the k street hunting society - a frank pavlicek mystery by andy straka
DESCRIPTION
It's supposed to be an easy paycheck for private investigators Frank Pavlicek and his daughter Nicole. Their friend and fellow falconer Jake Toronto has a new client: multi-millionairess Raquel Greensmythe, founder and CEO of Greensmythe Global. Greensmythe keeps a stable of prized falcons at her Northern Virginia estate while her firm hunts sensitive information, using sophisticated data mining techniques to make predictions about pending legislation and other issues for lobbying firms, Wall Street bankers, and other high paying customers. All Frank and Nicole have to do is help Jake escort Greensmythe and one of her Vice Presidents as they attend a series of meetings in Washington, D.C. But when a professional killer ambushes them in an underground K Street parking garage, one of the executives ends up dead, Jake is shot in the hand, and Nicole is critically wounded. For Frank and Jake, the hunt is on for a killer even the cops refer to as "a ghost."TRANSCRIPT
SPECIAL BOOK LAUNCH PREVIEW
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidentseither are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole orin part, or stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise),without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 2014 by Andy StrakaAll rights reserved.
Library of Congress Control Number 2014935208
978-0-9891465-5-5
Cedar Creek PublishingVirginia, USA
www.cedarcreekauthors.com
3
;1
The killer on the curb looked like any other Washington,
DC, rent-a-cop.
Early to mid-thirties. Caucasian of average height.
Sporting a military-style haircut and decked out in a
parapolice uniform emblazoned with the requisite security
officer patch, he nodded at us as we drove past him into the
underground garage. He turned his gaze back to the
perimeter as we disappeared around a line of parked cars.
“Is this the only entrance?” Seated by myself in a third
row seat, I peered out the back window of Jake Toronto’s
blacked-out Ford Expedition EL.
“Only way into the building by car.” Toronto spun
the steering wheel of the big SUV and spoke through his
headset. “But there’s a street level entrance at the front of
the building.”
“Okay,” I said into my mike.
We were a few blocks south of Dupont Circle. The
three-story glass and brick office building blended well with
its neighbors–structures in DC were restricted by law to be
no taller than 130 feet–and two levels of parking stood below
street level. This part of the city always sparked a nervous
energy in me, maybe going back to my New York days.
The intersection of power and money–Washington, DC,
took up where New York City left off.
4 ANDY STRAKA
“Eyes up.”
Nicole’s voice rang out calmly from where she’d taken
up station in the front passenger seat across from Toronto.
She had wanted to take the lead on this delivery and
I’d endorsed the idea, but something about the restrictive
entrance to the building made me uneasy. Even if I was
riding rear guard in what could have only been described as
a veritable fortress on wheels. Toronto’s rig had been tricked
out with bulletproof glass, reinforced doors, satellite Internet
and police band connections, registered heavy weapons and
surveillance gear. All of the toys any soldier-of-fortune could
want.
A ride like today, a hundred miles from home, wasn’t
exactly my idea of a fun way to pass the time, but the pay
was better than average. We were in Toronto’s orbit, an
executive protection job for one of his private security
clients. The light grew darker as he wheeled the big SUV
deeper into the bowels of the garage.
“Once we’re inside I’m going to back into a visitor
space,” Toronto announced.
“Got it.”
Between us in the second row sat one of the wealthiest
women in the Commonwealth of Virginia, although you’d
never know it from the low profile Raquel Greensmythe
kept. The founder and CEO of Greensmythe Global
comported herself, most of the time, like a schoolmarm
with a Cartier watch. Her blonde hair was pulled into a
bun and she wore oversized glasses with dark frames. A
pencil skirt and jacket framed her slender, middle-age figure.
Across from her sat a man named Ibrahim Talbot, one of
her corporate vice presidents, who seemed deep in thought.
He stared silently out the window while Greensmythe
5THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY
answered e-mail on her tablet computer.
“Everything all right back there, Franco?” Toronto
made eye contact with me for a second. I could see the top
three quarters of his face and his eyes, with a toothpick
dangling from his mouth, in the mirror.
I twisted my head to make a sweep of the garage behind
us. Everything appeared normal. With a key card to raise
the gate, a grey Volkswagen was departing the garage in the
other lane. A second guard, this one younger and African
American sat behind the window of a security station
attached to the side of the building, sipping on a plastic
straw protruding from a tall foam cup.
“Roger that. All clear.”
Toronto nodded.
