Richard Hawke - Cold Day in Hell

“What’s her name?”

“Allison Jennings.”

I took another pause to think it all over. “Why are you calling me, Peter?”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask that.”

“You can stop wondering.”

“How’s your plate looking, Fritz?”

“My plate is full of wasabi peas. For that matter, my plate isn’t even a plate. My plate is a bowl. Why do you ask?”

“The Jennings woman is freaked out.”

“So you said. I can imagine she is. But she has a boyfriend, Peter. I know you think I’m swell and all, but you’re not calling me up so that I can go comfort her.”

“Margo would have my head on a platter,” he said.

I muttered, “If there’s room.”

“What? Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s nothing. Like you said. A lot of people are freaking out.”

Peter asked, “Can you go see Allison Jennings tomorrow?”

“Why should I do that?”

“It makes no sense that someone completely unrelated to Marshall Fox would get one of these same phone threats that the others got. The police are missing something. I thought you could talk to her, maybe nose around in her life and see if you can come up with the connection. It could be important.”

“I’m assuming the police are already doing that,” I said.

“They are. But that doesn’t mean adding you to the mix might not be helpful.”

“Who’d be paying my freight on this? It can’t be Mr. Gallo and the good people of New York.”

“I’m hiring you. Actually, just call it an extension of the work you did for us vetting the jury in the spring.”

“Did you tell Joe that you were putting me on the trail? I’ve already crossed paths with his lead investigator.” I had the sudden image of Megan Lamb seated across the room, wringing her hands and describing gory details for me. Or rather, for her.

“Gallo knows,” Peter said. “He said what you said. You’re already his shadow on this thing. I got the rap. Anything you uncover, you take to him immediately, blah, blah, blah.”

I sniffed. “A law lecture. At our age.”

“Gallo wants this thing nailed and finished. I mean, who doesn’t? I told you about my granny. Shelly’s got it, too. The heebie-jeebies. To be honest, I can’t shake the ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’ feeling, either. Riddick and Burrell within twenty-four hours. I know there’s been nothing for three days. But maybe it’s the weather and all this snow that has him socked in like it has the rest of the city. That’s the feeling I have. This guy’s holed up, but there’s still unfinished business out there.”

“You’re thinking Rosemary Fox?”

“I was. And now I’m thinking Allison Jennings. I just don’t know. Gallo told me he recommended she get back out of town if at all possible, but she says after just taking the week off for skiing, she’s way too swamped at her job.”

I could hear noise in the background. A child’s screaming laughter and a woman responding. Peter’s wife, Shelly, I presumed.

The attorney lowered his voice. “You know what, Fritz? I don’t want to spook Shelly any more than she already is, but I’ve actually been thinking of getting her and the kids out of the city until this whole thing blows over. I’m sure it’s nerves about the trial. My damn jury is ready to explode, and I’m getting this awful feeling that even if they don’t, Fox is going to walk. Either way, I’m looking at my wife here and I’m thinking, Don’t be an idiot. Some nut is out there. Who knows what he’s thinking? Get her the hell away from here.”

“I’ll talk to Jennings,” I said. “We need to establish her link with these phone threats. That’s something we could actually run with.”

“Excellent. Let me give you her cell number. She’s not staying at her place tonight. At Gallo’s suggestion, she won’t be at her boyfriend’s, either. She’d be just as easy to track down there. She gave Gallo the address of where she’d be staying tonight, and he said he’d post a car outside. He didn’t tell me where it was. You call her cell in the morning, and the two of you can set up a place to meet. If you can, could you swing by my office after you’ve talked to her? There’s something else I need to go over with you.”

I agreed to stop by, and we hung up. I returned the rest of the wasabi peas to the bag and stowed it in the cabinet. The radiator had ceased its banging while I was talking to Peter, but now it started up again. The room was stuffy, so I cracked a window. I poked my head outside for some air and spent a minute looking down the block at the green and red holiday garlands straddling the street farther down Mulberry. The lights of the Italian restaurants were popping and blinking, but the street itself was nearly abandoned. It seemed like the entire city had gone to ground.

Before I got into bed, I jotted down some notes, circled a few of them, drew an arrow here and there, and layered in a number of question marks. I considered calling Margo to let her know that I was now officially on the case. I had a client. A paying client. Maybe that would mollify her. The radiator in the front room clanged and banged again as I picked up the phone. In the distance, I heard the urgent blaring horn of a fire truck. The sound grew louder as the truck passed a block or so away, and then it faded again into the night.

I set the phone back down and turned off the light.

ALLISON JENNINGS WANTED me to meet her in Brooklyn Heights. First thing in the morning, I took the subway under the river to the Clark Street stop. My low-level claustrophobia kicked in when we were under the East River, but I’ve got some tricks I use to deal with it. On the crowded cattle elevator up to the street level, there was a rabbit-fur hat in my face, and I wanted to snatch it with my teeth and spit it out onto the floor. But I maintained a civil composure and got through the short ride.

Allison’s boyfriend came along. His name was Jeffrey. I met them at a pastry shop on Piermont Avenue. As I came in, Jeffrey rose from his chair and met me at the door. The first thing he did was ask to see my PI license. He took it with a trembling hand and stared at it as if it needed deciphering.

He asked, “Do you carry a gun?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you carrying one now?”

I tapped the area of my heart. “I’d introduce you, but he’s shy.”

Jeffrey handed me back the license. “She’s really freaked out. Anything you can do to make her feel safer, I’d appreciate it.”

Allison was sitting at a small table about fifteen feet from the door. Jeffrey’s security check completed, the two of us joined her. She was a brunette. She looked hopeful and scared all at once. Jeffrey sat down and took her hand. I considered taking the other one, but we weren’t here for a prayer meeting. I introduced myself and asked Allison to tell me the story. I knew it already, but details get dropped and added as tales move down the line. In this case, the details were few, and Allison’s rendering essentially matched the version I’d gotten on the phone from Peter Elliott.

“What’s going on?” Allison asked, a tremor in her voice. “I’m really confused. Why does this man want to hurt me?”

“We’re going to figure that out,” I said. “Let me ask you some questions. From what I understand and what you just told me, you have zero connection with Marshall Fox.”

“None. I don’t even watch his show.”

“Okay. Put Fox out of your head for the moment. We can look for the Fox link later. I want to focus on who might have some sort of problem with you directly. Why don’t you tell me what you do for a living?”

She told me that she worked for Reuters news service. I knew the building-it’s in midtown, not far from my office. Allison worked as the manager of human resources.