All Through the Night

by Davis Bunn

  “Easton is there?”

  “I just said that. What is the matter, son?”

  He tasted every different response, then finally turned away from the boy and said softly, “I’m with my ex-wife and her family.”

  The two adults glanced over, then away.

  Victoria said, “Your ex-wife.”

  “Yes.”

  He expected his father’s style of criticism. As in, stern disapproval over having let the faithful side down. Instead, he got a soft, “Life is so very complicated sometimes.”

  It felt so good to smile. “You can say that again.”

  “How are things, son?”

  He touched the bandage on his forehead and murmured, “Difficult, but better than I deserve.”

  “May I have a word with her?”

  He did not hesitate. The fact that he did not understand changed nothing, given who did the asking. “Patricia.”

  “Yes?”

  “A friend would like to speak with you.”

  She looked at her husband, then doubtfully accepted the phone and stared at him as she said, “Hello?”

  She listened a moment, then said, “We are. Yes.”

  Whatever she heard caused her to turn away from both men. She traced one finger around the corner of her son’s finger painting attached to the refrigerator door. She did not speak until she finally said, “All right.”

  Patricia handed back the phone, her expression directed inward.

  Victoria said, “We’re all praying for you, son. Here’s Easton.”

  Wayne rose from his stool and moved stiffly to the rear doors. When the man came on, Wayne said, “They’ve got them. Jerry, Trace Neally, Julio, Tatyana.” The last name cost him dearly.

  “They are messengering over the documents. I’m to sell my company for shares in Cloister.”

  “A wholly owned subsidiary of Triton,” Wayne said. “Nothing more than a brass plaque on a wall outside a Cayman bank.”

  Easton gave it a minute, then, “I want to come help you. I can’t just sit here and wait for them to steal my entire life’s work.”

  Wayne knew the man was ready for any argument. Instead, he said, “Ask Victoria what she thinks.”

  Another pause, then, “You want me to ask this lady’s permission.”

  “If she says it’s okay, call me back here.” He heard the front bell. “I’ve got to go. The police are here.”

  Wayne held back, and Patricia understood. “Go see to them, Robert.”

  “They’re here about him.”

  “Please.”

  The doctor didn’t like leaving Wayne alone with his wife and son. But he did as Patricia asked.

  Wayne handed back the phone and said, “I’m the one who has to apologize.”

  Patricia looked at him. He could understand her shocked expression all too well. He never apologized. It was one of his defining traits. The tough guy whose life depended upon getting it right the first time, every time. Or so his excuse had always gone.

  Not anymore.

  “Everything you said, everything you ever accused me of. It was all at least partly true. I just want to say I’m sorry. I wish I could have been a better—”

  “Mr. Grusza?”

  Wayne recognized the detective’s voice. He finished, “I’m sorry I wasn’t the man you deserved.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Detective Mehan arrived with an officer from their white-collar division, a young woman with an old face named Karen Watanabe. The two officers listened in silence as Robert described how he had discovered Wayne, bound and bleeding, then as Wayne described what had happened at the Neally residence.

  The woman said, “You’re suggesting they’ve taken these actions to force Easton Grey to sell his company.”

  “They’ve made no other demands,” Wayne replied.

  Mehan said, “On the surface the whole deal is beginning to look like we should be involved.”

  But the woman was not convinced. “Why doesn’t Triton just up their bid?”

  “Up to now,” Wayne pointed out, “Grey’s firm was buying Teledyne.”

  “Teledyne is part of Triton?”

  “Not that I can determine. They’re in a couple of partnerships together.”

  Watanabe looked at Mehan. “Can we get back to the office? I’ve got a ton of stuff on my plate.”

  “What about the kidnappings?”

  “Sir, excuse me,” Karen Watanabe said. “What was your name again?”

  “Wayne Grusza.”

  “Right. For all I know, you folks have a scam of your own going here.”

  The homicide detective protested, “Come on, Karen.”

  “No, Mehan. They’ve got nothing to suggest this was more than a response they cooked up to a hostile takeover.”

  “I’ve checked him out. Grusza was full-on Special Ops. Afghanistan, medals, the works. You heard how he arrived here.”

  “That’s a sign that a criminal act has taken place. Sure. But nothing to tie it to what he’s suggesting.”

  “What about the dead guy next door?”

  “You were there the same as me. We got nothing out of that. Place was totally clean.”

  Wayne asked, “What about the money inside his safe?”

  Mehan looked at Wayne. Then the cop actually smiled. “There’s a safe?”

  Wayne’s conversation with Easton Grey caused them to delay leaving the house. Victoria did not think Easton should risk travel. In a moment of inspiration, Wayne asked for someone else to come represent the company. Wayne used the time to eat his first meal since the slice of pizza, which by then felt like a dozen years ago. Patricia reheated a black bean soup, then prepared more for the two detectives. Wayne tried to thank the homicide detective for taking his side, but the cop shrugged it away as no big deal.

  When they left the house an hour later, the sky was a raucous assortment of blues and copper. The earth sought to expunge its load of heat bulked up during the long summer day. The air stayed humid, a cloying mixture of blossoms and bay water. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm remained well beyond the horizon.

