“It’s a bit much to all be a coincidence. Listen, my dad’s a big-firm lawyer; I know a thing or two about how they operate. You must be up for partner soon, right? You’re not at a point yet where you make the calls; you’ve still got to follow orders. Somebody comes to you, says Roth wants this done, you might think it’s weird, but you don’t really have a choice but to do it. Maybe you didn’t piece it together. Maybe you didn’t ask questions that you didn’t want the answers to. But now you’re in the middle of it, and I’m your way out.”
Duncan’s smile grew broader, more genuine. “Wow,” he said. “It must be really exciting to live in your version of the world. Conspiracies, dirty tricks. I’m sorry to say that I’m not in the middle of anything. When I took on Rafael’s case it was just a straightforward eviction, nothing else. His family was being evicted by the New York Housing Authority, not by Simon Roth. Look, I understand you’ve got it in for Roth; he sued you, and I get that you might not like me after I deposed you, but I haven’t done anything wrong, or unethical, or that I’d be ashamed to read about in the newspaper, provided it was accurately told.”
Candace didn’t know what to make of it. She didn’t get the feeling Duncan was lying. But that wasn’t enough to convince her that she was wrong. “Something’s not right,” Candace insisted. “Maybe you’re not part of it, but I know something’s wrong with these evictions.”
“If what you’re saying about evictions is true, I want to know about it. It might help my client.”
“What if Roth’s behind it?”
Duncan didn’t have an answer for that, and made no effort to act like he did. “I don’t even know that there’s actually an ‘it’ for Roth to be behind. I just have what you’re telling me.”
“Why should I trust you with anything I know?” Candace asked.
“Why should I trust you with anything I know?” Duncan retorted.
“I’m not connected with Simon Roth.”
“You’re one of his enemies. That can be a pretty close connection.”
“My only goal here is to find out the truth.”
“Yeah, ’cause that’s all that reporters are ever worried about. You’re just the world’s referees, right? If we’re going to talk to each other, let’s do better than that.”
“Are we?” Candace said.
“Are we what?”
“Going to talk to each other?”
“I don’t know,” Duncan said. “I’ve tried to convince you that I’m not the Antichrist. And I’m interested in the evictions at Jacob Riis.”
“You have to promise me something.”
“I don’t think I do, but what is it you want me to promise you?”
“That if what I tell you can help Rafael Nazario, you’ll use it. No matter who it hurts.”
Duncan paused, clearly not liking the idea of making a promise of any kind, lawyers being creatures of contingencies. “I promise that if you tell me something that can help Rafael, I’ll make sure it does.”
Candace thought about it. “How do I know you’re not going to take everything I tell you right back to Roth and let him know what I’ve got?”
Duncan smiled, leaning back in his seat. “If you’re asking me why we should trust each other, I can’t really think of much in the way of a reason.”
“So if the eviction thing helps you, what do I get back?”
“I’ll give you the inside track on the Nazario case. Anything happens that’s newsworthy, I’ll give it to you.”
Candace figured this really could be worth something—not necessarily to her, but to the paper. She could pass it off to Costello, maybe get him off her back. “Like what?”
“Okay, how about this? You might have read, say in your newspaper, that the cops found gunshot residue on Nazario’s hand?”
“Rings a bell.”
“It wasn’t because he’d fired a gun. The particles were almost certainly picked up while he was sitting in the back of the police car. Your paper can be the first to print it.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough for a story, but I guess it’s a start.”
“Think of it as a peace offering then, or a sign of good faith.”
Candace considered it for a moment, then nodded. “On the evictions, I’m not going to lay it out for you, in terms of telling you who specifically I’ve talked to or anything. You’ll have to read that in the paper. But I can tell you that there’re enough people telling the same story that there must be something to it. I think the security guards are targeting teenagers on minor drug charges, then kicking out their families. Just like they’re doing to your client.”
“And they’re doing this why?” Duncan asked.
“If I answered that question honestly, you’d probably add it as a count in Roth’s libel suit against me,” Candace said. “So I’m afraid you’re going to have to draw your own conclusions.”
“You think Fowler and Driscoll, specifically, were planting drugs on teenagers in order to evict families from Jacob Riis?”
“Look, if you don’t know how to add one plus one by now, I’m not here to teach you,” Candace said.
“So Rafael’s story about that can be backed up?”
“Do you want me to just wait until you catch up, then we can talk?”
“I’m stating the obvious,” Duncan conceded.
“You just did it again.”
Duncan smiled at her despite himself. “The DA wouldn’t see this as exculpatory necessarily. I bet they’ll say it just gives Rafael more of a motive if Fowler had set him up.”
“But what about Driscoll? This would suggest he wasn’t exactly the impartial observer he presented himself as. Presumably he’s lied to the police about something here.”
She had a point, Duncan thought. Showing Driscoll was involved with planting drugs could be very useful. “If he’s had some practice framing people, that would certainly call his ID into question,” he said.
