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“It’s possible. People have been killed and abducted. Walt Southern was blackmailed. Parker was hired by Hugh Dawson. He and McClellan are the two wealthiest men around. It wouldn’t be the first time murder has been tied to money.”
They got off the elevator and walked down to number 503, where Decker knocked on the door.
They could hear footsteps coming and the door opened.
Stuart McClellan’s tie was unknotted and the buttons of his vest were undone. He had on a pair of reading glasses that were perched halfway down his nose. He looked up at them in confusion.
“What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get up here?”
Before Decker could say anything Jamison stepped forward. “We’re federal agents investigating a murder. Do you really think a concierge is going to keep us at bay?”
Decker glanced at Jamison with admiration. Next, he peered over McClellan’s head when he heard movement in the room. “We understand that you’re not alone.”
“What business is that of yours?” snarled McClellan.
“Can we come in?”
“No!” barked McClellan.
Jamison said, “Fine, we’ll keep eyes on the place until we get a warrant issued.”
“On what grounds?” snapped McClellan.
“On the grounds that you’re harboring a witness who we need to speak to right now. Did you hear that, Mr. Dawson?” Jamison added in a raised voice.
Dawson came around a corner and stood behind McClellan. He looked both pissed off and weary at the same time.
“What do you need to speak to me about?” he said.
“Do you want to do this out in the hallway?” said Decker. “I would have thought you’d want some privacy.”
McClellan glanced at Dawson, who shrugged.
The apartment was spacious and luxuriously furnished. Decker had noted, as they came down the hall, that they’d passed number 509 and had not seen another door until they came to 503. So McClellan had apparently cobbled together several units into one.
He looked around and said, “Nice place.”
“Why are you here?” demanded McClellan. “We’re busy.”
“With what?” asked Decker.
“That is none of your business,” retorted McClellan. “Federal agents or not,” he added, looking spitefully at Jamison.
Decker eyed Dawson. “He was at your hotel that night. You’re working on this big deal, you said. You told us that McClellan finally has his business model right, which means maybe no more booms and busts for him. And you’ve been acquiring property on the cheap. Now you’re meeting secretly?”
Jamison said to Dawson, “You’re selling out to McClellan, aren’t you?”
Dawson eyed McClellan. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, Stu.”
“We don’t care what you’re doing with McClellan,” said Decker. “And this will go no further,” he added when McClellan looked like he was about to erupt in anger.
Dawson slipped his hands into his pants’ pockets. “Then whatdoyou care about?”
“I’ve got two murders, one suicide, and a missing person.”
“Suicide?” said McClellan.
“Walt Southern ate a bullet.”
