No Way Back(Jack McNeal #1)(3)

McNeal looked at Franzen enviously. “So, when are you headed down to Florida, Dave?”

“Three weeks, three days. Can’t wait.”

Franzen and his wife, Nicola, an ICU nurse, were both retiring to Boca Raton. They had already sold their house in Queens and were renting a property in Brooklyn. “You’re not going to miss us?”

“You kidding? Twenty years, ten in Internal Affairs, is enough for any man.”

“What about the weather? You’re going to miss that for sure, right?”

Franzen laughed. “Yeah, right. My car wouldn’t start this morning. Had to call a tow truck.”

McNeal’s cell phone rang, and he winced. He looked over at the phone and checked the caller ID. “Speak of the devil. Have to take this.”

“You headed for a drink after work?”

“Not tonight. I’m saving myself for your retirement party.”

Franzen laughed. “You better show up, man.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Catch you later.”

McNeal picked up his cell phone.

“Jack, how did it go with that animal?” The voice of Bob Buckley.

McNeal leaned back in his seat. “Says he can’t remember.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know. But we’ve got him where we want him. Where are you now?”

“Commissioner’s office.”

McNeal smiled. “Tell him from me that we need more resources.”

“I know, Jack. But I can’t go rushing in, demanding the earth. It’s all politics.”

“That’s all I keep hearing. We need some help down here. You saw my backlog?”

“I’m working on it. You remember your appointment this afternoon?”

McNeal closed his eyes for a moment. He had forgotten all about it.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Gimme a break, Bob. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through on this case. I’m not going to allow this slimeball’s attorney to get this fucker off on a technicality.”

“Paperwork will still be there in the morning. This appointment is important.”

McNeal resented having to take an hour out of his day just because his boss “insisted.”

“Jack, do you hear me?”

“I don’t understand why I have to go. It’s bullshit. I need to do my job.”

“We’ve had this discussion before. You need to go.”

“And if I don’t?”

“It’s nonnegotiable. Don’t be late.”





Two

It was nearly dark.

Jack McNeal walked along East Tenth Street, cold rain slashing at his face. He headed toward a classic prewar building at the corner of University Place, prime Greenwich Village. It was home to a smattering of wealthy New Yorkers. An A-list actor, a record producer who had worked on a Rolling Stones album back in the day, a sci-fi author, a celebrity chef, the ex-wife of a billionaire hedge fund exec, an entertainment attorney who represented some hip-hop guys, and a few other newsworthy celebrities. The building dated from 1928, but it had been redeveloped in 2009 to stunning, high-end specifications. A world-famous interior designer had been flown in from Marseille to oversee the transformation. It boasted a twenty-four-hour doorman to go with ultra-tight security. It reeked of money. And privilege.

McNeal didn’t give a shit about any of that. He would much rather be doing what he was paid to do.

He signed in at the desk, showed his ID, and the doorman escorted him to the elevator.

McNeal rode alone to the ninth floor. He walked along a carpeted corridor. The apartment he was looking for sat at the end. He checked his watch. He was one minute late. He knocked and the door opened.

The woman wore black. “Nice to meet you, Jack,” she said. “Belinda Katz.”

McNeal shook her hand and followed her down a hallway. He couldn’t help admiring the lacquered herringbone flooring. He considered how much per square yard that had set her back.

He was shown into a huge drawing room. A few large lamps added extra warmth.

She motioned for him to sit in a dark-brown leather armchair. “Glad you could make it.”

Jack McNeal slumped down. His gaze wandered around the room. It was painted white, with large pieces of modern art adorning the walls. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf held everything from Freud to books on Eastern philosophy. Outside, rain lashed against the window.

The woman sat down in an Eames chair opposite him and put on her glasses. She began flicking through some papers on her lap before looking up and smiling. Her nails were painted dark red, matching her lipstick. “So, let’s try and ease ourselves into this, Jack,” she said. “Firstly, I don’t come cheap.”

McNeal smiled at the quip.

“But that’s not your problem. Bob Buckley is a good friend of mine.”

“Lucky you.”

Katz gave a grim smirk. “He’s not to everyone’s taste, I know.”

“He’s fine. Intense. But fine.”

“Okay. Let’s get started. You have been sent as a referral. Do you have any idea why you’re here or what led to this referral, Jack?”

“I was hoping you could answer that.”