Chapter 7
Inside, the reception area reminded her of a mid-range hotel lobby; overlarge, cold, and decked with blandly inoffensive Winter Holiday décor whose primary virtue was the ability to maintain its plastic perfection year after year after year.
Wide rectangular mats, still pristine since Albany hadn’t had a snowfall yet, swallowed her footsteps, making it more surprising when her boot heels suddenly clacked on the highly polished terrazzo flooring.
“Holy crap. This must be like a skating rink when it’s snowing or raining.”
Van Alstyne shook his head. “That’s modernist architecture for you. Never let actual human beings get in the way of a grand vision.”
The receptionist was a fit young man behind a Plexiglas screen that protected him against the wind that swept into the open area each time the doors were open.
They walked toward him, and she stood, waiting for the chief to say something, when she caught his glower out of the corner of her eye.
Oh. Right. “I’m Officer Hadley Knox of the Millers Kill Police Department?
I have an appointment with Doug Harrison in the investigations division? ”
The receptionist examined his computer screen, then gestured to a black square decaled to the floor. “Stand here, please.”
“Is it a trapdoor?” She grinned.
The receptionist looked at her flatly. “Please don’t talk while getting your picture taken.”
He pressed a button, there was a whir, and he handed her a visitor’s badge, complete with her name, face, date, and destination. Van Alstyne got the same treatment; his photo looked like the mug shot of a guy caught shooting up a country bar.
“The elevators are around that corner to your left. An operator will key in your floor for you.”
She knew there had been such jobs as elevator operators once—she’d seen it in old movies. In this case, she thought the receptionist meant “operator” as in “Special Forces,” considering the stone-faced man who unlocked the controls and pressed the button for them was wearing a sidearm.
After the door closed in front of them, she glanced around the car. “Are they filming us?”
“Probably.”
“I thought this was an office building for a bunch of lawyers.”
“So was the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City.” He glanced at her sideways. “You do know about the bombing there, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that young, Chief.”
“I’m not the—”
She held up her hand. “Okay, okay. What do you want me to call you?”
“Russ?”
“Oh, God, no. No. That’s like calling my dad by his first name.”
“I’m not that old, Knox.” The elevator door opened, cutting off further terrible suggestions. She just knew Mr. Van Alstyne was coming next.
The office looked like every other government office she’d ever seen—indoor-outdoor carpeting, bulk-buy furniture, boring walls.
A much friendlier receptionist led them down a hallway hung with headshots of the governor, the state attorney general, and several other old white-guy lawyer types.
Doug Harrison, who rose from his desk to greet them, was a middle-aged white-guy lawyer type.
“Officer Knox. And … Mr. Van Alstyne?”
The chief shook his hand. “Until recently, I headed up the Millers Kill PD. Kevin Flynn served under me.”
Harrison took his seat, gesturing toward the visitor chairs. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you about Officer Flynn. He performed well while detailed to our division, and I expected he’d have a bright future in Syracuse.”
“I understand the undercover investigation wrapped up early.” The chief was using his we’re-all-friends-here voice. “Can you tell us why you called it off?”
Harrison pointed to his laptop. “Because this is where the action is these days. Every year, more and more of the organization and recruitment for domestic terrorism comes online. Our cyber investigation team can track thousands of persons of interest as opposed to maybe ten by an agent or officer in the field. And ultimately, it comes down to where can we get the most bang for our limited bucks.” He shared a knowing look with the chief.
“I’m sure you’re all too familiar with that dance. ”
“Oh, I am.”
“Did Flynn leave any work hanging at the end of the operation? Anything he might have been coming back to work on?” After the security routine she and the chief had gone through, Hadley knew Flynn’s trips to Albany, if he’d been returning to this building, must have been logged.
“Nothing related to his investigation.” Harrison allowed himself a small smile.
“We have a baby assistant attorney who was shadowing the domestic terrorism team. Joy Zhào. I think they were a bit of a thing. He may have stopped by the office to pick her up for a date. Or whatever young people are calling it these days.”
Hadley felt frozen to her seat. A date. Some attorney. Oh, God, what if he’d been shacking up here in Albany the whole time, avoiding his large, nosy clan?
The chief was asking if they could speak to her and Harrison was pressing a phone button and talking, but all Hadley could think of was what an idiot she was going to look like.
She and Flynn hadn’t had a relationship exactly—or maybe they had; her nightmare ex-husband had screwed up her ability to understand her own emotions, let alone someone else’s.
