Stormy Weather (Storm Donovan Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter Nine

Albert walked into Donovan’s midtown office, where he was in the library, looking through several decades of history of land ownership for Gregoris Sedakis. The case actually looked pretty clear-cut. The land did seem to have belonged to the Lang family, but the ownership was pretty much neglected since the deal was agreed between their grandfather and the corporation. It seemed pretty much as Sedakis had said.

He did not know why he was still researching it, because the claimant in the case was dead, but he just felt compelled to keep looking. He could not explain why, but he did.

“Need a word,” Albert said gruffly.

“What about?”

“The two corpses connected to you.”

Donovan looked up with a sigh. “What now?”

“First of all,” Albert came into the library. “They were paralyzed with drugs and then cut up while still alive.” Donovan looked down again. He did not want to show how horrified he was with that knowledge. “Second, there's no recent trace of any other sibling.”

“There isn't?” Donovan asked him blankly.

Albert shook his head. “Nope. They had a sister in that boarding school, but she vanished the same day as Mara Lang ended up under your car. Nobody has heard from her since. It was summer so she probably made it further than freezing to death. But nobody reported her missing. No bodies fitting her description have been found. She probably ended up somewhere in the woods or in the Hudson River.”

Donovan shook his head. “I know Frankie wouldn’t tell me to look out for her if she were dead.”

Albert just shrugged. “Believe what you want, but she's not showing up on the grid.”

“Was that all, Al?”

“No clue where to go with it, but for some reason, this killer does these horrible things. Might be a fascination with eagles or with Vikings or something. But the killer also has a strong connection to you.”

“Well, it's not me, and I know fuck-all about it,” Donovan said tensely. He was annoyed because of the business earlier at the courthouse and he did not like to think too much about the two blood-eagled bodies.

“I know.” Albert came forward and thumped him on the shoulder. “You need a distraction. How about more steak? You're buying.”

Donovan looked at him and saw him grinning broadly. “Fuck you.” But he managed a smile too. “Since you're doing the inviting, you're paying, you bastard. But you can buy me a burger or something.”

“So you can rub it in that you can eat them without getting fat and my belly is expanding all the time?”

“Of course,” Donovan smiled. “How's the diet?”

“Good enough as long as the wife doesn't know what I eat during the day.”

There was a burger joint not too far from the office. Their burgers were expensive, but they were good. They made everything fresh and they actually had a decent chef running the kitchen. They sat down by the window and looked over the menu. It was changed every month and Donovan was not familiar with anything on the menu anymore. It had been months since he had been there.

“Doesn't look too bad now,” he remarked to Albert.

“Fucking expensive burger joint,” Albert grumbled.

“Of course. It's quality food, not processed shit.”

“I guess. Should never have agreed to pay.”

“Well, you did. I'll get the drinks.”

“Thanks.”

“So what are you having?”

Albert thought for a moment. “I'll go for some goddamned lemonade.”

“Lemonade?” Donovan had to suppress a snigger. “You pussy.”

“Still on duty, technically. And if the missus finds out I had a beer, I'm fucked. Nose like a bloodhound, that one.”

Donovan grinned. He waved at the waiter and ordered their drinks. He held the girl by the table for a moment, waiting for Albert to be ready to order. He ordered himself a bacon cheeseburger, medium rare, and Albert got a fish burger with fries.

Their drinks and food arrived at the same time and they tucked in right away. There was not much talk as they ate. They were both hungry and so conversation was put on hold. But when Albert finished his slightly smaller meal he became quite talkative.

“You know what bugs me about these murders?” he asked.

Donovan shook his head, still having half of his burger left.

“Why the blood eagle thing?” He looked into Donovan's eyes. “It makes no sense. It's a big thing to do. It has some significance, but it baffles me. If the killer had done it with you or that married chick you've been hanging out with. But Juan?”

Donovan had taken another bite and did not reply. He just shrugged, indicating he did not know.

“Since the only link is you, I’m sort of beginning to think it's all random, but that's not likely either. Who would Viking-blood-eagle a person at random? Just for fun?”

Donovan swallowed. “Don't know. It's very strange.” He took another bite.

“See, even if this Eva is still alive, why would she kill her brother like that? And then your janitor?”

Donovan shrugged again.

“It's impossible to make anything out of this. Can't pin any of it down.” He paused and pinched his nose while holding his head down. “On anything!”

Donovan finished the last of his burger and he was finally able to make a reply. “You know, if she is still alive, she might just have gone nuts. Completely lost it and is acting with no sense at all.”

