With a bit of drama, I drop a document on the table, just out of their reach. I say, “This is a ten-page affidavit, signed by me, in which I describe, under oath, the kidnapping, an abduction orchestrated by Assistant Chief of Police Roy Kemp, in an effort to coerce me to divulge the location of his missing daughter’s body. Arch Swanger was never my client, contrary to what you’ve read and what you believe, but he did tell me where the body was supposedly buried. When I refused to pass along this information to the cops, my son was kidnapped. I caved, told Detective Reardon what I knew, and a full-scale dig took place at the location last Sunday night. They found nothing; the body was not there. Kemp then released my son. Now he wants me to forget all about it, but that’s not going to happen. I’m working with the FBI. You think you have problems with the Renfro case, just wait until the City finds out how rotten your police department really is.”
“Can you prove this?” Moss says with a dry throat.
I tap the affidavit and reply, “It’s all right here. There is surveillance footage from the truck stop where I found my son. He has been able to identify one of his abductors, a cop. The FBI is hot on the trail and chasing leads.”
This is not entirely true, of course, but how could they know? As in any war, the truth is the first casualty. I remove another document from my briefcase and place it next to the affidavit. “And this is a rough draft of a lawsuit I plan to file against the City for the kidnapping. Kemp, as you know, is on administrative leave, still on your payroll, still an employee. I’ll sue him, the department, and the City for a crime that will be front page from coast to coast.”
“You want Kemp fired too?” Moss asks.
“I don’t care if Kemp stays or goes. He’s a decent chap and a good cop. He’s also a desperate father who’s going through hell. I can give him a break.”
“Mighty nice of you,” Woody mumbles.
“What’s this got to do with the settlement?” Moss asks.
“Everything. I’ll bury the lawsuit and forget about it, get on with my life, and keep a closer eye on my kid. But I want another million bucks for Renfro.”
The mayor rubs his eyes with his knuckles as Moss sags even lower. They are overwhelmed and for one long minute cannot piece together enough words to respond. Finally, Woody mumbles a rather pathetic “Holy shit.”
“This is extortion,” Moss says.
“It certainly is, but right now extortion is a few notches down the pole. At the top is murder, followed by kidnapping. You don’t want to start a pissing contest with me.”
The mayor manages to stiffen his spine and say, “And how are we supposed to find another million bucks to pass along to you and Mr. Renfro without someone leaking it to the press?”
“Oh, you’ve moved money around before, Mayor. You’ve been caught a couple of times, got embarrassed with the scandals, but you know the game.”
“I did nothing wrong.”
“I’m not a reporter, so knock it off. Your budget this year is 600 million. You have rainy-day funds, discretionary funds, slush funds, reserves for this and for that. You can figure it out. The best route may be to deal with the city council in executive session, pass a resolution to reach a confidential settlement with Renfro, and handle the money offshore.”
Woody laughs but not because of anything humorous. “So you think we can trust the city council to keep this quiet?”
“That’s your problem, not mine. My job is to get a fair settlement for my client. Two million is not fair, but we’ll take it.”
Moss gets to his feet, looking dizzy. He paces to a window and stares out at nothing. He stretches his back and paces around the room. Woody seems to grasp the reality that the sky is falling and asks, “Okay, Rudd, how much time do we have?”
“Not much,” I reply.
Moss says, “We need some time to investigate this, Sebastian. You come in here, drop a bomb like this, and expect us to believe everything. There are a lot of moving parts here.”
“Indeed, but an investigation will only cause leaks. And where will it take you? You’re going to call in Kemp and ask him if he kidnapped my son? Gee, I wonder what he’ll say. You can dig for months looking for the truth and you won’t find it. And, I’m not in the mood to wait.” I slide the affidavit and the lawsuit across the table in Woody’s direction. I stand and grab my briefcase. “Here’s the deal. Today is Friday. You have the weekend. I’ll be here at ten Monday morning to wrap things up. If you boys can’t figure it out, I go straight to the
Woody is pale again. He says lamely, “I’m in Washington Monday.”
“Then cancel. Get a bad case of the flu. Ten Monday, gentlemen,” I say as I open the door.
