Not Even Past Page 16

  The lobby was sparse. A long desk with an employee behind it. Tiled floors, a couch, two plants, and a setup for complimentary coffee. The receptionist smiled at him, and it was at that moment Martin had no idea what to say. Without a badge, he’d lost his most powerful weapon. There was no reason for this woman to talk to him, no question he could ask to get her to hand over information.

  He pulled out his cell phone and brought up a picture of Jeanne. It was one he’d taken of her in the hotel room on Route 9, weeks ago. He pretended to be playing with an app but snuck a shot of her instead. It was blurry but would do the job.

  “I’m looking for this woman. From what I understand, she’s been staying here.”

  The receptionist looked at the picture for a moment, then said, “And who are you?”

  Martin shook his head. “I’m a friend. She’s been missing and I’m worried about her. Her parents got a call from her from this motel the other night. They asked me to drive out here.”

  The receptionist looked at the picture again and frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help you.”

  “Can’t help me because you haven’t seen her or can’t help me because you don’t want to?”

  “Company policy, sir. I can’t tell you anything.”

  “Listen, I’m a retired cop. That’s why her parents asked me to come. She has a small boy with her.”

  “Sir, I—”

  Martin held up his hand. As he spoke, his stomach curdled. “She is a drug addict. They’re worried about the boy. They want to get her some help. It’s almost kidnapping.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to get the authorities involved.”

  The coffee was burning and the smell was nauseating.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m a cop.”

  “You said you were retired.” The receptionist leaned in closer. “I’m sorry, sir. I would love to help, but this is my job. My only job. If I get fired, I’m not finding another one.”

  He blinked. The word fired brought him right back to Russell Stringer’s office.

  “Please. They don’t want her arrested. They just want to know she’s safe. That’s why they asked me to come here. My experience. I’m a friend of the family. Just need to talk to her.”

  Leaning back, the receptionist looked at her computer monitor. She typed a few things. Martin waited, and hoped his begging worked some magic. It would make him feel better about pleading.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said.

  “She’s here, isn’t she?” Martin nodded as he spoke. “And that’s why you’re not denying anything.”

  The receptionist took a deep breath. “If you’d let me finish, I haven’t seen her in days. The kid is cute, though. And if it makes any difference, the last time I saw her, she didn’t seem stoned. They were happy. Playing in the pool.”

  “Do you know what name she used?”

  The receptionist paused, and Martin realized he’d pushed too hard.

  “That’s all I can tell you, sir.”

  Martin smiled. “That’s enough.”

  THE SECOND hotel was more of the same. Tile floors, coffee, a receptionist who wanted nothing to do with him. He didn’t get much in the way of a response this time. The receptionist wanted to call the cops the moment drugs were mentioned, but Martin stopped him.

  “We only need the police if she’s here,” he said. “If you haven’t seen her, there’s no reason.”

  She hadn’t been there in two weeks.

  MARTIN’S HEART was hammering when he pulled up to the third motel. The Amaker Motel was about two and a half miles off 78, on the outskirts of Clinton. The town was known for its historic downtown area with small shops and boutiques. Great place for a walk on a warm summer evening.

  But the motel wasn’t even close to capturing that culture. It was rundown, with a crumbling parking lot. The building was two stories high, and you had to walk outside to get to your room. There was a pool that appeared to be clean. Only six or seven cars in the lot. Martin tried to guess which one was Jeanne’s. None were marked as rentals, so he was out of luck on that account.

  He wiped sweat off his brow before entering the lobby. A man in overalls stood behind the desk. There wasn’t any complimentary coffee. A sign offered hourly rates. He took a deep breath. If Jeanne was here, she was desperate.

  Again the phone, again the picture, again stonewalled. This guy didn’t care that he was a former cop, and he didn’t care that Jeanne could be a drug addict.

  He shook his head and said to Martin, “I don’t care what people do as long as they don’t destroy the furniture.”

  “She’s here, then?”

  “Didn’t say that. I’m just informing you of my policy.”

  Martin moved his jaw back and forth. “I’m a former cop.”

  “You said that.”

  “She has a kid with her.”

  “I know.”

  Martin wiped his face, then put his phone away. “I’m trying to help her.”

  “I’ve been in this business for a long time,” the man behind the desk said. “Almost forty-two years. And one thing I’ve learned, a guy like me does not beat out Holiday Inn and stay in business if you don’t take all comers. What do you think would happen to me if word got out that I’m talking to former cops and telling them about people who stay in my hotel? Hell, even if they’re not staying, I can’t give you any information. People will find out, and I will go out of business. And in this economy? That’s just not going to happen.”

  Martin tried one more time to ask a question. He opened his mouth and was ready to beg, play the family card. Before he could get a word out, the man held up his hand and shook his head. Then he pointed toward the door.

  “Let people do what they want to do,” he said.

  Martin slapped his thigh hard. He thought about cursing, swearing, and making a scene. This guy wouldn’t call the cops on him. Whatever or whomever he was hiding was too important. But Martin was also pretty sure the guy would take steps to keep Martin from knocking on every door in the motel.

