by Nele Neuhaus
Alex curled up beneath her blanket and sobbed. Her life would never be the same again. The spirits that she had called upon herself would haunt her for her whole life. She saw no future; there was no one she could trust. Alex suddenly paused. Yes! There was someone who cared for her, someone who could possibly help her. She lay motionless in her sagging bed, the thin mattress’s springs cutting into her back, and she stared at the dirty ceiling that had turned yellow from the nicotine of thousands of cigarettes. She needed to call Nick. Right now.
“Nick, I can’t wait any longer,” Lloyd Connors said in an emphatic voice. “I know what it means if we make this affair public today, but what the hell am I supposed to do?”
The deputy US attorney was a shadow of his usual self.
“Jenkins gave me an ultimatum, damn it! Time’s running out!” He ran his hand across his exhausted face. He had come to see Nick at city hall to escape the tension in his own office for a while.
“Vitali will slip through our hands again,” Nick muttered in a dull voice, “just as he has so often before. I knew it.”
Connors sighed. In the past hours, he had thought about nothing else except how they could prove Vitali’s involvement in the bribery scandal. But it was almost impossible without Alex Sontheim. Even van Mieren’s video testimony was unlikely to be allowed as evidence in court if there weren’t any other witnesses confirming his statements. And Jenkins forbade him to look for exactly that. “Focus on solving the corruption case,” he had said.
Connors knew that Vitali’s clever lawyers would tear him apart if he charged him without ironclad evidence. This would probably mean the premature end of his career; the other side would bombard him with actions for libel and other damages until he gave up. If Alex remained missing, then Vitali had managed to save his neck once again.
“I’ve got only one chance to bring him before a court,” Connors said tiredly. “There’s the murder case from 1963, with that Stefano Barelli who van Mieren claims Vitali shot dead. There’s no statute of limitations for murder, and maybe we can find that witness van Mieren mentioned.”
Nick made a resigned gesture.
“I’ve only got eight hours left, Nick,” Connors said, leaning forward. “I’m supposed to step in front of the press and make everything public tomorrow morning.”
The mayor nodded. “I understand.”
“If we at least had a trace of Alex,” Connors said, slamming his fist on the table, “at least a tiny clue, but we’ve got nothing. She simply vanished from the face of the earth.”
Nick remained silent. It had been three days since Vitali got hold of her. He’d certainly killed her, because he knew how important she was to the US Attorney’s Office. She was a threat and had to be eliminated as such.
“We made a big mistake involving the Feds,” Connors said gloomily. “They have no interest in uncovering the whole thing.”
“Of course not,” Nick replied bitterly. “It’s all about cover-up. Damage control. It’s always been like that. No one had any interest in uncovering this bribery scandal. Everyone was afraid to be sucked into the maelstrom. Especially now that the president has major foreign policy issues, he can’t afford these domestic problems. If it got out that the corruption reached as far as federal departments and the Senate, the public response would be explosive.”
“But we can’t just pretend that nothing happened!” Connors was appalled.
“Yes,” Nick said, nodding wearily, “we can. And you will. How many times do you think I felt like I was tilting at windmills? It’s not easy to do unpopular things, and there’s hardly anything less popular than a bribery scandal. I’ve fished in troubled waters many times, and time and again I had to realize that what felt honest and seemed like the right thing to do was never appreciated by the big bosses. Politics is dirty business. Everyone gives and takes. That’s how politicians and their old-boy networks survive.”
“I refuse to accept that!” the deputy US attorney protested.
“I used to be as idealistic as you are, Lloyd,” Nick said, shrugging his shoulders, “but if you want to have a career, then you have to learn to act against your convictions.”
“Of all people, I can’t believe that you would say something like that!”
