On the floor his law firm occupied, his office was at the end of the building. From the stair and lift lobby, there was the kitchen on the left and the rest of the office on the right. His partners all had their offices along the main passageway, as did their assistants and their support staff. Then there was a library, completely dedicated to the law. It contained row upon row of almanacs and law books. Most of the changes in the law and the consequences of the decisions of judges were now conveyed digitally, but Donovan liked having the books as well. He figured nobody could mess with them once they were printed. Besides, they looked good. Then, next to the library was his office. It was neighbored by his secretary, his assistant and by his private gym, complete bathroom suite and small walk-in closet.
Donovan swung into his secretary's office and bid her good morning before cheerfully taking himself to his own office. He opened his laptop and began looking through his emails. It was a chore he hated to do, but a necessary one. The first thing he looked through was the updates from the courts, the updates from the New York Assembly, Senate and Governor, and finally the Congress and White House updates. The next thing was the emails from his clients and business partners. One of them took his particular attention. It was from the Greek shipping magnate who had recently taken a controlling stake in American Stevedoring Inc.
Donovan had never specialized in any particular field, but of course he employed specialists in his firm. He liked being a jack-of-all-trades attorney. It meant he could take cases and clients of all sorts and deal with quandaries like the one Gregoris Sedakis posed him now. He pondered it for a moment. His firm had represented Sedakis in New York since his company’s takeover; it was a prestigious contract. But the question was a strange one. He was not sure he wanted to be associated with it.
Another email was from the agent of a young Canadian singer who had just been arrested for drinking under the influence. The girl had been arrested for it before and this time, she had been charged with disturbance of the peace as well. Her neighbors in the prestigious Williamsburg area had finally had enough of her spoiled and extravagant behavior.
He pressed the button of the intercom and let it go immediately. It would be sign enough for his secretary to know she was needed.
It took a while for his secretary to show up, but eventually he saw her appear from the other side of the office, walk to her desk, notice the blinking light and come over to his office. She was holding an envelope. “Yes, Mister Donovan?”
“Can you set up meetings with Sedakis and the agent of Justine Lavoie? Seems she's in trouble again.”
“Yes, I heard about it this morning on the radio.”
Donovan nodded. He did not really listen to the gossipy news on the radio or television and was frankly not interested in it either. He knew a lot of the people that were commonly discussed personally. He preferred to get the stories from the source.
“Will that be all?”
“For now, yeah. Thank you, Rachel.”
The secretary walked up to his desk and handed him the envelope. “This just arrived for you. And your friend Albert called.”
“Ah, thank you, Rachel.” He grabbed the envelope and reached for his phone. He put a Bluetooth headset on and selected Albert's number on his screen.
“Agent Wylders.” Albert's voice boomed in his ear.
“Fuck, why are you shouting?”
“Sorry, hold on.” The line went silent for a moment, then Albert was back, speaking normally. “Fucking dead guy in the harbor. Engines and shit.”
“Right. You called earlier?”
“Yeah, I found the file on your brothers.”
“Yeah?” Donovan asked, picking up a letter opener and ripping through the sealed edge of the envelope. “Anything interesting?”
“Bad news. Denny Lang is AWOL.”
Donovan pulled the letter from the envelope and folded it open. “And Quinn?”
“Released on parole earlier this week. Just a minute...” Donovan heard Albert speaking to someone in the background. “Donovan...” Albert came back. Donovan did not answer. The letter was written in what was obviously blood. It had run slightly from the letters.
“Donovan. The dead guy in the harbor. It's Denny Lang.”
“You took years off my life. I will take the rest of your life. Lang,” the letter read.
Chapter Three
“Rache,” Donovan was pulling his jacket back on as he pushed his head through his secretary's office door. “I'm going on the road, first to see Albert; I'll see Sedakis this afternoon and will head down to deal with this Justine Lavoie thing when I'm done with Albert.”
“Yes, Mister Donovan,” she chirped. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mister Donovan?”
Donovan shook his head. “Just tell everyone I'm busy all day.”
He took the elevator down and walked straight to his Jag. He fired the engine up and raced out of the parking garage. He turned onto the I278 that led to the harbor and immediately had to hit the brakes. The traffic was a nightmare, as usual. He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. He was impatient. The letter was burning a hole in the inner pocket of his jacket. He took it out and looked at the lettering again. He could not see any fingerprints, but it was definitely blood. Someone had taken a calligraphy pen, dipped it in blood and written the note. That would explain the dripping as well. It was probably not held straight. He noticed now, staring at the letter in the middle of the traffic, that the hand was very fine. It was a very nicely written hand. Not many people had good handwriting these days, he thought. A pity penmanship was not really taught in school anymore. He shook the thought out of his head and pressed the gas pedal down. Seconds later he hit the brakes as the car in front of him stopped.
It took him an hour to make his way to the harbor, but then he raced through the remainder of the traffic to finally pull up by the side of a warehouse where an ambulance and several police cars stood. He saw the SUV with the inverted flowerpot and figured that must be Albert's car. He jumped out of the open top E-type and walked to the door of the warehouse. An FBI tape was tied across the door opening. He looked in and ducked under the tape. “Albert!”
A woman with a long wavy pony tail and an FBI jacket rushed toward him and had already begun pushing him back behind the tape when Albert showed up. “What are you doing here?” he asked him gruffly. As an answer, Donovan pulled the letter from his pocket and held it out for Albert behind the wavy-haired agent's back. Albert grasped it and took the letter out of the envelope. He took a single look at it and he laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. “It's alright, he can come in here. He's a former agent as well, so he knows the rules.”
The agent stopped pushing Donovan back and stepped out of his way. Donovan straightened his suit jacket and gave the woman a wink. Then he followed Albert, who was already walking to the back of the warehouse.
Donovan had seen his share of horror in the FBI, but he was shocked by what he saw. Something that had clearly been a man lay close to the wall in a puddle of blood. The coroner and his assistant were still taking pictures. “Dear God...” Donovan muttered when he came closer. “What the hell have they done?”
The coroner looked at him and shook his head. “Back with us, Donovan?” He looked at the screen of his camera again. “I really have seen it all now.”
Albert came to stand next to Donovan. “Messy, eh?”
“What the fuck is this?” Donovan still watched the horror scene in complete amazement.
“I believe they call this a Blood Eagle,” the coroner said casually. “Viking execution. They cut through the skin at his back, broke his ribs, spread them out and pulled out the lungs to lay across the broken ribs so it looks like wings. They then left the victim to die like that.” The man shook his head. “I hope to find they did this post-mortem. I don't even want to try and imagine the pain he must have gone through otherwise.”