The meeting Greensmythe and Talbot were to attend
wasn’t due to begin for another forty-five minutes. After
several sticky days of morning heat and afternoon
thunderstorms, the weather had taken a turn for the better
and the inbound traffic had been unusually light–at least,
by Northern Virginia standards. It was approaching 10:00
a.m. and the hordes of government workers and DC power
brokers were already safely ensconced behind their computer
screens and digging into the nation’s business.
On the ride across the river from their offices in
Alexandria, I’d overheard Greensmythe and Talbot
discussing data technologies in capital markets, regulation,
and risk analytics with an enthusiasm others normally
reserved for sports, food, or celebrities. The execs were not
celebrities, thank God. Comfortable and prosperous in their
relative anonymity, the security we provided them satisfied
their insurance company’s underwriters, and that was all.
Our firearms were locked away in the back of the SUV in
6 ANDY STRAKA
keeping with the District’s restrictive gun laws and the
client’s request.
“We’re early,” Nicole said. “Are you ready to go or
would you like to stay here for a while longer and continue
working in the car?”
Greensmythe said there was no sense in delaying their
appearance at the lobbying firm’s office. She and Talbot
would use the extra time before their meeting to look over
their notes inside.
“Shouldn’t we wait a little?” Talbot asked. Apparently,
her fellow executive didn’t cotton to the idea of arriving so
far in advance of their appointment.
Greensmythe turned her gaze on him. “What for? Just
to trumpet to them how busy and important we are? Make
sure you have all of your numbers together. I’m sure they’ll
be able to find someplace private to park us until the
meeting. And I’d like to get a feel for the place before we
begin. It always pays to know the playing field.”
“Okay, you’re the boss. I know we still have some
things to go over and I suppose we can just as easily do it
inside as here.”
Greensmythe nodded at her chief of staff and shoved
a stack of papers she’d been examining into the portfolio
briefcase between her feet. Though we’d only met a couple
of hours before, I had taken an instant liking to her. The
CEO didn’t strike me as one to posture or play games.
Toronto had gotten to know her through a mutual friend,
a falconer who worked for Greensmythe at her Fairfax
County estate where she kept a specially-built barn full of
prized falcons, not to mention horse stables stocked with
thoroughbreds and Arabians. But, for all her wealth and
idiosyncrasies, Greensmythe still acted like someone from
7THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY
humble origin who had never forgotten where she came
from, who’d earned her place in the world the old-fashioned
way–through her own labors. Judging by the fortune she’d
amassed, Raquel Greensmythe could work almost anyone
into the ground. But she treated everyone around her,
including us, with respect, a fact I found refreshing.
“Okay, when we stop, the three of us will be getting
out first.”
Nicole had turned and was speaking with the
executives. Her voice carried an air of authority, taking
charge like she was supposed to.
I was proud of her. In the mirror I could see a trace of
a smile forming on Toronto’s lips. He was proud, too.
“There’s obviously no hurry,” Greensmythe said,
smoothing the skirt of her tailored suit, which probably
cost more than my monthly paycheck.
Looking at Greensmythe and Talbot, I began to
wonder if maybe I should have been pushing Nicole a little
harder to apply to that PhD program in computer science.
There were a lot more profitable, stable, saner, and safer
ways to earn a living than the private investigator business.
But try telling that to Nicole. At least there was no mystery
where she’d picked up the stubbornness gene.
Toronto eased the big Expedition toward our
designated parking slot on a sweeping arc, stopped to shift,
and began to back the vehicle in. It was a numbered, visitor
space, part of an entire row of such spaces, according to the
signs, allotted to McCarter & Iachetta. I’d never heard of
McCarter & Iachetta, although apparently the firm was one
of the largest and most influential lobbying firms in DC,
specializing in major corporate and environmental issues.
Why they wanted a meeting with our client was none of
8 ANDY STRAKA
my business. I planned to play my part and play it well–
just another hired tough guy in a suit.
The big SUV came to a halt and Toronto cut the
engine. He and Nicole wasted no time exiting the vehicle.
Nicole quickly slipped around back to let me out through
the rear hatch of the Expedition–not the most graceful way
out but one I was prepared for.
The plan called for extracting Talbot from the vehicle
first followed by his boss. Nicole, Toronto, and I would
form a classic triangle formation around them as we entered
the building with Nicole in front and Toronto and I at their
eight and four o’clock.
We got Talbot out of the car okay and moved around
to the other side to open Greensmythe’s door. Nicole held
the door open as the CEO stepped from the car onto the
pavement. I was in a different position that allowed me to
see through a gap in the cars all the way back to the garage
entrance and I noticed the security guard we’d seen on the
way in was no longer standing his post. A little unusual,
but nothing to panic about. Maybe the man was making a
routine shift in his position.