“Why not? For years, I’ve fought for what I felt was right, and I’ve made many enemies. It was lucky that I was often fighting things that also bothered politicians in Washington and Albany: organized crime, insider-trading scandals on Wall Street, common criminals in New York City—all of these issues were things that had the government’s support. I was fighting the small guys without a big lobby: Mafia bosses, criminal stock brokers and bankers, murderers, rapists, drug dealers. But this time we’re stepping on the toes of respected politicians.” Nick sighed. “One crow doesn’t peck another crow’s eyes. It’s always been like this.”
Outside the window, snowflakes fluttered from the slate-gray December sky. Nick used to love the weeks before Christmas: the festively decorated city, the shop windows, the snow in Central Park, the eagerly expectant children’s eyes at the huge Christmas parade, and the ice-skaters at Rockefeller Center and at Wollman Rink. Around Christmas, the hectic pace of the city seemed to slacken for a few days every year, and the people seemed a little friendlier than usual. But Nick didn’t notice any of this today. There was no Christmas tree at home, and instead of Mary, members of his staff took care of writing the Christmas cards this year. For the first time in twenty-five years, Nick wouldn’t spend Christmas with Mary’s family in Montauk.
Nick’s direct line buzzed on his desk. He picked up.
“Mr. Kostidis?” Nick didn’t recognize the female voice on the other end.
“Yes, speaking.”
“Is it really you?”
“Yes, of course. Who am I speaking to?”
“One moment,” the woman said, “stay on the line. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”
Connors watched Nick’s changing expression. His hopelessness and exhaustion vanished instantly; the mayor immediately sat up.
“Nick?” He heard her voice and he almost died of relief. It was her!
“Alex!” he exclaimed. Connors jerked upright. “Where are you? How are you doing?”
“Nick,” Alex said in a thin voice, “can you come get me?”
“Yes, of course!” Nick exclaimed. “Where are you? Tell me! I’m coming right away!”
“I’m in Brooklyn,” Alex replied, slurring heavily. “It’s a bar called Blue Bayou at the docks near the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.”
“I’ll find it. I’m leaving right away.” Nick’s whole body trembled.
Alex whispered, “Please hurry.”
Nick jumped out of his chair. He was dizzy with relief and happiness. She wasn’t dead!
“We need to drive to Brooklyn immediately!” The deputy US attorney looked at him with hope, but also suspicion.
“It sounds like a fucking trap to me,” he said. “You won’t go there alone. I’m calling Spooner. I want him to go with you.”
Nick stared at him. In his relief, he didn’t even think about the possibility that someone could have forced Alex to call and lure him into an ambush. If that was the case, then Alex’s life was still in danger.
“Nick, please!” Connors already had the telephone receiver in his hand.
“Let’s bring him then,” Nick agreed reluctantly.
The Blue Bayou turned out to be a sleazy dive bar at the docks. The colorfully lit letters of its neon sign somewhat disguised the seediness of the joint, but it was definitely the place that Alex had told them about.
“She’s supposed to be here?” Spooner raised his eyebrows.
“Is there another bar with this name near here?” Nick snarled at the officer impatiently.
“We’ll check the establishment,” Spooner said. “Stay in the car.”
“No,” Nick said as he opened the door and got out. “You stay here, Spooner.”
; “We have strict orders to protect you, Mr. Kostidis,” Spooner’s colleague Khazaeli interjected. “If this is a trap—”
“Then I have shitty luck!”
Nick slammed the car door shut. Didn’t Alex risk her life for him once? He owed it to her to come to her without the two US marshals at his side. But Deputy Spooner stepped in his path.
“Mayor or not,” he said, “I have my orders, and I don’t feel like being suspended because of your stubbornness.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Nick replied. “Let me through!”
He pushed the US marshal aside and walked around the building until he found the kitchen door. Under no circumstances did he want to be seen by a dozen people at this bar.
Nick knocked on the door, and Spooner and Khazaeli stood behind him.
“At least keep your weapons out of sight,” Nick asked them.
“So that these guys can gun us down?” Spooner cocked his Glock. “I don’t think so!”
