Proof (Caroline Auden Book 2)

by C. E. Tobisman

  And if they didn’t?

  Then she’d figure something else out. But for now, there was nothing else she could do.

  Exiting the side door of the bar into the alley, she paused and looked around for danger.

  She saw nothing amiss.

  She’d have to walk all the way back to the Millennium Biltmore, but that was fine. She needed to gather her thoughts.

  Somewhere deeper in the alley, Caroline heard the rustle of can collectors trawling the dumpsters. She identified the odor of discarded restaurant trash. She could tell rot from nourishment, she realized. The alley had become familiar in a way she’d never expected it to be.

  In fact, the dichotomy of downtown no longer struck her as strange. The elegance of the Millennium Biltmore was mere blocks from the gritty pool hall and stinking alley. The gentrifying apartments were adjacent to slums. Where once she’d embraced the hip parts and fled the edges, now she accepted both. She also accepted that while the Millennium Biltmore wasn’t far, the people there might be miserable, too. Joy or fear, hatred or love. Where each resided had little to do with location. The heart of the lotus was within, indeed.

  Unbidden, Caroline’s thoughts turned to her father.

  She’d never told him why she’d left her last job. She’d remained silent to protect herself. To protect those she loved. Knowledge could be dangerous, she’d told herself. But the fortress of silence she’d constructed to protect herself and those she loved had become a prison.

  No wonder Lily had assumed the worst about her.

  Caroline was so preoccupied that she didn’t notice the shadow approaching.

  Her chest froze as a man stepped toward her.

  Blond and tall, he exuded the same menace that Caroline had felt from a distance when she’d seen him climbing off his motorcycle outside her apartment. But this time, there was no fire escape. There was nowhere to run.

  Caroline’s heart slammed in her throat. Her hands went numb with terror. One careless moment of not making sure she had a way out, and now she was trapped.

  “Tell me where she is,” the hit man said, his pale eyes piercing Caroline’s soul.

  “Who?” Caroline asked, though she knew the hit man’s other target.

  “Federica Muller,” said the man.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Caroline said. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  She took a small step backward, trying put distance between herself and the hit man.

  “Nice try,” the hit man said, “but I’ve been following you for hours.”

  Glancing sideways, Caroline scanned the alleyway for something heavy. Or sharp.

  She saw nothing.

  “Your friend screamed when she fell down that cliff,” the hit man continued with a small smile. “I could see her mouth moving even though I couldn’t hear the sound.”

  Caroline’s chest surged at the sadistic reminder of what he’d done to Amy and Hector. But she stayed silent. She couldn’t afford any distractions. Her survival depended on the hit man making some error. Some miscalculation.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Caroline said, still backing up, step by step.

  The mouth of the alley was twenty-five yards behind her.

  As if to stop her progress, the hit man reached into his pocket.

  “I need Federica Muller,” he said, withdrawing a long-muzzled gun.

  A silencer, Caroline identified the three-inch tube screwed onto the end of it. She’d seen them in movies. She’d never expected to see one in real life, especially aimed at her head.

  “I want to know where Federica is,” the hit man continued. “And I want you to tell me. Right now.”

  “I don’t know where she is,” Caroline said, giving up on subterfuge. Her fingers tingled with adrenaline.

  The hit man gave another smile, and Caroline realized he was enjoying the power he held over her. Her terror was his pleasure.

  Controlling her breathing, Caroline forced her features into equanimity. She would not let him see her fear, if she could possibly help it.

  “If you don’t want to tell me where Federica is, then you give me no reason to let you live,” the tall blond man said.

  Caroline knew it was true. Her only bargaining chip was Federica, and there was no way she’d play it. Judging by the threatening step the man took toward her, he knew that, too.

  “How do I know you’ll let me live if I tell you where Federica is,” Caroline said, just trying to keep him talking. She squelched the urge to turn and run. He’d shoot her. He wouldn’t miss. Her options were rapidly closing, but running was suicide for sure.