Greensmythe was completely out of the vehicle by
now. Instinctively, I swiveled my gaze around us to check
for threats and knew Nicole and Toronto were doing the
same.
A flash of movement appeared between the cars over
my right shoulder, and I started to turn to face it. That was
when I spotted the barrel of the assault rifle.
“Mayday, mayday. Gun. At our three.”
I spun the rest of the way around hoping to shield the
clients and pushing them down. Toronto saw the gun barrel
at about the same moment and made the same move I did.
9THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY
But the assailant had the jump on us with the certainty
of what appeared to be a preplanned attack. In the blur of
the moment, I couldn’t have told you much more about
him, except that he was the same security guy we’d passed
at the entrance. He advanced with precision and skill and
began to lay down a line of fire with what looked like an
AK-47.
Time seemed to freeze as some kind of sixth sense
kicked in. Where did he get that thing? A part of my brain
wondered.
A bullet tore through the window of the vehicle next
to me, shattering the glass. I pushed Greensmythe down
hard to the pavement.
“Guns in back, Frank!”
I spun to my left, back behind the cover of the rear of
the vehicle and the hatch, which was still open. More bullets
rained around us. Two gun cases lay partially concealed in
the cargo compartment. I punched in the emergency
combination to pop the locks, lifted the lid, and jerked a
pair of Glock 17s with full mags from their holders.
“Coming to your feet!”
Toronto and Nicole had managed to push the clients
back into the bulletproof vehicle by now and taken cover
themselves behind adjacent vehicles. I slid the Glocks along
the pavement to each of them as the bullets kept coming.
One struck the back hatch of the SUV barely missing my
face.
A second or two later, Toronto rose, gun in hand, into
a crouch behind the vehicle in front of us and began to
return fire. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nicole, behind
me and to my left, squeeze off several shots in the direction
of our attacker as well.
10 ANDY STRAKA
I popped open the larger of the two cases in back where
I found a loaded tactical shotgun. I snatched it up and
slammed the rear hatch shut, then ducked along the line of
vehicles to our left with the guns still firing and the smell
of cordite hanging in the air. Advancing around to the front
of an oversized van, I pumped the shotgun and came out
firing from the shooter’s flank. I could clearly see him now.
It was definitely the security guard. He crouched behind a
late model sedan and was using its roof as a firing platform
for his assault rifle.
My flanking maneuver must have taken him by
surprise. That must have been enough to convince our
assailant to back off. He fired one more round of bullets at
the Expedition before slipping back down behind the row
of cars.
I stopped firing and pumped another shell into the
chamber, waiting for a moment to be sure.
“Hold your fire,” I called to the others.
Another smell met my nostrils. Blood. Two cars away,
a bright red smear ran along the running board and side of
the Expedition. I glanced toward the security window where
the younger guard had been seated, now empty.
Toward the front of the garage where I’d last seen the
shooter, I caught a brief flash of movement darting away to
my right. “He’s ghosting.”
This was no terrorist suicide mission. More like a
professional hit. The assailant must have known the terrain
better than we. He wouldn’t have gone into an operation
like this without an escape plan. Our best chance of catching
the shooter was melting away.
“I’m on him,” I hollered over my shoulder to Nicole
and Toronto and started to give chase.
11THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY
“No,” Jake called out.
I held up.
“We stay with the clients and wait for the cavalry,” he
said. “There may be more guns.”
He was right, of course. Our job here was to protect.
Our first obligation was to the execs in the car. I scooted
back around to the SUV and formed a perimeter with
Toronto while Nicole got on the horn with 911.
Someone else must have already called it in. A chorus
of wailing police sirens could be heard approaching. For
the time being, there was no more movement in the garage.
I heard nothing except the sirens, backed by the continued
pulse of traffic on K Street blocks away as if nothing terrible
had just happened here.
Like a freeze-frame of the aftermath of a disaster, in
those few thin moments, the harsh reality of what had just
occurred began to close in on all of us.
“The shooter’s gone,” Nicole was still talking to 911.
“But we’ve got wounded. We’ve got people down.”
The first Metro PD patrol car screeched to a halt out
on the street in front of the garage. Toronto and I went
around and pulled open one of the side rear doors of the
Expedition.
“Everyone okay?”
“I’m all right,” Greensmythe said, her voice shaking.
