“I work night and day for you, Henry.”
“Listen to me. You either fix this, or I will rip up the goddamn contract, do you hear me?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“That fuck was here in my office! I’m being grilled in my office? Me! A cop? What the fuck? I’m dying here! Who is this crazy fuck?”
“That’s why I’m here. We are facing a challenge. But I’ve got this.”
“I want answers! How is this happening?”
“My NSA guy has scraped telephone records from Jack McNeal. He has been in contact with a private eye down in Florida, Finn O’Brien. Old-school New York cop. Friend of McNeal’s father. And O’Brien has been feeding information back to McNeal.”
“This isn’t making me feel any better, Karen.”
“The searches carried out by O’Brien’s company were initially focused on you, Henry. Then they turned their attention to Francesca Luca.”
“The hooker? Tell me you’re fucking kidding. Really?”
“The honey trap girl. That’s right.”
“Fuck.”
“That, in turn, has flagged my maiden name. O’Brien did some searching about me. A deep dive of myriad records, court records, government and otherwise. Public records. Confidential IRS tax returns might have been accessed, perhaps by hackers, for the right price. Perhaps they did a forensic financial audit of my company. And it would show that your company has done work for me, Henry, just like I’ve done work for you. And you are the widower of Sophie Meyer. Can you see how they could be putting this together? It’s cute.”
Graff sighed. “You think this is all because Jack McNeal got the real identity of the honey trap girl?”
“It all stemmed from there.”
“How could that bitch have been so stupid? Carrying her real ID?”
“Let’s forget about that for a moment.”
“Forget about it? How the hell can I forget about it? The fucker, McNeal, turns up in the lobby, wanting to speak to me. I’ll guarantee he knows about my past too. The bastard was sitting where you are now, cool as a cucumber.”
“Why didn’t you call security?”
“Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter if I got him thrown off the premises or called the cops, that by itself would have opened up further problems.”
Feinstein nodded. “I understand.”
“So what the fuck do we do now? He told me that his wife had found documents pertaining to two autopsies.”
“That’s impossible.”
Graff shook his head.
Feinstein implored, “We need to stay calm. He wants you to lash out. We need to remain focused.”
“What a mess.”
“We are where we are.”
“Well, that’s just great. Let’s be philosophical. That’ll fix everything.”
Feinstein flushed, seeming embarrassed. “I mean we need to draw a line in the sand and work this problem.”
“How about another strategy? How about we neutralize Jack McNeal?”
“I think that would be desirable.”
Graff turned back to the window. “Good. I’m feeling better already.”
“We need to get into his life. Who is he?”
Graff balled his fist. “Everyone has a tipping point. What is he prepared to put up with? Is he prepared to walk away if his world becomes threatened? Things that matter to him? His job? Family?”
“His wife’s dead. But he has family. A father. A brother.”
“What about reaching out to our sources within the NYPD?”
Feinstein cracked a smile. “I’m already on that side of things. But this guy has friends. He knows people. So does his cop brother.”
Graff pointed at her. “Figure it out. No more surprises. Let’s turn the screw on this fucker. I want him out of my life for good.”
Thirty-Three
McNeal’s visit to Graff wouldn’t go unnoticed. He knew that. He had crossed the line. They would now try and get into his life. But he had found Graff fascinating—cold but fascinating. He had put himself firmly on Graff’s radar. It might have been foolish. It might have been reckless. But it would provoke a response.
He thought again about what Caroline had said to the psychologist. She was being stalked. There was a prowler. She had to have reported it to the cops. He needed to know more—a lot more. Ideally he could have reached out to people he knew and trusted. But his position within the Internal Affairs Bureau meant he had to be cleaner than clean.