Swimming with Sharks (17 page)

“Yes,” McDeere replied, “Zuckerman’s killer was well informed. Nothing can bring this man back to life, but I want to know who provided the killer with this information. There were very few people who knew the exact details, which narrows the circle of possible suspects considerably.”

“Lloyd Connors from the US Attorney’s Office knew about it, the police commissioner, and your people.”

“And you.”

“No.” Nick shook his head. “I knew which hotel Zuckerman was brought to, but I wasn’t informed about the operation’s details.”

McDeere extinguished his cigarillo in the ashtray.

“I admit,” he said, “that we won’t be getting any accolades for how we handled this, but I firmly reject the suspicion that any of my men divulged any information.”

Both men looked at each other in silence.

“The mole,” McDeere said, “is at the US Attorney’s Office, the police, or here in city hall.”

Nick wiped his hand across his face. He wished that he could reject the accusation of having a traitor within his own ranks as resolutely as McDeere did. But he couldn’t. About fifteen of his closest staff knew about this matter—fifteen people whom he could no longer trust.

“Nick, unfortunately, there has always been corruption in the city administration,” McDeere said. “If you want, we can check your people.”

“No, no,” Nick quickly silenced him. “I have to find out another way. Maybe it’s someone from the US Attorney’s Office.”

He thought about his staff members, all of whom he had known now for many years. In the future, he’d have to suspect that anyone he spoke to could be an informer for one of his enemies. This was a terrible thought,
and Nick wished that he had more influence on his people’s paychecks. Given their immense workload, their salaries were downright laughable. No wonder one of them might be open to receiving additional sources of income.

McDeere said good-bye a few minutes later. Nick sat there in a very pensive mood. In the 1960s, John Lindsay—the mayor at the time—had called New York City ungovernable. Corruption, a disastrous infrastructure, the extreme contrast between rich and poor, high unemployment in the poverty-stricken districts, and a chronic shortfall in the city’s budget all made reasonable government policies virtually impossible. Nick had never let himself be discouraged by this up to now. With much enthusiasm and a healthy dose of optimism, he vigorously tackled the problems that his predecessors had failed to resolve. He had already accomplished so much. Continued support from the majority of his constituents confirmed his actions.

Nevertheless, there were plenty of people who were displeased by his fight against crime and his strengthening of the police force. The police’s tough stance was publicly criticized time and again, and only the obvious accomplishments of his no-tolerance policy could take the wind out of his enemies’ sails. In just one and a half years, he’d managed to drastically lower the crime rate in the city, and the Mafia bogeyman had faded away thanks to his persistent crackdowns. But now three damned shots threatened the success of his work! Nick had a feeling that Zuckerman’s murder would trigger active lively debate about safety in the city. He could already see the sensational headlines: “Mafia Murder in Manhattan,” “How Safe Is the City?” People would question the effectiveness of his security policy, and all the positive things that Nick had achieved with regard to quality of life and infrastructure improvements would be forgotten. He buried his face in his hands. He was a fighter. For his entire life he’d had to fight, but he didn’t mind it. Now, the terrible suspicion of having a traitor in his own ranks deeply discouraged him.

“Mr. Harding is here, sir,” Allie announced over the speakerphone.

“Send him in,” Nick replied, “and bring us some coffee, please.”

He stood up and walked toward the police commissioner. Jerome Harding, the head of the New York Police Department, was in his late fifties. He began his career as a patrol officer in the Bronx and built himself a reputation as a tough cop. His powerful stature and striking face with a protruding chin gave him an aggressive appearance. With his tailored suit and expensive silk tie, Harding looked civilized, but underneath this facade he was still a brutal bruiser from the Bronx who didn’t forgive or forget. At the age of twenty-five, he’d joined the police academy. After that, he worked his way up to become a chief homicide detective. Ambitious as he was, he studied law by taking evening classes and applied to the US Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York, where he quickly rose through the ranks to become the head of the securities fraud department. Nick met him there and soon came to appreciate his effective work, although he didn’t particularly like him as a person. The feeling was mutual, but both men were professional enough to put their career goals above their personal aversion. Harding was known for his hot temper, but also for his perseverance. He was an energetic and merciless investigator who was never overcome by remorse. He was behind the successful criminal prosecution of an insider-trading scandal on Wall Street in the 1980s, And as the police commissioner, he’d become one of Nick’s most important partners in the fight against crime.

“Jerome,” Nick said as he extended his hand toward the red-faced man with a smile. “I’m sorry you had to come here on a Sunday morning. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harding laughed and winked at him. “As you know, the police never sleep.”

The two men sat down at the large conference table while Allie served coffee.

“So, what’s the matter? How can I help you, Nick?”

Nick interlaced his fingers. He caught himself questioning the degree of Harding’s loyalty, but he immediately brushed his doubts aside. The man sitting in front of him was known for his uncompromising disdain for all criminals. Harding might have a few unpleasant attributes, but he wasn’t corrupt!

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the FBI’s blunder in the Zuckerman matter.”

“Yes, indeed”—Harding waved his hand in contempt—“The Feds screwed up. But you insisted that the FBI should handle Zuckerman’s protection.”

Nick ignored this pointed remark.

