I got to his place first. The house was a typical two-family home on a darkened, residential street in a part of Brooklyn I didn’t know at all. Patrick was right—it was about a fifteen-minute cab ride from where I’d been. On the way, I must have glanced behind about a hundred times, checking to see if anyone was following. The streets were quiet. I was pretty sure we were alone. But I had the cabbie make a few random turns and double back until I was absolutely positive.
He let me off and I waited in the driveway.
I knew I’d have to own up to what had happened back at the boatyard. I couldn’t have Artie or my dad call the police. That would blow everything up. I’d have to make up some kind of story. In the meantime, I knew I was lucky to even be alive. Lucky that that man wasn’t in the backseat of my Accura with a gun to my head as we drove back to Armonk to get the money.
Around one, I saw a headlight come down the street and Patrick’s truck pull up at the house. He rolled down his window and motioned for me to follow him in.
He got out and held me by the shoulders. “You’re okay? No problems on the way?”
“No. No one was following us. Look, I can’t thank you enough for letting me—”
I know I looked as if I’d just stepped off the most harrowing roller coaster ever. My legs were wobbly and my face was probably just as gray as when I’d called him, even in no light. He just opened his arms and I kind of melted into them. I’m not sure I’ve ever needed a hug more. I stayed, my head buried in his chest, tears welling, not wanting to lift my face. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been in someone’s arms.
“You’re safe now,” he said, patting me. “Come on inside. I want you to go through everything that happened. I’ll put on a cup of tea.”
“That would be great.” I exhaled and my whole body seemed to ease.
We went in through the kitchen door. It was a modest place, but cute. Nicely done. The wooden cabinetry looked new. I guessed Patrick had done a lot of the work. “I thought you lived on Staten Island?”
“I grew up there. That was my family house where you saw me today. I, uh, actually am of age. I moved out a long time ago. I’ll make you some tea. Or I can pour you another tequila if that’s not strong enough.”
“No. Tea is perfect.” I laughed, relieved.
I sat down at the small kitchen table while he put on some water. There was a wooden door that led to a small yard and a cute eating alcove in an arched portico. He had a bunch of old copper and antique kitchen tools on the walls. It all looked tasteful and nice.
“Sleepytime,” he said. “It’ll calm your nerves.” He brought it over with a napkin and even sliced a lemon. I took a sip and everything started to feel better. “All right, let me hear it.” He sat down across from me. “From the time you left me today. Don’t leave anything out.”
I went through it. From calling Elena to make sure Brandon was okay, to driving out to my dad’s yard and figuring it was the safest place I could be. I even mentioned how they had bought the yard after he retired from teaching.
“What did he teach?” Patrick asked.
“Biology and chemistry. At Hunter College High School. My mom taught math.”
“My mom worked in a school too. She was a secretary in the guidance office. New Dorp High School on Staten Island.”
“I guess we’re kindred souls.”
The rest I tried to put together as best I could, although it all came back to me jumbled and rambling, as if I was recalling a dream.
A nightmare.
I told him how I’d run into the shed and knew I couldn’t make it to the car, and had to do something when the guy came in. How I’d started up the hoist and rammed him with the forklift when his attention went up to the boat on blocks. Patrick’s eyes widened. How the outside door wouldn’t open and how he came after me and crashed the hook through the car.
“Jeez, Angelina Jolie’s got nothing on you,” he said, giving me a crooked grin, but one that was lit with admiration. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I know. He killed Rollie, Patrick. He basically admitted it coming after me in the shed. He mentioned Brandon too. He said he was watching us the night of the break-in. He must’ve followed me out there; there’s no other way he would have known.”
“Unless he attached a GPS the night he broke in. We’ll find out. Both of which mean, however, he likely knows about me as well.”
“He does know about you, Patrick. He said something weird, that all this wasn’t just about the money. I forget how he put it—it’s all so jumbled in my head and I was so scared.”
“Don’t worry,” Patrick said, reassuring me. “Slow down.”
I took another sip of tea. “He said the money was only part of what they were looking for. That there was something else your father had. A page. From a diary or something …”
“Diary?”
“That’s why he brought your name up. He said, ‘Your boyfriend’s gonna be next, you know …’ That the money was only part of it. That ‘ol’ Joe had something else with him.’ And I was gonna take him to it. Or else. What did he mean by that?”
“I’m not sure what my father managed to get himself wrapped up in,” Patrick said.
“Patrick, I’m sorry to have to say this …” I looked at him. “But it’s sure starting to sound a lot like some kind of blackmail to me.”
His nod was somber and filled with resignation. “I know.”
I put down my tea. “Patrick, look, this has all just gotten a little crazy for me. Rollie was murdered. He was killed to get to me. I’m sure of that now. And this guy also knows about Brandon. I’m prepared to turn myself in. Whatever happens, happens … But I can’t live with the risk. Not anymore.”
He nodded sympathetically. “Did you happen to get a look at the guy?”
