Max stood with David out of the way, but she had a clear view of everything the investigative team was doing. The lights were set up in six different spots, minimizing shadows as they overlapped. It was nearly blinding and some of the crew wore sunglasses.
After photographing the area, Frank and two of his people put on headgear and oxygen tanks and approached the sedan. Frank cleared dirt and gunk off the license plate.
Ohio.
The car was wedged into the far left side of the tunnel, in an area where the roof hadn’t completely collapsed. Two members of Frank’s team were inspecting the supports, making notes, and checking the stability of the immediate area.
The car itself was intact. The windows were rolled up, so dirty that Max couldn’t see anything inside. The front end of the vehicle was inaccessible, but the back doors were clear.
Frank and his team inspected the vehicle’s interior with a flashlight, then he approached them, speaking directly to Sally. “There are no bodies in the car, but three suitcases are visible. We’re going to pop the trunk.”
He stayed back with them as a man and woman in full hazmat suits broke the lock on the trunk and it popped open. They looked inside, then both turned away. One walked over to them and took off his headgear. “We can’t confirm the identity, but there are definitely two bodies.”
“Decomp?” Sally said.
He shook his head. “They were dissolved, most likely by chemicals.”
“Sodium hydroxide?”
“Very possible. It’s a mess in there, the bodies were essentially turned to sludge. But the process didn’t finish. There are some bones still intact, including the skulls. We should be able to get DNA to confirm, but that’ll take some time.”
“It’s their car,” Sally said. “It has to be them.”
“We still need to run DNA or dental to confirm,” Frank said.
Max slowly let out her breath. She hadn’t realized that she’d been holding it.
“We found them,” she whispered.
“Max, let me call the family first,” Sally said. “I’ll let you know when I’m done. I’m sure you’ll want to talk to them.”
Max asked Frank, “Do you think prints would have survived? Could there be evidence pointing to their killer?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Doubtful. It’s wet down here, a lot of time has passed. But I promise, we’ll process this scene as best we can. I need to bring in a specialist to figure out the best way to get the bodies and car out. I’ll walk you back out. We’ll be here all night. Maybe even longer.”
Chapter Fifteen
It took Max fifteen minutes to convince David to stay with Sally at the crime scene and pick up any information he could. Sally seemed agreeable to it, maybe because she was as upset and relieved as Max. Max was a bit worried about Sally’s state of mind, and knew the call to the Palazzolo family would be difficult. She was a cop, she would hold her own, but the scene was gruesome. It would give Max nightmares, but she’d be seeing Nick tomorrow. That would help.
David didn’t want to leave her side because of Bachman’s unidentified partner.
“He’s still out there, Max,” David said.
“I need to talk to Richard,” she said.
“Sally is a big girl, she’ll handle this.”
“She needs someone, David. I promise—I’ll take a taxi straight to the studio. I’ll take Ben with me to meet Richard.”
“If he’ll meet with you.”
“I’m not giving him a choice,” she said with a half grin. “And I’ll have the car service take me home. Fair?”
“Don’t deviate from the plan,” he said.
“I promise.”
He grunted. “I’ll call the car service.”
“Eleven,” she said. “I should be done by then.”
“Eleven thirty. I know you.”
“Fair enough.”
She went back to the office in a taxi, calling Ben on the way.
“I need to see Richard now.”
“The night of closing arguments?”
“Queens PD found the bodies. They’re contacting next of kin, so you can’t report anything until Sally gives me the go-ahead.”
“They found the Palazzolos?” Ben repeated.
She gave him the minimum details. “Get me in to see Richard. I’ve given both him and Charlene good press this week, he should be agreeable.”
“Don’t you think that he would know by now?” She heard Ben clicking away on his keyboard.
“Sally is coming around to my theory, but no one else in law enforcement thinks that Bachman had anything to do with their murders. I want to push Richard to jump on this now.”
He said, “Milligan’s having a fund-raising reception from six to eight at the Sky Room.”
It was already six. “Get me in.”
“You? You don’t donate to political campaigns.”
“This is Richard. I’ll make an exception.”
“Fortunately, I do donate, and I’ve supported him from the beginning. I’m going with you.”
“No.” Then she remembered what she promised David. “Fine.”
“Wow. That was easy.”
“Not my decision.”
“Thanks, David,” Ben said sarcastically.
“Give me room to do my job.”
“Hardly. Everyone who’s anyone is going to be there, and I know you, Max—if you see someone you don’t like, you can’t keep your mouth shut.”
“I can.”
“Yes, especially if I’m close by holding your leash.”
“Asshole.”
“Bitch.”
Max laughed, then said in her best trust baby impression, “Be a doll and find me a dress in wardrobe? I’ll be at the studio in five minutes.”
* * *
District Attorney Richard Milligan’s fund-raiser was at the Sky Room on the thirty-fourth floor with rooftop views of the Hudson River and the Empire State Building. It was probably a good thing Ben came with her—in the first five minutes after they arrived, she found three people she disliked. They were liars and cheats. It was one of the reasons she detested politics—Richard was a good guy, yet he took money from people who had no scruples. It was all a game, and she detested political games most of all.
