MARY CLARK - Every Breath You Take

“I love you, sweetheart, but I’m still a cop at heart. I know when you’re twisting the truth.”

“It’s a new carryout service called Caviar. I can’t even claim credit for discovering it. Timmy placed the order.”

Leo scanned the options on the table: hanger steak, mashed potatoes, cooked carrots, and a green salad.

“Sorry to use up your one red-meat night for the week, Dad,” Laurie said, “but this place is supposed to be fantastic.” A year ago, Leo had had a heart problem and had two stents inserted in his right ventricle at Mount Sinai. He wished Laurie had never known about the procedure, because now she was determined to transform him into a gluten-free, miserable vegan.

Leo was running the last slice of meat on his plate through a dollop of béarnaise sauce when Laurie changed the subject from a fundraising auction at Timmy’s school to a case she was thinking about covering at work.

“What do you remember about Virginia Wakeling? She was the board member pushed from the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the night of the annual gala.”

By then, Leo had already retired from the NYPD, but the case had been front page news for at least a couple of weeks. “It was a horrible scene, a terrible way to die. Officially, the case is still open, but the unofficial word is that her boyfriend did it. He was after her money.”

“Except, according to him, she had willingly loaned him money,” Laurie said. She filled in her father on everything she had learned about the case that morning from Ivan Gray. “If anything, his gravy train dried up once she was gone.”

“Isn’t that the kind of case you look for?” Leo asked. “You need to find multiple sides to the story.”

She shrugged.

“That’s not like you, Laurie. What’s bugging you?”

“The case came in through Ryan.”

Leo set his fork down on his plate. He had only met Ryan Nichols a couple of times, but Leo thought the man’s ego got in the way of his brain. “Did he know Mrs. Wakeling?”

“No, worse. He’s friends with the boyfriend, Ivan Gray. He’s absolutely convinced the guy is innocent and the police unfairly stereotyped him.”

“Hey, Mom?” Timmy was nibbling on three French fries at a time.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to judge you or anything, but other mothers don’t talk about murder at the dinner table.”

Laurie gave her son a poke on the side of his waist. “How are you going to be the number one detective in all of North America if we don’t poison your mind at a young age?”

“The head of security at the Met is on this anti-terrorism task force I joined. We were just meeting about potential threats at high-occupancy targets. The head of detectives for the Central Park Precinct is part of the group, too. Do you want me to see what I can find out about the state of the pending investigation?” Leo asked.

Laurie was beaming at him as she cleared the dishes. “Is there anyone in this city you don’t know, Dad?”

• • •

He made two calls—one to the head of security at the Met, and one to a homicide detective he knew. Neither was detailed, but they ended in the same conclusion.

He found Laurie in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. “Sorry, kiddo, I’m no fan of Ryan, but this case might be right up your alley.”

“How so?” she asked.

“It’s chilly to the extent the police aren’t working active leads, but apparently there are still plenty of angles for you to pursue. A security guard saw her go upstairs, but the cameras were off. No one has any idea who might have been up there on the roof with her. Apparently there was a lot of money at stake. Any number of people had something to gain from her death.”

Laurie wrung out a sudsy sponge and propped it on the side of the dish rack. “That’s interesting, but frankly I was hoping you’d tell me it wasn’t my type of case.”

“Nope. From what I can tell, you might be able to do some good here. They need a new lead, or the case might go ice cold.”

“I don’t know. I’ve always been the lead contact for the person who’s—quote, unquote—under suspicion. If we do this case, I’ll be ceding a certain amount of power to Ryan.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, the head of Met Security said he’d be willing to meet with you anytime you want. He was there the night Wakeling died. I know better than to tell you what to do, but don’t turn a good case away just because it comes from Ryan. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Leo had little regard for Ryan, but he had a feeling that Laurie had her own reasons for resenting the young lawyer. It was about Alex Buckley, not Ryan. She looks so unhappy. Of course, she misses him. How could she not? And Timmy and I miss him too, he thought.

8

Alex Buckley looked out the oversized windows of his apartment’s living room, staring at the lights reflecting off the East River. The call had ended, but he still held the phone in his hand, replaying the words he had just heard from the other end of the line.

He had known for weeks that his name was under consideration, but the entire process had seemed like practice for a dance that might not end until years down the road. But, tonight, he got the call from the senior senator of New York, who had just spoken personally with the President of the United States. It was going to happen.

“Yes!” he said to himself triumphantly, raising his free hand into a small fist pump.

He heard his butler, Ramon, clear his throat as he entered the room. “No snow yet, Ramon?” he asked.

The forecast was predicting the first snow of winter. They’d made it through New Year’s without a flake. But Ramon had something else on his mind. “Is that the call you were hoping for?” he asked.

“It was indeed. I’ll go to D.C. next week to fill out the rest of the questionnaire required for Senate confirmation. I’ve been warned the process is grueling.”

“If anyone can sail through smoothly, it will be you, Mr. Alex. I’m so glad I was here to answer the phone. I feel like I’m a small part of history.”

Ramon had taken the rare week off to visit his daughter, Lydia, in Syracuse. At sixty-one years of age, he was now officially a grandfather to a baby girl named Ramona. He had only been back in the city one day, and had already shown Alex at least fifty photographs of the baby. Ramon could not get over the fact that less than thirty years after moving to the United States from the Philippines, he now had a beautiful little granddaughter, a natural-born citizen.

“Thank you, Ramon.”

“I know it’s late, but a celebration seems in order. Is there something small we can do to mark the moment?”

Ramon insisted on calling himself the butler, but he was also Alex’s assistant, chef, friend, and honorary uncle. Alex lost his own parents more than fifteen years ago, and had been appointed legal guardian to his younger brother, Andrew. Andrew had expanded their two-man family by marrying Marcy and fathering three adorable kids, but Alex considered Ramon to be part of the Buckley clan, too.

Alex could see that Ramon shared the sentiment. His round face beamed as proudly as if a member of his own family had gotten that phone call. “A port sounds nice if you’d like to join me.”

“A port sounds perfect, sir.”

The senator’s phone call had been to notify Alex that the President was nominating him for a judicial appointment to the United States District Court of the Southern District of New York. It was one of the most prestigious trial court positions in the country. A press release would go out first thing in the morning.

Ramon returned with a small silver tray, topped with two port glasses. “Perfect timing,” he commented, looking out the window. The snow was starting to fall.