  Watanabe was still unconvinced as they left the house. “I still haven’t heard back from the lieutenant as to what our role should be here.”

  “We’re rolling, Karen. You want to hang in the car, be my guest.”

  “We got no warrant, Mehan.”

  “This is still a crime scene, remember?”

  She looked at Wayne. “How did you know about the safe anyway?”

  Wayne caught Mehan’s warning glance and replied, “Long story.”

  She swatted at the bugs flitting around her face. “That’s your answer?”

  Mehan said, “Works for me.”

  Wayne did not mind the argument or the pace. He walked the street and reveled in the night. Even the humid seaweedladen air tasted sweet. Something had definitely altered his internal universe. He had sat with Patricia and they had talked. More than that. She had voiced regrets and fed him. He had apologized. Such simple acts when viewed from the side of it all done and gone. A few short moments an eternity in the making.

  Mehan’s phone rang. He pulled it from the belt, listened, then said to Wayne, “A company rep is at the front gate.”

  The female cop said, “You’re inviting more unauthorized personnel into a crime scene?”

  Mehan crossed the lawn and climbed the front steps. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Karen, we got a murder that’s growing colder by the minute and no suspects.”

  Mehan was peeling back the crime scene tape when headlights pulled into the drive. Wayne said, “I’ll get him.”

  The engine died. A door slammed. The all-too familiar voice of Jim Berkind barked, “Of all the people in the world, why do you have to bother me?”

  FORTY

  The interior of Zachary Dorsett’s home was in total disarray. Furniture was ripped open, tables overturned, paintings torn apart and their frames shattered. Cushion foam littered t
he floor. Watanabe pointed at the fingerprint powder staining the walls and doorframes. “Think we’d find a match here, Grusza?”

  Jim Berkind, the bullish executive, groused his way inside. “What is this, your twisted idea of payback? So I got a little aggressive in the conference room that day. Sometimes aggressive is the only way to get the job done.”

  “Through here,” Wayne said.

  “I don’t appreciate this. Being dragged away from vital work and ordered to drive halfway across the state.”

  The kitchen floor was littered with smashed plates and the debris from upended drawers. “Triton has put in a bid to take over Grey.”

  Berkind froze in midcomplaint. “That’s insane.”

  “Actually, the offer came from Cloister. Which is basically the same thing.” Wayne watched the blood gradually drain from Berkind’s features. “Easton Grey didn’t tell you anything?”

  “I’ve spoken to Mr. Grey maybe three times in my life. Tonight he phoned and ordered me out here.” Berkind’s voice had gone reedy. “I said I wouldn’t do it. He offered to send up security to help clear out my desk. He said you’d asked for me.”

  “That’s right.”

  Berkind took a slow look around the wrecked room. “What’s going on here?”

  “Tatyana’s been kidnapped. And Trace Neally’s entire family.”

  Watanabe snorted and kicked a wall. But she was listening. Wayne could tell.

  “Wait. You’re saying they’re gone?”

  “Tatyana and Trace were snatched this afternoon. And the big former cop you met at the airport.”

  A hint of color returned to his features. “I didn’t meet him. He attacked me.”

  “Focus, Jim. They’re gone.”

  Watanabe shook her head. Snorted quietly. But kept listening.

  Berkind said, “Grey’s been hit with a takeover bid?”

  Wayne laid it out for him. The evidence he’d uncovered, the linked companies, the scam that had brought them there. It wasn’t his best job, but with everything piling in, he had every reason to get the pieces a little jumbled.

  Berkind asked, “Why isn’t Easton here himself?”

  Because a frail old woman said God told her the CEO should stay with his family. Wayne said, “Call him. He’ll confirm everything I’ve told you.”

  Berkind wore his thinning dark hair plastered carefully across his bald spot. He mashed it flat with a hand that trembled badly. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would Triton move on us?”

  Wayne saw how Mehan was watching Berkind. Giving him a cop’s look. One that sparked Wayne at gut level. “What’s the matter, Jim?”

  “Matter? This changes everything.”

  “You were getting a payoff for making this work,” Wayne realized. “Who was paying you?”

  Jim turned and faced a cabinet with the doors ripped off.

  “Come over here and sit down, Jim.” The man had gone so limp Wayne could shift him with two fingers. “The payee. Is it the same guy who ordered you to confront me in the conference room?” When Berkind remained silent, Wayne pressed, “Tell me who that was, Jim.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  Wayne heard Mehan start for the guy and raised his hand. Wait. “I don’t need to know him. Was it a board member?”

  Berkind’s swallow was audible. “Not Grey’s board.”

  “It was one of Cloister’s board, wasn’t it, Jim.”

  “How did you …”

  “I told you. Cloister is owned by Triton. They want the Grey Corporation so bad it’s got our friends kidnapped and Easton’s home bugged.”

  “Oh. So he’s Easton to you now.”

  This time it was Watanabe who said, “Focus, Mr. Berkind.”

  “They’re working a scam,” Wayne said. “The guy who lived here is part of it too. Or he was. He’s dead.”

  The sheen of moisture had spread from Berkind’s forehead to cover his face and stain his shirt collar. “What?”

