intuition. Do you have any other questions, Detective?”

  “Where were you on the night of the accident?”

  Shaw let out a laugh. “I was attending a very nice fundraising event with a large group of people who would be happy to corroborate my attendance.”

  “Of course you were,” Graham said. That meant nothing, of course. She’d never thought this sixty-five-year-old man had personally dirtied his hands tampering with Kelly Lee’s car. He’d paid someone else to do it, assuming he was involved at all.

  “I heard you tried to settle the case,” Graham said. “If you were so sure you’d win, why offer to pay Lee and her clients?”

  He shrugged. “That’s how the system works. It’s not about right or wrong. You settle to avoid litigation.”

  Graham knew this all too well. Her own police misconduct claim had been settled by the city, despite the claim being utterly meritless. As Shaw said, that was how the system worked.

  Shaw seemed to be watching her expression closely. He turned away and sighed. “Detective, what happened to the Rowlands’ son was tragic, but it was not caused by our toys. Our toys are safe. Had the case gone to trial, I have no doubt we would have prevailed. But I didn’t want to go to trial. I didn’t want the bad publicity that would have come with a public trial, and I didn’t want the expense of hiring lawyers, experts, and the myriad other costs of litigation. That is why I was pushing for a settlement.”

  “But they rejected the offer,” Leary pointed out.

  “Yes. I believe we still would have won in court. Now, I guess we’ll never know.”

  “I think you will know,” Graham said. “The Rowlands have a new lawyer.”

  Shaw leaned forward. “Are you certain? I wasn’t notified.”

  Graham didn’t like the look that came across his face. It was angry, almost predatory.

  Shaw gestured to the musclebound man. “I have a meeting, so we’re going to have to stop. I would be happy to respond to any follow-up questions by email.”

  Shaw ext
ended his hand again. Graham did not take it. Neither did Leary.

  “One more question,” Graham said. “Kelly Lee’s office seems to be missing a lot of files, including the Rowland file. Just before I drove over here, two men were witnessed breaking into her apartment and searching for something. Do you know anything about that?”

  Something flashed in Shaw’s eyes. Anger, definitely, but she also thought she saw genuine surprise. Maybe he really wasn’t involved. Or maybe the two goons hadn’t told him they’d been caught in the act. “Why would I know anything about that?” He turned to the big man, who was still standing against the wall. “Troy, please show our guests out.”

  Shaw turned away. The big man—Troy—advanced toward Graham and Leary. His huge frame seemed to fill her entire field of vision.

  She sensed Leary stiffening beside her, and her own body tensed. Instinctively, she knew a time might come when she’d have to fight this giant, but now was not the time. She and Leary walked with Troy to the elevator. All the way, Graham felt the stare of Douglas Shaw at her back.

  17

  As she continued her search of Kelly Lee’s apartment, Jessie tried not to think about the favors she now owed Snyder. She would have plenty of time to regret that devil’s bargain later, she supposed. For now, the priority was finding anything Kelly might have left in her apartment that could either help Snyder with the Rowland case, provide evidence that the accident Kelly had died in had been a murder, or, ideally, both.

  “This is a waste of time.” Snyder leaned against the wall. Jessie had searched Kelly’s home office and found nothing. Instead of actually helping her, Snyder seemed content to watch and complain. The only searching he’d done was to look for a liquor cabinet, which he had been gravely disappointed not to find.

  “Let’s at least check the bedroom before we give up.”

  “The bedroom?” Snyder quirked an eyebrow. “Now we’re talking.”

  “Don’t get excited. I meant check for the Rowland file.” Thinking of her own experience, Jessie knew that sometimes she liked to pull her laptop into bed. Maybe Kelly had similar habits.

  “Hey, why not?” Snyder said. “It’s only my whole day we’re wasting here.”

  In the bedroom, Jessie found more potential places where Kelly might store a file. There was another bookcase, two nightstands with drawers, a big dresser, and a wardrobe. Jessie started looking through the furniture. Finally, in the nightstand to the left of the bed, she found a folder in the drawer. When Jessie pulled it out and opened it, she found notes written on yellow legal paper. Legal terms covered the pages.

  “I think I found something.”

  She skimmed the pages of neat handwriting, but her enthusiasm lessened with each page. There were no references to Deanna or Ken Rowland, their son, Boffo, or even class action lawsuits in general. The notes seemed to be about other cases Kelly had been working on. Jessie saw names she didn’t recognize, insurance companies, phone numbers. She saw references to accident reports, insurance claims, and doctors. Jessie assumed the doctors were either experts that helped Kelly assess claims, or defendants in medical malpractice cases.

  She reached the last page of the file and a name caught her attention. She stared more closely at the page in case she’d misread Kelly’s handwriting. But there was no mistaking what she’d printed there: Victoria Briscoe, University of Pennsylvania Hospital.

  “Judging by the look on your face, I take it you found something useful?” Snyder said. He crossed the room to stand at her side. He squinted at the sheet of paper, then shot her a questioning look. “This has to do with the Rowlands?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so. But I know the name Vicki Briscoe.”

  “Is she hot?”

  Jessie ignored him. Could she be the same Vicki Briscoe? Had to be. How many doctors in Philadelphia had that name? Jessie read further and learned that Briscoe had been the subject of a medical malpractice claim. From what Jessie could gather from Kelly’s notes, the case had settled. The hospital’s insurance company made a payment to Kelly’s client—Briscoe’s patient—and the hospital fired Briscoe. There was even a note indicating that Briscoe might be stripped of her medical license.

