Читать книгу Wolf Lake - John Verdon - Страница 11
ОглавлениеThe side door closed with a solid thump.
Hardwick looked across the table at Gurney. His pale Malamute eyes, which usually exuded little warmth, showed signs of amusement. “So what do you think, Sherlock? The case does raise a few interesting questions, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve got about ten of them on my mind right now.”
“For instance?”
“Why the hell doesn’t Hammond have a lawyer?”
“He insists the reason he doesn’t want a lawyer is because he doesn’t need a lawyer. He’s so totally innocent that the wild accusations against him will collapse under the weight of their own absurdity.”
“That’s what he told you?”
“That’s what he told the world in his one and only press release. There’s a copy in Jane’s media file.”
“What’s your gut feeling about him?”
“Arrogant, brittle, secretive—with an odd vibe that makes me want to kick him in the balls. He also strikes me as a frightened man trying to sound cool. But I have no fucking idea why he doesn’t want a lawyer.”
“How did you get connected with his sister?”
“She tried to hire a lawyer to represent Richard’s interests without him knowing about it. The law firm turned her down, because that kind of arrangement falls somewhere between unethical and impossible. But they did suggest that she might hire a private investigator to look into the case, strictly on her behalf, and she could then do as she saw fit with whatever information was uncovered. Naturally, they recommended me.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Obviously because I have a hard-earned reputation for upsetting law enforcement’s apple cart, securing justice for the falsely accused, and pissing on authority in general.” Hardwick’s grin flashed for a split second like the ice crystals in the sunlight.
“Why did you bring this woman—?”
Hardwick broke in. “Why did I bring the desperate Jane Hammond to you? A woman who carries a lifetime of worry in her eyes? A woman whose little brother has always been the rose and the thorn in her life, and who is now in a shitstorm of trouble? A woman who I suspect has no sex life, no peace, no interests of her own? Is that what you were about to ask me?”
“Yes.”
He paused, sucked thoughtfully at his teeth before speaking. “There’s something particularly odd about this case, and something disturbingly off-center about the good doctor himself. The whole situation seems . . . foggy . . . to me. Almost eerie. And you’re better at eerie than I am. So I’d like you to sniff around a bit, get the lay of the land, talk to this guy, find out what you can—especially about that guilty vibe he exudes like last night’s garlic—and let me know what you think. Look, nine times out of ten I know what I’m looking at. But this is that one out of ten that I can’t figure.”
“You’re telling me that this is a matter of investigative competence? That you want to pass the baton along to a man with sharper skills than yourself? What kind of bullshit is that?”
“It’s the truth. Honest. But . . . to be completely honest . . . it’s not the only reason.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Do you believe in divine providence?”
“Do I believe in what?”
“Serendipity.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“A grand coincidence. At the very moment that Jane Hammond was sitting in my modest home office describing her brother’s desperate situation, describing her desperate need for help, you called.”
Gurney said nothing.
“So there you are—David Gurney, detective first grade, NYPD Homicide, most decorated officer in the history of the department—planning to surveil a porcupine. A brain fit to confront the greatest criminal minds on earth—focused on a quill ball in a tree. Now tell me, if that isn’t fucked up, what is?”
Gurney said nothing.
“So here we are, with a major opportunity that benefits everyone. I get your help in piercing the fog wrapped around this case. Jane gets the investigatory assistance she so badly needs to help her brother. You get to apply your God-given talent to a worthy challenge.”
Gurney found the logic of this appeal almost convincing.
The problem was, he knew Hardwick too well.
“Very smooth sales presentation, Jack. I’m almost ready to test-drive the car. There’s just one thing missing.”
“Missing?”
“The truth. Give me the real reason, and I’ll tell you whether I’m interested.”
After a few seconds of perfect stillness, Hardwick let out a bark of a laugh.
“Just testing you, Davey. Making sure you still have what it takes. Don’t get me wrong. Everything I said was true. But there is one other factor in the equation.” He leaned forward and extended his hands, palms up, in a gesture of openness. “Here’s the problem. I have a history with Gil Fenton. Seven years ago he did me a favor. Big favor, involving an error on my part. Serious error.” Hardwick paused, grimacing. “So Gil has certain facts at his disposal. Under normal circumstances, this would not be a source of great concern. There are reasons he would want to keep these facts to himself. However, if we were to have a head-on collision . . . if he were to see me leading an attack on his handling of the Hammond case . . .”
Gurney gave him a cool, speculative smile. “You want to work quietly in the background while I take your place in the head-on collision?”
“He couldn’t damage you the way he could damage me.”
“You could just drop the case and refer the lady to another private investigator.”
“Sure,” said Hardwick, nodding in an unconvincing imitation of agreement. “I could do that. Maybe I should do that. It would probably be the smartest option. Definitely the safest.”
He hesitated. “Of course, if we send Jane to someone else, they might fuck up the assignment. And if they fuck up the assignment, we might never find out why all those former clients of Richard Hammond killed themselves.”