“Not a good one. It was dark. Short hair. Maybe light complexion. Medium build. He was all bloodied when he came at my car. I wouldn’t want to have to pick him out of a lineup. I just don’t want to think that he’s still out there. That this could happen again. I know what I said earlier, about handling this between us. But not anymore. I can’t take the risk. Not with Brandon.”
Patrick nodded and stood up. He went over and leaned against the counter.
My heart grew fitful. “That’s the second time I’ve said that to you and you haven’t come back with what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?” He stood there looking at me.
“I’ve just had someone try to kill me, Patrick. I expected you to say that we’re going to hand this over to the police. The money. Everything. You’re part of the NYPD. I said I was prepared. That you would make the call.”
“We’re not going to take this to the police, Hilary,” he said back to me.
“What?” I squinted my eyes as if I hadn’t heard correctly. His answer hit me like a meteor falling out of the sky.
“We’re not going to go to the police,” he said again. He took in a breath. “I can’t.” He just kept looking at me as if the situation had now changed. And there wasn’t even the slightest blink in his eyes.
“Look, I’m sorry about your father,” I said. “I know it’s clear he was into something that you don’t want to come out. I get that. But people are dead. This guy knows who I am. You are a cop, aren’t you? Or at least you work with the fucking department. We don’t have a choice anymore. We have to turn it in.”
“It’s not about my father.” Patrick looked at me. “At least, not anymore.”
I put down my tea and stared back. “You’re starting to scare me a little. I’m not sure I understand.”
I guess I’d sensed it, when I was back at the gas station and he said he would come and get me. That I could go to him, but never once mentioning the police. Which was the logical response. Given that the guy had tried to kill me. My heart rate started to pick up. “What do you mean, this isn’t about your father?”
“You’re right.” He came back over and sat across from me. “I am a cop. Maybe not exactly a cop so much these days. A lieutenant, though I’m no longer in a uniform. But I do work for the NYPD. And the oaths I swore still apply …”
“I’m not sure where we’re going with this, Patrick … Someone tried to kill me tonight.”
“I understand. But the police can’t know about this. In spite of everything I just said. And when I said it wasn’t about what my father has done, it’s not. Or some loyal son’s attempt to protect him. It’s for my sister.”
“Sister?” I blinked with total surprise. “Patrick, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“She lives in Tottenville. That’s all the way down at the southern tip of Staten Island. You might have seen her at the funeral.”
I thought back to the pretty woman I’d seen walking down the aisle ahead of him and sitting in the first row. “She has two kids, right?”
Patrick nodded. “Chris and Alec. Good kids. Annette and her husband are separated these days. He used to work as a field inspector for New Jersey Power and Light, but got laid off. Part of the sequester cuts. Bills were mounting. Kids in a Catholic academy. They had a summer place in the Poconos. Two mortgages to pay. Like a lot of people, maybe living a bit over what they could afford. I think you know the scenario, right?”
I nodded. But I had no idea where this was heading.
“Then Sandy came. A lot of homes around them were hit hard. Just like we were. Two people in her neighborhood even died. They …” He paused and wet his lips, tapping his index finger gently on the chair arm. “… Maybe they did some things that weren’t a hundred percent right.” He hesitated again. “When it came to the insurance claims. Let’s just say they were desperate … I think you can understand what it’s like to feel desperate, Hilary, right?”
“Yes. But I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me …”
“Let’s just say they put in for claims on their house that weren’t exactly by the book. And then made them look that way. A flooded basement. Some things of value that might have ended up down there. Some roof damage that might not have been directly related to the storm. There were a thousand claims being filed all around them. They figured, who would know? But one of their contractors got suspicious and turned them in …”
“I’m sorry, Patrick. You’re right. I know how when you lose a job and you have a family to support it can make you do certain things …”
“Ryan’s not a bad guy.” He shrugged. “In fact, he’s as honest as they come.” He tapped his thumb against the table one more time. “The thing I’m saying is, he wasn’t the one who filed the claim.”
“Oh.” It suddenly sank in exactly why he was telling all this to me. Our eyes met.
His sister had.
“What happened?”
“I got them a lawyer and we were able to negotiate with the insurer to avoid it going any further. As long as she paid back whatever they’d given her. Which in light of all the Sandy victims who hadn’t gotten a thing at that point, would be doubly bad. I didn’t want my father to know. Hell, he had barely enough socked away to keep himself afloat. Plus he didn’t need to know at his stage—did it ever come out that he had advanced prostate cancer?—that his daughter might be spending his last months on earth awaiting trial on insurance fraud. We had our own claims coming in on the house in Midland Beach. So I just kind of … took it over.”
“Took what over?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Her debt. To the insurance company. I just paid it.”
“How much are we talking about?” I still didn’t see how this connected to the half-million dollars I’d taken.
He let out a breath. “Give or take, seventy thousand or so.”
“Shit.” I felt my stomach fall off a ledge. “That really stinks. And that makes you an awfully nice brother, Patrick, but I’m still not seeing what any of this has to do with you not being able to go to the police.”
