X - Chapter Twenty Nine "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution" 

Chapter Twenty Nine 

      Detective Sergeant Wendell Barnes knew the dangers of following your gut. You’re supposed to be coldly calculating when you’re conducting an investigation. But he also knew that sometimes – just sometimes – your intuition is your best friend, especially if your intuition is based on more than thirty years of investigating criminal cases. 

      For the last two days, Barnes had been thinking about something that stuck in his craw: Grant Stauffer, general counsel for Winshire Associates. Barnes thought back to the interrogation of Gordon Hope. Barnes and Capt. Jimenez had been focusing on Gordon Hope, he was the person of interest and now the defendant. But Stauffer remained in the back of Barnes’ mind. Stauffer spoke only a few times. But, when he spoke, he seemed to be hiding something. 

      While the NYPD team was canvassing the area for the restaurant where Theodore Merritt consumed his last meal, Barnes was directing the canvass from the Starbucks in the lobby of Winshire’s building. He had confirmed that Stauffer was in his office by calling the firm’s front desk, and now Barnes was waiting to see if Stauffer might, just maybe, leave the building.  

      It was now nearing three in the afternoon, and Barnes had already spent more than an hour at a small, round table. The half-cup of coffee in its paper cup was now tepid. He was reading a newspaper; he held it up high to shield his face. Barnes was a firm believer in surveillance; if you want to learn about someone, you see where the subject goes. 

      Patience, he told himself. If there’s one tough lesson, everything takes plenty of time. 

      It took little more than another hour. Barnes spotted Stauffer immediately, thanks to his short stature, his full head of gray hair and his bold strut. He wore a seersucker jacket; he would be easy to follow. Barnes waited until Stauffer exited the building, and then he folded his newspaper and made his exit. 

      It was a cloudy day, but the walk of several blocks to the 8th Avenue. subway station was pleasant. It was not yet the heavy rush hour and the sidewalks were not crowded, so Barnes was able to stay well behind his target. The subway station was more crowded, mainly by tourists, but Barnes could see clearly that Stauffer took the tunnel for the downtown train.  

     On the platform, Barnes noticed that Stauffer chose to wait leaning against the back wall, the furthest point from the other people waiting for the train. When a black woman with two children, one in a stroller and the other whose hand she held, took a position near Stauffer, he briskly moved away. Stauffer’s swift move struck Barnes. 

      They took the A train downtown. There was a good number of passengers in the car, but Barnes was able to keep an eye on Stauffer.  The short trip was uneventful. The only thing that struck Barnes was that Stauffer constantly put his right hand on his right jacket pocket, which bulged just a bit, as though he had to constantly reassure himself that something was still there.  

      Approaching the Washington Square station, Stauffer took a position in front of the door as though he was getting ready to rush and run. But he didn’t. Stauffer walked with his usual commanding gait through a hallway and then up the stairs to the surface. Barnes followed Stauffer easily and was struck when he pushed through the station’s doors. 

      My Gosh, looks like I’m traveling through time, Barnes told himself. The walk through Washington Square brought back a flood of memories. There, right on the square was the old Asch Building, which way back was the site of Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, where the disastrous fire took place and later became New York University’s Chemistry Department.  

      While he followed Stauffer, Barnes let the images of years ago flip past in his memory. There was the lecture hall, which Barnes considered huge at the time. And there was the students’ lab, where Barnes carried out experiments for his chemistry courses, and where he first met Lucille. Back then, they had been slow choosing a lab partner, so the teaching assistant just declared them a pair. Talk about luck! Barnes remembered. Gosh, her smile sure hit me!

      As he followed Stauffer, Barnes took in his surroundings. Greenwich Village had changed so much, but Barnes was able to recognize so many things. The clubs, the restaurants and the food stores, even the place where their dry cleaner used to be and had been turned into a pizzeria. At Bleeker St., Stauffer stopped.

      From the other side of the street, Barnes watched as Stauffer hesitated for a few instants as he approached the Café Figaro. Finally, Stauffer noticed a tall, younger man who had already installed himself at a table on the sidewalk, near the establishment’s entrance. Barnes knew the young man was Steve Bucknell, from the Winshire literature he had been given by Capt. Jimenez. 

      Pretending to be making a call, Barnes took out his smart phone and clicked away, to capture as many images as he could. 

