Condemned (Julian Mercer Book 1) Page 5

  “And where are his parents?” It made no sense why this twenty-six year old was in the hospital without his family present or some type of police protection.

  “They’re on a month-long cruise. They won’t be back for another two weeks. Thankfully, when Ben proposed, we had legal documentation drawn up so the other would have access to personal information and finances in the event of an emergency.” She took Ben’s hand, watching as he drifted back into the morphine-induced oblivion.

  “How long have you been engaged?”

  “Three months.” She glanced at Mercer. “We were just starting to plan the wedding.” She sniffed and brushed a tear away with the back of her hand.

  “You said the two men that accompanied the shooter looked familiar. You saw them leaving Ben’s, correct?” Since Styler couldn’t provide any answers, hopefully Katia could.

  “That’s what I said.”

  Her focus was on the man lying in the bed, not on answering questions. This wasn’t the proper environment for an interrogation or gleaning additional information, so Mercer went to the plastic bag that held Benjamin Styler’s personal effects and removed his wallet and cell phone. Why weren’t these items considered evidence by the police? Well, if the coppers weren’t going to do anything about it, then Mercer would. He slipped them into his pocket and quietly excused himself.

  Waiting outside the hospital room, he studied the corridors, checking for cameras and other security measures. Perhaps someone else visited Styler or inquired about his condition. Approaching the nurse’s station, Mercer smiled at the woman behind the desk. Unfortunately, she wasn’t willing to hand over any patient information, despite his best attempts to charm her. Clearly, there must be some trick or tactic that Hans used to get information. And at the moment, Mercer wished he knew what it was.

  Just as Julian returned to the vacant chair outside Styler’s room, the detective from earlier emerged at the end of the corridor. Rowlins narrowed his eyes but otherwise refused to acknowledge Mercer. The detective went to the nurse’s station, flashed his badge, and asked a few questions. Their voices didn’t carry, and Mercer could only make out an occasional word here or there.

  “Detective,” Mercer called as Rowlins approached, “are you still following me?”

  “No, I’m here to speak to the victim.” Rowlins made a move for the door, but Mercer stood, blocking the entrance. “Step aside, unless you want to spend another night in holding for interfering in a police investigation.”

  “Why aren’t officers assigned to protect him?”

  “Protect him from whom? You got any leads?”

  “Someone shot him, but he’s not dead. Don’t you think whoever is to blame will be back to finish the job?”

  The surprise on Rowlins’ face was genuine. “The intel says it was a mugging gone wrong. And muggers typically don’t return.”

  “Who said it was a mugging? Is that the official word around the station, or do you simply believe everything a traumatized young lady claims in the middle of the night? And since you believe it was only a mugging, why were you following me this morning and asking questions about my role?” Rowlins actions were contradictory to his words, and it made no sense as far as Julian was concerned.

  “Katia Rhoade gave her statement. She told us it was a mugging. But a few officers overheard her speaking to you the next morning outside the precinct. I’d like to get an official statement from the vic before I draw my own conclusions. I also like to investigate my own crime scenes.” Rowlins reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Mercer. “I don’t like you or your attitude, but that’s not reason enough why we can’t help each other out. Why don’t you share your information with me?”

  “Are you planning to return the favor?” Mercer studied him, unsure of what this detective’s motivation was. Hans needed to get some real answers before Mercer placed his trust in the CPD detective.

  “I’ll think about it.” The detective stepped closer. “Now let me through or I will arrest you.”

  Mercer entered the room ahead of Rowlins. “Ms. Rhoade, let’s go. The police have official business.” Katia looked ready to protest, but the stern look on Mercer’s face made her change her mind. She grabbed her purse, gave the semiconscious Ben a kiss, and went past Rowlins without a single word. Once she was out of earshot, Mercer spoke again to the detective. “Muggers don’t leave wallets and jewelry behind. I suggest you learn how to do your job properly. I’m not trained in these matters, but even I know that much.”