“How is it possible that a killer can get this close to a man being guarded by fifteen agents?”

“These idiots fell right into a classic Mafia trap!” Harding laughed maniacally. “The killer was probably among them from the very beginning, and they didn’t notice!”

“That’s exactly what gives me a headache! We’ve been in this business long enough to know that something like this should never happen!”

Harding darted a piercing glance at Nick. “What are you trying to get at?”

“The killer’s contractor knew about Zuckerman’s imminent testimony, the secret location, and the details of the entire operation. Let me make myself clear, Jerome. I’m not so much interested in catching this killer, which we probably won’t manage to do anyway. I want to know how it was possible for confidential information to be leaked so quickly, and I want to know who leaked it!”

Harding seemed to hesitate for a split second before offering his unexpected response.

“You’re taking this thing way too personally.” He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back. “The FBI has disgraced itself, but you and I have nothing to do with it.”

Nick was silent. Was Harding right? Did he take all of this too personally because Vitali had once again managed to slip through his net?

“No,” he replied, “that’s not true. This episode will bring us a lot of negative publicity. My main promise to my constituents was that I would make this city a safer place. We’ve already achieved quite a bit, but my political adversaries will use this to tear us to pieces. You know yourself that many people disapprove of the police’s hard line, and now they’ll reignite public discussion about the purpose of certain police operations.”

The smirk vanished from Harding’s face.

“You’re being too dramatic. We succeeded in convincingly shutting up those damn liberal sissies, and we’ll continue to do so.”

“So you think we shouldn’t do anything?”

Harding nodded. “Correct. Give the press some meaningless report, and point out the responsibility of the FBI and the US Attorney’s Office. Let’s wait and see. Just don’t make any statements that could heat up this whole story in the public’s eye.”

Nick looked doubtfully at the police commissioner. Harding seemed unusually reserved. His recommendation to keep calm was completely out of character.

“I’d really like to know who provided the killer with the details,” Nick insisted.

“Jesus, Nick”—Harding impatiently clicked his tongue—“Do you really want to set off an avalanche and provoke a public discussion about corruption? That would harm you a lot more. Let the Zuckerman matter rest.”

Nick was anything but happy with the result of his meeting, and his phone calls with US Attorney John de Lancie and Governor Rhodes didn’t lift his spirits any. It seemed he was the only one bothered by the death of this key witness. Zuckerman’s testimony would have certainly stirred things up.
There was a knock at the door, and Michael Page—Nick’s chief of staff—entered.

“I’ve prepared a statement for the press,” he said, handing three pages to the mayor. “We won’t leave any room for speculation.”

“Hmm.” Nick looked at the pages pensively. “Harding, de Lancie, and Governor Rhodes think that we should let this matter rest.”

“Really?” Page was surprised. “And what do you think?”

“I don’t know. I
do
know that there is more to this than meets the eye.”

“I can change the press release.”

“No, wait. Let me read it first.” Nick delved into the text. Soon a smile spread across his face.

“It’s brilliant, Michael,” he said after he finished. “I stand against everyone else with this statement. We have only lost a battle instead of the entire war.”

“Exactly.” His chief of staff nodded, satisfied. “Public outrage will be shifted toward the likes of Vitali and Rosenbaum. We won’t let them point the finger at us.”

Sergio Vitali sat at his desk on the eighty-sixth floor of the VITAL Building and read the paper. The cover story headline read, “Mafia Murder in Manhattan?”

Late last night, well-known real-estate speculator David Zuckerman of New York City was shot dead by an unknown perpetrator at a hotel in Midtown Manhattan. Zuckerman, 42, was charged for his involvement in questionable business deals in the mid-1980s, especially during the contract award process for the construction of the World Financial Center. He was scheduled for questioning at a hearing before the US attorney’s office investigation committee in
Manhattan on Monday. In October of last year, Zuckerman was charged with at least four counts of bribery, illegal price fixing, and fraud. After Zuckerman—who owns a mansion on Long Island and a luxurious weekend house on Cape Cod—pleaded his right not to incriminate himself under the Fifth Amendment, the US attorney’s office wanted to release him due to a lack of evidence. Mayor Kostidis, who himself served as the US Attorney for the Southern District of New York for many years, ordered the reopening of procedures due to a reasonable doubt of the defendant’s innocence. The suspicions were substantiated on all counts by new evidence.
      Many of the city’s construction companies are involved in this corruption scandal, first and foremost VITAL Building Corp., which was awarded the contract for the construction of both World Financial Center subsections. Its owner, Sergio Vitali, has previously been accused of bribery and illegal price fixing in connection with several construction contract awards. However, the affair involving the construction of the World Financial Center is the largest and most comprehensive case in which many well-known companies and banks have been cited for their involvement. With the help of Zuckerman’s testimony, the US attorney’s office hoped to shed light on this case and finally bring Vitali to court for “his dubious and criminal business dealings.”
“
Merda
,” Sergio growled, then finished the article.
The FBI still has no leads in their search for the perpetrators. At yesterday’s press conference, Truman McDeere, the head of the task force, said, “This was a cold-blooded, brutal murder that carries the Mafia’s signature. Someone quite obviously feared that Zuckerman’s testimony in front of the investigation committee could bring some inconvenient truths to light.”