So small in fact that at first The Businessman had held concerns that he might not be buying much loyalty or information.
Not until the first bits of data started filtering in did he realize that the number had nothing do with any serious misgivings, but was rather a product of an extreme lack of ambition on the part of the detective.
No wonder his wife had left him.
“Alright,” The Businessman said, bypassing names as directed. Leaving Pyle standing on the far side of his desk, he looped around to the back and dropped down into his seat, the padded leather cushion wheezing just slightly beneath him. “To what do I owe this visit?”
For a moment there was no response, Pyle rocking his head back a few inches so he could peer down at The Businessman.
“The girl in the river. That you?”
Palpitations ran the length of The Businessman’s body, the sensation akin to a limb falling asleep, the feeling somewhere between numb and tingling. With his hands folded in his lap he sat and stared back at Pyle, the only reaction being the raising of an eyebrow.
“What girl in what river?”
A smirk lifted Pyle’s head back even further, one corner of his nose rising just slightly.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Still giving nothing away, The Businessman remained even, staring back.
“What brings you in this evening, asking of such things?”
Again Pyle paused, long enough to make a point that he knew what was going on, where the girl had come from, without actually saying a word.
“Shit’s hitting the fan around town. Somebody fished her out of the water and managed to get an ID on her.”
The palpitations grew in intensity for The Businessman, his stomach roiling, his heart rate beginning to surge.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning a call has gone out to every agency in the area,” Pyle said. With his hands still shoved into the front pockets of his coat he spread them out a few inches, adding a shrug. “I don’t know who, and I don’t know what they’re looking for, but word is a meeting’s going down in the morning to discuss it.”
Feeling the inside of his mouth go dry, The Businessman remained silent a moment, chewing on the new information.
The Muscle had been adamant that the remains of the girl would never be identified, that she would be exactly the message they needed to send the others, that no blowback would ever come their way.
Just like most things with The Muscle though, the man had proven himself woefully out of his league, relying too much on violence when just a little bit of logic would do instead.
“Will you be attending that meeting?” The Businessman asked.
Once more the smirk appeared, this one even causing a small smile to crack Pyle’s visage. “Uh, no. That’s not quite how things work. This one is way above even my pay grade.”
“Hmm,” The Businessman said, his brow coming together as he lowered his chin to his chest, pondering the information.
“Matter of fact,” Pyle added, “from now on, this is on you. Way outside of my purview, get my ass canned if they see me sniffing around.
“I just overheard something in the locker room tonight and thought I’d bring it by.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Reed had never known Grimes to be much of a telephone person, his boss having about the same proclivities for calling and chatting as he did.
A couple times a week to the folks was acceptable. Anything beyond that started trending dangerously close to teenage girl territory.
Despite whatever reservations the captain might have, he had clearly had a busy night, the buzz of conversation plainly audible as Reed and Billie climbed to the third floor of the 8th Precinct. It grew in strength as they drew closer to the conference room in the back corner of the building, the sound giving an added pulse of adrenaline to Reed.
Sensing his physiological changes Billie responded in kind, increasing her pace to match his, pressing against his leg every so often as if offering assurance.
Together they rounded into the room at three minutes before the hour to find a dozen people crammed into the space. All eight of the chairs around the conference table were filled save one, Grimes standing behind it, his arms folded across his chest. Along the back of the room stood the two pairs of uniforms Reed had requested from the 8th, the four of them in a loose cluster, all turning to watch as he made his way to the front of the room.
With each step the sounds of conversation decreased in intensity, falling away to near silence by the time Reed reached the front. If given his choice he would have preferred they remain talking long enough for him to confer with Grimes for a moment, his heart rate rising a tiny bit as sweat dampened his armpits.
“Down,” he said, Billie taking a place alongside the table as Reed shrugged his overcoat off to reveal his usual t-shirt and hoodie, the front of it unzipped. Around the table he could see a couple of suits, many more in dress shirts or sweaters, the thought of dressing up for the occasion never once crossing his mind.
One of the many side benefits, he had discovered, of working with a partner that resembled an onyx wolf was that very rarely were people even looking at him.
Nodding once, Grimes extended a hand to the table, offering him the floor. As he did so he backed away to the edge of the room, folding his arms across his chest, his facial expression registering something close to neutral.
Given the amount of chaos that was crammed into such a small space, Reed knew it was probably the best he could hope for.
“Good morning,” Reed opened, assuming the same position behind the chair at the head of the table Grimes had been occupying. He placed both his feet on either side of it and raised his hands to grip the top, surveying the room before him. “Thank you all for being here. I think for the sake of everyone present, it would probably be best if we began with introductions.
“My name is Detective Reed Mattox, here beside me is my partner Billie. We are the reason Captain Grimes called and asked you all here this morning, which we’ll get into in a moment.”