  “Thank you for your time,” he said through gritted teeth.

  The man kept pointing at the door.

  The parking lot was treacherous. He had to step over crumbled stone and potholes to get back to his car. Instead of walking over the broken asphalt, he decided to take the sidewalk that swung close to the pool. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it didn’t break under his feet as he stepped. He wondered how he didn’t drop his suspension driving into the place. Maybe there was an easier exit.

  As he walked, he heard a squeaking gate open and close. He looked up when he heard the voice—a familiar, feminine one—say, “Okay. But you can only go in for fifteen minutes. Then back inside for lunch.”

  “We’ve been inside all day, Mom.”

  “It’s for our own good. Just for another week, I promise.”

  Martin looked toward the pool. She looked up at the same time. Jeanne and William were standing on the pool’s edge, towels slung over their shoulders.

  As soon as she and Martin made eye contact, she said, “Oh no.”

  “WHAT THE hell did you do?”

  Marie Rapaldi stood at the door of Kate’s apartment building and started screaming the minute Kate got out of her car. Marie took a step forward and almost tumbled into the shrubbery next to the door. Kate glanced around, expecting to see a crew of reality TV producers to storm the building.

  Kate said, “What’s the matter, Marie?”

  “You’re destroying my life!”

  It had been weeks since Kate had visited Marie. Before Kate could get any closer to her apartment building, Marie regained her balance and shuffled over to Kate.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Marie,” Kate said.

  The woman jammed her index finger into Kate’s chest. When she spoke, he breath could have melted tree bark.

  “Luca and I were happy. We’re on the verge of big, big things.”


  “What big things?” Kate asked.

  “What big things?” Marie’s voice was high and singsong. The attempt at mocking missed the mark when the s dragged out too long. “He was going to be in charge of this st-state. I was going to be Mrs. Gotti.”

  Oh.

  Kate’s fingertips tingled. “I—”

  “Then you come along and he stops calling me. Tells me I’m a liability, and when things are copa—copa—copacetic, he’ll call me back. I haven’t talked to him in three weeks. I keep calling and he keeps hanging up. Won’t even let his voice mail pick up.” Her eyes welled up. “I miss him. My boo.”

  “Marie, I’m sorry. I was just doing my job.”

  Marie wobbled, then decided to sit down on the sidewalk. She wiped at her eyes, and makeup smeared across her cheekbones. Kate dug out a small package of tissues from her purse and handed them to Marie. It took her a few seconds to dig out a tissue because she had trouble with the little piece of tape that kept them in the plastic.

  “You might be a nice lady,” she sniffled. “But your job is ruining my life.”

  “If you tell me how, maybe I can help.” Come on, you drunk. Give me everything.

  “I don’t know how.” Marie wiped her nose. “All I know is Friday is circled on Luca’s calendar. I asked him why once. He said then we’re home free. This was just after Uncle Tony died. Luca was always on the phone. I thought it was people saying they were sorry. We’re supposed to go to Seaside on Saturday.”

  And, with that, Marie turned her head to the left and vomited all over the sidewalk.

  KATE CALLED Marie a cab and went inside. She hoped the cab would get there before a roaming cop found her. Kate wasn’t ready to involve the police yet. Because what Kate was beginning to suspect meant anyone could be involved.

  She opened the web browser on her computer again, brought up the UNJ website, and typed Luca’s name into the employee search. Nothing. Kate tapped her nose for a minute.

  She tried the Ben Franklin College site next. Again, nothing. Kate exhaled and gave herself a moment to think. Marie’s drunken ramblings had laid the pieces out there. Kate just needed to put them together.

  Friday was the merger press conference. Kate googled that. The first lesson of law school, the first lesson her father gave when he hired her: Google is your friend. It was paying off these past few weeks.

  There were several articles about the merger and the press conference. Most of them were about Senator Stern or the protests against the merger. There was one regarding the actual itinerary for Friday.

  She scrolled through it. And then she decided it would be better to talk to someone at Ben Franklin College.

  There was still a chance to save Jackson and bring him back to earth.

  JEANNE PUT her arms around William and started to turn back toward the hotel, but not before he saw Martin. He started to wave.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “We’re going swimming.”

  Jeanne shot him a look but relented.

  Martin ambled up the way and opened the gate to the pool. By the time he got to them, William had already jumped in. Jeanne told him to stay in the shallow end, which elicited a groan, then some splashing and a giggle.

  Martin sat in one of the vinyl chairs and waited. Jeanne joined him, brushed the hair out of her face, and said, “You found me.”

  “Way to state the obvious. Took three weeks.”

  “They didn’t find me, though.”

  Martin shook his head.

  “Unless you brought them.”

  Martin shook his head again. “I’m not sure how hard they’re looking.”

  Jeanne cocked her head in his direction, then glanced at William. He was at the very edge of the shallow end, his back to them, staring off into the deep end. The sun reflected off the water into his eyes, so Martin turned back to Jeanne. He shouldn’t have left his sunglasses in the car, but he was always misplacing them otherwise.

  “Why wouldn’t they be looking for me?”