“Well, yes, but that's assuming she's still around.”

Donovan shook his head. “I know it's not the sort of proof-based investigating the FBI is expected to do, but I trust Frankie on this. If she says it’s a sibling, then I know she’s right.”

“Not forgetting Quinn Lang?”

Donovan considered that for a moment. “Well, where is he? Wasn't he supposed to show up at his parole officer's today?”

“Yup,” Albert gave a wry smile. “But he didn't show. In fact, he hasn't been seen since he was released.”

“Huh,” Donovan took another sip of his drink. “Have you been looking for him?”

“We sent some people down to his apartment earlier. They will probably report in within an hour or so.”

Donovan nodded. “You need to go home, or have you got time for coffee?”

Albert looked at his phone and then shrugged. “Duty, so I can have some coffee with you.”

“I'll make you some coffee back at the office.”

“You're being a cheapskate now? Great Recession getting to your business too?”

“Nah, I just have better coffee and a brand new, top of the line espresso machine waiting for us there.”

Albert grinned. “Right, I'll see you back there after I've taken care of the tab.”

Donovan had already produced two cups of espresso when Albert came back into the office. Only Donovan's secretary, Rachel, was still in the office.

The two men sat down with their coffees in a deep alcove with fitted seats just beside the kitchen.

“You're right, it is good coffee.”

“Told you.”

“Still think you're cheap.”

Rachel popped her head round the side of the alcove. “Will you be needing anything further, Mister Donovan?”

“No, Rachel. You can go home.” Donovan smiled. “Home to your boyfriend, eh?”

Rachel looked down for a second. “Actually, sir, he's gone. He moved to LA to work in Hollywood. He wasn't getting any proper roles here.”

“Sorry to hear that. How are you holding up?” Donovan sounded genuinely concerned.

“I'm hanging in there. Getting used to stomping around that apartment alone.” She forced a smile. “But if that's all, I'll be going, sir. Good evening, Mister Donovan, Mister Parker.”

Albert waved and Donovan said goodbye.

Albert's phone rang and he walked into the kitchen as he picked it up. Donovan could not hear a word he said and just looked out of the window. The office buildings were emptying. The workers were flooding into the streets from the doors and the car parks. From his bird’s eye view, he couldn’t make out faces. But he thought he recognized his secretary walking her bike from the building’s front entrance, getting on and cycling off toward Harlem where she lived.

“Right. You'd better come with me
,
” Albert threw back the coffee and winced as the hot liquid burned his throat. “You might find this interesting.”

They were soon in his car driving toward one of the poorer parts of Brooklyn. Donovan did not venture into the ghettos often. He had been there previously, especially during his days in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but he preferred to stick to the higher parts of society in Manhattan and Brooklyn these days. It was more comfortable and the smell was infinitely better. When he remarked on the latter, Albert immediately opened the windows of the car. Donovan punched him in the shoulder.

Albert parked the car outside a rundown apartment block that looked as though it should be demolished. There was already another car with the FBI letters on it at the location. A coroner’s van raced past them and around the corner as they got out of the car. “This is where Quinn’s supposed to be living,” Albert said as he walked to the door. “Let's see if the parole officer was right.”

Donovan followed him and retched almost as soon as he walked into the apartment. There was another one.

“Do we know who it is?” Albert asked. The agent who had been sent to find Quinn Lang was already busy taking fingerprints. “Not yet,” she said. She held up the paper with the fingerprints. “I'll go down and scan these. Should have an answer for you soon.”

The coroner came into the dingy apartment. He let out a low whistle when he saw the body and then sniffed. “Well, this one was the first to get the treatment.”

Albert and Donovan both looked at him with questioning eyes.

The coroner shook his head. “You FBI boys feeling slow today? I had hoped that maybe you would have learned something since you left the FBI, Donovan, but it seems not.” He waited for a protest and just as Donovan opened his mouth, he continued. “There's quite a distinct odor here. I'm guessing he's been lying in this warm apartment for at least a week.”

Albert looked around the apartment. There was not much there. There was a bed and a cupboard. He went to the cupboard, pulled a glove onto his right hand and opened the drawers one by one. There was a wallet with Quinn Lang's driver license in one of the top drawers; the others contained some clothes and a few books. The top right drawer held a Bible.

“So Quinn Lang found God in jail.” he mumbled. He thumbed through the Bible, but there was nothing to suggest any passage he had been particularly interested in.

Donovan stood on the spot, waiting for someone to tell him it was alright to move. He did not want to disturb the scene. He was no longer an agent and he knew from experience how easy it was for a judge to overturn evidence if there was any reason to think the crime scene had been contaminated.