      The two men shook hands, and Bucknell put his hand on Stauffer’s shoulder for just a second, in what looked like a friendly gesture. Just before Stauffer removed his jacket, he removed the small package from its pocket and handed it to Bucknell. Bucknell grabbed it and fumbled with it for a second, and then struggled to jam it into his jacket’s side pocket. 

      Then, Bucknell placed his left hand on Stauffer’s shoulder, stared at him and pronounced a few words. Because of the distance, Barnes couldn’t hear what was said, but it seemed like it could have been “Thanks so much,” or something like that. Stauffer folded his jacket and placed it on one of the chair’s back. Then, both men then took places opposite each other. 

      Well, that’s captured for humanity, and our investigation. I bet I got more than twenty shots of those two guys right here. Barnes stuck his smart phone back in his pocket. But he couldn’t stop wondering what he had witnessed.  

      Boy, that’s interesting! Why’d the chief counsel come all the way downtown to talk with a man he could meet in his office? Yeah, why in the world? Unless, of course, they didn’t want anyone in the office wondering what’s in that little package. 

      All the sidewalk tables were occupied, so Barnes was forced to take a place inside at the bar. From his perch on a bar stool, Barnes was able to watch both men through a nearby window. Unfortunately, he could not hear their conversation. While they sipped glasses of beer, Barnes watched as Stauffer talked and gestured by moving his right fist up and down. Bucknell, on the other hand, was a calm speaker and barely gestured as he spoke. 

      Barnes watched Stauffer and Bucknell for almost a half hour. At first, he watched the two adjoining tables; their occupants showed no inclination to vacate them anytime soon. Obliged to wait, images of his past returned to Barnes. 

      While a good student, Barnes was clumsy in the lab. Lucille saved the day more than once. Inevitably, the lab led to coffee shops, restaurants and movies, and then marriage at City Hall. They both earned their degrees. However, Barnes decided he wanted to experience real life. He became a cop, and after the academy he was assigned to Brooklyn’s 73rd Precinct. Lucille studied for two more years at NYU to earn a teacher’s certificate, and she accepted a high school teaching post in Brooklyn. At one point, the young couple moved to Brooklyn. 

      With the passage of time, they became the proud parents of two sons; one, like his dad, became a cop, married, and he and his wife had two sons; the second one remained single, but like his mother became a high-school science teacher. 

      Bringing himself back to the present, Barnes thought about the fun he was having with his two grandsons, and he wondered how his life would change in a few years when he’d be forced to retire. 

      Then he reminded himself. If there’s one tough lesson, everything takes time. You’ll see when the time comes.  

      The clouds that had covered the city for most of the day started to darken. As even darker clouds started to drift over lower Manhattan, Barnes heard the rumbling of thunder, and then a downpour followed. There was a sudden rush toward the interior. There were few places at the bar; Stauffer elbowed his way into a place between him – Barnes – and Bucknell. 

      With the addition of the refugees from outside, the noise level at the bar was deafening. However, Barnes was able to pick up a few words. It seemed that Stauffer was describing a court session, and Barnes understood Gordy was involved. Then, as Stauffer changed his position a bit, Barnes heard “Gordy, poor guy. Too bad but . . ” Then Stauffer turned back to Bucknell. 

      Later, Stauffer gestured and raised his voice. “ . . . . We gotta stick to it. Now it’s important. They just can’t see it. That’d be bad, very bad . . . ” But then he lowered his voice. 

      Barnes waited to see if Stauffer would raise his voice again. But, for twenty minutes or so,  it didn’t happen. Barnes tried to think of another tactic. 

      Why not? Barnes told himself. He turned to Stauffer, and said, “That was sure a surprise, wasn’t it?” 

      “Yeah, guess so,” Stauffer answered, and then he turned away quickly and resumed his conversation with Bucknell. 

      My God, the guy didn’t even recognize me. Spent an hour with me, and he didn’t bat an eyelash. Guess, for him, one black man’s just another black man. Guess I’ll just keep my ears attuned. 

      When he got back at the 17th Precinct, Barnes wrote a report on what had transpired during his short surveillance: the small package that, the more Barnes thought about it, could contain a small weapon; and the scattered phrases that Barnes could overhear. Of course, he attached the photos he had taken to the report. And he reminded himself to ask Vince DuBois to have his computer experts try to hack into the data stores they had downloaded from the Winshire system and look for any emails between Stauffer and Steve Bucknell. But the real thrill would be when he greets Stauffer as Sergeant Barnes of the NYPD. The pieces of conversation Barnes would be tough to explain.