  Martin shrugged. “I’m not a cop anymore.”

  Jeanne started to say something, but he held up his hand.

  “That said, I still found you. It took three weeks, but I tracked you down.” Martin scratched his wrist. “Now imagine someone with the power of a state senator, with ties to people everywhere. He either knows where you are and doesn’t care, or doesn’t need to look.”

  A vehicle rumbled into the parking lot, and Jeanne visibly tensed. Her back went straight, and she quickly turned to look into the lot. Martin looked over his shoulder. It was a Coca-Cola delivery truck.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “As soon as I came back, they captured me. I went to confront him, in his office, and the next thing I knew—”

  Martin smiled. “You went to confront him at his office. Why? Why now?”

  “No, Bill.” She looked at her watch, then at William. “Ten more minutes, buddy.”

  “Mom … you’re busy. Twenty more.” He disappeared under the water and then popped back up. A six-year-old with no fear and no swimmies; not bad, Bakers.

  “Nine. More. Minutes.”

  Another groan, then again under the water.

  “Did you tell him yet?” Martin leaned forward.

  “You’re not staying with us, so no. In fact, I think it’s time you leave.” Jeanne rubbed the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to hurt him anymore than he’s already been hurt. I don’t want to confuse him.”

  “So you’re just going to keep secrets the rest of your life.”

  The Coca-Cola guy opened the rear of the truck and started to pile boxes on to a hand truck. After each box, he tapped buttons on a scanner. No clipboard. Martin looked back at Jeanne.

  “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on. Jackson is dead. Henry Stern or whoever clearly doesn’t even think you’re a threat anymore. Might as well just tell me. If it’s a problem, I can take care of it. And then you can go back to a normal life.”

  “Why are you bothering, Bill?”

  Martin ran through all the answers he could give, as if there was a Rolodex in his head. Ninety-nine percent of the answers weren’t even true anymore. He picked the one that was.

  “Because it’s all I have left,” he said. “No job. You’re supposed to be dead, and at the very least you’re off the grid. I have coffee and a crossword puzzle each day. That’s it. I need to know what’s going on here. Whatever it is cost me my job. It cost me you.” He looked out at William. “And it cost me him.”

  “Bill …”

  He raised his hand again. “Humor me. Please. This has gone on too long. Maybe we can still stop it.”

  Jeanne took another look at William. It was as if the kid had no idea they were even there. He’d submerge in the water, touch the bottom of the pool, and pop back up again. Then he’d swim over to the wall and kick off of it, leaving a small wake behind him.

  “Henry Stern is about to become the most powerful man in the state.”

  “More than the governor? I find that hard to believe.”

  Jeanne said, “If you want me to tell it, you have to listen. Please don’t interrupt. Six years ago, I got put on a project with Stern. Back when we were both at Rutgers. We looked into public ed versus vouchers. If private schools were better. It was around the time that movement was really starting to gain some footing. The research we did was important for the state. At least I felt that way.”

  Martin wanted to tell her that he remembered, but didn’t interrupt.

  “What we found was typical: There wasn’t much difference between charters, private, or public school test scores. Charters and privates could kick the underachieving kids out and kind of goose their statistics, but that was about it. But Henry didn’t take that really well. He thought for sure private schools, charter schools—for-profit schools—were the answer.”

  “Did that report ever get out?” Martin said before he remembered to shut up.

  Jeanne shook he
r head. “It did, but I had to leak it to blogs and Internet sites. Never got to the mainstream press. Some education blogs picked it up, but no one really cared. Stern tried to bury the report. Got very, very nervous about it. Wouldn’t tell me why. It was weird. Once we started to get the data and see the end of our research, he started to have panic attacks. He wanted to bury the report. Find other information, other research.

  “One night, about a week before we were going to go live, Stern got a phone call as we were wrapping things up. He left the room to answer it. When he came back in, he was all pale. He excused himself and said he’d see me tomorrow. It wasn’t like him. So I decided to follow him. He drove up to Jersey City and met with Tony Verderese.”

  Tony Verderese, head of the New Jersey mob. He tried to make a run at New York too, and nearly blew up the Intrepid because of it. And that play killed him.

  “So you came back now? Now that the mob is basically gone in New Jersey?” Martin asked.

  “Is it gone, Bill? Really gone?”

  “Not really my department, but from everything I’ve heard—since Verderese died, the mafia stuff has calmed down. The FBI is thinking of saving some money and transferring it over into counterterrorism.”

  “And who do you think has the kind of influence to make that happen?”

  Martin didn’t say anything.

  “Henry Stern was a big-time gambler. Sports, card games. I used to see him talking to the math professors trying to come up with a way to count cards. To them it was a goof, they laughed when he asked them. But you should have seen him storm out of the room when they wouldn’t answer him.”

  “So he owed Verderese money?”

  Jeanne nodded. “Big time. The next day, I confronted him on it. His only reaction? He told me I was dead. That I couldn’t stop him.”

  “And that’s when you came to see me. When you told me about William?”

  She nodded again, then looked toward the boy. Now he was floating on his back. Piece of cake. Bill Martin still couldn’t do that.