Hastings himself was by no means immune. He was a homicide detective, one of the elite, and though the term glory boy nettled him at times, he did take a certain pride in it. He had no desire to have his rank reduced, no desire to return to street patrol. He remembered returning to Lincoln to visit his mother and seeing a group of meatpacking workers in a sports bar and thinking, Oh, Jesus. But for an athletic scholarship to Saint Louis University, he could have been one of them. They were laughing and drinking and enjoying themselves, talking about Cornhusker football and that week’s lottery number. They seemed happy, and who was he to think they shouldn’t be? Yet he had dreaded the thought of being one of them.
He was coming up on the Fisher house now, the house where Tom Myers had brought Cordelia Penmark. The street was empty now, no Christmas parties tonight. Hastings slowed the car and pulled it over to the side of the road. In the darkness, he estimated the place where Myers had parked his BMW. On the north side of the road.
Maybe the kidnappers had slowly driven by, marking the place, then turning around to find a place to park themselves. Watching the young couple get out of the car and move toward the house where they would drink and schmooze. They would stay at the party for at least two hours, maybe even three. The kidnappers would wait that long.
There had been footprints of two people, probably men. One on the passenger side of the BMW, grabbing Cordelia Penmark, the other on the driver’s side, holding a gun at Tom Myers’s side, then pulling the trigger twice, and once more when Myers was on the ground.
And then they were gone.
Probably driving west, Hastings thought.
And then where? Christ, a party with over two hundred guests and no one had seen the abduction. It was dark and late and people had been drinking. It could have happened in front of them and they would have had several different descriptions, but no license tag.
And why her? Why Cordelia Penmark? She had not been a high-profile girl. There was no twisted Paris Hilton vanity in her, no grasp for the spotlight. No flattering pictures in the society pages. She seemed like she was trying to live a normal life, in spite of everything. Not ashamed of her money or her background, but not flaunting it either.
Hastings wondered if he had been following a spoor to no end. He was at the place where the abduction had occurred, trying to think like a predator to catch one, but nothing was coming to the fore. He could go back to the blind and hope for the deer to pass in front of it for an easy shot, but that wasn’t going to happen. Or he could give himself busywork to make himself believe that he was doing something to save the girl, but that wouldn’t help her if he wasn’t making headway.
He flicked on the overhead light and started to go through his notebook. He was searching for a telephone number when the dome light was overpowered and the back of the car was filled with the illumination of headlight beams.
Hastings looked in the rearview mirror. His heart skipped a beat, and then he relaxed.
Christ. It was a police car.
A Ladue patrol car.
A patrolman walked up, holding a flashlight. Hastings was patient, waiting to get it over with. The patrolman was young.
He said, “Is there a problem, sir?”
Hastings said, “Hi. I’m a cop. Let me reach into my jacket here and I’ll show you my ID.”
The patrolman flashed the light in the car and saw the police radio and the flashing light that could be set on the dash. But he was cautious and he said, “Okay. Well, uh, let me see your ID anyway.”
Hastings gave it to him. The patrolman looked at it and handed it back.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s all right,” Hastings said. “It doesn’t look like a police car.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“I’m investigating a murder. The one that—”
“Oh, yeah. I know about it. Well, I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thanks. Hey,” Hastings said, “Were you on patrol that night?”
“Yeah. I didn’t see anything though.” The young cop said, “We don’t get much out here. We look for signs of robbery, traffic violations … I remember there were a lot of cars parked along this road that night. A party.”
“Yeah, there was a party.”
The patrol officer said, “It was a good night to do it.”
Hastings stopped and looked up at the man. “How do you mean?” he said.
“I mean, all these cars were parked on the street that night because of Mr. Fisher’s party. Any other night, a car on this street would have stood out and me or someone else on patrol would have stopped and questioned them. Like I just did to you. You’re not really supposed to park here. But we let it slide once a year for Fisher.”
“Fisher has a Christmas party every year?”
“Oh yeah. At least as long as I’ve been here, and that’s coming up on six years.”
“I see.”
“Well … anything else?”
“No. Thanks.”
“Good luck.”
The cop was walking back to his car. He reported back to dispatch and then pulled past the Jag and was driving away; the sound of his engine dissipating was replaced by the ringing of Hastings’s cell phone.
“Yeah?” Hastings said.
“George, it’s Murph. We got something on Edie Penmark.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“Well, it’s not drugs. But you were right: she is mixed up in something. I downloaded some things and you should probably see it.”
THIRTY-TWO
Murph was already at the Penmark house when Hastings got there. He got out of an unmarked Chevy Impala with a brown file holder in his hand. He and Hastings went over them together. A few minutes later, Hastings said, “She’s in one of the bungalows in the back. We’ll go around.”
The blue water in the swimming pool rippled as a large snakelike tube curled around in it. A heated pool, warm enough for a swim on a December night.
