The Dark Tide Free for a Limited Time (17 page)

Karen rushed to drop Alex off at the Arch Street Teen Center that Tuesday afternoon, for a youth fund-raiser for the Kids in Crisis shelter in town.

She was excited when Hauck had called. They agreed to meet in the bar at L’Escale, overlooking Greenwich Harbor, which was virtually next door. She was eager to tell him what she’d found.

Hauck was sitting at a table near the bar and waved when she came in.

“Hi.” She waved, folding her leather jacket over the back of her chair.

For a moment she moaned about how traffic was getting crazy in town this time of day. “Try to find a parking space on the avenue.” She rolled her eyes in mock frustration. “You have to be a cop!”

“Seems fair to me.” Hauck shrugged, suppressing a smile.

“I forgot who I was talking to!” Karen laughed. “Can’t you do anything about this?”

“I’m on leave, remember? When I’m back, I promise that’ll be the very first thing.”

“Good!” Karen nodded brightly, as if pleased. “Don’t let me down. I’m relying on you.”

The waitress came over, and it took Karen about a second to order a pinot grigio. Hauck was already nursing a beer. She’d put on some makeup and a nice beige sweater over tight-fitting pants. Something made her want to look good. When her wine came, Hauck tilted his glass at her.

“We ought to think of something,” she said.

“To simpler times,” he proposed.

“Amen.” Karen grinned. They touched glasses lightly.

It was a little awkward at first, and they just chatted. She told him about Alex’s involvement on the Kids in Crisis board, which Hauck was impressed with and called “a pretty admirable thing.”

Karen smiled. “Community-service requirement, Lieutenant. All the kids have to do it. It’s a college application rite of spring.”

She asked him where his daughter went to school and he said, “Brooklyn,” the short version, leaving out Norah and Beth. “She’s growing up pretty fast,” he said. “Pretty soon
I’ll
be doing the community-service thing.”

Karen’s eyes lit up. “Just wait for the SATs!”

Gradually Hauck grew relaxed, the lines between them softening just a little, suddenly feeling alive in the warm glow of her bright hazel eyes, the cluster of freckles dotting her cheeks, the trace of her accent, the fullness of her lips, the honey color of her hair. He decided to hold back what he’d learned about Dolphin and Charles’s connection to it. About Thomas Mardy and how he’d been at the hit-and-run that day. Until he knew for sure. It would only hurt her more—send things down a path he would one day regret. Still, when he gazed at Karen Friedman, he was transported back to a part of his life that had not been wounded by loss. And he imagined—in the ease of her laugh, the second
glass of wine, how she laughed at all the lines he had hoped she would—she was feeling the same way, too.

At a lull, Karen put down her wine. “So you said you made a little headway down there?”

He nodded. “You remember that hit-and-run that happened the day of the bombing, when I came by?”

“Of course I remember.”

Hauck put down his beer. “I found out why the kid died.”

Her eyes widened.
“Why?”

He had thought carefully about this before she arrived, what he might say, and he heard himself retelling how some company was carrying on a fraud of some kind down there, a petroleum company, and how the kid’s father—a harbor pilot—had stumbled right into the middle of it.

“It was a warning”—Hauck shrugged—“if you can believe it. To get him to back off.”

“It was
murder
?” Karen said, a jolt of shock shooting through her.

Hauck nodded. “Yeah.”

She sat back, stunned. “That’s so terrible. You never thought it was an accident. My God…”

“And it worked.”

“What do you mean?”

“The old man stopped. He buried it. It never would have come out if I didn’t go down.”

Karen’s face turned pallid. “You said you went down there for me. How does this relate to Charles?”

How could he tell her? About Charles, Dolphin, the empty ships? Or how Charles had been in Greenwich that day? How could he hurt her more, more than she’d already been, until he knew? Knew for sure.

And being with her now, he knew why.

“The company,” Hauck said, “the one that was doing this down there, had a connection to Harbor.”

The color drained from Karen’s face. “To Charlie?”

Hauck nodded. “Dolphin Petroleum. You know the name?”

She shook her head.

“It may have been part of a group of investments he owned.”

Karen hesitated. “What do you mean, investments?”

“Offshore.”

