Stormy Weather (Storm Donovan Book 1) (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Donovan arrived at the Sedakis’ mansion that evening still feeling tired. Frankie had let him sleep after they were done, but before she let him leave, she had shown him all sides of the suite. Still, Donovan mused, she gave up a little bit of a lead, and he had enjoyed himself more than he had in a while. It certainly had made the afternoon better than it would have been if he’d stayed at the office.

He had driven home to change and switched cars for the third time in two days. He drove out toward Sedakis’ White Plains mansion. His favorite car was the Jag and he often drove the SUV when he was tired and on long journeys, but this car was one he used to show off. The Bugatti Veyron Super Sport was a distinct car, with an even more distinct sound. And this evening, the engine's baritone bellows seemed to fit the mood he was in and the way he wanted to appear to Sedakis; the impression he wanted to make on the man's new wife.

He drove up the driveway, revving the engine as high as he could. By the time he reached the house, Sedakis himself was already opening the door. The big Greek man ran out to admire the car like a little child checking out a new toy in a store.

“My God!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. “When did you buy this?”

“About two years ago,” Donovan said as he got out. “Not long after it came out. One of the most high-tech cars out there. And fastest, of course.”

Sedakis nodded fervently. “Yes! Delightful! Sat in one, wanted to buy one. Wife made me buy a Bentley instead!” He looked at Donovan with pleading eyes. “Could I have a go?”

Donovan narrowed his eyes. He did not like lending his cars to anyone. “After dinner? Your wife will kill us if we let her food go cold.”

Sedakis looked disappointed, but he nodded in agreement all the same. “Quite so.” He pulled Donovan into a bear hug and kissed him on the cheek. “Come, meet the wife, meet her!” Sedakis let him go and beckoned him into his immodest mansion.

Sedakis pushed him into the dining room and Donovan sat down quickly. There were two other guests. There was Sedakis' right-hand man, Niklas Papadopolis, the CEO of American Stevedore, Inc. and a medium-sized woman with long curly hair and olive skin. She was looking at some of the artwork that clearly belonged to the house long before the Sedakis family purchased it.

“You know my man, Niklas?” Sedakis gestured toward the man.

“We've met before, right Nick?” Donovan offered the man his hand. They shook and then Donovan looked over at the woman, who had turned toward him upon hearing his voice. Donovan smiled broadly as he saw her face. She did the same.

“And this is...” Sedakis began.

Donovan interrupted him. “Hello again, Naomh.”

“Hello again, Donovan.” Naomh Walsh came forward to give him a small kiss on the cheek.

“You know each other?” Sedakis wondered.

“We have met before,” Naomh Walsh answered.

“Yup,” Donovan confirmed.

Sedakis looked from one to the other a few times. “Ms. Walsh helps my wife. Advises her on some matters. Society stuff and the like. Stuff she finds important. I never understood why it's all such a big deal.” He looked around and promptly marched toward the kitchen. He mumbled to himself as he walked away, “I'll just see how far she's gotten with the moussaka.”

Naomh waited a moment until he was out of the room, then she snuck a quick but deep kiss with Donovan. “Nice to see you again, she grinned at him. “By the way, don't say a thing about the wife. And no season remarks.”

Donovan frowned, not understanding. But he didn’t have time to ask her anything because Gregoris Sedakis came back moments later with his wife in tow. Donovan immediately understood what Naomh had meant.

The new Mrs. Sedakis, proudly introduced to him by Gregoris as Maria Sedakis, was still a teenager. Donovan thought she looked like she was sixteen, but understood immediately that she must be at least eighteen. She had a very young face, but was shaped well with a lean, athletic body not as full or as feminine as Naomh Walsh or Frankie Saunders. He reckoned she had probably started to develop later than the average teenage girl and would keep growing a bit into her early twenties.

“How old is she?” He whispered the question to Naomh.

“Nineteen next month.”

“What the fuck?”

“She snuck into a party at his country club two months ago and when he caught her and told her he'd tell on her, she... um...” Naomh tried to find a suitable euphemism.

