Once a Killer (18 page)

“Based on what? The lawyer?”

“Yeah. Danny Boy’s going to transform our business.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“He’ll come through. I know that much.”

“So how we gonna handle the Feds?”

“Find out who it is we’re dealing with over there first.”

“Want me to take care of it or put someone on it?”

“I want you to do it. Do whatever you have to do. I want names, and I want to know how high this goes. Nothing’s more important right now. We can’t have them getting in our way.”

“Shouldn’t take me long. Could just be they’re on a fishing expedition.”

“That’s possible, but I don’t like the timing, right after the Spar deal.” Rondell rolled his head, as if he was trying to release a tight muscle in his neck. “This is the last thing we need. Not now I’ve made commitments to Prague.”

“I’m on it.”

Chapter 23

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under a Nike tracksuit top when she picked up her car keys to leave. “I’ll see you tonight, Honey.” She kissed Fabrizio Caravini on the right cheek. “All I ask is that you think about it, okay?”

“Maybe next month,” he said before biting into his whole wheat toast. “I’m just too busy right now.”

“But the show ends next weekend.”

“I’m making no promises.”

Cindy flashed one of her sulky looks and then turned away. “See you tonight.”

“Enjoy your spinning class.”

“It’s yoga on Wednesdays,” she said, shaking her head as she walked out of the kitchen.

He spread another slice of toast with some bitter-tasting butter substitute—another of Cindy’s great ideas.

Nice of her to mention the Parmadin case before she left. She was so self-absorbed, it didn’t even register.

When Cindy closed the front door behind her, Caravini reached for the remote and turned up the TV volume to watch the news at the top of the hour. It was the first story:

Yesterday, Timothy Callahan, the disgraced former CEO of Parmadin Asset Management, was sentenced to ten years for his part in the Parmadin insider trading scandal that rocked Wall Street last year. Convicted last month on nine counts of conspiracy and securities fraud, Callahan was considered the lynchpin in this massive criminal case. The high profile conviction follows a number of other cases led by Fabrizio Caravini, head of the FBI’s financial crimes unit here in New York City…

Caravini checked the flashing light on his TiVo to make sure it was recording the news report. He’d watch it again later this evening, after Cindy went to bed. He finished his toast and washed it down with the remains of his orange juice before heading off to work.

“Congratulations on Parmadin,” said Abi, bringing him the mail not long after he arrived at the office. She was wearing a figure-hugging top, revealing just enough cleavage to keep his attention. “Ten years must be a record.”

He looked up, touched back the hair behind his right temple, and treated her to a self-important smile. “Thanks,” he said, taking from her with one hand the cup of coffee she’d brought in and rubbing his fingers along her forearm with the other. “Are you still okay for our weekend?”

She threw him a knowing look. “Just wish it was sooner. Three weeks is a long time. I can’t wait that long.”

He watched her rear as she turned and strutted out of his office.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, swiveling round in the doorway. “Floyd would like a word.”

“Tell him to come in now if he wants to catch me. Otherwise, I’m tied up with press interviews for most of today.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Crouten took his usual slumped position in the armchair to the side of Caravini’s desk when he came through a few minutes later.

“There’ve been a few developments I thought you ought to know about,” he said, shifting his weight to get comfortable. He was carrying a bunch of loose papers in one hand and a half-eaten Snickers bar in the other.

Caravini spotted the papers. “I hope this won’t take long, Floyd. I’ve got a whole pack of press people waiting to see me this morning.” He wrinkled his nose, feigning displeasure at the prospect of yet more news-hungry journalists to deal with.

“Oh yeah? What about?”

For an intelligent man, Crouten sure could be thick sometimes. “The Parmadin sentencing, of course. What else?”

“I heard he got ten years. Is that right?” Crouten finished off the Snickers in two bites.

Caravini shook his head. “Let’s move on. What do you have for me?”

Crouten crossed his legs and chewed with his mouth open. “It’s about the Grannis investigation.”

“You were keeping tabs on an associate from Dudek’s. What was his name?”

“Glen Towers.”

“Did you discover what his connection was to Grannis?”

“Nope. I think Towers has nothing to do with them. He’s not been back there, and we can’t link him to any of Grannis’s people.”

“Another waste of time. I told you Grannis was a small fish.”

“You did say something like that.”

“You have to know where to spend your time, Floyd. After a while, you develop a nose for what’s important in this game.”

“Well, my nose told me there was something going on at Grannis.” He paused and then smiled. “And I believe I promised you a shark.”

Caravini leaned forward. “Are you telling me it’s not been a complete waste of time?”

“Towers is innocent. I’m certain of that. However, I think we may have found a partner with connections to Grannis.”

“A Dudek’s partner?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Caravini grinned. “Now that would be a shark. What do you have?”

“I had Kaminski watching the Grannis building. Whenever I could, I joined him. We were hoping to see Towers make another appearance but, instead, we discovered his boss visiting on a couple of occasions.”

“His boss is the partner?”

Crouten nodded.

“This could be big,” said Caravini with barely disguised glee. He was now leaning his weight onto his elbows as they rested on the desk. His hands were clasped, and he was slowly rubbing them together. “Definitely shark territory. What’s the partner’s name?”

“A guy called Michael Hoffman.”