But they had been lovers, secretly, so they wouldn’t get tangled up in the MKPD’s no-fraternization rule.
She didn’t know why she hadn’t confessed it by now—Van Alstyne and Flynn were both off the force—except for the burn of shame and humiliation.
She had wanted more, had hoped for more, and Flynn had walked away without a word, unable to deal with her ugly history.
The most pitiful part? She couldn’t let go. She still watched for him, worried about him, wanted him. Loser.
“Knox?”
The chief had asked her something. She shook her head and swiped a hand over her face. “Sorry. The kids kept me up late.”
He frowned, but whatever he might have said got swallowed by a knock on the door.
“C’mon in,” Harrison said.
“You wanted to see me?” The girl—and that was the word for her, she was at least ten years younger than Hadley—stepped into the office.
“Joy, come on in. These are some folks from where Kevin Flynn used to work, the, um…”
“Millers Kill Police Department.” The chief rose and shook the girl’s hand. “Russ Van Alstyne. This is Officer Hadley Knox.”
Joy Zhào was model-gorgeous, even in her two-for-one-sale JCPenney suit.
Flawless skin, shining dark hair, huge brown eyes with lashes that had to be extensions, except she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and who paid for fancy fake lashes and didn’t glam up the rest of her face?
Hadley knew she had looked like that once.
But it was fifteen or twenty years and two kids ago.
And of course, the best she had done was getting her GED as opposed to, you know, college and law school.
Which would make Zhào a much better match for Flynn, a guy who kept books stacked everywhere in his apartment.
“Happy to meet you,” Joy said. “How can I help?”
“Mr. Harrison tells us you might have been seeing Kevin. Socially.” The chief smiled in a confiding way. “Not to embarrass you, but we’re trying to locate him. He’s been out of touch with his family and work for a couple months now.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know where he is.” Joy dropped her eyes and blushed a perfect pale pink. Hadley wanted to stab her. “I haven’t seen Kevin since October.”
“Did he ever talk to you about why he took leave from Syracuse? Maybe give you an idea about what he was thinking of doing with his time off?”
She tucked a strand of silk-straight hair behind one ear. “He was unhappy about being taken off our investigation.” She glanced at Harrison, who nodded. “He wasn’t looking forward to going back into uniform in Syracuse. And there was something about a lawsuit? Someone in California?”
“Huh.” The chief turned to Hadley. “That’s an angle we didn’t think of.”
“Lawsuit?” Harrison asked.
“Officer Knox’s disgruntled ex. Flynn was named as a defendant, but the town is taking care of everything. And he’ll have to appear here in New York, not out where the plaintiff lives.”
“You’re not doing a good job if you haven’t been slapped with a few nuisance suits.” Harrison smiled knowingly. “The better the law enforcement, the fewer people like you.” He tilted his head toward Joy. “Anything else you can add?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could be more helpful.” She smiled at Hadley. “I hope you can find him.”
She closed the door on her way out. “Thanks for giving us the time,” the chief said. “We’ll put out a few feelers toward California, see if Kevin thought he could straighten things out himself. It wouldn’t be the smartest move, but—”
“But young men aren’t known for making the smartest moves. God knows I didn’t.” Harrison stood. “Happy to have been able to help, if only a little.” He shook Hadley’s hand. “Stay safe out there.”
The chief waited until they had turned the hallway and were heading to reception. “What the hell, Knox? That was supposed to be your meeting. I was just the ride-along.” He kept his voice low, but she could hear his frustration.
“I’m sorry, Chief.” She had no idea what to say. “I was … I guess I was…” She was saved, of all things, by Joy Zhào, hustling to intersect them in front of the elevator.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “Kevin left this with me, could you get it back to him? Or to his parents, or whatever. Thanks.” She pressed a book into Hadley’s hands and disappeared around the other side of the reception desk.
“Sure,” Hadley said to the empty air. The elevator dinged.
The chief held the door for her. Evidently, once you’d been let onto the upper floors, you could navigate at will. He jabbed the LOBBY button. “I’m going to have to talk with the town’s lawyer about this California idea. No, nope, sorry, I need to talk to Lyle about talking to the lawyer.”
Hadley was looking at the book. No dust jacket. She checked out the spine. “Wow. I did not picture Flynn reading a Nicholas Sparks novel.” She flipped it open. On the title page, in a bold black swirl of Sharpie, someone had written I HAVE INFORMATION. MEET ME AT 6 AT APPLEBEES IN RENSSELAER.