by Sal Bianchi
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, the nanny found the kid in there next to the mom’s body,” the officer sighed, a pained grimace on his face. “Such a shame. Anyway, he wouldn’t talk to us, so we don’t know if he touched or moved anything.”
“I see.” I nodded grimly.
“Yeah,” the officer replied. “Well, just let me know when you’re finished, and we’ll get everything bagged up.”
“Thanks.” I nodded before stepping past him and through the door. Nick followed close behind me.
“It’s a pretty big house,” he hummed as he looked up at the high ceilings. “Seems unlikely to me that they didn’t find anything at all, or that they even managed to comb through everything so quickly.”
“Most of the house does seem untouched.” I frowned. “Aside from the kitchen.”
Just a few steps from the front door was the entrance to the kitchen. There were dishes and glasses smashed and shattered all over the countertops and floor. A blender also lay abandoned a few feet away, its base crusted with dried blood. Spatters of red decorated the floor and cabinets on the left side of the kitchen, growing bigger until they culminated into a large pool of blood in the center of the room.
The body of Alexis Rothschild lay face-down and motionless within the pool of red. The back of her head was caved in, and her hair was tangled and matted into the shallow crater.
I grimaced as I took note of the tiny red handprints smeared around the body, and I wondered just how long the victim’s son had sat waiting by his dead mother’s body before he was discovered this morning.
“It was violent,” Nick mused aloud. “The attacker was desperate. The blood here on the floor isn’t spattered. It’s smeared, like the senator was trying to get away.
He leaned down and gingerly turned the victim’s body over so he could inspect it.
“She has a knife wound in her chest,” he muttered. “It’s shallow and messy, like the attacker hesitated. Over here, though, the spatter fans out. The attacker hit her on the back of the head with something blunt. Why do that if he had a knife?”
“Maybe he dropped it when Rothschild fought back?” I suggested. “The preliminary investigation indicated that there were traces of skin under her nails.”
“So he grabbed the closest thing, the blender.” Nick nodded as he scanned the crime scene. “It seems personal to me. The need to kill her as quickly as possible, and the fact that nothing else was taken all points to that.”
“I agree.” I sighed. “But that doesn’t really clear much up. Rothschild upset a lot of people during her time as a senator. Any one of them could have wanted her dead for a reason other than just petty theft.”
I walked through the kitchen, careful not to disturb any of the evidence markers the police had left. There was a small stack of mail on the island in the middle of the room. I picked them up and glanced through them.
“What’s that?” Nick asked as he came to see what I was looking at.
“Maybe nothing,” I replied. “It was right here on the kitchen island. The victim might have been distracted when she was attacked.
“Uh-huh…” Nick muttered as he took the stack of envelopes from me. I could tell from the look in his eye that something was going through his mind. “Hey, why don’t you go investigate in the living room?”
“What?” I asked blankly, confused about why he would suddenly suggest something so random. “I took a glance earlier. Like it said, it seems like most of the action took place in the kitchen.”
“Just go look,” he grumbled petulantly, his gaze still glued to the stack of mail in his hands. “I saw some wine glasses in there earlier. They might have DNA evidence.”
I wanted to retort that even if there was, that would be forensic’s job, and there wasn’t much I could do about it right here, but he seemed adamant, so I decided to just roll my eyes and go with it. I’d barely turned around when I heard a sharp tearing sound directly behind me.
I spun back around to look at Nick, who was now pulling something out of one of the envelopes.
“Nick,” I hissed. “What did you just do?”
“It was like this when I found it.” He shrugged easily as he began to read through the letter. I glared at him in disbelief. Was that really the best excuse he could come up with?
“Looks like we might have a motive.” He smirked as he finished scanning through the document. “Apparently, she and her lawyer were discussing going to the police with allegations of domestic abuse against the ex-husband.”
I sighed in frustration. What he had just done was very illegal. Not that I wasn’t used to it by now, but as a federal agent, my legal responsibility was to report him to the director. Or it would be if I’d actually seen him do it.
“Let me see that,” I grumbled as I took the letter from him and read through it. Now that the deed was done, it would be dumb not to use it to our advantage.
From what I could tell, Rothschild wanted to go forward with the accusations despite her lawyer’s warning that doing so might drag out the divorce proceedings and draw even more media attention to their situation.
“I bet he wouldn’t have liked this,” I noted. “What was the husband’s name?”
“Ryan,” Nick responded after looking through the case notes that Flint had sent him. “He’s currently staying at an upscale hotel a few minutes from here.”
“Let’s go pay him a visit,” I suggested. So far, an angry, vengeful ex seemed like the most likely culprit, and I was a little disappointed at the thought that the case might be solved so quickly.
8
Bette
I was barely able to keep from rolling my eyes as I watched Agent Park and that mobster leave the office together. Agent Park was okay on his own, but when paired with that idiot, it was like they both became dumb frat boys. Sometimes I felt like I was living in the Twilight Zone with the way that literal criminal just waltzed into the office whenever he wanted to steal cases from actual, qualified federal agents.