The door opened a crack, and an unshaven, pockmarked man peeked out suspiciously.
“Are you…?”
“Yes,” Nick replied impatiently. “I’m Nick Kostidis.”
“And those guys?”
“US marshals,” Spooner said. “Open the door, pal!”
Nick rolled his eyes. Deputy Spooner was as diplomatic as a steamroller.
“Come in,” the man said, opening the door, and Nick entered the incredibly dirty kitchen. The place made a mockery of New York’s health regulations.
“Hi, Mayor Kostidis.” A fat woman with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth appeared in the doorway. “I can’t believe it! We all voted for you—me and my regulars.”
Nick forced a smile. “I want to see Ms. Sontheim.”
“Unbelievable. Ain’t it, Travis?” The corpulent woman rammed her elbow into the pockmarked man’s side. “The mayor himself in my place.”
Nick shook with impatience.
“Travis here pulled the girl out of the river,” the fat woman said, patting the man’s back. “She was butt naked and half dead—the poor thing.”
Nick turned pale. Had Vitali really tried to get rid of Alex in the river in classic Mafia style?
“Come with me, Mr. Kostidis.” The fat woman waved to him. She planted herself in front of the two US marshals.
“You stay down here, boys,” she said with an authority that tolerated no dissent. “The babe’s in pretty bad shape, as you can imagine. And I’m sure that she doesn’t want to see any cops.”
“But—” Spooner was about to protest.
“Nope. You stay here.” She heaved herself up the narrow staircase, and Nick followed her along a dimly lit hallway to a door.
“You better be nice to her,” the fat woman said in a quiet voice. “She got roughed up pretty good, the poor thing. Lost her memory and had a high fever. But she’s doin’ better since midday today. She remembers what happened now.”
Nick nodded. His heart was racing, and he would have loved to charge past the big woman.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said in a surprisingly gentle way, “you got a visitor.”
She stepped aside, and Nick entered the room. He didn’t notice the greasy wallpaper, the worn-out carpet, the nicotine-yellow curtains, the decrepit furniture, or the red lamp that made this room what it was in the evenings: a pay-by-the-hour motel. Nick only had eyes for the slender figure that sat at the head of the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees.
“Alex! Oh my God, Alex.”
Her face had been mangled terribly, looking like one big bruise. Blood had dried on her cheeks, chin, nose, and busted lips. Burst blood vessels surrounded her eyes.
“Nick,” she whispered. Her eyes were filled with fear and looked nearly dead. Only a picture of misery remained of this beautiful young woman. He knelt down in front of the bed and looked at the wounds on Alex’s wrists. She was wearing a jogging suit that was much too large.
Nick had a feeling that more had been destroyed than just her beautiful face. A broken human being crouched before him.
“He came to the hotel,” Alex whispered. “I thought that you had come back, that’s why I opened the door.”
Nick frowned as he tried to hold back the tears. This was all so simply horrifying. Tears of anger rose in him and a lump caught in his throat. What unfeeling animals could do such a thing to a woman?
“I didn’t tell him anything. Not a single word,” Alex continued.
She was speaking mechanically; her expression was empty, trancelike.
“They beat and raped me. He said that he would kill me. I couldn’t defend myself. He sat on a chair and watched, and then he…laughed…”
Her voice failed her. She swayed back and forth while the tears ran down her face. Nick felt a wild, powerless anger. Sergio Vitali—this brutal, merciless monster without regard for human life—had destroyed Alex. And then Nick’s heart tensed when he remembered her expression of happiness back on the beach in Montauk. That seemed like light-years ago.
“Come with me, Alex.” Nick extended his hand.
“If he finds out that I’m still alive,” she said, her gaze wandering around the room aimlessly, “then he’ll try to kill me again.”
“I’ll look after you, I promise you.” Nick’s voice sounded brave. He extended his hand patiently to her, until Alex finally let go of her knees and grabbed it.