He nodded to his right at a middle-aged man with thinning strawberry blonde hair and a weak chin, motioning for him to begin.
“Good morning,” the man said, pausing to clear his throat. “My name is Preston Tucker, FBI Sex Trafficking Division. Here beside me is my partner, Alastair Gott.”
To his right a man with blue-back hair and already the start of a five o’clock shadow nodded, saying nothing.
One by one each of the remaining eight around the table took their turn, rattling off a bunch of names Reed couldn’t hope to remember, giving up even trying halfway through. Of the eight there were only two women, the group in total representing the FBI, INS, the CPD Sex Crimes Division, and a lone representative from the DOJ, Reed guessing Grimes had called them as a catch-all to cover anything else they might find in the coming days.
When each of them were through, the four officers along the back rattled off their information as well, starting with McMichaels and Jacobs. When they were done Derrick Greene, a forty year old black man with hair shorn close, and Adam Gilchrist, by far the youngest man in the room with a cherubic face and a few remaining pounds of baby fat, introduced themselves as well.
Just four minutes after entering the easy part of the morning was over, the attention back on Reed. Again he considered thanking them for coming before opting to get straight into things.
The thought to bring in all the assorted files and walk them through everything he had was considered before arriving, ultimately deciding against it. Instead his plan was to rattle everything off in a straight ahead fashion, letting the people around the table decide if what he suspected was a possibility and if so, would their organization need to be involved.
That way everybody had a basic framework for the case as a whole and nobody left feeling like their time had been wasted.
Perhaps a bit rudimentary, definitely a far cry from the day long vetting
process filled with PowerPoints and discussion the folks from the FBI were used to, but if sitting in their place it was certainly the way Reed would have appreciated business to be conducted.
“Two days ago a young woman’s body was pulled from the Olentangy River by the officers in the back of the room,” Reed said, motioning to McMichaels and Jacobs. As he did he could see a pair of folks at the table glance their way, Jacobs offering a slight nod in response, McMichaels remaining stone faced.
“Her fingers had been destroyed, her teeth forcibly removed. The only way we were ultimately able to identify her was through ten Chinese characters tattooed on the soles of her feet, symbols that translated into a telephone number for her editor at the Columbus Dispatch.”
As he spoke, Reed could feel the earlier trepidation bleeding away. Under different circumstances, the various agencies in the room might have seemed intimidating, may have even pushed him to his preferred stance of remaining in the back and observing in silence.
Given that he had spent the last days completely immersed in the case though, had tried to imagine what Bethanee Ing was like in life, had eaten dinner with Tek-Yen Dang, any hesitancy was gone.
Bit by bit he laid out what he had, pushing through the encounter with Blair and the story that Ing had presented to her, running it right into the fact that maternity leave had forced her to the sidelines and Ing had gone above her head to get clearance for it.
Omitting much of how he had first met Basel, he detailed meeting with the photographer and seeing the pictures he had taken, finishing with the meal the night before with Tek-Yen and the information she had shared.
On the last part he was especially forthright with the details, knowing that was where most of the interest would lie for the folks around the table. The longer he spoke the more engaged they seemed to become, many jotting down notes as he went, a couple merely sitting and listening intently, their facial expressions relaying their dissatisfaction at the tale he was sharing.
It took him more than ten minutes to push everything out to the room, reciting it all as fast as he could, perhaps skipping over a few salient points but reasonably comfortable he had gotten everything out he needed to.
When he finished he couldn’t help but feel a bit out of breath, not a single question or statement from the room having punctuated his monologue. With his hands still gripping the back of the chair before him, he glanced down to see his fingernails were flashing white, his hands squeezing tight onto the black leather without even realizing it.
For a moment after he was done every person in the room sat in silence as Reed stared at them. In the back corner Gilchrist gave him a reassuring nod, Jacobs even going as far as to raise his right thumb in support, Reed acknowledging neither as he stood and waited for any comment or response.
None came.
“Okay then,” he finally said. “That was the quick and dirty version of events, the executive overview if you will.
“If whatever I just said doesn’t sound like something you should be involved with, either because you don’t believe there to be a case or because it falls too far outside your jurisdiction, feel free to go, and thank you for being here.
“If not, based on information received from Tek-Yen last night, we’d like to begin putting a plan together to move on these people as soon as tonight.”
Again Reed paused, allowing whoever needed to excuse themselves to do so.
Not one person moved.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
What had started as anticipation, perhaps even curiosity, had quickly waned into frustration. After Reed’s initial overview each person in the room had remained in place, all seemingly interested enough in the narrative to stick around and see where things were going, how their organization might be involved in the proceedings.
