Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [60]
Lamont shook hands with the jury foreman and ushered the group into the care of an associate. He approached the detective, introduced himself, and asked how he could help.
“Sorry to take your time, Mr. Lamont,” said Littlemore. “It can’t be easy for you.”
“Not easy?” replied Lamont, whose normally bland countenance looked overburdened by responsibility. “With Mr. Morgan overseas, the duty of speaking to the families of the dead and wounded has fallen to me. I feel responsible for every one of them. Do you know that our dome very nearly fell? And the entire Exchange almost came down yesterday as well. We were a hair’s breadth from complete catastrophe. Thousands would have died. Wall Street would have been ruined. I can’t comprehend how this could have happened. If you could be brief, Captain, I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay,” said Littlemore. “I’d like to know who your enemies are.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Not yours personally. The company’s.”
“I don’t think I understand,” said Lamont. “Mr. Flynn of the Bureau of Investigation assured me this morning that the explosion was not directed against the Morgan firm in particular.”
“They left the bomb right outside your door, Mr. Lamont. They almost brought your building down.”
“That’s not how Mr. Flynn sees it.”
“Those are facts, sir,” said Littlemore.
“If I’m not mistaken, Captain, this whole tragedy might yet prove the result of an accident on a dynamite wagon. I will not be party to speculation that J. P. Morgan and Company is under attack.”
“When was the last time you heard of a dynamite wagon loaded with a half ton of shrapnel?”
“But who would attack a bank in such a way?” asked Lamont. “Where is the profit in it? This firm comes to the assistance of people in need all over the world. Who would want to attack us?”
“Let me put it this way, Mr. Lamont. My men deal with murders of loan sharks all the time. Your business isn’t too different—just bigger. What I always ask is who the shark’s been leaning on to pay up. Or whether there’s another shark in the water that might want a piece of the action.”
“I see,” said Lamont.
“If you’ll forgive the comparison,” said Littlemore.
“I don’t,” said Lamont. “This firm does not ‘lean on’ its debtors, Captain.”
“Sure you don’t. And you don’t have any enemies either, right? Only friends?”
Lamont didn’t answer.
“You hedge your bets for a living, sir,” said Littlemore. “Every banker does. I’m offering you a hedge. There’s a chance the bombers are after your company. Maybe they were sending you a message. Maybe they’ll send you another. Do you want to take that chance?”
Lamont lowered his voice: “No.”
“I might just catch them if you put in a little time helping me out. That’d be a pretty big return for a small investment, Mr. Lamont.”
“It would indeed,” Lamont agreed. “You are independent of Chief Flynn?”
“I’m with the New York Police Department,” said Littlemore. “We don’t take our orders from Mr. Flynn.”
“Give the receptionist your card, Captain. You have a card?”
“I’ve got a card.”
“I’ll consider what you’ve said.”
Dusk had fallen when Littlemore arrived at Younger’s detention cell.
“Geez, Doc, you pulverized him,” said the detective, unlocking the barred door. “He looks like a bulldozer ran over his face.”
Younger put on his jacket and came out of the cell.
“I bailed you,” said the detective. “Smoke?”
“Thanks,” said Younger. His shirt collar was loose, knuckles bruised. “Did he get away?”
“No,” replied Littlemore. “I sent a couple of boys to the hospital as soon as I heard. When the doctors clear him, we’ll put him behind bars. I’ve got him—for now.”
The detective handed a large brown paper envelope to Younger, from which the latter shook out his necktie, watch, wallet, and other personal effects. “For now?” he asked.
“How do we prove he’s Drobac? Even I can’t identify the guy after what you did to his face. We’re going to need a lot more before his trial rolls around.