  Rowlins picked up the plastic bag, noting the watch and ring inside. Before he could inquire as to the whereabouts of Styler’s wallet, Mercer left the room. In the hallway, Mercer grabbed Katia’s arm, dragging her toward the nearest exit. She bucked and protested, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Once they were outside, he let go. She rubbed her elbow, glowering at him.

  “Why are you lying?” he snarled, the rage boiling to the surface and creeping into his vocal cords.

  “I haven’t lied to you.”

  “Bollocks,” he spat, grabbing her and forcing her toward the car. He opened the door, pushed her inside, and slammed the door hard enough that the car rocked. He leaned against the vehicle, fighting to keep his anger in check. When he got in on the driver’s side, she was curled into a trembling ball in her seat. “You told the police it was a mugging, but that’s not what you told me. Until now, that detective was clueless, and no one from the police department has been assigned to protect your fiancé because of it. Your lies could have cost Styler his life.”

  “I was afraid,” she said meekly.

  Clenching his jaw, he gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Afraid of what? Who did this? I want a name.”

  “I don’t–”

  “Who the bloody hell are they?”

  “Jack Pierce.” The name flew from her mouth before she could stop it. Reddening, she took a few steadying breaths, calming her rattled nerves. “But I’m not even sure that it was him. And I’ve told you I don’t know who the shooter is, and I don’t have a name for the other man that I saw.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me this two days ago?”

  “Because I doubt my own recollection. Jack hasn’t been around for quite some time, and those men…the ones near the alley…they looked like the same men from Ben’s building.” Her lips trembled, but she managed to steady her voice. “And there isn’t a chance in hell Jack would have been visiting Ben at home.”

  “But you’re afraid of him?” Mercer turned to face her. “Why are you afraid of this Jack Pierce fellow?” She bit her lip, hesitating. “Answer me.”

  “Because Ben told me he threatened to kill him.” She blinked, swallowing to keep her emotions in check. “And he said that I should avoid Jack at all costs because he has no idea what Jack is capable of.”

  “You expect me to hunt down the party responsible for the shooting, but you’re too afraid to share that kind of information. When did this happen?”

  “Like six months ago.” She sighed. “The reason I didn’t say anything, Mr. Mercer,” her speech came out clipped, “is because I don’t even know if Jack is behind this. Ben and Jack had a falling out, and Ben hasn’t mentioned Jack in months. Like I told you, I didn’t get a good look at the guys, but they looked like the men that were leaving Ben’s last week. And I doubt Jack would have been by to see Ben.” Her volume increased as if that would make the facts sink into Mercer’s thick skull. “It seemed premature to say anything to the police. I thought if Jack wasn’t to blame, he might use this opportunity to his advantage and come to the hospital and do something to Ben.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Julian’s anger was under control again, at least for the moment.

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d do.” She met his eyes, no longer afraid. “You might be just like everyone else and take the easy way out. You’d put an end to Jack while the guilty still go free.” Letting out an unsteady breath, she s
queezed her eyes closed. “I don’t want there to be any mistake. When you get the guy, I don’t want to have a single doubt that it was the right guy. The thought of someone getting away with this is unbearable.”

  “Tell me about it,” Mercer muttered. He rubbed a heavy hand down his face, forcing calm rationality to take hold. He’d have to use other means of determining who was responsible for the shooting because Katia’s information was proving unreliable.

  Nine

  Bastian rubbed his eyes, exhausted and aggravated. Ever since they began working for the Rhoades, he had done nothing but stare at the computer screen, phone in a few favors, and analyze the nonstop flow of data. He convinced himself that once he cleared their current list of suspects and deconstructed the crime scene, he’d take a break, eat a real meal, and get some sleep. But that was before Julian returned with physical evidence, new names to analyze, and more questions pertaining to a possible police cover-up.

