Read Online Goodbye Sister Disco by James Patrick Hunt - Free Book Online

billionaire. His net worth is approximately two-point-four billion dollars. He is the owner of Penmark Industries. Last month, he floated his microchip company to Entech Company. As a result, Gene Penmark made a personal profit of forty-six million dollars. That figure does not include the net worth of his remaining businesses. That figure does not include the fifteen-million-dollar yacht he keeps on the French Riviera. That figure does not include the twelve-million-dollar jet he keeps at Lambert Airport. Out of that forty-six-million-dollar pure profit, Gene Penmark is being asked to give up two million dollars in exchange for the safe return of his daughter. We believe the decision is an easy one.”
    The screen changed and there was a young girl wearing a dress. She was holding a copy of the day’s early edition of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. She said, in a strange tone, “Please do as they ask, Dad. I want to come home. Please.”
    The picture changed and went back to Judy Chen at her desk. She said, “The police are continuing their investigation.”
    Hastings said, “Has anyone here spoken to that fucking woman?”
    Klosterman knew he was referring to the news reporter, not the kidnapping victim. He was angry about it too and he said, “We have no record of her calling the Department.”
    â€œGoddammit,” Hastings said. “God damn it.”
    Rhodes walked up on shells to him. “George,” he said, “Captain Brady says the assistant chief wants to see you.”
    No doubt he would, Hastings thought.
    *   *   *
    Assistant Chief Fenton Murray’s relationship with Hastings was not entirely settled. To start with, Murray had never worked as a detective; his entire career had been in either patrol or administration. When he was a patrol lieutenant, he generally took home less money than the average detective, who was technically lower in rank. The reason was, detectives worked a lot of overtime. The detectives did not openly speak of being an elite group. But they were a different tribe. A tribe within the greater tribe of the Metropolitan Police Department. Fenton Murray was black, but had been a policeman long enough that he was probably more Irish than anything.
    Hastings, for his part, did not believe that he had any quarrel with Murray. He thought Murray was a bit full of himself and something of a blowhard, but he was more or less honest and a straight shooter. Whatever else could be said of him, Murray was not the sort of man who would glad-hand you in person, then push you off a cliff when your back was turned.
    Fenton Murray had been with the St. Louis PD his entire law-enforcement career. In contrast, Chief Mark Grassino had been brought in from Atlanta to run the Department. Grassino had been assistant chief in Atlanta and had been in St. Louis a relatively short time. Hastings’s contact with Grassino had been limited but positive.
    Hastings was thinking about that now—wondering just how much of the chief’s goodwill he had expended—though he wished he weren’t, as Murray’s secretary led him through the anteroom to Fenton Murray’s office.
    Murray was on the phone when he walked in, saying, “Yes, sir. Yes.” Gesturing for Hastings to take a seat in front of his desk. “Yes, sir. Lieutenant Hastings is here now.… Yes, sir. Okay.”
    He hung up the phone and made a face. Mock curiosity.
    Hastings said, “You’ve seen the news, sir?”
    â€œYes, I have. How did that happen?”
    â€œI’m waiting to ask her.”
    â€œThat was the chief on the phone. He’s not happy.”
    â€œI don’t blame him.”
    Fenton Murray went on as if he hadn’t heard the acknowledgment. “It’s a matter of perspective, Lieutenant. Perspective. One of the richest men in this city, perhaps the richest, his daughter’s kidnapped … people want to believe