  “You don’t,” said the hit man. “But you’ll negotiate some sort of deal that’ll give you hope, and that might be worth taking the chance. Who knows, maybe you’ll even get away. You’re pretty clever, in my experience.” A flicker of a smile crossed his face.

  Reflexively, Caroline’s mind grasped at the hope he’d offered. Perhaps she could trick him into leaving her unattended long enough to flee. Perhaps she could offer to get Federica but then vanish.

  But then she stopped. She’d manipulated enough people to know when she was being manipulated. There was no way the hit man would let her out of his presence. There was no way he’d let her live even if she was willing to tell him where Federica was. And she would never give up someone else’s life for the glimmer of hope of saving her own.

  Exhaling, she steeled herself, ready to face whatever fate lay at the end of the muzzle.

  Across from her, the hit man’s smile faded.

  “You’ve made your choice,” he said rather than asked.

  Before Caroline could answer, a second shadow detached itself from the city-dark alley.

  It rose up behind the hit man, bulky and solid, and lunged forward to grasp him.

  Surprised, the hit man arched his back, struggling against the thick forearm that held him fast around the neck. With a grunt, he tried to swivel the gun to challenge this new threat, but the newcomer’s mass and strength prevented it.

  A glint of metal reflected the moonlight.

  A knife, Caroline identified the object in the shadow’s hand, just before it flashed down hard, slipping across the hit man’s neck, slicing hard and deep.

  With a gurgling scream, the blond man crumpled to the ground with a look of utter shock frozen on his face.

  The dark figure crouched and tilted his head to one side just above the prone shape, as if confirming the absence of any life.

  Then he sat back on his heels.

  The light from a neighboring building hit his face.

  Jake.

  Caroline remained frozen as she watched him wipe the knife on the corpse’s shirt.

  As the Ranger rose back up to standing, he met her eyes.

  “I had your back,” he said simply.

  As if by silent consensus, they left the dead man where he’d fallen in the alley behind the pool hall. If there’d been a time when Caroline would’ve felt some trace of remorse, it was long past. This was the man who’d killed Hector. This was the man who’d hurt Amy. He could rot beside the decomposing fried chicken for all Caroline cared.

  But when they reached the main street, Jake stopped.

  “I need your phone,” he said.

  With a still-shaking hand, Caroline handed the burner phone to her friend.

  She watched in silence while he dialed a number and murmured into the receiver.

  When Jake returned the phone to Caroline, he shrugged.

  “Li’l Ray owes me one,” he said by way of explanation.

  All at once, Caroline recalled the man she’d seen at the soup kitchen. The one in the heavy denim jacket on a hot day. The one her uncle had described as a fixer.

  And she understood: Jake had arranged for the disposal of the corpse. Though her curiosity burned over how that would occur, she didn’t ask. She didn’t really want to know.

  Instead, she kept
pace with Jake as he turned in the direction of the Millennium Biltmore.

  When he spoke again, his voice was so soft she almost missed it.

  “Killing ain’t so hard when you know who the enemy is,” he said. “But I still don’t like it,” he added before continuing away from the spot.

  CHAPTER 29

  From her seat at the back of the gallery, Caroline eyed the front of the John Ferraro Council Chamber.

  A panel of people sat on a dais. At the center of the panel, a pale official with sagging jowls and bored eyes watched the audiovisual technician set up his equipment. Beside him, a cadre of younger men and women wearing suits prepared for a long evening. Some had opened laptops on the desks in front of them. Others thumbed through binders.

  The podium opposite the dais was empty, as was the long table in front of it where Simon and his staff would sit when they arrived in the vaulted space where the city conducted its most important public business—including presiding over the final stages of the approval process for a multimillion-dollar development project.

  Caroline took a breath to center herself. She wished she had her worry beads to distract her until the proceedings on the Bunker Hill project began. She knew her next oral presentation would be the most important she’d ever made. That it would not be in a court was ironic but irrelevant.