  “He was popped.” This from Mehan. “Two to the heart when he opened his front door. A professional hit.”

  Berkind gestured weakly at the surrounding destruction. “This is tied to Triton?”

  “Maybe.” Wayne took the executive’s arm. “Let’s go see.”

  FORTY-ONE

  The safe still contained two shelves of cash. The cops got seriously excited about that. Watanabe phoned for a forensics team and started photographing and labeling the find. Wayne didn’t care. He searched everywhere and came up dry. The money didn’t help him, except that the cops were behind him now. But the cops didn’t have any more answers than he did.

  Jim remained blanked out, staring only at the inner desolation. He gave no resistance as Wayne pulled him back into the living room. “Do you have your computer with you?”

  Berkind wiped his face. “I’m seriously in debt.”

  “Jim, this is not about you anymore.” When the guy only glazed over more, Wayne said, “Look. You help me, I’ll talk with Easton. He can try and arrange something.”

  A glimmer of something came back into his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

  “Great. I need a computer with a hookup to the Grey mainframe.”

  The thread of hope had Berkind’s entire body nodding. “It’s in the car.”

  Darkness webbed the living room windows. Berkind was both there and not there. He responded to Wayne’s questions in a robotic drone. Otherwise he stared into his own private abyss. Mehan was long gone, called to another crime scene. Watanabe had come and gone from the room several times. She was back now and Wayne knew she wanted to ask what he’d found. But he was glad she kept quiet. Even staying silent like she did, her presence severely spooked Berkind.

  Berkind had asked Wayne, “Am I going to jail?”

  Pressure stabbed behind his eyeballs, making it difficult to keep hold of his calm. “I’ve already told you. This isn’t about you anymore. This is about clearing up a mess you helped cause. This is about saving innocent lives.”

  Berkind mashed the strands hiding his bald spot. As though the scalp marked a point where his turmoil threatened to erupt. “They called it a consulting fee.”

  “Your contact with Cloister.” They had been all through this before. But the computer was giving him nothing.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ever meet with Eric Stroud?”

  “Who?”

  “Tatyana’s ex-husband.”

  The hand froze in midpat. “Kuchik was married?”

  Wayne eased the strain in his neck muscles. The mantel clock with the shattered face lay upended on the tiles. It read nine o’clock or a quarter to midnight, depending upon the angle. Wayne decided it was the perfect timepiece for this night. “Let’s go back to the data on your computer.”

  “I never worked with Kuchik before this deal came up.”

  “Fine. I need your help here, Jim.”

  Watanabe was a compact woman in her midthirties. Her hands were stubby, her motions quick and economical. She gave Wayne the impression of someone who put in serious gym time. She spoke to Wayne like Berkind was not there. Which was at least partly the case. “Can you give me the lowdown on this guy?”

  “Berkind is one of the execs responsible for the hotel division. How many hotels does Grey operate, Jim?”

  “Thirty-seven in nineteen states.”

  Someone called Watanabe’s name from inside the safe. She said to Wayne, “Which gives us nothing, right?”

  Wayne felt the pressure build, like Watanabe’s question was pushing him in a direction. One where he should be finding answers. He resisted the desire to stand up and add his own furious search to the room’s chaos. “Not that I can see.”

  She headed back toward the kitchen. “We’re almost done here. I’ll need to lock up.”

  Wayne watched her leave, then asked Berkind, “Can I use your phone?”

  He passed it over. “Are we finished?”

  “Soon.” Wayne punched in a numbe
r and moved to the rear of the room.

  Easton Grey answered. “This time of night, I figured it had to be you.”

  “I feel like it’s right here in front of me. But I can’t—”

  “Pull it together. Happens to me all the time.” He spoke in the quiet voice of being surrounded by sleepers. “Has Berkind been helpful?”

  Wayne glanced over. Berkind had once been a powerful man. Now he sprawled on the sofa, so slack if Wayne had torn off the man’s suit he might ooze into a puddle on the tiles. “Yes and no. He’s drowning in debt and has visions of doing hard time.”

  “I’m still trying to get used to the concept that one of my senior executives had anything to do with this.”

  Wayne turned back to the window. Florida houses were built to let in the light. But when the light went, the house became rimmed with night-stained mirrors. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “There’s nothing harder for a strong man to accept than helplessness.”

  His inky reflection revealed far more than his physical form. A man who had made a profession of needing no one. A man whose greatest pride was in handling life on solitary terms. Even when it cost him his marriage. Sharing his utter helplessness now with a man he had only days ago called a stranger. “My gut tells me it’s right here.”

  “Well, this time of night, the only thing I can suggest is for us to—”

  “Pray,” Wayne said. Filling in not just the word, but the bond between them. He took a long breath. “I want to say the words.”

  “Go for it.”

  There came that pause. A moment beyond time. Wayne did not let his head drop so much as remove his focus from the window and toward the unseen.

  Then a thought hit him square between the eyes. “Hold on.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did Berkind do before?”

  “You mean before his current position?” Grey thought a moment. “I should know. But I have forty-seven vice-presidents, and it’s well past midnight.”