  Jack Pierce was now their main focus. As far as Mercer’s team was aware, Pierce was the only person who ever made a threat against Benjamin Styler. Although, nothing that came out of Katia’s mouth could be believed at this point. She lost all credibility after Mercer confronted her at the hospital about her bogus police statement and failure to fully disclose. But despite these obvious lies, Mercer wasn’t willing to walk away. Bastian shook his head at the absurdity. If this was a typical kidnapping and ransom, they would have left at the first whiff of deception. But this was a brutal, vicious attack of a very personal nature, and it was obvious Mercer was projecting. What would happen to Julian’s sanity if it turned out Katia was to blame? Bastian cringed at the notion and pushed on, hoping to find a workable angle.

  Jack Pierce graduated from the same Ivy League university as Styler. The two men were in the same fraternity, interned at the same high-powered corporations, and from the thousands of photos Bastian discovered across various social networking platforms, the two were practically inseparable until six months ago. After further digging, it seemed apparent the argument was over business. Pierce was recently given a seat on the board of his father’s corporation, Pierce Industries. The twenty-six year old millionaire was hailed by the business pages as the prodigal son. Despite a rocky start and questionable personal investments, Jack Pierce reclaimed his throne after insisting the company embark on a new product line. This dulled the crushing loss he endured earlier in the year with half a dozen bad investments.

  “Never mix money with friendship,” Bastian chastised the computer screen.

  After a couple more clicks, it was obvious the bad investments were made through Styler. Obviously, Ben wasn’t as astute a day trader as he should be. His stock tips were off, and his friend cumulatively lost nearly a million dollars over the course of the previous year. That seemed like an excellent reason to threaten someone and exact some revenge. No wonder the friendship dwindled.

  Bastian printed out a few of the news stories, photos of Pierce, his personal information, and everything else Mercer would want to know. Then he closed the computer and rang the commander. As soon as the rest of the team was caught up to speed, Mercer revised their game plan.

  “Get some sleep, Bas,” Mercer ordered. “With a potential target in sight, I’ll need you field ready tomorrow morning.”

  “Aye,” Bastian replied, not needing to be told twice. He picked up the phone and wallet that Mercer swiped from the hospital. “I’ll get these analyzed before we head out tomorrow.”

  Mercer nodded, and Bastian excused himself. With any luck, building security could protect the Rhoades while they were at home, and hospital security would protect Ben. The team needed a night off. After reviewing the newly gained information and dismissing the team, Mercer dropped onto the bed.

  Why is Katia lying? Or perhaps the more accurate question would be is Katia lying. No matter how he turned the facts over in his mind, it didn’t make any sense. She wanted Styler’s attackers caught. Clearly, she loved Ben. But was she afraid of the men responsible for the shooting? Or was there a much darker secret lying just below the surface?

  As night turned to day, Mercer drifted in and out of sleep, his mind never stopping for more than a few seconds as he considered her motivation for lying. She wanted the men who did this to die, not be arrested. That would explain why she misled the police and that annoying detective, but it didn’t explain why she didn’t divulge the truth to him. Didn’t he promise he would take care of this in the manner she requested? And what about her father? Was he an overprotective parent, or were these threats originally aimed at him, his daughter, and his soon-to-be son-in-law?

  Julian sat up in bed, letting out a frustrated exhale. Carlton Rhoade never said the exact words, but it was apparent he wanted a private military contractor to handle the matter. Furthermore, Carlton had looked into Julian’s background and discovered quite a few disconcerting facts. Mercer’s former status with the SAS and his personal loss should not be fodder for potential employers.

  Grinding his teeth, Mercer hauled himself out of bed and began the endless string of push-ups that signified the start of a new day. As soon as he got the chance, he would confront Carlton and Katia. Being jerked around was not acceptable.

  * * *

  “Mr. Pierce,” Bastian called as the man exited his apartment building, “may we have a word?” Pierce glanced from Bastian to Mercer. “It will only take a few minutes.”

  “Are you reporters?” Pierce asked.

  “No,” Mercer responded.

  “Lawyers or process servers?”