Karen put a hand to her mouth and looked at him. It only echoed what Saul had said. “You think Charles was involved? In this hit-and-run?”

“I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves, Karen.”

“Please don’t protect me, Ty. You’re thinking he was involved?”

“I don’t know.” He exhaled. He held back the fact that Charles had been up there that day. “There are still a lot more leads I have to run down.”

“Leads?” Karen sat back. Her eyes had a strange, confused look to them. She pressed her palms together in front of her lips and nodded. “I found something, too, Ty.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, but it’s scaring me a little—like you are now.”

She described how she’d been going through some of Charles’s old things, as he’d asked, his old files, had spoken to his old secretary and travel agent but been unable to find anything.

Until she came across a name.

“The guy had called me a couple of times, just after Charles died. Someone who worked for him.” She described how Jonathan Lauer had tried to contact her, the cryptic messages he’d left.
Some things you ought to know
…“I just couldn’t deal with it back then. It was too much. I mentioned them to Saul. He said it was just personnel stuff and he’d take care of it.”

Hauck nodded. “Okay…”

“But then I thought of it in light of all that’s come up, and it began to gnaw at me. So I went out to see him while you were gone. To New Jersey. To see him. I didn’t know where he worked
now, and all I had was this address from when he worked for Charles, with a private number. I just took a chance. His wife answered the door.” Karen’s eyes turned glassy. “She told me the most horrible thing.”

“What?”

“
He’s dead.
He was killed. In a cycling accident, a few months back. What made it all a little creepy was that he’d been scheduled to give a deposition in some matter related to Harbor later in the week.”

“What kind of matter?”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he was killed. Coupled with the way your Raymond kid was killed, who had Charlie’s name on him.”

Hauck put down his glass, his antennae for these sorts of things beginning to buzz.

“A car hit him,” Karen said. “Just like your guy. It was a hit-and-run.”

A group of office people seated next to them suddenly grew louder. Karen leaned forward, her knees pressed together, her face a little blank.

“You did good,” Hauck said, showing he was pleased. “Real good.”

Some of the color returned to her cheeks.

“You hungry?” Hauck asked, taking a chance.

Karen shrugged, casting a quick glance at her watch. “Alex has a ride home with a neighbor. I guess I have a little time.”

On the way home, Hauck rang up Freddy Muñoz.

“LT!” his detective exclaimed in surprise. “Long time no hear. How’s vacation?”

“I’m not on vacation, Freddy. Listen, I need a favor. I need you to get a copy of the file on an unsolved homicide in New Jersey. Upper Montclair. The victim’s name is Lauer. L-A-U-E-R, like Matt. First name Jonathan. There may be a parallel investigation by the Jersey State Police.”

Muñoz was writing it down. “Lauer. And what do I say is the reason we need it, LT?”

“Similar pattern to a case we’ve been looking at up here.”

“And which case is that, Lieutenant?”

“It’s an unsolved hit-and-run.”

Muñoz paused. In the background there was the sound of young kids shouting, maybe the Yankees game on TV. “Jesus, Ty, this becoming an MO with you now?”

“Have someone drop it off at my home tomorrow. If I was active, I’d do it myself. And Freddy…” Hauck heard the sound
of Freddy’s son, Will, cheering. “This stays just between us, okay?”

“Yeah, LT,” the detective answered. “Sure.”

N
EW LEADS
, H
AUCK
was thinking.

One definitely ran through Charlie Friedman’s trustee, Lennick. Karen trusted him. Almost like a member of the family. He would have known about Lauer. Did he know about Dolphin and Falcon, too?

Did Charlie ever mention he was managing any accounts offshore?

The other ran through New Jersey, this second hit-and-run. Hauck had never been one to have much faith in coincidences.

As he drove, his thoughts kept straying back to Karen. Off the top of his head, he came up with ten good, solid reasons he should stop now, before things went any further between them.

Starting with the fact that her husband was alive.
And how Hauck had made a pledge to find him. And how he didn’t want to cause her any more needless hurt by holding things back than she had already been through.

And how she was rich. Used to different things. Traveled in a totally different league.

Jesus, Ty
,
you’re not exactly playing the strongest hand here.

Still, he couldn’t deny that he felt something with her. The electricity when their hands brushed once or twice at dinner. The same sensation coursing through his veins right now.