They got to the bungalows and Hastings rapped on the door. Edie Penmark answered it after the third series of knocks.
She looked first at Hastings and then at Murph, whom she’d never seen before. Murph’s presence indicating that Hastings had not returned for any improper purpose. She said, “What do you want now?”
Hastings said, “You’ve been keeping something from us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ernie Shavers, to begin with. Do you want to have this conversation here, or in your father’s office?”
The alarm appeared on her face when Hastings said the name Ernie Shavers. She backed away from the door and let them in. Then she went straight to the couch and took a seat, waiting for what she was pretty sure she knew was coming.
The detectives followed her, remaining on their feet for the time being.
Hastings gestured to the packet Murph held. He said, “You know what we’ve got here?”
“What?” Edie said.
“Downloads of porn. From a Web site you own.” Hastings picked a couple of the stills out, young, rough-looking girls with men. “Do you need to see it?”
She shrugged. “Local whores and strippers. Nothing I bet you haven’t seen before.”
“You’re a co-owner with Ernie Shavers. He’s already confirmed that for us.”
“So what?”
“So what?” Hastings said. “For Christ’s sake, how can you do this?”
“I’m not in any of those things,” she said. “We hire those girls. It’s just a business opportunity.”
“Whether or not you’re in it is not the point,” Hastings said. “You’re selling it.”
Edie Penmark shrugged again. She was looking straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.
Hastings said, “Do your parents know about this?”
Edie Penmark smirked. “What do you think?”
“I think they’d be sick if they knew.”
“I told you,” she said, “it’s jus
t a business investment. People pay for it.”
“A business investment,” Hastings said. “Like you need the money?”
“I put up some of the money. And we had an okay return.”
“But why invest in something like this? What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” she said. “You’re a cop. You telling me you haven’t seen this before? And what does it have to do with anything, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be finding my sister?”
“Unfortunately,” Hastings said, “this may relate to your sister. Are you aware that Ernie Shavers is involved in prostitution?”
Edie Penmark wanted to retain her tough exterior. “It doesn’t surprise me,” she said.
Hastings wanted to hit her. Her nonchalance might have been a pose, but it was getting to him. He wanted to reach out and slap the smug expression off her face. He said, “He’s a fucking criminal. Did it ever occur to you that it was a bad idea to mix with people like that?”
“He’s harmless.”
“He’s not harmless. He’s done a couple of stretches in prison.” Hastings sighed. “A couple of my men are questioning him now to see if he had any involvement in this matter.”
Edie Penmark said, “Ernie doesn’t know Cordelia. Do you think I’d ever introduce him to her?”
“I don’t know what to think about you,” Hastings said. “I’ll tell you this, though: he probably wouldn’t have known who she was if not for you.”
“Check him out then,” she said. “You won’t find anything on him.”
“We will,” Hastings said. “And we have to check out all these other people you did business with too. That’s the task you’ve presented us with, young lady.”
“It’s none of your business,” she said. “It’s nobody’s business.”
“It is now,” Hastings said. “And you better—goddammit, why didn’t you tell us that you were involved in this?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” she said. Her face no longer smug now, tears coming to her eyes.
“It very well may. You’re in a seedy business with seedy people. Criminals. Don’t you understand you may have exposed your sister to them?”
Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. “I don’t think there’s a connection,” she said.
“Did you tell Ernie Shavers where Cordelia was going to be that night?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No. Jesus, I didn’t know myself.” She sobbed. “Are you going to tell my father?”
Hastings sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Right now, that’s the least of my concerns.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“I would if I could,” he said, still angry.
“Christ,” she said, “you act like you’re my father.” Her sobs were mixing with her voice now. She said, “You’re the one that hasn’t found her. You think I don’t care about my own sister? I do. More than you’ll ever understand. I think you’re just trying to find someone to blame for this.”
* * *
Later, he and Murph stood by their cars talking it out. Hastings glancing from time to time at the Penmark house, apprehensive that Gene would come out and ask him what it was all about.
Murph said, “George, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He was referring to her last comment, Hastings looking for someone to blame.
Hastings himself wasn’t so sure. That she was involved in such things had offended him in ways he could not quite explain. He kept thinking, But you have money. Why would you do this if you had money? It all seemed so pointless and destructive.
Murph said, “She’s upset. We all know you’ve done everything you can.”
“Not really,” Hastings said. “Klosterman’s still interviewing Shavers?”
“Yeah. They’ve got him down at the station. Rhodes is helping him.”
Hastings said, “I’m going to call Agent Gabler. He’ll probably want to be there. Or Kubiak will.”
“Okay.”
It was getting colder. Away from the city and the city lights, starshine lit up the cars. It was quiet.
Hastings said, “Murph?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear her say that she didn’t know her sister was going to the party?”