Albert went into the small kitchen and found nothing worthwhile. There were some eggs in the fridge and some used knives and pans. He checked the small bathroom and found a single toothbrush, a travel-size tube of toothpaste and a bar of soap. It was depressing, really. There was nothing here. Nothing to show a person had really lived a life. He found it sad how this is what three years in prison could do to a man's world.

“I've seen enough.” he mumbled as he walked past Donovan and out of the door. “Depressing place.”

Donovan followed him out and was behind him the moment the agent who had taken the fingerprints confirmed to Albert that the body was Quinn Lang.

Albert turned around and looked at Donovan. “And then there was one.”

Chapter Ten

Donovan had known about the party a few blocks over at the Morris’ house for weeks. He had not intended to take them up on their invitation, but he felt like having a drink that night. But above all, he did not want to be alone that evening.

The Morris’ family apartment was a couple of streets down. About a half a mile; walking distance Donovan determined. He left his cars in the garage and walked down the road. When he arrived at the Morris’ loft, he was glad he had decided to walk. Not only would it allow him to drink, but there was a large queue of luxury cars lining up around the block. He recognized some of the cars on sight, and waved at the few people he could see, but most of the cars, especially the SUV's and limousines, had blacked-out windows. Despite himself, he knew he was paying extra attention to his posture and his walk.

He reached the entry gate just before a yellow metal-flake Lamborghini Murciélago. He looked down into the cockpit of the car and saw a face and body he recognized. He waved at Frankie Saunders and got a bright smile and enthusiastic wave in return.

He gave his invitation card to the security guard at the door, entered the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor of the building. He walked through the house and took the internal stairs up to the roof garden. The garden smelled of freshly cut grass. Donovan reckoned the garden had been immaculately arranged just before the guests began arriving. He knew it would have taken several gardeners several hours to do it.

The Morris’ loft spanned the entire block. From the upper windows at the front of his loft, he had a clear view of the property and their lush roof garden. He never spied on them, but they had a pair of daughters that were hard to ignore when you happened to glance out of the window in summer.

The Morris family was DUMBO royalty. Jim Morris was a Broadway producer of some of the biggest shows that had been produced in the last ten years and Kelly, his wife, was a scriptwriter on some of the greatest box office successes in the last decade. Their eldest daughter was an aspiring actress and both girls worked for a modeling agency.

The loft and roof garden were filling up nicely. The whole place was a veritable who's who of New York’s elite. Even the Upper East Siders had ventured off their island to attend. They had invited nearly everyone who was anyone. Donovan felt flattered to think he was among the A-listers. He was important enough in a way, but he was not one of the pretty people that appeared on the pages of the socialite pages of Vanity Fair or one of the moguls who made sure the pretty people had real-estate and investments. He hoped he wasn’t invited based on the social connections he was born with, but was here because he had built up a large base of clients that trusted him to deal with their legal affairs. A large number of his neighbors here were people who turned to him for legal advice when they needed it. Yet, he liked that he had both standing and blue blood, knowing they liked him enough to invite him and respected him enough not to shun him.

There was a band outside in the garden playing jazz music; next to it was the bar. He made a beeline straight for it. He bumped into Jim Morris there and made polite small talk with him, but they could both feel it was forced. He had not prepared for this obligation the evening required. He wanted people around, but he could not be bothered with the polite banter.

He quickly consumed several glasses of wine, then excused himself from Jim Morris and walked back down the steps and into the main house.

Inside the house was like an oil painting. Everyone who was anyone was there. A fifteen year old boy would have wet dreams of a room like this. It seemed Jim and Kelly had invited everyone they had ever worked with, or anyone who might help advance the careers of their daughters.

Donovan spoke to a producer who worked at the Disney Corporation and then a writer he knew worked exclusively for Time Warner. He liked talking to his clients in the entertainment industry, it was an exciting arm of the law, but it was not the stimulating company he was looking for. He was glad he never stood with an empty glass for long.

About an hour after he came to the party, there was a huge ruckus as a new guest arrived. Even from a distance he recognized the shock of blonde hair, the naked shoulders and the way she spoke. He wanted to make himself scarce when Justine Lavoie showed up at the party, but then he saw who was in her entourage. On her husband's arm walked Naomh Walsh. She was constantly looking around. She looked like she wanted to appear in love with her husband, but he knew she was there to make sure Justine Lavoie did not get up to her usual antics.