“But Ibrahim’s in trouble.”
She bent over her wounded corporate vice president
performing chest compressions on his inert body.
Blood was everywhere. On the dark leather seats, all
over her expensive suit, and running down onto the carpeted
floor.
“Mr. Talbot?” Jake yelled.
12 ANDY STRAKA
No reply.
“Mr. Talbot.” Louder.
Nothing.
“Oh, no.” Raquel Greensmythe let out a sob of grief
as she kept up the compressions. “Oh, God. No.”
Toronto swore under his breath. Blood streamed from
one of his hands.
It would get worse.
“Dad.”
I turned to see Nicole with her gun still in her hand,
trying to pocket her cell phone and moving along the front
of the vehicle toward me.
“They’re coming, Dad. Everybody’s coming.”
She sounded out of breath, her voice growing weak.
Her eyes took on a glassy look as I rushed toward her,
catching sight of her stained jeans and the ragged outline
of torn fabric around a large, crimson-colored wound.
She collapsed into my arms.
13
;2
Nicole was being wheeled into the operating room at
George Washington University Hospital.
At this same facility, updated substantially of course
since then, President Ronald Reagan fought for his life after
an attempted assassination by John Hinckley, Jr. a generation
before. Reagan was said to have quipped to the surgeons
and the OR staff, “I hope you’re all Republicans.” To which
his surgeon had famously replied: “Mr. President. We’re all
Republicans today.”
I didn’t care about the history. All I wanted was for
Nicole to be okay. The Emergency Room doctor who
ordered her to be rushed into surgery looked worried.
“She’s lost a lot of blood,” he said.
I worried more about what the doctor wasn’t telling
me. “Guarded,” was the official prognosis. The illegal hollow
point bullet, built to kill, had shattered a substantial portion
of the bone. They were concerned about the femoral artery,
he told me, along with shock and her blood pressure and
potential sepsis.
Half an hour later word came down that Nicole was
on the surgical table and they were beginning the procedure
to repair her hip. Try as I might, I couldn’t help but replay
images of the shooting over and over again in my mind.
14 ANDY STRAKA
Could I have done anything differently? Been more vigilant?
Were there clues I had missed?
To add insult to injury, being back in a hospital
brought back a flood of memories from the year before–
the sickness, tests, and interminable days of waiting before
the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer that brought a premature
closure to Marcia’s life. Marcia and I had been together for
barely eight years, married less than three. The downward
spiral that began with the verdict from the hospital ended
with her death in my arms only a few weeks later, and by
then she’d felt as light as air.
I was still keeping vigil when Toronto burst in through
the waiting room doors. In his dark suit he cut an imposing
figure and in his present condition people seemed to
automatically shrink away from him. A stone-cold look of
determination, fear, and anger filled his eyes. Like mine,
his trousers still had grease and blood on them, not to
mention the large gauze bandage covering most of his left
hand.
As I rose to meet him, two or three mothers with
children in tow averted their gaze, while an overweight man
nearby appeared to hug his oxygen tank a little tighter.
Across the room, two teens, boyfriend and girlfriend
apparently, held on to one another.
“How is she?” Toronto asked.
“Don’t know yet.” I ushered him toward a quiet corner.
“They rushed her into surgery. Said they’re worried about
bleeding.”
He nodded grimly. “Did they say how long it would
be?”
“They said they weren’t sure. It depends on how much
damage they find.”
15THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY
Toronto sat down in one of the waiting room chairs.
He balled his good fist and in slow motion banged it on a
small end table. “What can I do?”
“Nothing at the moment. We need to find whoever
did this.”
“Amen to that. They just called to tell me Talbot died
before they could get him into surgery at Washington
Hospital Center.”
We stared at one another. There was no way around it
now. We had failed at our primary mission. One of our
clients was dead.
“The garage is a murder scene now,” he continued.
“The Ford’s been impounded. Metro Police are all over this.
I’d have been here sooner, but they had a lot of questions.”
“How’s Greensmythe?”
“Pretty shook up, but otherwise okay. Someone
brought her a change of clothes and they’re bringing her
over here, too, just to check her out. Should be right behind
me.”
“You make this as an assassination attempt?”
“That’s what everyone seems to think.”
“On Greensmythe?”
“Most likely. Talbot just got caught in the cross fire.”
“She’ll need beefed up protection.”
“Already on it. She’s got a police escort for now and
I’ve already lined up an associate to help cover her estate
and I talked to the Virginia State Police.”
“How’s your hand?”
