In This Rain Read Free Page B

find it. We owe that to Harriet Winston. The question for this meeting is— and this is why the Department of Investigation is here— the question is, should the city have done anything differently?”
    “Like more oversight?” Aday shot back. “Rules and regs?”
    She never quit, Charlie would give her that.
    “Edgar Westermann thinks something’s not kosher,” shouted someone at the back. “You want to say anything about that?”
    Yeah, I’d say it’s a funny choice of words, Charlie thought; but this was no time for smiling. “I saw his press conference,” he said. “The Manhattan Borough President is entitled to think whatever he wants.”
    “Do you agree?”
    “I’d rather have the facts before I make a statement like that. I’m about to meet with the Commissioners. I’ll fill you in later. Come back at two.”
    He turned and double-timed the steps, Don hurrying beside him, Washington and Ryan keeping the shouting reporters at bay. Just before they hit the doors someone behind them yelled out, “Walter Glybenhall,” but the mayor didn’t turn around.
    “You just set up a two o’clock press conference.” Don, a heavy smoker, wheezed as they pushed into the City Hall lobby. “You want Sue Trowbridge here?”
    “No, I’ll handle it. But she might need to do a press release later. What’s that new guy’s name from CBS?”
    “Bryon Quertermous.”
    “Spell it?”
    Don shrugged. He stepped aside and waited for the mayor to walk before him into the metal detector.
    Charlie swept through without a beep. He was the mayor; he could go around the thing and save the guards embarrassment every time he forgot to take off his watch and they had to wand him. But No Exceptions was his policy, and as long as he followed it none of the Commissioners or Councilmembers could get on their high horses. And No Exceptions also meant No Complaining about favoritism or its in-fashion flip side, racial profiling. Dodging that headache was well worth the inconvenience of repocketing his change.
    They trotted up the stairs. Don hated the stairs and Charlie knew it, but not as much as he himself hated being squashed in the private elevator with Don and the bodyguards: too many people in too small a space, standing still.
    As they hit the second floor, Don clamped his cell phone to one ear and stuck a finger in the other. At the door to Charlie’s private office Don said, “I’ll get back,” and thumbed the phone off. The bodyguards gave the inner office a once-over, then retreated to the anteroom, closing the door.
    “Sue’s standing by,” Don told Charlie.
    “Good. Sorry about the stairs.”
    “Why should today be any different?” Don jacked a Camel, shoved the pack back in his pocket. “Is it going to be a problem?”
    “Is what?”
    “The press digging into Three Star.”
    “It’s already a problem. I don’t know what the hell Walter’s thinking. I can’t afford this. He can’t afford this.” Charlie pulled a contraband ashtray from a drawer— smoking was illegal in New York office buildings, an initiative the mayor, as a Councilmember, had co-sponsored— and clattered it to the desk.
    “I don’t think what Walter Glybenhall’s thinking is the problem.” Don pocketed his lighter and picked up the ashtray.
    “Then he’s not thinking. Walter wants to prove Three Star’s a community-friendly developer, this is a hell of a way to go about it.”
    “Unless it’s not his fault. Unless someone’s doing these things to Three Star on purpose.”
    “Oh, Christ, Don, you too? Walter tried to sell me that. Buildings doesn’t see it and DOI doesn’t see it. Now NYPD’s on it and they don’t see it either.” Charlie took off his jacket. “And you know I’ve got a meeting with Ford Corrington tomorrow that he set up two weeks ago? Christ, what timing. I think you’d better be here.”
    “I was planning on it.”
    “But no one else. You, me, them. Not Real Property, not Planning. We’ll say it’s too early for that. We’ll say I wanted a chance to hear them out without political