“I don’t know the name.”

“No reason you should; he’s clean.”

“Do we know anything about him?”

“Late thirties. Handles corporate stuff mainly. You know, mergers and acquisitions, IPOs, and the like. Recently made equity partner.”

“Art Jenks would be stunned to learn this.”

“Who’s Jenks?”

“He’s the senior partner at Dudek’s. I’ve known him for a few years. Honest, hardworking. He’s old-school; one of the few I’d still trust to play by the rules.” Caravini thought for a moment. “Could there be another explanation for Hoffman visiting that building? Who else is in there?”

“That’s what I thought, but I followed him myself to Grannis’s floor and watched him go in.” Crouten lifted up the papers in his hand. “And then there are these.”

Caravini glanced at his watch.

“Are you okay to continue?” Crouten asked.

“Yeah. The press can wait.”

Crouten waved the papers. “These are the clincher for me.”

“What are they?”

“They summarize all the recent trades in a stock called Collar Telecom.”

“Didn’t they just get acquired?”

“That’s right. By a company called Spar. Care to guess who handled the legal work for Spar?”

“Dudek, Collins, & Hamilton.”

“Bingo. I bet you can’t guess who the partner was.”

“Hoffman.”

Crouten nodded. “These papers reveal an elevated level of Collar stock purchases in the days before the deal was announced.”

“Can you tie any of them to Grannis?”

“Not all of them, but enough. Seems they acquired the stock through broker nominee accounts so you have to dig around some to find out who the real buyers were. That’s been taking a lot of time. However, a couple of the brokers on the list are well-known to us, so I called in one or two favors. Turns out Grannis has never owned stock in Collar before. Then Michael Hoffman appears at their offices out of the blue, and Grannis’s fund suddenly acquires a raft of shares just before a major acquisition is announced.”

“Funny that.”

“Hardly a coincidence.”

“This could be another Parmadin.” Caravini stroked his chin as he thought. If his team could prove that a Dudek’s partner was feeding inside information to a hedge fund, this would be another trophy conviction. Making mayor with another scalp like this to his name would be a home run. “What more do you need to keep tabs on Hoffman?”

Crouten placed the papers on the corner of Caravini’s desk. “I’m already on it. We’re keeping a close eye on Hoffman.” He pointed to the papers. “And I have some of my people tracking down who’s behind the rest of these trades.”

“Great work, Floyd.”

“I think you’re wrong about Grannis, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“You think Grannis is a small fish and that the big win here is Hoffman.”

“It doesn’t get much bigger than bringing down a Dudek’s partner.”

Crouten uncrossed his legs. “We’re beginning to link Grannis with others in the market, and we’re finding some real interesting sources for his money, particularly in Europe. In time, I think we’re going to find out he’s bankrolled by organized criminals over there. My bet is he’s the real shark here. Hoffman may just end up being our bait.”

“Maybe, but Hoffman is good enough for me. I know I’d settle for him right now.” Caravini tapped the ends of his fingers together. “You know, I think we ought to do one more thing to expedite this.”

“What’s that?”

“You said Towers is innocent?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“Good. Let’s bring him in and lean on him some.”

“What’s the point?”

“I want a quick result on this. We may be able to short-circuit things by squeezing the kid for information on his boss. Could save us a lot of time.”

“Isn’t there a risk he’d tell Hoffman?”

“Depends how much we put the frighteners on.”

“He’s young and inexperienced. Probably wouldn’t take that much to scare him.”

Chapter 24

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to prevent the rain from coming in, and immediately the car filled with cigarette smoke.

Bull Neck faked a cough. “Those things will kill you.” He was sitting in the front passenger seat, every now and then sipping cold coffee through the plastic lid of a paper cup.

Glass eye curled the edge of his mouth. “Whose car is this? Besides, you gotta go somehow.” He held up the cigarette for close inspection. “Might as well be these.” He depressed the wiper control once to clear the rain from the misty windshield.

Bull Neck slurped the rest of his drink then opened the car door and threw the cup in the gutter. “You got any music on this thing?” he asked, reaching for the car radio.

“Leave it. I’ll do it.” Glass Eye turned it on, and the display flashed:
Sirius XM ’80s on 8
. Bryan Adams was singing “Run to You,” and Glass Eye joined in with the chorus.

“I wish I’d never asked,” Bull Neck said, lowering his window to allow in some fresh air. “In future, I’ll take the Merc.” He waited until the song was finished, then said, “What did you find out about this guy, anyway?”

“Not much.”

“Is he acting alone or what?”

“Not according to my contact.” Glass Eye took one last drag on the cigarette then threw the stub out of the window before closing it again. “Seems we’re being watched as part of Caravini’s great crusade against Wall Street. The prick’s got teams looking at a whole bunch of hedge funds.”

“So is Trouten heading it up?”

“Crouten. Floyd Crouten. He’s leading the fieldwork.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“Jeez, you ask a lot of questions.”

“Just curious. I like to know who we’re dealing with.”

“He’s in his late twenties. Apparently, he’s one of Caravini’s rising stars, least according to my source. Queer as they come, too.”

Bull Neck looked like he wanted to throw up. “Is that what this place is, the one he’s going to tonight?”

“A gay joint. That’s right.”