Worst Case - James Patterson [86]
That’s where Dan was wrong. I did understand. I hated and wanted to get away from his father, too.
We could have charged Dan Hastings with a host of things—fraud, misleading an investigation. I decided to give him the worst punishment of all. I grabbed the back of his wheelchair and pushed him back into the stateroom.
“Mr. Hastings, your son has something to tell you.”
“What?” he said. “What is it, Dan?”
“I did it, Dad. I wasn’t kidnapped. It was a trick. I took your money. It had nothing to do with that Mooney guy.”
Gordon Hastings’s regal face imploded like a demolished building. I guess he wasn’t too jazzed about my smiling, told-you-so expression.
“I’m not pressing charges, Officer,” he said, his shock replaced by the sneer that was his natural expression, “if that’s what you were hoping for. I want you off this vessel.”
“What a coincidence. I want me off this vessel, too. Even more than you,” I said on my way out.
Chapter 102
GETTING INTO MY car in the Chelsea Piers marina parking lot, I still couldn’t believe it. What was wrong with that kid? Setting up such complicated money transfers would have been impressive enough on its own. Dan had even convinced that crazy kid to platform-jump off a bridge in order to get him his money.
Wheelchair or no wheelchair, the kid was clever and charming and rich. Wasn’t that enough? If he hated his father so much, why couldn’t he muster up the guts and leave?
Dan must have liked all that money too much, I realized. Leaving would have been hard. Leaving would have required sacrificing luxury. Dan wanted to have his hate, yet not have to pay for it. Hate costs. Even Mooney could have told him that.
F. Scott Fitzgerald was wrong, I decided, looking at the shining yacht. The rich really were just like you and me. Just as stupid, petty, shortsighted, screwed-up, flawed. Just as human through and through.
Staring out at the yuppies doing their Tiger Woods impressions beside the boats, I thought of someone. I scrolled down through my speed-dial list until I found what I wanted and hit the Call button.
“VICAP. Parker speaking.”
“Agent Parker,” I said. “Bennett here. How are you?”
“Mike!” she yelled. She actually sounded happy to hear from me. She must have forgotten how we had said goodbye at her hotel.
“Hey, how are things up there? That party was fun. Man, was I trashed.”
“Not more than me,” I said. “Listen, I just found out we were right when we thought there was something funny about the Hastings kid’s kidnapping. It turns out it was complete bullshit. The kid cooked it up with his Russian squeeze. They did it to rob his father. Nice, huh? Little early Father’s Day present for the old man.”
“Wow,” she said. She was silent for a long beat.
“When Francis X. and I got into our shouting match, he said that today’s youth was worthless. Sometimes I think maybe he was right. Maybe this world has lost its way.”
I tried to say something then, but when I opened my mouth, no words came out. I only wanted what all parents want, a nice place for their kids to live in. It was scary and painful to think of all the crazy, bad things that could happen, the kind of bleak future that might await them.
I looked out at the water. Though the day was bright, the air whistling in through my cracked-open window was harsh, biting, frigid.
“I don’t know about the world, Emily,” I finally said. “All I know is that Mooney is dead, and we’re still on the job.”
I started the car and cranked up the heat.
“That might not exactly be happily ever after,” I said, “but what the hell. It’s a start.”
We managed to get hold of Detective Michael Bennett for an extremely rare interview . . .
How long have you been working in the police force?
I’ve been a cop for sixteen years now. I started out with the NYPD before doing a stint with the FBI before I got married. These days I’m back with the NYPD as a senior detective on the Major Case Squad. I’m a troubleshooter, negotiator;