It was Donovan who provided the words. “Entertained him?”

“Yeah, that's it. Divorced his wife a month later and married her a week after that.”

Donovan shook his head. “Jeesh.” It was more than slightly unscrupulous. He liked Sedakis, but he did not know what to make of this. “So what do you do for her?”

Naomh shrugged. “She was not born into the elite circles of New York’s blue bloods and I have to teach her how to behave so she won't embarrass Gregoris. And get her into the right places. Get her doing PR gigs, parties and stuff that Sedakis himself won't do, or would hesitate to do.”

Sedakis kissed his young wife full on the lips and she kissed him back. Then he slapped her bottom, sending her back to the kitchen. “Marvelous creature, isn't she?” he remarked proudly. He sounded almost like a breeder talking about his prize filly.

“Yeah, she's amazing.” Donovan joined in to sing Maria Sedakis' praises. And if he did not quite mean it at that moment, he did mean it later, after a generous portion of moussaka. The girl did know how to cook, which went a long way to explaining why Gregoris Sedakis had married her.

There was baklava after, which again, was great. The girl, Maria, said little throughout the meal, but Donovan noticed she was keenly observing everything. She seemed eager to learn about everything they discussed at the table, from business to the local gossip. She seemed to know instinctively what she had to learn in order to be a good wife to Sedakis. Whether that would be enough remained to be seen.

After a while, Sedakis brought out the ouzo and they sat down with a few glasses. Papadopolis retired after that, heading home before the evening got out of hand. Donovan himself was determined not to drink too much, as he had to drive home. But as they sat down and got to talking, he concluded that would probably be a vain hope so he prepared himself for a long night.

“So I heard someone killed your janitor?” Sedakis stated at some point. It was a question and a statement rolled in one; not one nor the other. “Same thing as that man in my warehouse.”

Donovan nodded. “Yeah, it wasn't pretty.”

“Know anything yet?”

Donovan wondered for a moment whether he should tell Sedakis and Naomh Walsh about what Frankie Saunders had advised him on. His common sense told him he should be prudent, but as Sedakis poured him another shot his ability to listen to common sense soon passed. “Seems there's something about the siblings of these Lang brothers. But I only ever knew them to have a sister, Mara. She's dead, though. Car accident outside the court building the day her brother was convicted.”

Naomh intuitively felt the question come up. It felt like one of those questions that had to be asked and answered. “Who was driving?”

Donovan looked down. “I was.” He kept looking at his feet, even as Naomh's hand touched his knee. “She was only 17 or so, still in school I think. Her brothers turned to crime, sacrificed, to get her through some expensive boarding school.” He sighed. “Poor Mara Lang. I couldn't do anything about it, I know that. But it still feels like I might have been able to save her.”

“I knew a Mara Lang.” It was the first time Maria Sedakis felt confident involving herself in the evening’s conversation. “She was a few years ahead of me in the boarding school I attended in Québec,” she remarked. “She died in a car accident. But she can’t be the same person. She had a sister in my class; I don’t remember anyone mentioning brothers.”

Donovan looked at her questioningly. “What was her name?” he asked curiously.

“I think Eva. But she disappeared from the school before her sister was killed. Nobody knew where she went.”

Donovan shook his head and drew his silver case of cigars from his inside pocket. He offered one to Sedakis. “Want one?”

Sedakis shook his head. “She's making me quit.”

Donovan shrugged as he saw Maria nod happily. “Suit yourself.”

As he stood on the terrace at the back of the house, smoking, he heard the door opening. It was Naomh. “You mind if I have a few puffs?” Donovan shook his head and offered her his cigar. She breathed in a large amount of smoke and then suddenly kissed him, breathing the smoke back to him. “Share and share alike, eh,” she said as she broke away from him, running her hands over his cheeks. He looked distracted. “What are you thinking?” she demanded seriously.

“Eva Lang,” he said, staring into the New York woodlands; it was a beautiful part of the state and so close to the city. “She's got to be somewhere, and she's got to be connected to this. But how? And where is she?”

