The safe still contained two shelves of cash. The cops got seriously excited about that. Watanabe phoned for a forensics team and started photographing and labeling the find. Wayne didn’t care. He searched everywhere and came up dry. The money didn’t help him, except that the cops were behind him now. But the cops didn’t have any more answers than he did.
Jim remained blanked out, staring only at the inner desolation. He gave no resistance as Wayne pulled him back into the living room. “Do you have your computer with you?”
Berkind wiped his face. “I’m seriously in debt.”
“Jim, this is not about you anymore.” When the guy only glazed over more, Wayne said, “Look. You help me, I’ll talk with Easton. He can try and arrange something.”
A glimmer of something came back into his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”
“Great. I need a computer with a hookup to the Grey mainframe.”
The thread of hope had Berkind’s entire body nodding. “It’s in the car.”
Darkness webbed the living room windows. Berkind was both there and not there. He responded to Wayne’s questions in a robotic drone. Otherwise he stared into his own private abyss. Mehan was long gone, called to another crime scene. Watanabe had come and gone from the room several times. She was back now and Wayne knew she wanted to ask what he’d found. But he was glad she kept quiet. Even staying silent like she did, her presence severely spooked Berkind.
Berkind had asked Wayne, “Am I going to jail?”
Pressure stabbed behind his eyeballs, making it difficult to keep hold of his calm. “I’ve already told you. This isn’t about you anymore. This is about clearing up a mess you helped cause. This is about saving innocent lives.”
Berkind mashed the strands hiding his bald spot. As though the scalp marked a point where his turmoil threatened to erupt. “They called it a consulting fee.”
“Your contact with Cloister.” They had been all through this before. But the computer was giving him nothing.
“Yes.”
“Did you ever meet with Eric Stroud?”
“Who?”
“Tatyana’s ex-husband.”
The hand froze in midpat. “Kuchik was married?”
Wayne eased the strain in his neck muscles. The mantel clock with the shattered face lay upended on the tiles. It read nine o’clock or a quarter to midnight, depending upon the angle. Wayne decided it was the perfect timepiece for this night. “Let’s go back to the data on your computer.”
“I never worked with Kuchik before this deal came up.”
“Fine. I need your help here, Jim.”
Watanabe was a compact woman in her midthirties. Her hands were stubby, her motions quick and economical. She gave Wayne the impression of someone who put in serious gym time. She spoke to Wayne like Berkind was not there. Which was at least partly the case. “Can you give me the lowdown on this guy?”
“Berkind is one of the execs responsible for the hotel division. How many hotels does Grey operate, Jim?”
“Thirty-seven in nineteen states.”
Someone called Watanabe’s name from inside the safe. She said to Wayne, “Which gives us nothing, right?”
Wayne felt the pressure build, like Watanabe’s question was pushing him in a direction. One where he should be finding answers. He resisted the desire to stand up and add his own furious search to the room’s chaos. “Not that I can see.”
She headed back toward the kitchen. “We’re almost done here. I’ll need to lock up.”
Wayne watched her leave, then asked Berkind, “Can I use your phone?”
He passed it over. “Are we finished?”
“Soon.” Wayne punched in a number and moved to the rear of the room.
Easton Grey answered. “This time of night, I figured it had to be you.”
“I feel like it’s right here in front of me. But I can’t—”
“Pull it together. Happens to me all the time.” He spoke in the quiet voice of being surrounded by sleepers. “Has Berkind been helpful?”
Wayne glanced over. Berkind had once been a powerful man. Now he sprawled on the sofa, so slack if Wayne had torn off the man’s suit he might ooze into a puddle on the tiles. “Yes and no. He’s drowning in debt and has visions of doing hard time.”
“I’m still trying to get used to the concept that one of my senior executives had anything to do with this.”
Wayne turned back to the window. Florida houses were built to let in the light. But when the light went, the house became rimmed with night-stained mirrors. “I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing harder for a strong man to accept than helplessness.”
His inky reflection revealed far more than his physical form. A man who had made a profession of needing no one. A man whose greatest pride was in handling life on solitary terms. Even when it cost him his marriage. Sharing his utter helplessness now with a man he had only days ago called a stranger. “My gut tells me it’s right here.”
“Well, this time of night, the only thing I can suggest is for us to—”
“Pray,” Wayne said. Filling in not just the word, but the bond between them. He took a long breath. “I want to say the words.”
“Go for it.”
There came that pause. A moment beyond time. Wayne did not let his head drop so much as remove his focus from the window and toward the unseen.
Then a thought hit him square between the eyes. “Hold on.”
“Yes.”
“What did Berkind do before?”
“You mean before his current position?” Grey thought a moment. “I should know. But I have forty-seven vice-presidents, and it’s well past midnight.”
“Hang on.” Wayne turned around. “Jim.”
The man blinked slowly, like he was coming back from another space entirely. One lined by concrete and steel bars.
Wayne raised his voice. “Yo, Jim.”
Watanabe appeared in the kitchen doorway. Wayne asked, “What positions did you hold before this one?”
Even before the man answered, Wayne knew he had scored. Watanabe pushed herself off the doorjamb. Both of them brought to full alert as Jim Berkind straightened with the stiff tenseness of a puppet.
“I’ve been with the Grey Corporation for eighteen years.”
Wayne lowered the phone to his side and walked over. “Tell me what I want to know, Jim. Your last job. What was it?”
Berkind had the expression of a trapped and exhausted weasel. “I ran the land bank.”
Watanabe said, “What?”
The phone in Wayne’s hand squawked. Wayne felt all the pieces fall into place. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it, Jim.”
Watanabe said, “Is that your phone?”
Wayne clipped it shut without taking his eyes off Berkind. “You fed them the list.” But his gut told him, “There’s more than just that, isn’t there, Jim.”
“I want a lawyer.”
Wayne heard Watanabe’s footsteps scrunch over the debris and kept his voice calm. “Sure, Jim. Sure. The cops will be happy to get you lawyered up. But you’re not under arrest, right, Detective?”
“Absolutely not.”
“See, Jim, right now we’re only talking about a misuse of your corporate position. You bring in a lawyer, they could take you downtown as an accessory to an abduction. Several of them.”
Wayne felt the sofa dip as Watanabe seated herself beside him. The detective said, “Not us. If there’s any indication they crossed state or national borders—”
Wayne said, “Cloister is based in the Caymans.”
“There you go. So we’re talking a federal offense. Maybe I should phone the feds now.”
Berkind’s face had gone so slick it might as well have been oiled. “I don’t know anything about that stuff!”
Wayne leaned closer. The man gave off a tinny odor. “You fed them the list, and you showed them which properties were seriously undervalued.”
Berkind’s hand on his face made a squishing noise. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Wayne slid over the computer. “Show me the list.”