“That leads down an interesting road, now, doesn’t it?”
“Driscoll and Fowler wouldn’t be throwing people out of Jacob Riis just for their own amusement,” Duncan said carefully.
“So who stands to benefit from having fewer poor people to fit back into the new and improved Jacob Riis? Who had the ability to give Driscoll and Fowler marching orders to do this?”
Duncan wasn’t going to say it; there wasn’t even a chance of that. Studying Candace, he saw she wasn’t going to either. It didn’t matter whether it was spoken, anyway. Clearly they both knew there was only one person who met the criteria Candace had suggested.
Simon Roth.
28
THE ALPHABET City Community Coalition operated out of a tiny storefront on the west side of Avenue D, across the street from Jacob Riis. There were a half dozen desks jammed haphazardly around the main front room, only two of which were occupied when Candace arrived for her meeting with Keisha Dewberry, the organization’s executive director. One of the two people in the front was talking on the phone; the other was playing online Scrabble on Facebook.
Candace had expected the head of an activist nonprofit that was going up against the city and a billionaire developer to be falling over herself to talk to a reporter. Instead it’d taken three days for Dewberry to return her call. It might mean nothing—for all she knew Dewberry had been out of town—but it made Candace wonder.
Dewberry was in her mid-forties, with short dreadlocks, dressed in an African print shirt. She had the sole private office, in what looked to be a converted storage space. It was cramped, with barely enough room for the desk and chair.
“So you’re doing some kind of thing on the switch over to mixed-income at Riis?” Dewberry asked.
Candace nodded. “How did you come to be involved in the issue?”
“I’ve been active in public housing for a long time,” Dewberry said. “I’d been at ACORN for about a decade before taking this position. What’s your angle here?”
“I don’t know that I have one
,” Candace said. “I’ve done prior reporting on the developer, Roth Properties, particularly the accident at the Aurora Tower last year. What’s your organization’s view on the transition to mixed-income?”
“We’re not actually categorically opposed to it. For one thing, once you have middle-class tenants in these buildings, they’re not going to stand for the crap that goes on in this city’s public housing these days. Elevators that don’t work, graffiti in the hallways, vermin. Not to mention that the buildings themselves are falling apart. So if transitioning to mixed-income means better conditions for everyone, great. The concern, of course, is how you make the change without completely disrupting the lives of existing residents. Is this just a smoke screen to displace them, move them out to less desirable neighborhoods?”
Candace thought that a good question. “Is it?”
“That’s certainly something we’re keeping an eye on,” Dewberry said. “It’s in the developer’s interest to get as much market-rate housing into the new buildings as possible. Our priority is protecting the existing tenants.”
“Do you oppose having private companies involved?”
“Trying to stop the current plan isn’t really an option at this point—the construction’s already under way. So our focus is on doing what we can to ensure that the process is as fair as possible to the current tenants.”
“Inevitably there will be some displacement of existing residents, won’t there?”
“The city claims not, but common sense says yes. We’ll fight it every step.”
“What about all the drug evictions? Are you involved in fighting those?”
Candace was surprised to see confusion cross Dewberry’s face. “Drug use is an unfortunate fact of life in public housing,” Dewberry said, falling into rehearsed patter. “That’s what happens when you take away opportunity, take away hope.”
“I’m sure there is drug use at Riis,” Candace replied. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. Have you heard accusations from people about the private security companies planting drugs on kids as a way to evict their families?”
“It certainly sounds like something we should look into,” Dewberry replied after a moment. “We don’t have lawyers on staff, so we don’t have direct involvement with any legal issues involving residents.”
This didn’t add up to Candace. The eviction issue would be gold for an organization like the ACCC, and if they had their ear to the ground in the project they should’ve at least heard rumors about it. There was something so fly-by-night about the whole operation that Candace wondered if it was actually doing anything at all.
“You haven’t heard about the private security guards causing problems?” Candace asked.
“I’ll definitely ask around,” Dewberry said. Rather than trying to make her case through Candace, Dewberry was clearly counting the seconds until the interview was over. “Glad you brought it to my attention.”
Candace didn’t want to be giving Dewberry information; it was supposed to be the other way around. “I assume you’re familiar with the recent shooting of the security guard?”
“A tragic situation,” Dewberry said blandly.
“I understand that the young man charged with the shooting is accusing the guards of previously planting drugs on him. Has your organization had any dealings with the Nazarios?”
“Not that I know of.”
Candace, growing frustrated, decided there was no reason to keep things friendly. “I noticed that one of your directors was named Antonio Serran. He wouldn’t happen to be related to Karla Serran, the city councilwoman, would he?”
Dewberry frowned, fixing Candace with a suspicious look. “Why does it matter if Antonio is related to a councilwoman?”
“I’m not saying it does. But it looked from your last year’s tax filing like most of your funding came from the city, specifically from the Housing Authority.”
Dewberry, already tense, turned actively hostile. “How did you get our tax forms?” she demanded.