  “No.” Mercer was losing his patience. “We need a few moments of your time, I must insist.” Without waiting, he stepped closer to Pierce, putting an arm around the man’s shoulders and pressing the muzzle of his Sig into the man’s ribs.

  “Bloody hell,” Bastian sighed, scanning the immediate area. At least the building’s doorman didn’t seem to think this gesture was anything other than outwardly friendly.

  “Fine,” Pierce said, sounding more annoyed than frightened, “you can have my money, just take it and go.”

  “This isn’t about money, Mr. Pierce,” Mercer replied, hauling the man toward the SUV which was illegally parked at a hydrant. “This is about your former acquaintance, Benjamin Styler.”

  “Now what has Ben gotten me into?” Pierce asked, exasperated. “That jackass cost me millions. Let me guess, he had to borrow in order to pay back some investors, and you’re collecting for his loan shark. Mafia, right?” Pierce rolled his eyes. “This is unbelievable. Just tell me what he owes, and I’ll pay it. There’s no need for violence.”

  Mercer yanked the rear door open, shoving Pierce inside and climbing in next to him. “This isn’t about money.”

  Bastian got in the front and pulled the car away from the building. Either they’d take Pierce to the abandoned warehouse near the wharf that they had scoped out for privacy, or they’d drop him off at work. It simply depended upon the answers he provided.

  “What do you want?” Pierce asked, his anxiety level increasing now that they were on the move. “You can’t just kidnap a person. If I don’t show up at work in the next ten minutes, they’ll know something is wrong. The police will come looking.”

  “Tell me where you were four nights ago,” Mercer instructed, a firm grip on the gun.

  “Let’s see,” Pierce shut his eyes, attempting to recall, “I worked late, went to a bar afterward, had a few drinks.” He opened his eyes. “What does any of this have to do with Ben?”

  “Were you alone?”

  “No,” Pierce shifted his focus to the barrel of the weapon, “I was with a couple of co-workers?”

  “Names would be useful, Mr. Pierce,” Bastian added from the front, his focus split between the interrogation and the road. “Where is this bar?”

  “Ethan Hart and Avery Anastaz. We went to Sky Bar. It’s inside a hotel.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Styler?” Mercer asked, realizing the bar in qu
estion was inside their hotel. Clearly, it put Pierce and his associates within the vicinity at the time of the shooting, and if Katia was right about three men being involved in the shooting, then Pierce looked good for the attempted murder. Although, according to Katia, he wasn’t the shooter, which probably meant one of his alleged co-workers was.

  “Goddammit,” Pierce wiped at the layer of perspiration that erupted on his brow, “can you please stop pointing that thing at me? I’m answering your questions. Please, I’ll do whatever you want. I can give you whatever you want, just stop.”

  “When?” Mercer asked, not wavering.

  “I don’t know. It’s been awhile. He screwed me with a bunch of bad stock tips. I was pissed and said I never wanted to see him again, and if he showed his face anywhere near me or my dad’s company that I’d kill him. It’s been months, seven maybe. I don’t know.” He took an unsteady breath. “I’ll pay for him to get out of whatever trouble he’s in, just let me go. Please. I have nothing to do with his deals or the people he’s screwed over.”

  “Julian,” Bastian said, stopping the car outside a high-rise office building, “that’s enough.”

  Mercer nodded. The SUV doors unlocked, and he holstered the gun. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Pierce.”

  Ten

  “Is it him?” Mercer asked.

  He and Bastian were reviewing the CCTV feeds from the night of the shooting. Three men were visible on the feed, but the quality was far from stellar. Even though they had examined the feed before, Bastian thought it was worth another try now that they could use Jack Pierce as a possible point of comparison.

  “I can’t be sure. They are of a similar height and hair color,” Bastian said, attempting to adjust the image levels in order to determine if the man on the feed and Jack Pierce were one in the same. “But the angles aren’t conducive to facial recognition, at least not the version I’m using.”