  Jessie realized she was holding her breath. She let it out and forced herself to breathe.

  “I don’t get it,” Snyder said. “If this Briscoe woman’s case isn’t related to the Rowlands, why are you staring at it?”

  Jessie stepped away from Snyder, trying to block out the sound of his talking so she could think. This new information—that Kelly Lee had pursued a medical malpractice claim against Vicki Briscoe that had resulted in the loss of Briscoe’s job and possibly her medical license—changed everything.

  She pulled out her phone and called Emily Graham.

  Thirty minutes later, Jessie entered the Chestnut Street Diner in Center City and found the booth where Emily Graham waited with another woman. “Hey.”

  Graham smiled, but it looked forced. Jessie felt the weight of the tension between them and had to shake off a feeling of sadness. She forced herself not to think about it. They were good friends who’d had a disagreement, and they would get past it. For now, what mattered was that Graham had set up this meeting on short notice, and Jessie needed to stay focused.

  “Jessie Black, meet Lorena Torres,” Graham said.

  Torres rose and shook Jessie’s hand. Jessie knew she was a detective in the PPD’s Organized Crime Unit. She was a slim, attractive Latina, with a firm grip and a direct stare. “Nice to finally meet you,” Torres said.

  Jessie smiled awkwardly. Finally meet her? She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she nodded and sat down across the table from the detective. “I appreciate you making the time on such short notice.”

  “Well, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to meet the great Jessica Black,” Torres said.

  Jessie shifted in her seat, unsure how to respond to the woman’s sarcastic tone.

  Graham cleared her throat. “This is kind of awkward, but you’re both my friends, so let’s get everything out in the open. Jessie, when Lorena was a rookie cop, she came up the ranks with Mark Leary. They had kind of an on-again, off-again thing.”

  “Mostly off again,” Torres said with a self-deprecating smile. “He was never that into me. I guess I wasn’t his type.” She seemed to study Jessie, as if trying to determine what Leary’s type was.

  Jessie tried not to feel uncomfortable, but it was pretty hard. “I… I’m not really sure what to say.”

  Torres laughed and lifted her left hand. A wedding ring caught the light. “No worries. Happily married now. I’ve just always been curious about you.”

  The tension dissipated, and Jessie let out a breath of relief. A waitress appeared with plates of food and placed pancakes in front of Torres and a salad in front of Graham. “Sorry,” Graham said. “We didn’t know how long you would be, so we ordered without you. Do you want anything?”

  “Just coffee, please,” Jessie said to the waitress.

  The Chestnut Street Diner was a popular destination for cops because the owner always served members of the police force free of charge. Whatever income he lost in free eggs and Taylor Ham, he more than made up for with a seemingly endless streak of zero crime. Jessie was not the biggest fan of the cuisine, but she wasn’t really in a position to argue.

  When the waitress left their table, Torres ate a bite of pancake. “Emily said you’re looking for information on the Briscoe family?”

  “That’s right,” Jessie said. “Vicki Briscoe in particular. Has she or her family been the subject of any Organized Crime investigations recently?”

  “This has something to do with a murder case the DA’s Office is working on?” Torres said.

  “Any information you can give me would be helpful.” Jessie sensed, by the way Graham’s posture stiffened, that her friend didn’t appreciate her dodging the question. Torres didn’t seem to notice.

  “I can tell you that Vicki Briscoe is
bad news. You probably know that her father Ray is the head of a motorcycle gang called the Dark Hounds. They’re into all kinds of bad business. Drugs. Human trafficking. They operate out of a farm in Lancaster that Ray swindled from some Amish family years ago.”

  “Is Vicki involved in her father’s gang?” Jessie said.

  “I don’t think she’s an official member of the Dark Hounds Motorcycle Club, but she grew up in that environment, that culture. We’ve heard that she went to medical school to get out of the family business, but….” Torres trailed off.

  The waitress brought Jessie’s coffee. She took one sip, struggled not to make a face, and put it down. “But what?”

  “Word is she lost her medical license,” Torres said. “I don’t know the whole story. She broke some rules in the operating room. Violated the ethics of her profession.”

  “Do you know what she’s been up to since losing her license?”

  Torres ate some more of her pancakes, then wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Nothing has come up. We try to keep her father’s operation under surveillance, obviously, but there are limits. She’s been seen with her father a lot, but there’s nothing too unusual about that. We haven’t seen her do anything against the law. But it’s probably only a matter of time.”

  “Thanks again for meeting with me,” Jessie said. “This has been really helpful.”

  “Can you tell me how it relates to your murder case?”

  Jessie hesitated. “I really can’t talk about it yet. I’m sorry.”

  A look of annoyance flashed across Torres’s face. Jessie wasn’t surprised. Torres had shared information, and Jessie wasn’t reciprocating. That was the kind of thing that pissed detectives off, and as “the kind of woman who was Leary’s type,” Jessie had already started off the conversation on shaky footing. “Look, when I’m a little further along, I’ll fill you in.”

  “Does this have to do with the missing councilwoman in Lancaster? We suspect Ray Briscoe is behind her disappearance, but we haven’t found any evidence yet.”

  “Missing councilwoman?” Jessie said.