Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [76]
Mays’ emphasis was on finding the killer, but Jack was hung up on the first point. “Wait a second,” said Jack. “You run searches for the government?”
Mays chuckled. “No offense to my friend Vince here, but do you think the government has this kind of capability? The fires were still burning in the World Trade Center when the FBI came calling on the major players in information technology for clues about the nineteen hijackers and their accomplices. For a stretch, half my company was on it, all on my own dime.”
“Are you still doing national security work?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Is that what Project Round Up is about?”
“I said it’s none of your business.”
Jack glanced at Paulo. With a cop for a best friend, Mays was already connected to law enforcement. Jack probably shouldn’t have been surprised that the ties ran deeper than the Miami Police.
“I believe there’s a proposal on the table,” said Vince.
“Let me say a couple of things,” said Jack. “First, I have tremendous respect for you, Vince, even though it may not have seemed that way in the courtroom.”
“I’m over that,” said Vince. “You did what you had to do. I understand.”
“It’s important to me that things are cool between us.”
“We’re cool,” said Vince.
“Good,” said Jack, and then his gaze swept across the computer center. “But I have to be honest. This business gives me the creeps. Not just your company. I’m talking about the whole information revolution. Call it a Big Brother complex. There’s a bias in me, and that bias makes it hard for me to trust guys like Chuck Mays.”
Mays was completely unfazed, as if he’d heard that speech before. “You probably weren’t whistling that tune on September twelfth. But that’s another debate. Does your client want to find out who killed her son or doesn’t she?”
“I understand what you’re saying. And I will speak to Maryam about your offer.”
“You do that. And here’s something to sweeten the pot. Tell her that if she agrees to my proposal, I’ll pay her five hundred thousand dollars.”
Paulo looked surprised, which Jack noted.
“You’re actually going to write a check to Maryam Wakefield?” said Jack.
“Not exactly,” said Mays. “I would sign over my rights as beneficiary under Jamal’s life insurance policy.”
Jack did another double take—but it was mild compared to Paulo’s visceral expression of disbelief. Like a smart cop, Paulo had the good sense to hold his tongue until he and his friend were alone. Jack felt no such constraint.
“Are you saying that you took out a half-million-dollar life insurance policy on Jamal Wakefield?” said Jack.
“Actually, it was a million. But I’ll give his mother half, and I’ll keep half. That’s fair.”
“Chuck, let’s talk about this later,” said Paulo.
“What?” said Mays. “I have life insurance on everyone who works for me.”
Jack said, “A million dollars on a nineteen-year-old employee who also happens to be dating your daughter? That strikes me as a little . . . awkward, shall we say?”
“A lot of companies have life insurance on their employees. It’s cheap, especially on the young guys, and it pays a nice benefit. What’s the big damn deal?”
“No big deal at all,” said Jack, his stare tightening. “So long as you had absolutely nothing to do with the disappearance and murder of the man who was accused of killing your wife and daughter.”
Mays narrowed his eyes with anger, and Jack got the distinct impression that, had Paulo not been in the room, Mays would have grabbed him by the throat.
“My offer is good for twenty-four hours. Get me an answer from your client—before I change my mind.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Neil Goderich spent all of Thursday in court and ate a microwaved frozen dinner at his desk in the office. Long days were the rule for him. Friends often asked him what his tiny salary came out to on an hourly basis, but he would just smile and shake his head. People