time ago.”
Truer words. “See you in a while, Erin.”
Broome pushed thoughts of his ex away and kept his foot on the accelerator. A few minutes later, he wrapped his knuckles on the pebbled glass. From inside, a gravelly voice called, “Enter!”
He opened the door and stepped fully into the room. Harry Sutton looked like a beloved college professor gone seriously to seed. Broome took in the whole room. There was no one here but Harry.
“Nice to see you, Detective.”
“Where is Cassie?”
“Have a seat.”
Broome did as asked. “Where is Cassie?”
“She’s not here at the moment.”
“Well, yes, I can see that.”
“That’s because you’re a trained detective.”
“I try not to brag,” Broome said. “What’s going on here, Harry?”
“She’s nearby. She wants to talk to you. But before she does, there are a few ground rules.”
Broome spread his arms. “I’m listening.”
“First of all, this is all off the record.”
“Off the record? What, you think I’m a reporter, Harry?”
“No, I think you’re a good and somewhat desperate cop. Off the record meaning just that. You don’t take notes. You don’t put this in the file. As far as anyone knows, you never talked to her.”
Broome considered that. “And if I say no?”
Harry Sutton stood and reached out his hand. “Good to see you again, Detective. Have a nice day.”
“Okay, okay, no need for theatrics.”
“No need,” Harry said with a bright smile, “but why not throw them in if I can?”
“So it’s off the record. Bring her in.”
“A few more rules first.”
Broome waited.
“Today is a one-time exclusive. Cassie will talk to you in my office. She will answer your questions to the best of her ability in my presence. Then she will vanish again. You will let her. You won’t try to learn her new name or identity-and more important, you won’t try to find her after this meeting.”
“And you’re going to just trust me on that?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” Broome said. He shifted in the chair. “Suppose I think she’s guilty of a crime.”
“You won’t.”
“But suppose.”
“Tough. When she’s done talking to you, she goes home. You don’t see her again.”
“And suppose, after I investigate some more, I stumble across something new I need to ask her about.”
“Same answer: Tough.”
“I can’t come to you?”
“You can. And if I can help, I will. But she makes no commitment to do so.”
Broome could argue, but he had no leverage here. He was also a one-in-the-hand, don’t-look-a-gift-horse- in-the-mouth kind of guy. Yesterday he didn’t have the slightest clue where Cassie was. Now, unless he pissed off her or Harry, he could talk to her.
“Okay,” Broome said, “I agree to all your rules.”
“Marvelous.” Harry Sutton picked up his cell phone and said, “Cassie? It’s okay. Come on in now.”
Deputy Chief Goldberg just didn ’t give a damn anymore.
He was a year from retirement with full pension, and it wasn’t enough. Not even close. Atlantic City might be a cesspool, but it was a costly one. He had alimony payments up the wazoo. His current love interest, Melinda, a twenty-eight-year-old porn star (they were always porn “stars,” Goldberg noticed, never just “actresses” or, as in Melinda’s case, “the lesser girl in the three-way”), was sucking him dry (and he meant that in two ways, snicker). But, man, was she worth it.
Yep, slice it any way you want, but in the end Goldberg was a cop on the take.
Normally he could justify it easily enough. Bad guys are like one of those mythological beasts where you cut off one bad guy, two more just pop up in its place. Or, better the devil you know-the one you can somewhat control and who won’t knock off real citizens and who will give you some dough-than the devil you don’t. Or, removing the sleaze from this city was like emptying an ocean with a tablespoon. Whatever, Goldberg had a million of them.
But in this circumstance, justification was even easier: The guy slipping him the Ben Franklins seemed, at least on the surface, to be on the same side as the angels.
So why was Goldberg hesitating?
He dialed the number. It was picked up on the third ring.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Goldberg!”
Reason one for his hesitation: The guy’s voice gave him the heebie-jeebies. The man-he sounded really young-was unfailingly polite and spoke in exclamation points, as though he were trying out for an old-time musical. The sound chilled Goldberg. But there was more to it than that.
There were the rumors about this guy. There were stories of violence and depravity done by this guy and his partner, the kind of stories that make grown men-big, tough, world-weary, seen-it-all men like Goldberg-stay up at night, pulling the covers just a wee bit higher.
“Yeah,” Goldberg said. “Hi.”
Even if the rumors were exaggerated, even if a quarter of the whispers were true, Goldberg had gotten in on something he wanted no part of. Still, the best course of action would be to take the money and shut up. In a sense, what choice did he have? If he tried to back out now or return the money, he might anger that voice on the other end of the phone.
The voice said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Goldberg?”
In the background, Goldberg heard a noise that was making his blood freeze.
“What the hell is that?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing to worry about, Mr. Goldberg. What did you want to tell me?”
“I might have another lead.”
“Might?”
“I’m not sure, that’s all.”
“Mr. Goldberg?”
“Yes?”
What the hell was that sound in the background?
“Please tell me what you know.”
He had already leaked them whatever he could on the disappearance of Carlton Flynn. Why not? He and his partner were interested in finding the missing guy too, and the pay was pretty damn sweet.
The last thing Goldberg had leaked was what he learned from Broome: Carlton Flynn had a stripper girlfriend who worked at La Creme.
There was whimpering in the background.
“Do you have a dog?” Goldberg asked.
“No, Mr. Goldberg, I don’t. Oh, but I had the best dog when I was a kid! Her name was Ginger Snaps. Cute, right?”
Goldberg said nothing.
“You seem reluctant, Mr. Goldberg.”
“It’s Deputy Chief Goldberg.”
“Would you like to meet in person, Deputy Chief Goldberg? We can discuss this issue at your house, if you’d like.”