“I’ll survive,” he said. “Throbs though. I wouldn’t let
them give me anything. They wrapped it up and said I
needed to be seen down here, too. Wanted me to ride in an
ambulance, but I got one of the Metro PD squad cars to
16 ANDY STRAKA
bring me instead.”
“So you’re going to have them take a look at your
hand?”
“Nah, I don’t–”
“Hey. I need you.”
“But it’s not that bad.”
“Let’s just get it fixed up and move on.”
Toronto winced but nodded.
“I’m sorry, Frank.”
“For what?”
“I thought this was easy money, that these execs were
low profile, not on anybody’s target list.”
“Not your fault the clients wouldn’t let us carry guns.”
“Yeah, but I wish I’d never–”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t try to tell me you regret
bringing us in on this job. You and I both know the odds of
something like this happening, and they’re beyond long.
Nicky knew the risks and so did I. I don’t blame you and
she won’t either.”
“Still, I…I mean, if anything happens…” He started
to look away.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s going to be okay.
We’ve got to hang on and believe that. Come what may.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Okay.”
“Let’s focus on what we can at the moment.”
“We’re going to have to go after the guy who did this
with all we’ve got.”
“Agreed.”
“He caught us flat-footed. If it hadn’t been for those
guns in the back of the Expedition, we’d probably all be
there lying on the pavement.”
“It won’t happen again.”
17THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY
“I know.”
I blew out a long breath of air. “But it won’t be easy.
We’ve got to get Nicky squared away and your hand looked
at first.”
He made a fist beneath the bandage with his injured
hand and grimaced. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll still be able to
use this mitt if I’m lucky.”
“Maybe.”
We shared a look and he nodded. “Have you talked
to David about what happened?”
“Yeah.” David Raines was another Charlottesville area
falconer who sometimes helped out with our birds when
we were out of town working. “He said not to worry. He’s
got things covered.”
“Good.”
“First question will be how a guy like that gets a job
working as a guard.”
Toronto shrugged. “Not impossible to penetrate
unarmed security. They have to pass background checks
and all, but they aren’t that regulated compared to special
police guards with guns.”
“But if all he wanted to do was take out Greensmythe,
why the assault weapon?”
“Shock and awe?”
“I don’t know. He sure turned tail in a hurry once we
started shooting back at him.”
“Might not have been expecting us to respond.”
An older, authoritative-looking nurse with a clipboard
appeared and interrupted our conversation. “Are you Mr.
Toronto?” She looked at his imposing figure and the
bandage on his hand.
“I am.”
18 ANDY STRAKA
“We talked to the paramedics. I’m afraid we’re really
going to have to take a look at that hand. Still having trouble
moving it?”
“A little,” Toronto admitted. When it came to anything
physical, if Jake Toronto said it was only bothering him a
little, for anyone else that meant a lot.
The obviously experienced nurse sized him up. “You
need to come with me now,” she said.
“Just hang on a minute. My friend and I are having
an important discussion.”
“Go on with her, Jake. There’ll be time for us to talk
later,” I said. I turned to the nurse. “Just give us one quick
second, will you?”
The nurse said okay but stood her ground.
All around us in the waiting room people still slumped
in chairs, avoiding eye contact with one another, busy with
their own thoughts, problems and traumas. And right there
in the midst of them, buried in the mind-numbing
atmosphere and antiseptic buzz of phones ringing, the
clickety-clack of keyboards, and the unnerving specter of
nurses and other medical personnel coming and going, two
big middle-aged guys in sweat and bloodstained suits took
a knee to call on a higher grace.
It was all we could do at the moment-everything we
were supposed to do.
Come what may.
19
;3
Raquel Greensmythe arrived on a gurney a few minutes
later, accompanied by a couple of uniformed police
officers and a trailing entourage. I stepped out into the hall
hoping to talk with her, but the cops were having none of
it. They brushed past me and whisked her through another
set of doors into a private examination area.
A man and a woman peeled off from the group
following and approached me.
“We understand you were with Raquel and Ibrahim
when they were attacked.”
“I was.”
“I’m Dan McCarter.”
The man who stuck out a well-tanned hand for me to
shake had a broad chest that might have come from lifting
weights or rowing. His dark hair harbored a touch of grey
and he still managed to look distinguished though he’d
apparently shed his suit coat, wearing dark blue banker’s
braces over a bright white dress shirt with French cuffs.
“Of McCarter & Iachetta,” I said.
“Yes. You’re the one whose daughter was wounded.”
