Andrew Gross - The Dark Tide

“You had that boy killed, Saul, in Greenwich.”

“I had him killed? I kept fucking around with those tankers?” Lennick’s face grew taut. “He lost over a billion dollars of their fucking money, Karen! He was playing a shell game with his own bank loans. Loans I set up. I killed him? What choice did we have, Karen? What do you think these people do? Pat you on the back? Tell you, ‘Jolly good run of it, we’ll do better next time’? We’re all at risk here, Karen. Anyone who plays this game. Not just Charles.”

Karen glared at him. “So who was Archer, Saul? Who was that man in the back of Samantha’s car? Did they come from you? You bastard, you used me. You used my children, Saul. You used Sam. To get to my husband, your friend. To kill him, Saul.”

He nodded, a bit guiltily, but his eyes were cold and dull. “Yes, I used you, Karen. Once we discovered that Charles was somehow alive. Once we realized that all the fees that had remained in his accounts offshore after he supposedly died had been withdrawn. Who else could it have been? Then I found that note sheet on his desk with the numbers of that safe-deposit box. I had to find out what was in them, Karen. We weren’t getting anywhere tracing the accounts. So we tried to frighten you a bit, that’s all. Put you in play, in the hope, slim as it was, that Charles might contact you. There was no other choice, Karen. You can’t blame me for that.”

“You preyed on me?” Karen gasped, her eyes wide. Why, Saul, why? “You were like a brother to him. You got up and eulogized him at his memorial-”

“He lost over a billion dollars of their money, Karen!”

“No.” She gazed at him, this man who had always seemed so important, so wielding of control. And in a strange way, she suddenly felt she was stronger than him, no matter who was standing behind her. No matter what he might do. “It was never, ever about the money, was it, Saul?”

His face softened. He didn’t even try to hide it. “No.”

“It wasn’t all that missing money you were looking for, why your people trashed his boat.” Karen smiled. “Did you find it, Saul?”

“We found whatever we needed, Karen.”

“No.” Karen shook her head, emboldened. “I think not. He beat you, Saul. You may not realize it, but he did. You had that young boy killed. To protect your own interests. To keep silent what his father had managed to find out. Because you were behind it all, weren’t you, Saul? The big, important man pulling all the strings. But then when you realized that Charlie’s accounts had been drawn down, you suddenly understood he was alive. That he was out there, right, Saul? Your friend. Your partner. Who knew the truth about you, right?”

Karen chuckled. “You’re pathetic, Saul. You didn’t kill him for money. That might even give you some dignity. You had him killed out of cowardice, Saul-fear. Because he had the goods on you and you couldn’t trust him. Because one day he might testify. And it was like a ticking bomb. You would never know when. One day, when he simply got tired of running…What do they call that, Saul, in business circles? A deferred liability?”

“A billion dollars, Karen! I gave him every chance. I put my life on the line for him-my own grandkids’ lives! No-I couldn’t have that hanging over me, Karen. I could no longer trust him. Not after what he’d done. One day, when he got tired, tired of running, he could just come in, make a deal.” Saul’s gray eyebrows narrowed. “You get used to it, Karen. Influence, power. I’m truly sorry if when you look at me, you don’t like what you see.”

“What I see?” She stared at him, eyes glistening with angry tears. “What I see isn’t someone powerful, Saul. I see someone old-and scared. And pathetic. But guess what? He won. Charles won, Saul. You knew he had something on you. That’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? To find out just what I know. Well, here it is, Saul, you fucking, cowardly bastard: He made a tape. Of your voice, Saul. Your clear, conspiring voice going over what you were getting ready to do to that boy. How’d you say it? With your people, who take care of these things? And right now-and I hope you find the same amusement I do in this, Saul-that tape is in the hands of the police, and they’re swearing out a warrant against you. So whatever you and your lackeys had in mind to do to me, there’s no point anymore. Even you can see that, Saul, not that that would cause you to lose even an hour of sleep. It’s too late. They know. They know it’s you, Saul. They already do.”

Karen stared with a fierceness burning in her eyes. And for a second, Saul looked a little weak, unsure of what to do now, the arrogance melting. She waited for the composure to crack on Lennick’s face.

It didn’t.

Instead he shrugged and his lips curled into a smile. “You don’t mean that detective friend of yours, Karen. Hauck?”

Karen’s glare remained on him, but in her stomach a worm of fear began to squirm through.

“Because if that’s what you had in mind, I’m afraid he’s already been taken care of, Karen. Good cop, though-dogged. Seems to genuinely care about you, too.” Saul stood up, glanced at his watch, and sighed.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think he’s even alive now, as we speak.”

Hauck headed home from the coffeehouse in Old Greenwich, about five minutes up the Post Road. He planned to copy the recording onto a tape, then take it over to Carl Fitzpatrick, who lived close by in Riverside, that very night. Karen had found exactly what he needed-evidence that was untainted. Fitzpatrick would have to open everything back up now.

In Stamford he veered off the Post Road onto Elm, soaring. He crossed back under the highway and the Metro-North tracks to Cove, toward the water, Euclid, where he lived. There were lights on across the street from his house, at Robert and Jacqueline’s, the furniture restorers. It looked like they were having a party. Hauck made a left into the one-car driveway in front of his house.

He opened his glove compartment, pulled out the Beretta he had given Karen, and shoved it into his jacket. He slammed the Bronco’s door shut and bounded up the stairs, stopping to pick up the mail.

Taking out his keys, he couldn’t help but smile as his thoughts flashed to Karen. What Charles had told her before he died, how she’d put it all together and found the phone. Wouldn’t make a half-bad cop-he laughed-if the real-estate thing didn’t work out. In fact…

A man stepped out of the darkness, pointing something at his chest.

Before he fired, Hauck stared back at him, recognizing him in an instant, and in that same instant, his thoughts flashing to Karen, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake.

The first shot took him down, a searing, burning pain lancing through his lower abdomen as he twisted away. He reached futilely into his pocket for the Beretta as he started to fall.

The second struck him in the thigh as he toppled backward, tumbling helplessly down the stairs.

He never heard a sound.

Frantic, Hauck grasped out for the banister and, missing it, rolled all the way to the bottom of the stairs. He came to rest in a sitting position in the vestibule, a dull obfuscation clouding his head. One image pushed its way through, accompanied by a paralyzing sense of dread.

Karen.

His assailant stepped toward him down the stairs.

Hauck tried to lift himself up, but everything was rubbery. He turned over to face Richard and Jacqueline’s and blinked at the glaring lights. He knew something bad was about to happen. He tried to call out. Loudly. He opened his mouth, but only a coppery taste slid over his tongue. He tried to think, but his brain was just jumbled. A blank.