Candace was amazed how frequently people failed to realize what you could dig out on the Internet these days. “Your filings as a registered nonprofit are available on the state AG’s Web site,” she said.
“And why were you looking at them?”
Candace offered a smile, wanting to defuse at least a little of the tension. The small room was a claustrophobic setting for the conversation they were having. “Following the money is pretty much Journalism 101.”
Dewberry was clearly not appeased. “Most nonprofits get significant funding from the government,” she said tartly.
“Of course. But I was curious about how your funding came from the Housing Authority, given that they’re the city agency running the changes to Riis. So I spoke to someone there, who explained to me that the money isn’t really coming from the Authority, that it’s actually city council discretionary spending, which then passes through the most relevant agency when it’s allocated out. So my understanding is that Karla Serran is your actual rabbi, in terms of funding.”
Dewberry looked about ready to throw Candace out of her office. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn’t say there was,” Candace said calmly. “Are you denying that Councilwoman Serran is who directed the money your way?”
“It sounded like you were suggesting something improper, in terms of Antonio and his sister.”
Progress, Candace thought. Baby steps, but progress. “So they are brother and sister?”
“Is that what you’re really here about? Trying to suggest there’s something wrong about our funding?”
“Not at all,” Candace protested, but she could tell that Dewberry had already shut down.
“I’m afraid that’s all the time I have, Ms. Snow,” Dewberry said.
CANDACE SPENT the subway ride back to the newsroom trying to figure out how she could nail this down. She’d been suspicious of the funding even before her meeting with Dewberry—ever since she’d noticed Antonio Serran on the organization’s staff. But Dewberry’s defensive response—coupled with her lack of even basic knowledge of what was going on at Riis, and the bare-bones nature of the ACCC’s office—made Candace wonder about the organization’s legitimacy.
Back in the newsroom, Candace opened the folder of material she’d assembled on the ACCC. She always went back and reviewed everything in her files after an interview; often connections appeared that had been missed the first time.
Nothing leaped out at a glance. But Candace felt sure there was something she wasn’t seeing, something that Dewberry was worried about.
She pulled up a list of Serran’s political contributors, information that was available online for all city politicians. What she’d said to Dewberry about following the money was true; it was something she always looked at, especially when dealing with politics. She skimmed the list, not looking for anything in particular.
The first thing that caught her eye was a two-thousand-dollar donation from Antonio Serran. Most of Serran’s donors gave a good deal less than that, so his contribution stood out. Of course, there was nothing suspicious about a family member giving money to a politician.
But there was something about the donation that nagged at her. She turned back to the ACCC’s tax form, checking the date on which the Housing Authority’s money had been dispersed to the agency. The brother’s donation had been made the following week.
And not just his: there were a whole cluster of donations made that week, probably close to a hundred thousand dollars’ worth, far more money than Karla Serran had received in the surrounding weeks. Keisha Dewberry had given a maximum donation the day after Antonio Serran.
Candace made a list of everyone who had given Karla Serran money that month, planning to dig into each one of them, see if she found a connection to the ACCC. Was this how Simon Roth had arranged to buy the councilwoman’s support? Candace had that feeling she got maybe once or twice a year, a tightness in her chest that made it hard to bre
athe. It was the feeling of being on the verge of breaking open a big story.
29
THANKS FOR seeing me, Mr. Loomis,” Duncan said.
From across his desk Darryl Loomis fixed Duncan with a level gaze. After a moment he offered a slight shrug. “You’ve got friends in high places,” he said.
Duncan smiled in response, though doing so didn’t cause Darryl’s expression to change. “We’ve got friends in common, yes,” Duncan said. “And in that spirit, let me tell you exactly why I’m here.”
Darryl gestured for Duncan to continue. The two of them were in Loomis’s corner office eighteen stories up in an Avenue of the Americas skyscraper just a few blocks from Duncan’s firm. It was filled with plaques and photos of its occupant with a wide range of boldfaced names, from the mayor and the chief of police to business moguls and hip-hop stars. Duncan thought it looked more like the office of the head of a record label than the mental image he had of a private investigator’s workplace.
But nothing about Darryl was in keeping with the stereotype of a down-at-the-heels private eye, and as Duncan understood it, actual detective work was only a small part of what the company did. Darryl employed over one hundred people, many of them ex-cops. They did a mix of corporate investigations, security work for clubs, celebrities, and VIPs, as well as more prosaic security work, such as on construction sites.
“As I’m sure you understand, part of my firm’s defending Rafael Nazario involves looking into the victim, Mr. Fowler, and the witness, Mr. Driscoll, both of whom work for you. Were the two of them friends?”
“They were friendly enough, far as I know.”
“Was Fowler having any problems with anybody that you know of?”
“He had some back-and-forth with his ex, but just the usual nonsense.”
“Meaning what?”
Darryl shrugged. “He was divorced with kids. Weekend visitations, vacations out of state, alimony—shit never ends.”
Justin Peacock Page 20