“Oh, Nick,” she suddenly sobbed. “Why did all of this have to happen? Why?”
She threw her arms around his neck, pulled her sobbing body toward him, and buried her face in his chest.
“I’ll take care of you, Alex.” Nick pressed his face into her hair. “I promise you, my love. I’ll protect you.”
He held her tight, cradling her in his arms like a baby, letting her cry. Once she calmed down a bit, he picked her up and carried her out to the hallway, where the fat woman was still on guard. Nick’s eyes met with hers.
“Thanks,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”
“It’s okay,” the woman replied and stroked Alex’s stringy hair. “Take good care of her.”
He carried Alex down the stairs, past the marshals to the car. In the car, Alex cuddled in his arms. Her whole body shivered even though the car was warm and she was wrapped in a wool blanket. Nick murmured senseless, calming words that one might say to a child; his sympathy for her was so deep.
“Where are we going?” Deputy Spooner asked curtly.
“Goldwater Memorial on Roosevelt Island,” Nick replied, “and keep a low profile, please.”
“Of course, sir.”
As the car drove off, Nick stroked Alex’s beaten face and held her tightly in his arms. He searched for consoling words, but there was no solace. Nick remembered his own emotions all too well. In the days following Mary’s and Christopher’s deaths, he couldn’t bear to be spoken to. The lights of the Brooklyn Bridge illuminated the injuries to Alex’s face. Nick wished that he could spare her everything that was waiting for her. She would have to endure endless questioning by the US Attorney’s Office, the SEC’s investigation unit, the NYPD, the doctors, and especially the FBI. Time and again, they would force her to remember what she probably wanted to forget. Often enough during his tenure as a US attorney, Nick had had to ask such questions. He had never realized how painful they could actually be.
The news that Alex had surfaced again put Lloyd Connors into a state of sheer euphoria. His exhaustion was forgotten. With fiery zeal, he and his staff worked overnight on the indictment against Sergio Vitali. However, Alex’s murder charge had to be redacted for her to be a credible witness of the prosecution. But Oliver Skerritt’s testimony would prove Vitali’s guilt, along with St. John’s documents, and—last but not least—Nelson van Mieren’s confession that now had unexpected weight because Alex was alive. Alex had witnessed a hired assassin reporting the killing of David Zuckerman to Vitali. Vitali could not possibly wrench himself free from this accusation. It was six forty-five when T
ate Jenkins stepped into Connors’s office accompanied by two men.
“Your time is almost up now, Connors,” the deputy director of the FBI said with a patronizing smile. “How far along are your people with the indictments?”
“Done,” the deputy US attorney replied. “We’re ready to go whenever you give the signal.”
Jenkins nodded in satisfaction.
“What does your plan look like?”
“We have signed confessions from fifty-three bribed individuals,” Connors explained. “There are eleven more people on the list we haven’t spoken to; Whitewater is dead, and Harding still refuses to cooperate. I plan on doing nothing.”
The smile vanished from Jenkins’s face.
“What do you mean?”
“After talking to Mr. Engels, I’ve decided to investigate this without going public,” Connors countered in a calm voice. “The Department of Justice shares my opinion that it’s better if we don’t raise too much dust. We’re going to offer a plea bargain to those willing to cooperate. They’ll avoid tax-evasion charges by paying the back taxes that they owe. We will refrain from prosecuting on criminal corruption charges as long as these men voluntarily resign from office and never run in the future.”
“But—” Jenkins’s jaw dropped in astonishment; he was struggling for words.
“Engels has spoken to the president’s advisor Jordy Rosenbaum,” the deputy US attorney continued, “and the president prefers this quiet solution to avoid an emotional public discussion.”
Jenkins was silent for a moment. Relief was clearly etched into his face. At that moment, Connors knew for sure that his instincts hadn’t failed him, and that Nick was right again. It was unbelievable. Jenkins was in league with Vitali.
“What about Vitali?” Jenkins actually asked.