Ben Lawson was well known in many circles, including among the movers and shakers in the great city of New York. He glad-handed and schmoozed his way to where Richard was standing in the corner greeting his donors and other dignitaries. They had almost reached him before Charlene Golden stepped in their path.
“What are you doing here?” She almost couldn’t get out the words.
“You look nice tonight,” Max said. “Love those earrings.”
“I cannot believe you’re crashing this party.”
“I’m a plus-one tonight.” Max linked arms with Ben.
Ben smiled and held out his hand. “Ben Lawson.”
Charlene recognized the name, but apparently hadn’t put two and two together. “Ben’s my producer,” Max said. “And longtime friend. I need to talk to Richard.”
“No.”
“Now.”
“Hell no.”
“What are you, his campaign manager?”
“I’m a supporter. And a friend. And you’re neither.”
Max raised an eyebrow and stared. Charlene looked away first. Not very prosecutorial of her.
Max leaned over. “Queens PD found the Palazzolos. Dead, in the trunk of their car. I really need to talk to Richard.”
Charlene couldn’t hide the shock. “Are you lying to me?”
Max refused to answer the insult.
“This can wait until tomorrow,” Charlene said. “There’s nothing the D.A.’s office can do until there’s a suspect and an arrest.”
Max raised her eyebrows. “There is a suspect.”
Now Charlene understood Max’s meaning immediately. “No. That’s your theory, no one else’s. Do not do this. The jury is in delib
erations.” She sounded desperate.
“Do you really think I can sway the jury now?” Max stepped forward and had a modicum of satisfaction that Charlene stepped back. Ben had his hand on her arm. He tightened his grip. “Dammit, Charlene,” Max said, “I’m not going to screw with your case. Did I say or write anything that hurt you? No. Get me time with Richard in the bar downstairs, or I will print something you won’t like.”
“Are you threatening a prosecutor?”
“I only print the truth,” she said in a low voice. “I know a lot of truths.”
“You are such a bitch.”
“So I’ve been told.” And getting sick and tired of it. She’d done nothing to jeopardize Richard’s career and, in fact, had helped when she could. She was a bitch for asking questions? For seeking answers? For wanting to know who killed two innocent people?
Ben pulled Max back a step. She shrugged off his arm. He was going to leave bruises on her if he held on any tighter.
“Max,” he began, his voice low. He put his hand on her again.
Richard had seen them. He stared at her, but didn’t make a move to approach.
“Well?” Max said. She put her hand over Ben’s and squeezed his fingers until he let go of her.
Charlene was clearly agitated, but said, “Let me talk to him first. Stay put.”
Max smiled, but felt no pleasure at the small victory. She grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter who walked over with a tray. Through clenched teeth she said, “Of course.”
She moved over to the edge of the roof and looked at the Empire State Building, trying to calm herself down. She usually had better control over her emotions. But she was so tired of being told she was wrong when she knew she was right. Would it hurt anyone to follow through on her theory?
She took a deep breath. Ben said, “Max, I know you’re emotionally wrapped up in this case, but you need to see the bigger picture.”
“I do,” she snapped.
“Do you? Really?”
Maybe. Maybe not. She had been so invested in finding the Palazzolos that now that she had, she didn’t quite know what to do. She couldn’t even enjoy the view of the sinking sun reflecting off the buildings throughout midtown. New York was most beautiful at dusk.
“You normally don’t let comments like that bother you,” Ben said.
“It doesn’t.”
“Max, I’ve known you a long time. You’re loyal. You’re frustrating. You’re smart. You’re arrogant. I don’t know anyone else like you, and that’s a good thing because I couldn’t handle two of you. You intimidate people because you’re confident and usually right. I don’t know why you let Charlene get to you.”
Max didn’t know, either. “It’s not her. It’s just … today. Two hours ago I was underground, in an abandoned train tunnel, watching the crime scene investigators open the trunk on a car with Ohio plates and tell us that two unidentifiable bodies were inside. And now I’m on top of a skyscraper drinking champagne surrounded by people who should have cared more that the Palazzolos disappeared in their city.”
“They do care. I know Richard does, otherwise I wouldn’t be giving him my hard-earned trust fund money.” Ben smiled, trying to lighten the mood, and Max gave him a half smile in appreciation of the effort. “I can’t tell you to let these things go, because I know you won’t. I understand, Max.”
In college, Ben and Karen had been best friends. Ben and Max, however, were oil and water. Because they both loved Karen, they made it work, but they didn’t particularly like each other. But when Karen was gone? Something changed. Ben was the only person who cared for Karen like Max did. Ben was loyal. He was sharp. He and Max sparred constantly, but she respected him, which she couldn’t say about many people.
Charlene approached them. “Richard said you can come to his office in the morning.”
Max brushed past Charlene without comment and walked up to Richard. She smiled and said, “Excuse me,” to the couple who had claimed his attention. “I only need him for one minute.”
Richard forced a smile at the couple, but he glared at Max as she took his arm and steered him ten feet away. His assistant—probably a bodyguard—approached, speaking into his cuff.