He pulled his Bronco off the exit of 95 back in Stamford. It occurred to him why he couldn’t tell her. Why he was holding back the whole truth. That Charles had returned to Greenwich after the bombing. That he had a hand in killing that boy. Maybe the other one, too.

Why he didn’t want to bring the police into the matter. Get other people involved.

Because Hauck realized that for the last four years he’d been essentially rootless, alone. And Karen Friedman was the one thing he felt connected to right now.

There was a knock on the door the following afternoon, and Hauck went over to answer.

Freddy Muñoz was there.

He handed Hauck one of those large, string-bound interoffice envelopes. “Hope I’m not bothering you. Thought I’d bring it up to you myself, Lieutenant, if that’s okay?”

Hauck had just come back from a run. He was sweaty. He was in a gray Colby College T-shirt and gym shorts. He had spent most of the morning working on the computer.

“You’re not bothering me.”

“Place looks nice.” The detective nodded approvingly. “Needs a bit of a woman’s touch, don’t you think? Maybe make a little sense of that kitchen over there?”

Hauck glanced at the dishes piled in the sink, a few open containers of takeout on the counter. “Care to volunteer?”

“Can’t.” Muñoz snapped his fingers, feigning disappointment. “Working tonight, Lieutenant. But I thought I’d just hang around a minute while you took a look through that, if that’s okay?”

Buoyed, Hauck opened the envelope’s flap and slid the contents on the coffee table, while Muñoz threw himself into a cushy living-room chair.

The first thing he came upon was the incident report. The report of the accident by the lead officer on the scene. From the Essex County PD. Details on the deceased. His name, Lauer. Address: 3135 Mountain View. DOB. Description: white male, approximately thirty, wearing a yellow biking uniform, severe body trauma and bleeding. Eyewitness described a red SUV, make undetermined, speeding away. New Jersey plates, number undetermined. Time: 10:07
A.M.
Date. Eyewitness report attached.

It all seemed to have a familiar feel.

Hauck glanced through the photos. Photostats of them. The victim. In his biking jersey. Hit head-on. Severe blunt trauma to the face and torso. There was a shot of the bike, which had basically been mangled. A couple of views in either direction. Up, down the hill. The vehicle was clearly heading down.

Tire marks only after the point of impact.

Just like AJ Raymond.

Next Hauck leafed through the medical examiner’s report. Severe blunt-force trauma, crushed pelvis and fractured vertebrae, head trauma. Massive internal bleeding. Dead on impact, the medical examiner presumed.

Hauck paged through the detectives’ case reports. They had mapped out the same course of action Hauck had up in Connecticut. Did a canvass of the area, notified the state police, checked with the body shops, tried to trace back the tread marks for a tire brand. Interviewed the victim’s wife, his employer. “No motive found” to assume it might not have been an accident.

Still no suspects.

Muñoz had gotten up and gone over to a canvas Hauck was working on by the window. He lifted it off the easel. “This is pretty good, Lieutenant!”

“Thanks, Freddy.”

“May get to see you at the Bruce Museum yet. And I don’t mean waiting in line.”

“Feel free to help yourself to any you like,” Hauck muttered, flipping through the pages. “One day they’ll be worth millions.”

It was frustrating—just like his. The Jersey folks had never found any solid leads.

It just came down to a coincidence, a coincidence Hauck didn’t believe, one that didn’t lead anywhere.

“Strike you as reasonable, Freddy?” Hauck asked. “Two separate 509s? Two different states. Each with a connection to Charles Friedman.”

“Keep at it, Lieutenant,” Muñoz said, flopping back over the arm of the heavy chair.

All that was left was the detail of the eyewitness depositions.
Deposition.
There was only one.

As Hauck opened it up, he froze. He felt his jaw drop open, his eyeballs pulled like magnets to the name on the deposition’s front page.

“See what I’m seeing?”
Freddy Muñoz sat up. He swung his legs off the chair.

“Yeah.” Hauck nodded and took a breath. “I sure do.”

The lone eyewitness to Jonathan Lauer’s murder had been a retired New Jersey policeman.

His name was Phil Dietz.

The same eyewitness as at AJ Raymond’s hit-and-run.