And not just any criminal either, but a former member of the mafia. One of the main purposes of the SDCT was to keep tabs on organized crime organizations and other domestic threats, but here we were just giving him access to our information.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he was always walking around hitting on all the female agents and tossing around those stupid pickup lines, and they all ate it up! I couldn’t possibly be the only one who saw through that stupid, fake, nice-guy act of his.
“What’s got you so riled up?” A voice broke me out of my thoughts. I looked up and found Chloe staring down at me with a look of concern on her face. “You looked like you were ready to kill someone.”
“It’s nothing,” I muttered. “Just wondering what the point was in getting my degree and going through the academy if anyone could just waltz into a federal agency and start investigating cases.”
“Oh, Nick was here?” Chloe whined as she glanced around the room. “Shoot, I always miss him. I need to ask Jase to help me set up a time to talk with him.”
“What?” I balked. “Why would you want to?”
“Don’t you think it’s interesting?” Chloe frowned. “Mafia society has always been shrouded in mystery, and he has inside knowledge. I’d love to have a nice, long chat with him about it.”
I scoffed at the wistful look on Chloe’s face. She was a former anthropology professor who had been recruited by the SDCT for her insane behavioral analysis skills. She was obsessed with studying people and figuring out how their minds worked, so of course, she’d be fascinated by a former career criminal.
“And he isn’t just some guy off the street,” she argued. “He has a criminal justice degree. You can’t be a private investigator in Florida without one.”
“Oh, whatever,” I grumbled, unwilling to admit that I hadn’t known that. “Degree or not, he was in the mafia, for goodness’ sake. I don’t understand why no one else seems alarmed by this. You stud
y cultures and societies, Chloe. You should know better than anyone that no one ever leaves the mafia unless they’re dead. So why should I believe that he did, and with no repercussions?”
“You have a point,” Chloe sighed. “But that’s why his case is so interesting. You’re right that it’s nearly unheard of for someone to leave the mafia, especially someone who was in as important a position as he was, but that should just make us want to work with him more.”
I was about to offer another rebuttal, but before I could, someone else chimed in.
“I don’t know about that,” Theo interjected skeptically. Theo was my partner and one of the only people who agreed with me that allowing Nick to work with the SDCT was a bad idea. “I mean, I’m not about to get hostile with him like Bette does, but that doesn’t mean I think we should welcome him in with open arms. I’ve had enough run-ins with the mafia to know that they always prioritize family in the end. The kid might be having a little rebellious phase, but I’d bet anything he goes back.”
The three of us fell silent at Theo’s words. He was one of the older agents working here, and also a former cop. He’d mentioned that he had history with the mafia in Miami, and he’d warned the director that it was a bad idea when we first found out who Nick really was. Among the SDCT agents, he was easily the most familiar with the mafia and their inner workings.
“Don’t you two think you’re being a little cruel?” Chloe admonished us sadly. “You’re judging him for something he had no control over. He was literally born into the mafia. It’s not like he chose to join them. It’s not fair to condemn him for it.”
“Wrong,” I countered. “Regardless of how he came to be involved with them, he was the one who chose to work with them in the end, right? You’ve heard the rumors about some of the things he’s done. If he was really just a helpless party, why didn’t he leave sooner?”
“Hey,” Theo prompted gently, “maybe we should all just calm down and talk about something else.”
“No,” I snapped. “I’m tired of hearing everyone praise him and act like it’s perfectly okay to be divulging sensitive federal information to the son of a mafia boss--”
“Get back to work,” the director’s thundering voice cut me off mid-sentence. “You don’t get paid to sit around gossiping.”
He stalked back toward his office. I flushed with embarrassment as I realized how loudly I’d been speaking. It was just so cathartic to get all of this pent-up frustration off my chest. I’d become a federal agent so that I could stop arrogant, despicable men from skirting the law. Nick DiFiore was exactly the type of sleazy jerk that I detested, and it was infuriating that no one else seemed to realize that.
“I tried to warn you,” Theo sighed. “I saw him open his office door and glance this way. I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t happy with what he was hearing.”
“Big surprise,” I scoffed quietly. “The only reason Nick is even allowed to consult with SDCT is that he’s friends with the director. It’s pure nepotism.”
“That’s not true,” Chloe retorted. “He’s a good investigator. He’s helped us with several cases already. How can you say it’s nepotism when he’s actually gotten us results?”
“It’s nepotism,” I explained, “because out of all the investigators in Miami, Flint chose one with basically no experience and close connections to an organized crime family. There are plenty of people who could help SDCT, but the director gave the job to someone he happens to know.”
“Well, to be fair,” Theo countered, “his connections to the mafia might actually be useful in certain circumstances.”
“Whose side are you on?” I snapped, shocked that he was defending Nick now.
“Now, I’m not saying I condone it,” he explained. “But realistically, having intimate knowledge of the criminal underworld is a pretty valuable asset when it comes to catching criminals.”
“So the ends justify the means?” I scoffed.