“That’s right.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She was shot in the hip. They’re worried about blood
loss among other things. She’s in surgery.”
20 ANDY STRAKA
“I’m terribly sorry. This has been an unspeakable
tragedy for all of us. The police wanted us to stay put, but I
insisted on coming down here with Raquel to check on
you all.”
“I appreciate that. I’m sorry for what happened to Mr.
Talbot.”
“He was a business associate and a friend. A good
man.” He turned to the woman next to him. “Forgive me.
This is one of my partners, Therese Iachetta.”
Iachetta, who seemed to move in staccato rhythms in
her heels, was a dark-haired woman with flashing eyes and
dark nail polish to match. She looked to be in her forties,
but she might have been older.
“We’re glad to see you’re okay though,” she said. “From
what we heard upstairs, that must have been quite the
barrage of bullets.”
“I’m lucky to be standing here,” I said.
“Is there anything we can get for you, Mr. Pavlicek?”
McCarter asked. “Anyone we can call?”
“No, thank you.”
“What about the other fellow you were with?”
“Jake Toronto.”
“Yes. We met him briefly at the building when he was
talking to the police.”
“He’s here, but they’ve trucked him off to tend to him,
too. He was hit in the hand.”
McCarter nodded. He glanced around the waiting
room. “Do you mind if we step into another room to talk?”
“Of course not.”
I followed them down a short hallway, veering off into
a quiet alcove next to an exit sign, and through a doorway
that led into another foyer, apparently unused at the
21THE K STREET HUNTING SOCIETY
moment. The much smaller lobby was ringed by closed
doors.
McCarter turned to look at me. “Can you tell us what
happened?”
“Pretty straightforward,” I said. “Your guard was out
to kill. As soon as we set foot on the pavement, he came at
us firing a military assault rifle.”
“It’s just like one of those mass shootings that have
been happening the last few years,” Iachetta said. “These
guns are out of control.” Her tone seemed to brook no
disagreement.
“Well, it’s a good thing we were able to gain quick
access to our own guns,” I said. “Otherwise there would
have been a lot more dead bodies taking up space in your
garage.”
McCarter held up his hand. “We don’t have all the
facts yet, Therese. Let’s not go jumping to any grandiose
conclusions.”
His partner bit her lip.
“We just can’t believe it was one of our own building
people,” McCarter said. “I talked to the security company
with whom we contract for all of our guard services. The
man who attacked you had only just started working the
day before yesterday. It looks like under false pretenses.”
“So he must have had a plan. He must have known
we were coming in today.”
“Perhaps.”
“Is there any kind of daily log provided to security of
people scheduled to visit?”
“Yes, of course. We’ve already given all of this
information to the police.”
“Can you provide me with a copy and with the name
of the security company? I’d like to talk with them, too.”
22 ANDY STRAKA
“Whatever you need. I can put you in touch with the
owner. His name is Gordon Bittner.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else we can do for you? I feel so bad
for what happened to your daughter.”
“She was just doing her job. Like we all were.
Hopefully, she’s going to be okay.”
“Lord willing.”
“Yes, Lord willing.”
“Again, we’re really sorry for what happened, that you
and your daughter and partner had to get caught up in all
this.”
“Me, too.”
“Mr. Pavlicek?” We all turned to look as another nurse
appeared through the doorway from which we’d just entered.
“Yes.” Thinking it was about Nicole, I moved away
from the executives and started towards her. “That’s me.”
The nurse looked relieved. “I’m glad I finally found
you.”
“How’s my daughter?”
“Your daughter’s still in surgery,” she said, “but there
are a couple of detectives from the Metropolitan Police out
at the reception desk. They said they would like to speak
with you right away.”
;END
OTHER BOOKS BY ANDY STRAKA
FRANK PAVLICEK MYSTERIESA Witness Above A Killing Sky
Cold Quarry The Night Falconer Flightfall
DRAGONFLIES SERIESDragonflies: Shadow of Drones
Dragonflies: Visible Means
SUSPENSERecord Of Wrongs
The Blue Hallelujah
FOR MORE INFORMATION, VISIT:www.andystraka.com
Also join Andy at:Facebook.com/andystraka Twitter.com/andystraka
Praise for the novels ofShamus Award-winning author
ANDY STRAKA
“A talented author.”– Publishers Weekly
“Highly recommended. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.”– Michael Connelly
“A first-rate thriller.”– Mystery Scene
“A book this good, and this original, helps remind mewhy I started reading mysteries in the first place.”
– Steve Hamilton
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