“Yeah. You asked her if she told Shavers about it. And she said, no, she didn’t even know herself.” Murph put his hand over his jacket pocket. “I wrote it down. Why?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Hastings said. “Go back downtown, tell Joe about what we found out here. If the feds want to question you, give them your full cooperation. I’m going back to Ladue.”
THIRTY-THREE
Hastings rang the doorbell until the lights came on and he could see a man looking at him through a window. It was Sam Fisher and Hastings could see that he had gotten the guy out of bed. Sam Fisher opened the door, looking cross in his bathrobe and pajamas.
Sam Fisher said, “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry to get you out of bed,” Hastings said, though he wasn’t much. “But it’s very important that I talk to you.”
Fisher said, “Tonight? Can’t it wait till morning?”
“I’m afraid it can’t. The Penmark girl, the kidnappers still have her. They’ve got their ransom money, but she hasn’t been released.” Hastings waited.
“I don’t understand,” Fisher said.
“They may kill her soon.”
“You think.”
“Yeah, I think. Can I come in?”
Fisher sighed and backed into the house. Hastings followed him in and Fisher closed the door. He said, “What is it I can do?”
Hastings said, “I’ve been thinking that the kidnappers knew about your party in advance. That they planned on taking Cordelia when she left here.”
“That they knew about this party in advance?”
“Yes.”
“But that could have been anybody. It could have been somebody she told.”
“I’ve thought about that,” Hastings said. “But there doesn’t seem to be any evidence that she tipped anyone off.”
Fisher crooked his head, lawyer skepticism on his face. “You think it was someone Tom Myers told?”
“No, not directly. Maybe it was someone from your firm.”
“My firm?” Sam Fisher laughed. “The kidnapping was masterminded by someone at my law firm?”
Hastings sighed. Athletes retire from competition, but lawyers never do. He could stipulate to Sam Fisher that Fisher was smarter than he was, and maybe that would move things along. Hastings said, “No, not exactly. What I mean is … well, how many people are employed by the firm?”
“About two hundred lawyers with at least as many staff.” Fisher was still looking at him like he was slow or something. Like, You really want to continue this line of questioning? He was a bully, this one. But that wasn’t the point.
Hastings said, “Are you the managing partner?”
“Yes. I’m senior managing partner.” His tone was almost defensive then, Hastings having hit some sort of nerve.
Hastings said, “Do you have any employees, perhaps recently terminated, that have been in trouble with the law?”
“Well…”
“You do?”
“Well, we don’t make a practice of hiring criminals, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I mean. You know what I meant.”
Hastings was looking at him directly now. A high-powered lawyer to be sure, but no match for an experienced con when it came to lying. Sam Fisher was worrying about something now. Something was bothering him and he was too smart a man to be able to put it aside.
“Well,” Fisher said, “yes, there was someone that we had to let go a couple of months ago. But I really don’t…”
“You seem to be concerned about it.”
“I … I really doubt that she, that she would�
��”
“Tell me about her anyway.” Hastings was sensing the lawyer morphing into a witness, seeming almost frightened now because he was afraid of his instinct being correct.
Fisher said, “Her name was Jan Rusnok. Or Janet Rusnok. She went by Jan. We hired her about a year and a half ago. Legal assistant. She worked in the employment litigation department, which I used to run. She was a good worker, most of the time. About a year ago, she got arrested for possession. She told us about it. And I went to bat for her. It was just marijuana. I’m from the Baby Boomer generation and most of us had—well, you know. It was just a misdemeanor and I said we should give her a second chance. No big deal. She stays with the firm and for the next couple of months, everything’s fine. Then she starts getting … weird. Political. Like left-wing political. Well, that’s nothing new at our firm. We’ve got plenty of liberals, myself included. I say shit about Bush all the time. But this wasn’t just some tree-hugger bullshit. This was something more. She was getting radical. Which is fine, but the bottom line is, we’re a corporate firm. We defend the big corporations when they get sued by the little guys. Me, I don’t apologize for it. Corporation’s entitled to a fair trial and a defense as much as anyone else, right?”
He was looking for reassurance and Hastings saw no reason not to give it to him. At least, not now. “Right,” Hastings said.
“Well, Jan gets to where she doesn’t see it that way. I mean, she was starting fights with her bosses over what sort of things we should turn over in discovery. Not just mild disagreements. I mean fights. Screaming matches.” Sam Fisher sighed. “So, I called her in to talk to her about it. I didn’t want to fire her. I really didn’t. I’d gone to bat for her before and I thought … well, I thought she might be having some sort of breakdown.”
“Was she?”
“I don’t know. It was like she was … under some sort of spell or something. Like a cult.”
“You called her in.”
“Yes. I told her what the firm was about, that she had always known what it was about. That we valued her as an employee, but that she had to get back in line. I’ll tell you, I was expecting an apology. Contrition. I’ve met with plenty of employees over the years and that’s what usually happens.”
Goodbye Sister Disco Page 19