Whether or not that was because they found the case compelling and directly in line with their agency’s agenda or merely wanted to remain long enough in hopes of siphoning off some bit of any impending media attention Reed couldn’t be certain, though given the entities they represented he wasn’t much in a position to argue.
Already he had given himself over to the notion of the case having expanded into the realm of a task force, knowing that his days of having unfettered freedom in the matter were over.
How much longer he was to even serve as the head for the project, he couldn’t be certain.
More than once on the way to the precinct that morning he had reminded himself that his place in the pecking order was not the most important aspect of what sat before him.
That was and would remain finding whoever had put Bethanee Ing into the Olentangy.
For more than three hours the group had remained crammed into the tiny space, the officers in the back having dragged in a few chairs so they weren’t left standing for hours on end. Halfway through Grimes had relocated himself from the side wall to leaning against the counter along the back, his arms still folded across his chest.
The only one to remain on his feet the entire time was Reed, working his way through the crime scene and medical examiner’s reports in painstaking detail, making sure each person knew exactly how he had arrived at the conclusions he had.
As minutes ticked past the tone of the meeting became a little more interactive, a few clarifying questions beginning to punctuate the conversation. Each of them Reed answered to the fullest of his knowledge, more than once having to concede not knowing something.
Once the case was fully vetted, the conversation shifted a bit to the more ethereal aspect of trying to determine what wasn’t known.
Tek-Yen had described the organization the best she could, from the manner that her family was contacted in China to the way the girls were split up after arriving in Columbus, but there were still a great many holes in her narrative. At just fourteen-years-old it had fast become apparent to Reed during the course of their conversation that much of the decision for her to come abroad was made without her input, the logistics something that was dictated rather than discussed.
Now that she was on the ground, any pretense she might have harbored about being an active participant in things was completely gone, replaced by a complete dictatorship that told her what to do and when to do it, what would happen if she didn’t.
Nothing more.
It was during the back half of the discussion that frustration in the room began to heighten, the competing interests of the various groups present starting to rear their head. INS was focused entirely on the pipeline of girls coming into the area, wanting to put surveillance in place immediately. More than once it was mentioned that they were willing to leave the operation running as normal for a while longer so as to trace things back across the Pacific into China, hoping for a complete shutdown on a massive scale.
Pushing with equal fervor was the Sex Crimes Division, not much interested in who the girls were or where they came from, concerned largely with what they were doing after arriving. Each time one of the two men from the division spoke Reed could sense a growing insecurity within them, their statements a bit too pointed, tones a touch too loud, all no doubt stemming from growing concern about having the entire thing taken over by one of the federal agencies in the room.
To be expected, the third voice in the battle came from the DOJ, the sole representative an attorney that was honed in on building a prosecution, refusing to acknowledge any of the people involved, preferring to view things through the narrow scope of what could be put before a judge.
As with most lawyers he had encountered, Reed found an instant and immense dislike for the man rise within, forcing his visage to remain even as he stood at the head of the table and watched the verbal volleying play out around him, allowing himself to fade into the background, inserting himself only when a bit of clarity was needed.
Conspicuously silent throughout the debate were the two men to Reed’s immediate right, the representatives from the FBI exchanging glances every few minutes but otherwise saying nothing. W
ith their hands folded in their laps they remained outside the fray, offering no thoughts for or against what was being bandied about.
Having only worked with the bureau tangentially in the past - an ugly affair just months before - Reed did not have an overly high opinion of the group or the extreme regard they seemed to hold themselves in. The competing self-interests that were playing out before him he had walked in anticipating, but their conscious decision to remain quiet came as a surprise, piquing his distrust.
By the time the group decided to break for lunch at noon, the various parties all needing to check in with their respective higher-ups before reconvening two hours later, Reed’s attention was on the two men beside him.
The first to rise and exit the room were the folks from Sex Crimes downtown, both visibly angry, almost sprinting away, leaving their chairs pulled out from the table in their wake.
Just a step behind was INS, joined by DOJ, the two sides going through the motions of pretending to be discussing some matter of the case.
In the back of the room each of the four officers stood and slowly drifted out, all glancing to Reed for clearance, getting no response as he stood rooted in place, Billie having taken her place by his side.
Not until the teams were gone, leaving only Reed, Billie, and the captain alone with the agents did he turn his attention to the side. Keeping his tone clear, free from accusation, he stared at each of them in turn and asked, “What aren’t you guys telling us?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
For the briefest of moments Reed thought of calling the four officers back into the room, perhaps even the others that had been until a few minutes before gathered in the conference room as well. Perhaps he was profiling a bit, but he had a feeling that whatever the FBI was sitting on was bad, the kind of thing they didn’t want to verbalize with everyone present.
The Partnership Page 18