C H A P T E R • 25
When I hit the lobby, one of the day guards ran up to me, like he’d been waiting.
“What are you hearing about Captain Bailey?”
“He’s stable,” I said. The standard routine.
He rolled his eyes. “What was that asshole after?” He asked. “You keep money up there?”
“Not money.”
As I started to walk away, I thought to tell him, “Send someone up later. I want to change the locks.”
“I was thinking it looks like he got in here with a key. And he ran out the back and got away right under the noses of the cops. They’ve been here all morning. Embarrassing if you ask me. Max too. He said he must have been upstairs when the punk got in and then somehow missed him when he made his rounds.”
“Must have.”
“And let me know if there’s anything else,” he said.
If you could banish the image of Obsidian bleeding on the floor, I thought, that would do it for now. But I didn’t let the guard know that I needed more than he could deliver. There was no point.
“They’ve been calling from the bank,” Adrianne said in the way of a greeting when I got upstairs.
She handed me a cup of coffee and a pile of notes. ‘Irate’ she had scrawled across the top of the bank president’s messages. He had called early.
Reverend Garrison had also called some time before I saw him at the precinct. I tried to imagine him running down the back stairs late at night with the incriminating bank folder in his hands.
Calls from some other board members and the head of a Harlem-based state agency were also noted.
“Samantha took these before she left. She’s at the precinct,” Adrianne said.
“Why?”
“They’re talking to everyone with keys. The locks on the doors weren’t forced.”
“You have keys.”
“I have to go once you get settled,” she said. “And I called a temp.”
“You gave the police the list of people with keys?” I asked her.
“Of course.”
“Give me that list. And anything you have that will help me make sense of this. Could you tell if anything else was missing from the safe?”
“Pearl, I think we should let the police do the investigating.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe if Captain Obsidian Bailey was on the case.”
There was no reason to let Adrianne, a key holder, know what was on my mind. And I didn’t consider, even for a minute, telling her about the money.
“Thank you for the coffee Adrianne. And for being here this morning. We can trade lists. I found these withdrawals at Cecelia’s just now. See if you ever heard of the companies on the list. And check the addresses. I noticed at least one is supposed to be located at the empty building that went down last night.”
She read and said, “Very Harlem. Very cool. Very odd.”
We walked back to the production room where the tables were moved away from the windows and where police tape stretched across the area near the door. Although no one was there, whoever had been there wasn’t finished.
“I think Sam cleaned up the part they would let her clean this morning,” Adrianne said. “Max said you had to be disarmed. I didn’t know you could shoot a Luger.”
I forced myself to look into her face and away from the distraction of the doorway and the memory.
“I practiced with my father since I was a little girl. I would have shot the sucker with Obsidian’s gun if he didn’t escape out the emergency door.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” she said.
“Like we talked about, I need you to do this job until I get back,” I said. “And to tell me what’s happening. I’m sure I’ll hear plenty from the board. They want to take over. But I’m going to trust you to do what needs to be done in this interim period.”
“I’m ready,” she said.
“It seems so,” I said. “I’m going to take the risk. I have been impressed with you over the couple of weeks, actually. We will be in constant contact. And I’ll be back very soon.”
In the general clutter and mustiness of the production room, Al’s territory was stark and modern. Inside a big empty frame on the wall he had pinned odd landscapes, magazine ads and sketches, including the fantasy office and entertainment towers proposed for the empty lots. I recognized some of them. It would be nice to shop and see movies in places like that if they ever actually got built. Fat chance.
His desk was a slab of butcher block set on file cabinets. It was neat on top.
The temp showed up and she seemed genuinely pleased with herself to have landed a position at the Journal.
“Miss Washington, I’m Lois. Happy to meet you. I see Reverend Doctor William Garrison himself called.”
“Pleased to meet you too Lois. I just talked to the right reverend.”
“Really? He’s my pastor,” she said, all giddy.
She took a breath. “I heard you all were robbed. Do you think it’s safe here?” She was tiny and neat and probably not as timid as she seemed.
Still, I was glad to reassure her. “There will be police officers around today. And remember to keep the door locked and to use the intercom. But I don’t expect any trouble.”
“I’ll introduce you to the people working in the other offices,” Adrianne said. “You can call them if you feel afraid.”
As I walked away, I heard, “Oh, Miss Washington!” The temp was a little too exuberant for my taste. “The pastor had left his office when I called him back,” she said.
“Don’t return any other messages until I tell you to.”
I went into the publisher’s office to call California.
“Hi love,” Roger said. “I saw you getting arrested just now in a raid on what they’re calling a black-market video factory. Hands behind your back. The whole thing. Very sexy.”
“It’s a national story? Good.”
“Lt. Summer Knight involved in a bust in Harlem. Great publicity. How’d you manage that?”
“Everything is connected. In fact, I’ve got a job for you. The newspaper’s production manager is selling movies on the street. I took some pictures. Can you check to see where the post-production work was done? He said they were made from masters and haven’t been released yet. Someone out there must be slipping him copies.”
“Sure. I can do that.”
“When we got busted just now, I was listening to him talking about selling hundreds of copies of some of those movie masters. It’s also part of a story I’m interested in about the street vendors.”
“I thought you were keeping your distance.”
“My friend died in a hit-and-run murder. And Obsidian’s in the hospital.”
“Obsidian? The old boyfriend?”
“Yes. He was shot last night.”
“I’m sorry, Pearl.”
“Thank you. And also, Roger, tell my California meditators I’m going to lead a meditation class at the 28th Precinct in Harlem. And remember the merits of our practice benefit all beings. Of course, also tell them to be still and breathe.”
“We’ve been doing a lot of walking meditation. I think they miss you.”
When I hung up, I called Harlem Hospital but Obie was asleep.