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Then Harry turned east on Chambers Street and I knew we were headed to One Police Plaza. All the thoughts I’d just had seemed to be coming true. Then he surprised me by taking a right on Broadway and pulling into the City Hall complex.
“What’s going on, Harry?” I could tell he was considering what he should tell me. “I feel like I’m headed to a firing squad.”
We passed through security and Harry pulled into a spot right by City Hall. He turned to me and said, “You’re going to be cleared on the shooting. We’ve got the suspect’s pistol and two casings. We have security video from the bodega that shows everything. Forensics all check out. Plus, everyone knows you’re not a rookie. But IA and the officials here wanted to make sure everything was done right and covered properly.”
I felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I wanted to kiss Harry right on the cheek. I didn’t care what kind of stubble he had.
I said, “That’s great. When can I get back to work? I’ve got a lot to catch up on.” Tight was the main thing on my mind. I had to find the skinny psychopath and get the truth about the murder of the nurse and her daughter. The image of the crime scene was burned into my memory. And Mrs. Evans breaking down and crying at her sons’ apartment would never leave my head. It was the best motivation a cop could have.
“Can you run me by the office to get my car?”
“Slow down, Mike. It’s a complicated situation. The mayor’s office has some concerns about how the public would view a return so quick.”
“You mean it’s politics.”
“You can call it anything you want, but we have a meeting in here right now. You’re going to talk to the mayor himself.”
“The LFP! No shit.”
“If I get the sense you’re even thinking of saying the words ‘little fat prick,’ I will personally throw your kids’ cat off the balcony and let you deal with the chaos.”
“You’d do that to Socky?”
“After I did it to you.”
Normally I’d think that was kind of a funny comment. Coming from Harry Grissom it felt more like a realistic threat.
I recognized a couple of cops in uniform. They all patted me on the back or shoulder. It wasn’t the kind of greeting I usually got. But what they were really saying was they were glad I was alive, even if it meant someone else was dead.
We took the stairs to the third floor and turned down a long corridor. We stopped at an office with a sign that said office of the mayor, communications.
I started to ask Harry why we were here.
He shut me up with just a look.
He knocked once, then opened the door.
There were three people in the large, plush office. A woman stepped up and offered her hand.
“I’m Carol Tedesco, director of communications.” She was polished and professional. She looked like she could be TV-ready at any moment.
The thin man in wire-rimmed glasses didn’t bother to stand up straight from the table he was leaning on. He just waved and said, “Clark Higson, assistant to the mayor.”
Then the other man stepped over to me and offered a pudgy paw. He said, “Alfred Hanna. Nice to meet you.”
He wasn’t quite as short as I’d thought he would be.
CHAPTER 18
ALFRED HANNA HAD slipped into the mayor’s office by the thinnest of margins. Every cop in the city used the term LFP, for little fat prick, to refer to him. I had even heard LFP used on the radio. Since his election, he had managed to piss off virtually all city workers, the Puerto Rican population, Staten Island residents, and even tourists, when he’d referred to a group from Arkansas touring City Hall as “a bunch of rednecks.” Nothing anyone else in the city wouldn’t have said. But the mayor was held to a higher standard. Barely.
In short, Alfred Hanna was a true New Yorker.
He ran a nervous hand over his slicked-back, dark hair. A long blue tie did little to cover his extended belly. He looked a little like a chipmunk in an Armani suit.
He reached up to put his arm across my shoulders. “We need to keep this meeting as quiet as possible. That’s why we’re not in my office. Is that understood?”
Both Harry and I mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