“I didn’t have seventy thousand dollars,” he said, continuing to hold his gaze on me.
He got up and went to the fridge and came back with a can of beer. He cracked it open and took a swig. Sat back down. “So I kind of borrowed it,” he said. “To me it was only a matter of time until the FEMA claims on this house came through and I’d be able to pay it back. In the meantime I did a lot of the work on our house myself that would make up the difference. The department gave me the time.”
“You borrowed it?” I asked, looking up at him. “From whom? A bank?”
Patrick chuckled. Then he smiled kind of grimly. “Unless you call it the National Bank of Kiev. Brooklyn branch.”
My eyes widened. “The Russian mob? You took a loan from the Russian mob to pay your sister’s debt.”
“Ukrainian,” Patrick said with a chortle, “or so they keep reminding me. This sort of loan, the interest keeps escalating daily.”
“How much is it up to?” I had no idea what the street rate for that kind of transaction was. Maybe as high as 20 percent a week.
He shrugged. “A little over a hundred thousand dollars and climbing.”
“Oh my God!” I saw the whole thing now.
“At first I tried to re-fi this place, but that’s a three-month process. And I never thought the FEMA claims would drag on as long as they have. But it’s not just the money … It’s the collateral. It’s the security they demanded on the loan that’s become the real problem for me.”
“Collateral?”
He pushed himself back in his chair and said resignedly, “My job.”
“You mean they’d own you?” I saw what he was saying and the situation he was in. “You’d basically be working for the Russian mob.”
“Ukrainian,” he said with a rueful smile. “And they’d be delighted if they got to take it back that way. They’d get ten times the value. Their hooks in someone who goes between the NYPD and the mayor’s administration.
“Hilary, look, I don’t know what kind of crap my father got mixed up in. Whatever he found that these people seem to value so much. That’s worth killing for. All I know is that half a million dollars is a way out for me, as much as it was for you. I’m sorry. Maybe it’s not the story you were expecting to hear. But I can’t let the police get involved. I can’t let this pass by. I can’t.”
He looked at me, his cheeks blown out, an expression somewhere between guilt and disappointment.
“So what are you suggesting we do?”
He shrugged. “I’m suggesting we find a way to keep the money.”
I stared blankly at him. Going to the police and possibly facing charges and maybe even going to jail wasn’t exactly at the top of my top ten list. “You know if we do that, Patrick, once you let this chance go by, you’ll never be able to turn yourself back in. If it ever comes out, you won’t even have a job to go back to.”
He nodded. “I’d rather risk it doing something to protect my family than put it at risk every day doing favors for people I took an oath to put away. You’re right, it is sounding like blackmail. And I want to find out what the hell my father got himself into. Before someone else does.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Patrick, but I just can’t put my son at risk.”
“That’s task number one. First thing in the A.M. I can reach out for a favor to the local police up there and make sure that wherever he’s staying has a patrol car on watch for a while.”
“He’s safe for the time being. He’s with my housekeeper. No one would know about her. But thanks.” I nodded appreciatively. “So what’s task number two?”
“Task number two is that we find out just who the hell is behind this and exactly what it is they’re trying to protect that’s worth paying five hundred thousand dollars for.”
“I think I’m stepping a little out of my league,” I said, a beat of trepidation rising up.
“I thought you were the one who came to me and said you wanted to handle this privately …”
I smiled. But a smile with the same enthusiasm as if I’d just swallowed a mouthful of calf’s brains, sorting through my options. I could say no and still go to the police on my own. It might mean jail. It might even mean losing my son. At least for a while. Brandon’s life would be turned upside down, that was for sure. And there would still be those people out there. Behind this. I didn’t have a clue who they even were. Would they just let me off the hook for what I’d done? The commitment of the man who tried to get me at the boatyard didn’t convince me they would. And the stakes had been raised. By whatever he meant when he said that there was more. The diary. Patrick’s father was clearly blackmailing someone. Who? Not to mention, if I did turn this over to the authorities now, I’d clearly be hanging Patrick out to dry.
But there was also something new to factor in, which was making me feel a whole lot more secure.
I had him.
I said, “You realize how scary this is? Not just for me. But for Brandon.”
He nodded. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes?”
“It’s a yes.” I nodded, but slowly, halfheartedly. “At least, kind of.”
He reached across the table and put out his hand. “So I guess that makes us kind of partners. Just one more thing …”
“What’s that?”
“It’s almost two in the morning. This might be the best chance we’ll ever have …”
“The best chance for what?” I asked. His hand was still out.
“For getting that money,” he said.
“You mean tonight? Go back home?”
“If you did to him what you said you did, then there might never be a better time.”
I felt my heart pick up with nerves. I looked at him measuringly. “You’re not married or anything, are you?”
He shook his head. “I was. Not anymore. Why?”
“No reason.” I finally shook his hand. “My car’s a little beaten up. I think you’re driving.”