“Oh, get off your high horse, Bette,” Chloe groaned. “Not everything in the world is black and white.”
She walked away before I could say anything in response. I bristled in frustration. I understood that the world wasn’t that simple, but there were some things I just wasn’t willing to compromise on. Working with a career criminal who had never faced justice for any of his wrongdoings was one of them.
9
Nick
The hotel that Ryan Rothschild was staying in wasn’t as opulent as the ones that could be found downtown or all along the beachfront, but it was still very obviously luxurious and expensive. Lush green palm trees lined the road leading up to the hotel, and the main courtyard had a large, illuminated fountain place in the center.
“Looks like a nice place,” I remarked as we got out of the car and headed up the stone steps toward the entrance. “What does the husband do?”
“Software engineer,” Jase replied. “According to Flint, he’s been living here since he and his wife split a few weeks ago. That’s what he told the cops, at least.”
The lobby was spacious and warmly lit. The polished marble floor clicked beneath my shoes, and everything was bathed in hues of gold, yellow, and beige. There was a long, arched wooden counter that spanned the entire length of the lobby, with several receptionists standing behind it. I bypassed them completely and walked confidently toward the elevators as if I belonged there. We already had the room number, and as long as we acted like we owned the place, the chances of anyone bothering us were low.
We made it to the elevator without a hitch, and I pressed the button for the ninth floor. As soon as the doors chimed open, we made our way out into the quiet hallway. The thick red carpet up here seemed to muffle the sound of our footsteps, and the entire hallway seemed eerily quiet as we made our way down to room nine-one-four where Ryan was staying.
I stood aside and let Jase be the one to knock and announce our presence. I’d learned pretty early on that people tended to be a lot more receptive to a federal agent than to a private eye.
The door creaked open a few seconds after Jase knocked, and a man with a blotchy, red face peered out at us.
“Can I help you?” he sniffled.
“Hi,” Jase replied calmly. “I’m Agent Park with SDCT, and this is Costa PI. Are you Ryan Rothschild?”
“That’s me.” The man nodded. His voice was thick, and he had heavy bags under his eyes as though he hadn’t slept all night. “Would you like to come in?”
“If you don’t mind,” Jase said as he stepped through the threshold of the doorway.
I followed him in and took a quick look around. It was a suit that looked more like an apartment than a hotel room. I could see a door on one end that I assumed led to the bedroom and an open archway on the other that led to a small kitchenette.
“Please, have a seat,” Ryan insisted as he directed us to the set of couches in the center of the room. “How can I help you, gentlemen? I already spoke to the police this morning and just a little while ago.”
“We just need to ask a few more questions,” Jase replied sympathetically. “I understand it’s a difficult time, but since the case is now in federal jurisdiction, we have to conduct our own investigation.”
“Federal?” Ryan gasped as he looked up at us. Something about his expression struck me as off, but I couldn’t immediately place what it was. “Why? Has something happened? Did you find out something about the person that did this?”
“Not yet.” Jase shook his head. “We just need to ask some basic questions as part of our process.”
“Oh, I see.” Ryan sighed. His face was sullen, as though he was disappointed by the news, but something about the way the tension had left his shoulders as soon as he’d heard Jase’s answer seemed to indicate something else. It was almost as though he felt relief at hearing that we didn’t have any new leads.
“So, could you start by telling us where you were last night?” Jase asked.
“I was at a party,” Ryan
replied. “At the Cleo rooftop bar. I was out almost until dawn. I drank so much that I ended up falling dead asleep and didn’t even wake up until the police were knocking on my door this morning. I just can’t believe that while I was out drinking and partying, Alexis was…” he trailed off and pressed his face into his hands before letting out a long, shuddering sob.
I watched in silence as he cried, and almost started to feel bad for him until he looked back up at us, and I realized what had seemed off about his expression a few moments before.
His eyes weren’t wet.
His nose and cheeks were mottled and ruddy, and although his eyes were red and laden down with dark circles, there weren’t actually any tears in them.
“What else did you want to know?” he sniffed.
Jase opened his mouth as if to respond, but I beat him to the punch.
“Why were you getting a divorce?” I asked plainly.
Ryan’s eyes went wide as he looked at me in shock. Even Jase snapped his head to the side to toss me a confused glance.
“That’s kind of private,” Ryan muttered, the corners of his lips edging down into a frown.
“Is it?” I asked. “Because I heard it was all over the news for a while. And then there were the domestic abuse allegations.”
His face went pale at my words, and I could see his chin twitch minutely as he gritted his teeth together.
“Who told you that?” he demanded, his voice suddenly sounding far less weepy than it had just a moment ago.
“Does it matter?” I smirked. “I can’t tell by your reaction that they weren’t false. Is that why she was leaving you?”
“I don’t appreciate this line of questioning,” Ryan replied, looking over to Jase as though asking him to interfere. Jase glanced at me but stayed silent.
“I bet you don’t.” I nodded. “I bet you didn’t appreciate airing all your dirty laundry to everyone in Florda, either. That must have made you pretty mad.”