“It’s okay, Stuart,” Richard said. “Give me a minute.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Richie.”
“You are unbelievable,” he said. He had a bland half smile on his face because people were watching them.
She held up her phone. On it she’d brought up the picture of the Palazzolos’ missing sedan. The Ohio license plate was clearly visible. The trunk was open. The contents were unclear, but the expression on the face of the crime scene tech who stood nearby clearly showed this was a bad situation.
“A picture says a thousand words, Richard. We need to talk tonight. Or I’m going back to the studio, cutting into programming, and running this story along with my theory as to what happened.”
“You wouldn’t. The jury is still out. And there’s no proof—none—that Bachman had anything to do with it.”
“It’s not illegal for me to report on the truth.”
“Maybe it should be. Don’t you care about the families of the victims?”
As he said it, he knew he’d way overstepped. Max buried her anger and said through a false smile, “If you’re not in the bar downstairs at eight thirty, I’m leaving for the studio at eight thirty-one. I’m not bluffing.”
She left, Ben right on her heels.
They went down to the bar. She switched to a vodka martini because she wanted something stronger than champagne, and she honestly didn’t feel like celebrating anything. Ben got on his phone immediately, which was fine with Max because she wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
She definitely needed the weekend in San Francisco with Nick. She made the reservations on her phone right then, a first-class ticket that left at eleven in the morning. That would give her time to wrap up everything in the office tonight and pack. She sent the itinerary to David.
Richard Milligan exited the elevator at eight twenty, spotted her, and crossed the bar. He sat down, alone.
“Five minutes,” he said.
Max motioned for the waitress. “Another round, and add a Tanqueray on the rocks for Mr. Milligan.”
“I’m not drinking.”
“Make it a double,” Max said.
The waitress left.
“You’re impossible, Maxine.”
She wanted to yell at him, to threaten him not to ever doubt that she cared, but she didn’t. She ate the last olive on her toothpick and spun the small stick in her manicured fingers. “Adam Bachman had a partner,” she said. “His partner killed the Palazzolos and Bachman helped. In turn, his partner helped Bachman clean up his five murders. There’s a killer still out there, and Bachman knows who it is.”
“I’m the district attorney, Maxine. I’m not a cop. There’s no evidence that—”
“Stop saying that! There’s circumstantial evidence. Bachman is in your custody. He’s on trial. You’re the one with access.”
“If I go to him, he’ll ask for a deal. I’m not cutting him a deal.”
“You won’t have to. You get the right person in there and he’ll talk. I can’t access the records, but you can.”
“What records?”
Hook.
“Greenhaven, outside of Hartford. It’s a private mental health facility. Bachman was there for ninety days when he was twenty. I have a source who said Bachman had a friend—a friend from New Haven—with tattoos. A few years older than Bachman. My theory is that they met there. I don’t have that person’s name, but Melinda Sanchez at Fringe can give us a description. She’s good—she might be able to work with a sketch artist. But your office can contact Greenhaven, find out what doctor was responsible for Bachman, and get a copy of his records. Find out if he had a friend there, narrow it down.”
“That is so vague I don’t know where to begin to refute you.”
“Get a pa
tient list from the same time Bachman was there. Cross-reference it to this man—I have a good description, particularly of his tattoos. He likely has a record, based on what my source said.”
“Maxine, you’re insane if you think I can get private, privileged medical records.”
“Nanette Jackson, the CAO, may help, if given the right incentive. She’s very concerned about Greenhaven’s reputation. She might know who this unsub is, could give you a name simply because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Getting doctors to talk without a court order is next to impossible.”
The waitress came back with the drinks. Max sipped. She waited. Richard had said he didn’t want to drink with her, but he picked up his glass and sipped, too. He leaned forward. “Look, Max, I’m sorry about what I said upstairs. Truly.” He glanced at Ben, as if wondering how much he should say.
Max said, “I don’t have secrets from Ben.”
“Don’t drag me into this,” Ben said.
Max leaned forward. “Richard, there’s another killer out there. And Adam Bachman knows who it is.” She slid forward a flash drive. “I don’t share, you know that, but I’m breaking my own rule. These are my notes, including interviews with witnesses. I know you have a task force of investigators in the D.A.’s office who work these kind of cases. Multijurisdictional, complicated cases. I also added the contact information of an FBI-trained forensic psychiatrist who will consult if you ask.”
Richard stared at the flash drive, but didn’t pick it up. “I can’t take that, Max. It’s fruit from the poisoned tree.”
Her heart sank. She thought for sure he’d grab it. He’d always wanted to see her notes before. “I don’t understand.”
“If you obtained any information illegally, I can’t use it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s a gray area, and I’m not willing to jeopardize a case because I was overeager and cut corners. I have rules—rules I believe in. Rules I stand for.” He drained his gin and stood. “But I will talk to Queens PD and get an expedited report about the car they found, and I will find some excuse to talk to Adam Bachman. I can bluff with the best of them. You think if I say to him that we have evidence he had a partner that he’ll talk?”
Compulsion (Max Revere Novels Book 2) Page 16