Naomh shrugged. “Well, she's not an A-lister here, or I would have known about it.”

“Suppose you're right,” Donovan said.

When the cigar was finished, they went back in, only to find that Gregoris Sedakis had already taken his wife to bed.

“I do feel a bit sorry for her,” Donovan remarked. “Laboring under that big fat belly.”

Naomh laughed. “Yeah, can't be easy.”

Donovan shrugged. “Ah well, I suppose it's time to head home anyway. “ He began to walk toward the door, but found himself staggering. He swore. The ouzo was obviously having more of an effect than he originally thought it would. But he was not going to let anyone notice that. He turned around and looked at Naomh. “You want a ride?”

Naomh shook her head and walked over to him, grabbing him by the arm. “You're not going anywhere,” she said as she pulled him toward the stairs. “You've had far too much ouzo to drive your flashy Bugatti.”

“Damn you,” Donovan grumbled at her.

Chapter Eight

Donovan woke up the next morning in a lavish bedroom in Sedakis' 18th century colonial home. He was thankful that he was not hungover. He looked around and noticed his clothes were folded on top of a chair in the corner. His boxers were the topmost and as soon as he saw them, he realized he was naked. He looked to the other side of the bed and saw Naomh Walsh there. He lifted the sheets and saw she was naked too, her smooth skin beckoned him to touch her. He surmised something must have happened, but he could not remember anything past cursing her as she forbade him from driving himself home.

Slowly he got out of bed and began to get dressed. Naomh stirred. Softly he walked out of the room, holding his shoes in his hands, not wishing to make any unneeded noise that might wake her up.

Five minutes later, he stepped into his Bugatti and was rushing back toward the center of Manhattan and his office. He charged down Bronx River Parkway toward the skyscrapers of the city that he loved to hate. But as he drove down FDR Drive and took the 63
rd
street exit that led him to his Midtown offices, he changed his mind. He took a right and turned into a side street that would lead him back onto the highway and continued straight in the direction of Chinatown. He took the City Hall exit and headed toward the financial district.

When the traffic cleared enough, he floored the Bugatti and accelerated as fast as he could. It did not take him long to reach City Hall. But he did not turn into Park Row; instead he drove past it, to a charcoal brown office building between Chinatown and City Hall. The building with the unassuming architecture on the corner of Chambers and Broadway where his old offices were; the Federal Plaza, the New York State headquarters for the office of the FBI.

He parked the Bugatti in the front of the building and ran in. He checked his watch and knew Albert would only just be heading in. He knew his old partner's habits by heart and he was not wrong. Within a minute, Albert came in with a cup of coffee.

“Albert!” he greeted his old partner, who looked a bit stunned.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Helping you out.” Donovan said as happily as he could, knowing how much it would annoy Albert.

“Thought you had to be in court or something? Stupid Lavoie kid? Yesterday, in fact.”

Donovan shook his head. “It was postponed to today. Got another two hours before that.”

Albert nodded, looking bored and annoyed. “So what are you doing here? Not sure you're supposed to be here. You couldn't just call, could you?”

“You've probably got some link with the NSA anyway, so you can tap my phone. Not sure I want one of your spies or database analysts overhearing what I need to tell you. Bit sensitive.”

It took Albert a moment to realize what he meant. “You spoke to her then?”

Donovan nodded. “She said I should look at the Lang's siblings.”

“Yeah, I did that already. That sister, Mary?”

“Mara.” Donovan corrected him.

“Right, her. Well, she died under your wheels right?” Albert shrugged. “Maybe they blame you for that too, but Quinn has gone to ground, Denny is dead and Mara is dead. Unless we can find Quinn, that's a dead end.”

“I was with Sedakis last night.”

“Ugh, that horrible man.” Albert interrupted.

“Shut up, he's a nice guy.” Donovan threw in. “He's just gotten married to this teenage chick. She claims she went to boarding school with Mara Lang and her younger sister.”