  Beside Caroline, Federica sat immobile, her eyes downcast.

  Meanwhile, Jake guarded the hallway outside the chamber. Though Caroline didn’t expect any interruptions or unexpected arrivals, knowing that Jake was out there helped her to focus on the task ahead. She’d spent hours at the pool hall hammering out each of the weapons she’d need to destroy Oasis. Now everything depended on how well she used them.

  With a click of the door, Simon entered the council chamber. He was trailed by Conrad Vizzi and another man in a well-tailored black suit. Gregory Parsons, Caroline identified the other man. The sleaze who handled the money for Oasis.

  The three men sat down at the long wooden table that occupied the center of the ocean of marble flooring between the dais and the podium.

  Moments later, they were joined by Francis Thibodeaux, the lawyer who’d defeated Caroline at the demurrer hearing. Behind him, he pulled the same rolling briefcase he’d brought with him to the demurrer hearing.

  “Gang’s all here,” Caroline murmured, sinking low in her seat so that Thibodeaux wouldn’t see her as he passed. She doubted that he’d recognize her any more than he would a fly he’d swatted, but she didn’t want to risk it.

  Once Thibodeaux had settled into his spot beside Simon, the jowled man at the center of the dais cleared his throat and leaned toward his microphone.

  “Let’s begin,” he said. His voice echoed around the vaulted space, the sound waves ricocheting off the jade-green arches and columns.

  The conversations in the room tapered off then ceased, leaving nothing but the occasional cough or shuffle of papers. And an air of anticipation.

  “We’re here on what’s come to be known as the Bunker Hill Project. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Martin Barnes, the president of the city council. I’d like to welcome the rest of your city council, as well as the heads of the city agencies involved in the project. Finally, I welcome a representative from the city attorney’s office, who is here to advise us on land use matters.” President Barnes turned to an African American man seated at the far end of the lower dais. “Hello, Mr. Deputy City Attorney, Preston Jackson.”

  “Hello, Mr. President Barnes,” the deputy said, returning the greeting with a nod.

  The president squinted into the lights that a local news station had positioned in front of the dais to better record the proceedings.

  “I can see we have a nice turnout from the public. Welcome, everyone. There are many formalities we must comply with in these proceedings. Please bear with me.”

  He cleared his throat again and lifted a page.

  “Notice is hereby given that, pursuant to requirements of the California Environmental Quality Act, the Los Angeles Redevelopment Agency has prepared a final environmental impact report for the proposed Bunker Hill Project. The purpose of this hearing is to consider certification of the EIR and approval of a mitigation plan. To summarize: this project contemplates the city granting Greenleaf Development a ground lease of land on Bunker Hill for a term of ninety-nine years. In exchange, the city will receive the many substantial benefits described in the public filing, a copy of which can be found on our website.”

  The president let the page tip back down onto the table and made eye contact with the packed gallery of attendees.

  “After we hear from Mr. Reed and Gregory Parsons on behalf of Greenleaf, we will hear from Oasis Care’s acting director, Conrad Vizzi. We will then take comments from the public. This project involves a significant outlay of public resources, and the mayor has made clear that it is important for the public to have its say.” The small sigh that escaped the president’s mouth let Caroline know he didn’t entirely agree with the charade of letting the public have its say. Perhaps that’s why the agenda for the public comment portion of the hearing was so short.

  During the president’s introductory remarks, Caroline had kept her attention focused on Simon. He looked relaxed, she decided. If she was right, he’d say very little. He’d probably already paid off, provided favors to, or acquired dirt on every person on the city council. Aside from answering a few scripted questions from the council members and addressing a handful of random inquiries from the few members of the public on the agenda, he’d have an easy night.

  “We will begin with Mr. Reed and his team,” the president said, nodding up toward the large screens. “They will take us through the plans, the environmental impacts, and the proposed mitigations. They’ll also describe the financing structure, including the stop-loss provisions protecting the city and the overall public benefits.”

