Papa Jack Chapter 39
On his way back up to his loft, Richard stops to check his mailbox. When he left that morning, the mail had yet to be delivered. Until passing the boxes in the lobby on his return, he hadn't really thought about it. His head and other parts of his body had been more concerned with Kate Beckett. No doubt Vulcan Simmons' comment about Richard being sweet on Kate had been meant as a distraction to throw her, and possibly Richard as well, off their game. The problem is that there was more than a little truth to it, and he hadn't disputed it. For that matter, neither had Kate. With Ryan's help, they'd just barreled ahead with the interrogation. Damn! Ryan had also heard the comment. Richard has no idea whether the Irish detective would have ignored it or filed it away for future reference. If Ryan is anything like most detectives Richard has met so far, it would be the latter.
Beckett is too obsessed with the investigation to spare much attention for anything else, but that won't last forever. At least Richard hopes it won't. Clearing Beckett's mind to pay attention to other, more personal matters is taking on even greater urgency for Richard. He quickly sorts through the newly arrived envelopes and flyers on his upward trip in the elevator. Most of it is junk mail, which can go directly into his recycling bin. Of what's left, nothing is urgent. As soon as he's through the door, he throws the stack on a small table and rapidly strides toward his office.
His desk chair groans a protest as Richard drops into it hard. He boots his computer, fidgeting impatiently for internet access. The moment he's online, he accesses a website that keeps a watch on charities. He's used it before to winnow the large number of solicitations he receives for donations into a list worth considering. The site's staff does extensive research into how efficiently a charity uses donations. It also investigates and reports on fraud and abuses.
Richard suspects it would be too much to hope for that a keyword like "Dick" would turn up one of Bracken's murderous mercenaries, but it's worth a shot. To Richard's surprise, only a few mentions of "Dick" appear at his query. Perhaps most philanthropists prefer less suggestive nicknames. He tries adding a second keyword, "Afghanistan." This time, the listing for only one charity comes up, Freedom Schools, purported to be building schools in Afghanistan and run by self-described philanthropist Richard "Dick" Coonan. The site reports that it has confirmed the construction of a school, but only one. Compared to the amount of money it takes in, Freedom Schools is judged to have either extremely high administrative costs or to be very inefficiently using funds. Potential contributors are warned to weigh their donations carefully. The watchdog site also contains a link to the Freedom Schools website. Richard clicks on the link.
The smiling, blue-eyed face of Dick Coonan jumps out from the landing page. His features are undeniably Irish, but unlike Ryan's slim and wiry body, Dick Coonan's frame is large, with an almost cherubically rounded face. "Just the type of welcoming countenance to hide a black heart," Richard mutters to himself. "Ooh, that's good! I can use that!" He scribbles a note in a journal he uses to record phrases he can employ in his stories before continuing to scroll. The Freedom Schools website contains impressive pictures purporting to be of schools constructed in Afghanistan. The photos are, however, all taken from different angles. From what Richard can make out, with minimal staging, they could all be of the same school.
The website also features Dick Coonan's extensive bio, which reads like a Horatio Alger story. Dick Coonan and his brother Jackie grew up in Hell's Kitchen in New York. While Jackie stayed behind, Dick did a stint in the military, special ops, before starting a business, Watch and Prosper, selling instructive videos. Dick's business took off, enabling Dick to support merchants in the old neighborhood, including those employing his brother. Realizing the need for education in the world's trouble spots like Afghanistan, where he served, Coonan started Freedom Schools.
Richard clicks through to Watch and Prosper and studies the offerings. He recognizes one from infomercials watched on occasional sleepless nights. Its videos hawk a system for getting rich by investing in real estate. The tapes are hardly what Richard would classify as educational, although the customers will probably be schooled the hard way on how not to waste their money. Still, the tapes ship out of Asia and could serve as a method to import drugs.
Maybe Coonan served as more than a hitman in the Bracken international criminal web. Or Coonan could just be another jerk selling crap to insomniac consumers. That's something Beckett can check out at Coonan's New York office when it opens on Monday morning. Richard would love to go with her, but it will be tight. He's got the tour of Loftview with Martha at 11:00 am. Still, if he's lucky, he may be able to fit everything in. However, that will be on Monday, and the rest of the weekend stretches between.
To find out something about Cedric and whatever might be going on with Bracken offshore, Richard needs to talk to his anonymous source – his father. While he was growing up, they often took long walks in the park on Sunday mornings. After a week behind a desk, his dad had enjoyed stretching his long legs. And as Richard grew into his six-foot-two, he appreciated it as well. This Sunday would be as good a time as any to renew the practice, with the added advantage of enough isolation to avoid being overheard. And after his session with Vulcan Simmons, Richard craves the fresh air.
The serious onset of Fall is putting a chill in the air, but the sun is shining and its light and warmth reflect off the water. Richard and his father are both snug in plaid woolen shirts over turtlenecks. Jack's still-strong arms easily row a boat across Central Park's lake. Richard offered to take up the duty, but Jack welcomed the minor exertion, telling his son that he could take over for the return trip.
"Dick Coonan and a tall, white, show-off named Cedric," Jack mulls. "There's been some chatter about Coonan over the years. He was kicked out of special ops and became a merc, but he wouldn't put that in his bio. His school is a cover for buying opium from the Afghan farmers. For many of them, it's the only way they can make a living. As long as Coonan didn't interfere with intelligence operations, the agency didn't figure it was worth any resources to go after him. Maybe it should have looked harder. Your Cedric guy, I don't know, but if he was ever in government service, I can find out. So, you said you're seeing your mother tomorrow?"
"Uh-huh, we're taking a tour of Loftview as a possible venue for our fundraiser."
"Loftview," Jack repeats. "I thought I saw a line about that place somewhere. I'll check on it when I check on Cedric." Jack pulls the oars back into the boat and sets them in the oarlocks. "So, did you bring the pastrami sandwiches for lunch?"
Unzipping a light but well-insulated carrier, Richard grins. "On rye with mustard and a side of extra pickles."