Albert shrugged. Then his eyes opened wide. His brain was still slow in the morning. The coffee had not yet taken effect. “Her younger sister?”

“Yes. Kid disappeared from the Québec boarding school when she was fourteen. Nobody has heard or seen of her since.”

“Interesting...” Albert smiled and patted Donovan on the shoulder. He turned away and walked past the desk into the office. “Haven't completely lost your touch have you, Boyo?”

The Court Administration was a hive of activity when Donovan got there. Naomh Walsh was already waiting in the lobby area as he walked through the main entrance doors. He came to stand next to her and took her hand, fingering the ring on her finger. “Did you cheat on your husband last night?” he asked her quietly. She just stared straight ahead, not giving anything away. “Honestly, I don't know,” she said in low tones. “Wanted to, but I'm not sure I did. Damned ouzo.”

Donovan grinned. “Yeah, well... dinner tonight?”

She looked at him then. “Husband is flying back tonight. Sorry.”

Donovan nodded. He tried to make out he was not bothered, but secretly he was. He had enjoyed spending time with Ms. Walsh, much more than with any of his other recent conquests. But, he figured, you win some, you lose some. Que sera, sera and all that jazz.

A large, black limousine drove up to the curb and the door opened. First out of the car was a big Eastern European-looking man with muscles the size of boulders. He was dressed in some shiny, silk harem pants and nothing more. He held two small dogs, both of them barking like mad. Behind him, a woman in latex pants and bra got out. A huge purple strap-on dangled from her waist as she stood there on her high heels, waiting for the last person to exit the car. That last person was a petite blonde woman. The blonde woman was really still a girl. A girl who made both Donovan and Naomh look down in despair.

Justine Lavoie, it seemed, had not even bothered to dress. She had simply thrown on a jeans skirt that was so short it looked almost like a belt. She wore no top, just a short fur coat that she had not even closed. Her small breasts were almost fully exposed, as were her private parts as she stepped out of the car. She wore obscenely high shoes again and her makeup was that of a porn star, again.

When she stood and rose out of the limo, she smiled to the large gathering of paparazzi that seemed to have become a part of her entourage. She pulled the two people that accompanied her close in. She kissed the woman and stroked the strap-on in her hand. She pushed her bottom into the crotch of the topless man and began grinding against him, all the while looking straight at the cameras.

The cameramen and photographers egged her on, but Donovan's patience just snapped. He rushed forward, making his way through the assembled press and grabbed Justine Lavoie by her arm. “Good day, Miss Lavoie. If you would be so kind as to follow us into the courthouse. Can't keep the judge waiting.” He just pushed her. The topless man tried to ward him off, but he was able to bully the girl toward the main door. In the short, close-up observation, he had already noticed she had no pupil in her eye, and he already began wondering whether he should not just let it happen. Maybe he should let her make a fool out of herself, mess things up in the court and be convicted to mandatory rehab. Maybe the conviction would steer her away from what seemed like her looming demise and maybe even a membership to the 27 Club.

The whole thing should have been a routine affair. An appearance before the bench and a quick decision. Most of the minor offenses were dealt with in that manner. You were given a number, called before the bench, told your story in a few minutes, the clerk would read the police report and then the judge would pass a ruling. You could then accept the verdict or decide to take it higher, demanding trial by jury. Or you could simply make things worse by showing contempt of court.

It should have been easy, and Donovan hoped it would be, though, as the situation unfolded before him, he feared it would not be. Naomh Walsh did not show what she was thinking, but her objective was not getting Justine Lavoie off or getting her the best suitable arrangement. Her job was to make sure the girl got publicity, preferably good publicity, of course. But publicity was the name of the game. The only thing she seemed to be afraid of was that her client's behavior would appear so deranged that she would end up generating too much negative publicity, to the detriment of her record and ticket sales.

