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“Gotcha. Close to the project.”
“Right in the middle of it,” she said.
Damon pulled up to the building. Sandra leaned over to kiss Andy. “I’ll try not to bug you all day.”
“Bug me, please,” he said. “Maybe we can meet for lunch?”
“Can I let you know?”
“Sure.”
Damon had opened her door, and she slid out. Watching her move, Andy’s heart and his groin were competing for the blood supply, and he felt a little faint, grinning as she bent down to wave to him one last time in the window.
“Where to, sir?” Damon asked when he got inside again.
“Liberty Street, downtown,” Andy said. “If you want to stop for coffee, that would be great.”
“There’s a truck at the end of this block,” he replied. “Coffee it is.”
Getting his money clip out, Andy took a fifty off the pile and handed it to Damon. “Regular please. And keep the change.” Damon didn’t acknowledge it, and Andy wondered if he was insulted.
Damon brought the coffee back in a tray with another cup and two waxed-paper-wrapped bagels with butter.
“I have to have a sesame seed bagel if I’m having vendor coffee,” Damon said, handing him a package. “Don’t worry about crumbs. I’m having this rig washed and vacuumed today.”
“Why, thank you very much,” Andy said. “This is also my favorite.”
They made small talk for the next ten minutes. Although his office was only one mile from Sandra’s, traffic was miserable at that hour, and it took a minute per tenth of a mile. Plenty of time to talk and eat.
“What time do you want me to come back?” Damon asked.
“Thank you, Damon. I’m not sure yet what the day will bring.” He had a driver on retainer. “Hopefully, I’ll be going back to Babylon with you tonight.”
Hopefully. Arriving at Liberty Street, he told Damon to stay put; he’d let himself out. Once in his office, he had an errand he didn’t even trust with his assistant of five years. No. This was going to be given to someone who knew clandestine, an old college buddy, Brady Cooper, who was a retired agent at the FBI.
Andy could have done the work himself, but he didn’t want to have that on his computer. At eleven, Brady got back to him.
“Except for a few unfortunate relationship issues, your girl is squeaky clean.”
“Anything I should worry about?”
“Well, there’s one thing, and I only think it’s important because he was a big supporter. She was in a relationship with Jack Smith right before he died.”
Now here was a thing Andy had not expected. A wave of heat passed over him, his gorge rising.
“He left Benson his half of that historic preservation business, but a few years ago, Smith’s widow married a guy, Randy Braddock, who forced her out. She was well compensated.”
The sound of papers shuffling echoed over the line. “Her net worth is five to seven million. The business she’s operating now is already in the black, and they haven’t completed the first project.
“Here’s another interesting factoid; Jack Smith’s son, Brent, is listed on her son’s birth certificate as the father. However, he was murdered almost exactly nine months before the child’s birth.
“Between Smith and his son, she was engaged to Detective Tom Adams, the cop who was shot at Gracie Mansion—”
“I know that.”
“She was married for a brief time to the guy who was the campaign manager for Charles Monroe, a Timothy Hornsby. And was seeing Michael Bennett up until a few months ago.”
“Who’s he?”