  Simon stood up. In person, he was taller than Caroline had imagined him. Wearing a well-cut suit that was neither too nice nor too shabby, he eyed the council with warmth.

  “I want to thank everyone here for all of their time and attention,” he began. “This is going to be a terrific project. One of the best. I build huge, tremendous projects and this will be the most tremendous yet.” He threw in a smile for the cameras at the back of the room.

  Then with a nod to the audiovisual technician, Simon began his formal presentation.

  “When I started Greenleaf Development over a decade ago, I did it to honor my father.”

  The screen ignited with an image of Duncan Reed.

  “My father has always been an old-fashioned kind of guy. My mom died when I was a kid, so it fell on my dad to teach my sister and me what mattered. He taught us that hard work and deep faith would reveal the path to a righteous life.”

  Knowing what she now knew about the developer, Caroline had to fight to suppress a scoff of disgust.

  Simon cued the next slide. The black-and-white image showed a younger Duncan Reed working side by side with a nun, helping the homeless on Skid Row.

  “My dad started Oasis when I was eight. Oasis was small back then—just some rooms in a church. I grew up there, really, hanging out and talking to the people we helped. When I was young, I used to think I was one of the founders—I really believed I’d been the one to get Oasis off the ground with my sorting of paper clips and whatnot. Now, with the wisdom of age, I know that Oasis was the embodiment of my father’s values. He conceived of it, launched it, and guided it for decades. I know it sounds corny, but my dad’s my hero.”

  Simon paused to let the poignant sentiment hang in the chamber for a while.

  Caroline shook her head. She had to give the man credit—he had a natural instinct for showmanship. In the silent eddy of Simon’s presentation, she knew everyone on the city council was reminiscing about watching Duncan Reed’s TV show and hearing its lessons on kindness and decency. The effect was warming, even for her, she privately concede
d.

  Simon chuckled. “While I wasn’t responsible for launching Oasis, I do know for a fact that I helped bring it into the twenty-first century. This isn’t bragging. My dad was full of good intentions, but he had no management systems, and the files were a mess. You should’ve seen it—everything was written down on these little note cards back then. It was like the card catalogs that people used in old libraries.”

  For comic relief, Simon brought up a slide showing an archetypical librarian with glasses perched on the end of her nose, wagging a finger at a child holding a teetering pile of books.

  The image had the desired effect. A ripple of laughter flowed through the crowd.

  Simon joined it, laughing along with the crowd and smiling the same disarming grin that Duncan Reed had used to charm television audiences for forty years.

  “When I graduated college, I had a bunch of ideas for redeveloping the inner city. But my idealism ran into some snags. I’d hoped that my dad would provide me with some seed money. But he didn’t give me a dime. My dad always said that a man has to do things for himself. That belief extended to his kids. Guess I should’ve known better after being raised by the guy.”

  Simon gave a self-deprecating shrug. The effect was endearing.

  “I’ll be honest. It wasn’t easy to start Greenleaf Development. It took me almost two years of going door to door before I found enough investors to finance my first project. But it went all right, and I’m happy to say I’ve never had to ask the old man for money.”

  When Simon smiled again, half of the city council and most of the people in the gallery smiled with him. But if the joke lightened the mood for the spectators, it had the opposite effect on Caroline. Simon’s affability and charisma were hurdles she’d have to overcome. Convincing this audience that this man they’d supported on numerous projects was a villain was going to be a very tough challenge.

  As the chuckles died down, Simon’s face grew serious again. “Over the last decade, Greenleaf has benefited from the tradesmen that Oasis has trained, and Oasis has benefited from Greenleaf giving its trainees a chance to build their résumés and gain valuable experience. Along the way, I’ve gotten to be a part of meaningful partnerships among the private sector, charity, and government. But best of all, I have lived by my father’s ideals of community, faith, and service.”