Neither one of them had control over the situation, and neither one was willing to admit to the fact. With so much press there, this was a show entirely devoted to Justine Lavoie and her whims. The moment their number was called Justine Lavoie jumped up and trotted toward the bench. She took off her short fur jacket and bowed to the judge. There weren’t supposed to be any cameras in the courtroom, but there were some anyway. Various people present in the room pulled out their cell phones and took snapshots. Several paparazzi had managed to sneak in past the security and even a camera crew from the news station had managed to get in.

“Miss Lavoie, will you please cover yourself up?” the judge began, quite shocked.

Justine held her hands before her breasts. The judge looked at Donovan. “Counselor?”

Donovan shrugged. He did not know how to deal with the girl. He took her jacket and placed it around her shoulders. At least it covered up something. Apart from covering her shoulders, it covered the large, elaborate tattoo of a soaring eagle with a bloody beak and claws she had tattooed on her back and shoulders. It looked odd on a little girl like this. But then, she was hardly an innocent little girl.

The judge shook his head read the charge. “The State of New York against Justine Aoibhe Maria Lavoie. On the charge of driving under influence of alcohol, how do you plea?”

“Fuck you,” Justine Lavoie answered before Donovan could open his mouth.

“Pardon me?” the judge said. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“I said...” the girl gathered her breath and screamed the next words, “Fuck you!”

The judge's face paled. He was used to a lot, but he could not let this go. “Counselor. Please control your client, or I will also hold her in contempt of the court.”

“Yes, your honor.” Donovan answered quickly. Justine Lavoie turned to him and looked at him, licking her lips. “I'll fuck you too, you know. Pay him off with my pussy and you can take my ass.” She turned away from him again, lifted the poor excuse for a skirt and began grinding into him. Naomh stepped in and pulled her away.

“Oh, you want him in your ass instead? I'll share; you know, I'm not picky.”

“Miss Lavoie!” the judge roared. “This is a courthouse, not a brothel. If you cannot keep from exposing yourself and behaving indecently, I will find you guilty of the charges, add contempt of the court and have you locked up immediately!” The old man looked furious. And rightly too, Donovan thought. There was no excuse for this. The girl was completely deranged. “Can I approach the bench, your honor?” he asked quickly. The judge nodded.

As Donovan approached, he already knew he had made a mistake. He had wanted to talk to the judge and ask whether he could spare her any harsh sentence, forcing her to take rehab instead, but that plan was not going to fly. For the moment he approached, Justine Lavoie dropped onto her back and began touching herself. “See, I'll pay you off? I'll give you as much as you want,” she proposed to the judge.

Not five minutes later, she had been taken to the jail at the back of the courthouse. There was nothing Donovan could do about it. He calmly heard the judge say she had defiled the courtroom and shown utter contempt for the court, on top of the charges already filed against her. He ordered the officers to take blood for drug testing and to hold her in the cells until the results came back. Donovan could only agree. He wanted to ask for bail, but he knew it was futile right now.

When he walked out of the courtroom, Naomh Walsh was already outside, making calls. Journalists were talking to camera teams, phoning their offices or speaking into recorders. The whole scene was beyond chaotic. And Naomh Walsh was in full damage control mode. For himself, the damage had been done. He could do little other than wait for the judge to call him back and talk about bail. He sat down on the wooden bench outside the courtroom and closed his eyes.

Two hours passed before he was called in to hear the final ruling. The results of the blood test had come back and they did not look good. It seemed Justine Lavoie had recently taken nearly everything she could have gotten her hands on. Uppers and downers, legal and illegal. She was a walking pharmacy, as the judge put it. He hesitated not a moment. He gave her a fine for the drunk driving, but ordered Justine Aoibhe Maria Lavoie to go into rehab. Donovan accepted the verdict in her place. She was not there, having passed out in the cell.

Outside, Donovan found the topless man, whom he knew was one of Justine’s bodyguards, even if she did use him for other things too. He told him to bring the girl back into the limousine and take her home. He looked around and saw Naomh Walsh still making calls. He would probably not see her again, not any time soon, and he felt he should say goodbye. But she was busy and he had to get back to his office on the other side of town. Instead, he began the long walk several blocks north to his office and back to saner legal work.