Donovan ran out of the door and made his way back to the roof garden bar. He got another drink and sat down on a marble bench in the shadows of a tree on the edge of the terrace. He had no desire to be in there anymore, no desire to be near Justine Lavoie, the deranged teenage pop star. He wondered whether he should perhaps dump Justine Lavoie's cases in one of his partners’ laps. He leaned back and sighed.

“Trying to hide?” a voice said behind him and a pair of hands ran over his shoulders. “Not a great place to hide though,” the voice said, whispering and simultaneously breathing gently, making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

“Hi, Frankie,” he replied, tilting his head backwards to look at her.

“Hi!” she chirped and ran round the bench to sit down next to him. “Saw you on television. This Justine Lavoie is a bit of a handful, isn't she?”

Donovan let out a deep sigh.

“But she's not whom you're hiding from, is she?”

Donovan didn’t answer; he just looked Frankie in the eyes.

“Must be her PR chick. I heard she was involved with someone behind her husband's back.”

“How can you have heard that?”

“Gossip travels quickly in this town.”

“You mean you dig around to find the gossip before anyone else?”

Frankie grinned. “Something like that.” She leaned in. “Well, she's married, you can't have her. If you're lonely, I might be tempted to give you a freebie.”

Donovan smiled and ran a hand over her cheek. “A freebie eh?”

Frankie leaned her head into his hand. “Yes.”

Donovan sat up straight and pulled his hand away. “By the way, what are you doing at this party? Weren't you supposed to be with your fiancé?”

Frankie sighed and dropped back in the seat dramatically. “Boring!”

“Dinner with your fiancé and some of the leading businessmen of the city is boring?”

Frankie nodded fervently. “Yep. Boring as fuck. Besides...” She cast a quick look around and leaned closer again. “The mayor is a bit of a client of mine. Not sure it would have gone well.”

“He's a very loyal client?”

“Yes. Not my favorite client, though.”

“Oh?” Donovan didn’t ask her who the favorite client might be. He reckoned he knew from her behavior what the answer was.

Frankie turned toward the door. Justine Lavoie was just coming out onto the terrace. She was feeling up her bodyguard again, but it seemed Naomh Walsh was keeping her from doing anything more. She pretty much slapped her client back into line now.

Frankie frowned as Justine turned her bare back toward them. “When did she get that eagle drawn on her back? Don't remember it being there the last time I saw her.”

Donovan veered up. “What did you just say?”

“Don't remember it being there the last time I saw her?”

“Before that.”

“When she got that tattoo?”

Donovan shook his head. “You said it differently. You asked when she got that eagle drawn on her back.” He got up and pulled out his phone. He walked into the shadows of the trees and called Albert.

“Fucksake. I know you know how late it is, Donovan,” Albert answered. He sounded out of breath, rather than like someone who was just woken up.

“The wife let you have some ass tonight?”

“What do you want?”

“Frankie just said something interesting.”

“What the fuck do I care what Frankie-fucking-Saunders says? And I thought you were doing this public relations bimbo?”

Donovan blinked. “Take it easy...” he admonished his old partner. “She just asked when Justine Lavoie had an eagle drawn on her back.” He heard the rustling of sheets and knew Albert had sat bolt upright. “She's from Québec as well.”

“Huh...” Albert muttered. “Interesting. I'll look into it in the morning.”

“Yeah, I thought it was an interesting play of words. And she's definitely loony.”

“I'll look into it in the morning. Right now I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Donovan grinned unseen. He recognized where that phrase came from and how it had slipped into Albert's vocabulary. “I'll let you get back to crushing your wife under your big belly.”

“Donovan...”

“Yes?”

“Fuck you.”

Donovan laughed and wished Albert a good night.

Frankie was still on the bench when he came back. He sat down next to her and smiled. In a sudden impulse, he kissed her. “Thank you.”

She was taken aback and left gasping for air. She wanted to lean into him and kiss him back, but just then someone crawled toward Donovan.

Justine Lavoie had noticed him and she rambled on about wanting to thank him for his services as she crawled toward him. She sat down on her knees before him and tried to get to his zipper.

“What the fuck?” Donovan pulled away and sat up on the back of the bench. Naomh Walsh came to the rescue. She pulled the pop star to her feet and began marching her away. It was as she walked away that Naomh noted that the man Justine had been after was Donovan. “Oh, hi,” she greeted him feebly.

“Hi,” Donovan replied. “Thanks for that.”

“Welcome.” She sounded shy. She looked away. Just then her husband came out through the doors. Donovan sank back onto the bench. He watched her as she went back to her husband.

A hand touched his knee. “That freebie is still on offer.”