shouldn’t be messing around in.”
“Any specific places you have in mind?”
“H. R. Harmon.”
“He’s kind of relevant to the investigation, don’t you think?”
“Obviously, he might be helpful. It remains to be seen just how much.”
“But you’ll be doing the seeing.”
“That’s right. I think a slightly more delicate touch than yours is required here.”
Justin didn’t answer immediately, not that Silverbush was looking for an answer. He was merely looking for acquiescence, which Justin gave him when all he said was “Okay.”
“Good.” Silverbush smiled at them both now. He stood as if waiting for them to leave.
“Can I just point out one thing?” Justin asked.
“Of course.”
“You’re in my office. You’re the one who’s actually got to make the graceful exit.”
Silverbush laughed. It was almost an affectionate laugh—almost, but not quite. Justin handed him his preliminary report when the DA’s laughter stopped. “You might want to read this sooner rather than later.”
“I’m not big on reading. I’m big on action.”
“Well,” Justin said, “as you made clear, you’re the boss.” He nodded toward the report now in Silverbush’s hand. “All I can do is tell you what I know and make my recommendation.”
“Would you like my recommendation?” Silverbush asked. “Don’t fuck up. Or I’ll have your balls for breakfast.”
“If the whole governor thing doesn’t work out, try football coach,” Justin said. “You’ve got that inspirational touch.”
Silverbush laughed once more, this time with genuine good feeling, and left the East End Harbor mayor and chief of police alone in the office.
“Charmer, isn’t he?” Leona said.
“You might want to read my report,” Justin said, handing her another copy, “before Mr. Charm does.”
“Something you didn’t mention just now, Jay?”
“Hey,” Justin said, “I’m not big on mentioning. I’m big on action.” And then he said, “But read it.”
9
The Rockworth and Williams offices were on the fifty-sixth floor of the World Financial Building. The expansive windows in the even more expansive lobby looked out, on this remarkably clear day, over what seemed to be the entire world. Directly east was Ground Zero, its presence still jarring. Looking north you could see almost all of Manhattan—Tribeca, midtown, Central Park, all the way up to Harlem, and even the distant specks of traffic inching along the Triborough Bridge. The view west took in the Hudson River and well into New Jersey. Looking south at the smooth expanse of the Upper Bay, you stared down at the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Justin had the feeling that if he had a better sense of geography and knew which way to look, and if his vision were substantially better, he’d have a decent shot at viewing the jutting shores of Cornwall all the way across the ocean.
He was kept waiting for twenty-seven minutes, three minutes less than he’d expected. He could have barged in, flashing his badge, but he decided to keep this friendly. If the secretary had exceeded his thirty-minute waiting limit, however, his friendly demeanor would have gone out the fifty-sixth-floor window. Luckily for all concerned, she came in the nick of time to lead him back to Daniel French, the Rockworth executive who’d been picked to talk to him.
“I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to be able to tell you,” French told Justin. They were sitting in a conference room, which Justin figured was roughly the square footage of his house in East End Harbor. French offered water—cold or room temperature, which Justin declined; coffee, which Justin accepted, black. French had water. Cold.
“I’m gathering any information that might be helpful in the investigation,” Justin explained. “I’m looking for help so I can find out who killed Evan Harmon.”
“I still can’t believe this happened,” French said. “You never think . . . well . . .
“Any specific places you have in mind?”
“H. R. Harmon.”
“He’s kind of relevant to the investigation, don’t you think?”
“Obviously, he might be helpful. It remains to be seen just how much.”
“But you’ll be doing the seeing.”
“That’s right. I think a slightly more delicate touch than yours is required here.”
Justin didn’t answer immediately, not that Silverbush was looking for an answer. He was merely looking for acquiescence, which Justin gave him when all he said was “Okay.”
“Good.” Silverbush smiled at them both now. He stood as if waiting for them to leave.
“Can I just point out one thing?” Justin asked.
“Of course.”
“You’re in my office. You’re the one who’s actually got to make the graceful exit.”
Silverbush laughed. It was almost an affectionate laugh—almost, but not quite. Justin handed him his preliminary report when the DA’s laughter stopped. “You might want to read this sooner rather than later.”
“I’m not big on reading. I’m big on action.”
“Well,” Justin said, “as you made clear, you’re the boss.” He nodded toward the report now in Silverbush’s hand. “All I can do is tell you what I know and make my recommendation.”
“Would you like my recommendation?” Silverbush asked. “Don’t fuck up. Or I’ll have your balls for breakfast.”
“If the whole governor thing doesn’t work out, try football coach,” Justin said. “You’ve got that inspirational touch.”
Silverbush laughed once more, this time with genuine good feeling, and left the East End Harbor mayor and chief of police alone in the office.
“Charmer, isn’t he?” Leona said.
“You might want to read my report,” Justin said, handing her another copy, “before Mr. Charm does.”
“Something you didn’t mention just now, Jay?”
“Hey,” Justin said, “I’m not big on mentioning. I’m big on action.” And then he said, “But read it.”
9
The Rockworth and Williams offices were on the fifty-sixth floor of the World Financial Building. The expansive windows in the even more expansive lobby looked out, on this remarkably clear day, over what seemed to be the entire world. Directly east was Ground Zero, its presence still jarring. Looking north you could see almost all of Manhattan—Tribeca, midtown, Central Park, all the way up to Harlem, and even the distant specks of traffic inching along the Triborough Bridge. The view west took in the Hudson River and well into New Jersey. Looking south at the smooth expanse of the Upper Bay, you stared down at the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Justin had the feeling that if he had a better sense of geography and knew which way to look, and if his vision were substantially better, he’d have a decent shot at viewing the jutting shores of Cornwall all the way across the ocean.
He was kept waiting for twenty-seven minutes, three minutes less than he’d expected. He could have barged in, flashing his badge, but he decided to keep this friendly. If the secretary had exceeded his thirty-minute waiting limit, however, his friendly demeanor would have gone out the fifty-sixth-floor window. Luckily for all concerned, she came in the nick of time to lead him back to Daniel French, the Rockworth executive who’d been picked to talk to him.
“I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to be able to tell you,” French told Justin. They were sitting in a conference room, which Justin figured was roughly the square footage of his house in East End Harbor. French offered water—cold or room temperature, which Justin declined; coffee, which Justin accepted, black. French had water. Cold.
“I’m gathering any information that might be helpful in the investigation,” Justin explained. “I’m looking for help so I can find out who killed Evan Harmon.”
“I still can’t believe this happened,” French said. “You never think . . . well . . .
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