Someone to Watch Over Me Read online

  As precinct captain, Holland had an office that was situated at the end of a long hallway, somewhat removed from the general chaos, and it was larger than the others scattered about the old building’s four crowded floors. It also had some unusually nice personal touches, like the antique leather bookends on his desk and the centuries-old globe that stood on an ornate brass stand in the corner by the windows. The pieces weren’t overtly valuable, but Sam knew they were, and they gave his office a subtle touch of elegance that was meant to be appreciated by those few visitors with enough taste to recognize their merit—and to be overlooked by everyone else. Just like the deliberately understated, but expensive, clothes he wore, Thomas Holland’s office was as subtly distinctive as the handsome man who occupied it.

  Like his uncles and his grandfather, he’d made law enforcement his career, but unlike them, he had a master’s degree, a trust fund, and a feasible hope of becoming police commissioner. At forty-one years old, he not only had an outstanding record as a cop, and an even better one as an administrator, he also had the refined good looks and polished veneer that Mayor Edelman needed to enhance the NYPD’s public image.

  He signed the last paper, laid his pen aside, and looked at Shrader. “There’s been a development in the Manning investigation,” he said briskly, but there was an edge to his voice that made Sam think he didn’t like the development. “Commissioner Trumanti wants a team of four investigators on the case, and he’s handpicked the lead investigator. You and Womack will be on his team.”

  “Who’s the lead?” Shrader said shortly.

  “His name is McCord. Trumanti wanted to move the investigation to headquarters, but this is our case, and it’s a potential bombshell. I persuaded Trumanti that we can keep a tighter control on leaks if the investigation stays right here. The Feds have never been able to make a case against Valente that sticks, but we are going to nail that bastard and send him away. Thanks to the press, the Feds already know he’s involved in this case, and they’re looking for a chance to get in on the investigation, but that’s not going to happen. The one thing Trumanti and I agree on is that we want this case kept under tight wraps while we find out exactly how Valente is involved. Nobody—and I mean nobody,” he emphasized, finally looking at Sam, “talks to the press, or to anyone else not directly involved in the investigation. Got it?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Got it,” Shrader said.

  “Whatever you need,” Holland continued, “just ask for it and you’ll have it—overtime, additional manpower, warrants, whatever. The DA’s office will get us anything else we can’t get for ourselves.” He stood up, ending the meeting. “McCord will be using Lieutenant Unger’s vacant office during the investigation. He’s up there now, and he wants to meet with you at twelve-forty-five. Sam, I’ve recommended that McCord make you the fourth member of the team. If there’s a case here, it’s because of you; however, the final decision about you is up to him. Any questions?”

  Shrader spoke before Sam could say thank you. “McCord?” he repeated. “You don’t mean Mitchell McCord, do you, Captain?”

  Holland nodded curtly. “The great man himself.”

  “Thank you, Captain Holland,” Sam said formally.

  Shrader headed out of the office, but Holland signaled Sam to stay behind for a moment. He waited until Shrader was out of hearing; then he lowered his voice and said with a smile, “Nice work finding that note Valente wrote to the Manning woman. Your father is going to be very proud of you.”

  “I haven’t spoken to my stepfather about any of this,” she said, subtly reminding him of her actual relationship to the man. “He and my mother are very busy this time of year, and I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

  “I understand,” he said; then he dismissed her with a quick nod and another brief smile. “Close my office door behind you when you leave.”

  Sam closed his door as bidden.

  Tom Holland decided to call her stepfather. He picked up his telephone and spoke to the clerk outside his office. “See if you can locate Senator Hollenbeck.”

  Chapter 20

  * * *

  Shrader was predictably irritated at not being the lead on the Manning investigation, but what amazed Sam was that he was also a little excited about working with Mitchell McCord. “The guy’s a legend,” he told her as he put another quarter into a vending machine in the canteen on the third floor.

  “Why?”

  “A lot of reasons; some of them no one knows.”

  “That’s informative,” Sam said with a grin.

  Challenged to substantiate his claim that McCord qualified as a legend, Shrader came up with some details. “Ten years ago, when he was with the Major Case Squad, he worked the Silkman kidnapping. Joey Silkman was the little kid who was buried alive for four days in a wood box, remember?”

  Sam nodded.

  “McCord’s team caught one of the kidnappers when he tried to pick up the ransom money, but the guy would not talk. Two days went by, then three days, and then McCord had him released into his custody, and took him out for a ride and a private chat. The next thing you know, the guy spilled his guts and took McCord to the burial site. The two of them dug the kid out together.”

  “Are you suggesting McCord beat the information out of him?”

  “No. There wasn’t a mark on the guy. He pleaded guilty, got a break from the judge for helping in the rescue, and went away for twenty-five years. His two pals got life.” Shrader waited for Sam’s reaction while he tore the top off his bag of M&M’s.

  “Sounds impressive,” she said, depositing her coins into one of the soft drink machines, “but not enough to make him a legend.”

  “There’s a lot more, but I have to think a little. Oh, yeah, McCord headed up the Hostage Negotiation Team when four psychos took over a boys’ summer camp and threatened to kill one kid every hour.”

  “And he rescued them all without using his weapon or raising his voice?” Sam teased.

  “No. The first kid was shot in the head while McCord’s team was still arriving on the scene and getting into position.”

  Sam sobered. “Then what happened?”

  “As I said, his people were still arriving, so no one saw everything exactly as it happened. There were a lot of conflicting reports from the eyewitnesses. Basically, McCord lost his cool. He walked right into the clearing where the kids were being held, stretched out his arms, and said something like, ‘Why waste your time on twelve-year-olds when you can kill yourself a cop?’Then he told the captors that he’d instructed his men to open fire in sixty seconds. He told them that, since they were already killing the kids, there wasn’t any room for negotiation.”

  In spite of her earlier skepticism, Sam was riveted. “Then what happened?”

  “McCord told the kids to ‘hit the ground so the shooting can begin.’ That’s one version. Another version is that McCord yelled to the kids, ‘Hit the ground!”’

  “And?”

  “The psychos yelled at the kids to stay standing.”

  “And? And?”

  “The kids obviously figured McCord was crazier and more dangerous than their captors, because they all landed in a heap on the ground, and the sharpshooters opened fire. When the smoke cleared, there were four dead captors. That’s when he got promoted to sergeant. No—no, he got that promotion after he cracked a bribery-and-extortion case that involved some high-level city officials. A couple years ago, he moved over to the Organized Crime Control Bureau, and made a record for himself there, too; then he transferred back to Borough Command and made detective lieutenant.

  “He’s in his mid-forties, and everybody figured he’d make division captain in a couple more years, then maybe chief of detectives, but that’s not what happened.”

  “What did happen?” Sam asked, glancing at her watch. They still had fifteen minutes to waste before they were supposed to report to McCord.

  “Nothing. A year ago, he told people he’d decided to retire w