25. Thomas

CHAPTER 25

Thomas

I brought Clara with me to the party to send a message about the internal discord in the Speare family. Today, Iris is by my side to send a message about the strength and unity of the Warwicks.

We go directly to Derrick Lindman's office at the police department. I've made no appointment, but when I give the receptionist my name, she calls Derrick's extension without any questions. We're provided with visitor's badges and welcomed into the elevator. I remove mine and tuck it into my pocket as soon as the doors are closed. The receptionist sees, but doesn't dare comment.

Derrick's office is the antithesis of mine. Sunlight spills through the wall of windows behind his desk. The stacks of unfiled paperwork and abundance of framed photos of his dogs cluttering its surface make my eye want to twitch. Various medals, certificates, and trophies are proudly displayed in a case on one wall. I believe that half of them are also for his dogs. A small sidebar is taken up by an electric kettle and stainless steel tea service. Not a coffee pot in sight.

Derrick is standing behind his desk, perhaps bracing himself for our arrival. His expression is, of course, perfectly pleasant. "Thank you, Georgie," he tells the receptionist, warmly dismissing her. After she closes the door behind her, he goes to the sidebar. "Tea, Miss Agostinelli?"

"I'm deathly allergic to chamomile," Iris says pleasantly, sitting herself in one of the two plush chairs across from Derrick's desk and crossing her long legs. "Maybe next time, Mr. Lindman."

How she was able to smell the kind of tea Derrick was brewing from several feet away, I don't know. I tuck that into a box in my mind I keep for all of Iris's most impressive quirks.

Derrick nods and returns to the desk with his own mug. "I apologize I don't have any coffee brewed for you, Mr. Warwick," he tells me with a smile. "I didn't realize you were visiting."

I return his smile with my own, just as false, and ignore that invitation to explain this walk in. "I had hoped to finish our conversation from last night," I say.

"Yes," Derrick says gravely, his smile falling for the first time. "Last night. I'm sure you've heard that the District Attorney was killed in the shootout?"

That is as much an accusation as it is a warning. The D.A. was a long time ally of mine, and the fact that I failed to protect him does not bode well to Derrick. Does he have reason to suspect the kill was intentional? It would be… resourceful of Morgan to track either my location or Clara's to the party last night, start a public firefight, and then use it as a cover to kill the D.A.. In my experience, he isn't that ingenious.

Whether or not the D.A.'s death was intentional, Derrick might also be saying he's afraid to be the next victim if he continues to ally with me. I can either soothe his fears, or I can make sure he's more afraid of me than he is of Morgan. I choose the first strategy to start with, but if he keeps trying to hedge through this conversation, I'll begin to apply some pressure.

"Yes, a very unfortunate accident," I agree. "Morgan Speare has outdone himself with this collateral damage."

Stay focused on the real threat, Lindman.

Derrick nods and takes a morose sip of his tea. I don't buy for a second that he's grieving the D.A.'s death. Either this sorrow is completely performative, or he's trying to mask his nerves with another emotion.

"He certainly has," he says, a half-hearted acknowledgment of my point.

I let us sit in silence for a moment, giving him a chance to approach me, but he doesn't. His hesitation to bring up our talk from last night is palpable. A bad sign. I decide to cut straight to the point.

"It would be best if neither of us had to worry about Speare's collateral damage again, don't you think? With your fine officers and prerogatives under the law and my inside information, I think we could make that problem go away forever."

Derrick sets down his tea and weaves his fingers together in front of him. The picture of a politician getting ready to spin some bullshit. "Of course I agree with you, Mr. Warwick. We've done excellent work together over the years. Unfortunately, the optics of last night were bad, not just for Morgan Speare, but for me as well. I've been getting calls all morning from a number of last night's guests asking why two mob bosses were invited to my banquet and allowed to stage a shootout.

"I made as many denials as I needed to, of course," he adds quickly. As if he thinks that I think he's stupid enough to out any of us for who we really are. "I explained that no invitation was presented to Mr. Speare, and that you were nothing more or less than an exceptional real estate investor who's been a friend of my family for years. But people are looking at me now, and they're questioning my office- which is very new, as we both know."

"Yes," I muse slowly, looking around at the room we're all sitting in. "An office I bought for you, as we both know. I like what you've done with it."

Derrick's smile is a bit sheepish around the edges, but his blue eyes are sharp. "I understand that you're here to collect on a debt, Mr. Warwick. Please know that I'm very aware of what I owe you, and I intend to pay it back in full. But collecting all the evidence and permissions required to raid legitimate businesses takes time, especially with all eyes on us."

"You'd rather spend resources on maintaining the status quo than on altering it," I say. "But that price is going to become higher and higher in the coming weeks. How long until you can no longer pay it? What will the last straw be for the voting public?"

"I'm not turning you down, Mr. Warwick," Derrick insists. "I'm only saying that I need time to organize the kind of operation you're suggesting-"

Ah yes, time. The thing I thought I had so much more of, until last night.

"As you keep reminding me, Sheriff, you're new to this office," I cut in. "So perhaps you aren't fully aware of this. But the wheels of law spin as slowly or as quickly as you will them to."

Derrick opens his mouth to argue, to excuse, to weave more bullshit, but I don't let him speak. "A war started at your banquet, Mr. Lindman," I cut in. "Aside from our beloved D.A., I lost one of my men, and Speare lost two of his. Where I come from, blood must be repaid with blood. We're out of time as of twelve hours ago."

There's a pause as Derrick considers this very, very carefully. When he speaks again, I can tell by the way he shapes his words that he's trying, one last time, to turn me down. "I understand the urgency of the situation. I've already put a warrant out for Mr. Speare's arrest. For now, that's the most I can do without drawing more suspicion- for now ," he adds, trying to placate me.

I tilt my head just a little. If I'm honest with myself, I admire Derrick Lindman. He's one of very few men that I've worked with who can meet me on the same playing field and bring a solid game. I get the feeling he admires me for the same reason.

Derrick and I are different in a very fundamental way, though. He enjoys playing the game itself for the thrill of it. As for me, I don't play at all unless I can guarantee that I'll win.

After a momentary pause, I play my final piece.

"And if I make an official statement- as an exceptional real estate investor and family friend- demanding that the Sheriff's office of this great city crack down on the infestation of organized crime that took the life of our beloved District Attorney?"

Derrick sits back in his chair, still smiling. He takes a long breath and lets it out in a rueful sigh. I've finally won him over. "Then I suppose I'd have no other choice but to rise to meet that challenge."

"An admirable response, Sheriff," I agree, and stand. Iris follows suit, but Derrick hesitates for a moment before also standing.

"Thank you for bringing your concerns to me, Mr. Warwick," he says. "I appreciate your trust."

He appreciates my money and my patience, but I smile pleasantly anyway. "Likewise, Sheriff."

I don't wait for him to guide us out.