“Our victim is wearing a Rolex watch and had a couple hundred dollars in his wallet,” McGrath remarked. “Nothing was touched.” He then approached a table and picked up a clear evidence bag containing the diamond tennis bracelet within the opened velvet box. “Found this in his pocket.”
Holden eyed the bracelet and raised his brow. “Wow,” he announced. “How many carats is that?”
“I’m guessing it’s about ten carats,” McGrath replied. “Worth about twenty thousand dollars. It was a gift for his girlfriend. Definitely not a robbery.”
“Definitely,” Holden replied, then frowned. “This is our guy. The motive fits. All mafia types, throats slit, and nothing stolen.” He looked back at the detective. “I suppose the security cameras were mysteriously down as well.”
“Just like the others,” McGrath replied.
“The killer must have been watching our friend, learning his routine, and studying potential murder locations,” Holden remarked. “He always knows when, where, and how to strike. In a twenty-minute window, he disabled the security cameras and killed the guy in a public location all without being seen.” Holden sank into thought then eyed the detective. “He did his research on the gallery, which means he was here at some earlier point in time checking out the security system. We’ll find him on the security tapes.”
“How would we even know where to start?” McGrath asked. “We don’t even know what we’re looking for. Hundreds of people come to the gallery every day. We could be staring right at the guy and not know it’s him.”
“We know Michael Rinaldi just started dating Rosenthal’s daughter a month ago,” Holden replied. “Two weeks ago, our slasher killed DeLuca outside that restaurant a few hours from here. We should review the security tapes starting from two weeks ago.”
“That’s still a lot of people,” McGrath replied. “We don’t even know what to look for.”
“We know he was here in the office, scoping it out, at some earlier date within the last two weeks,” Holden insisted, then pointed to the camera in the corner. “He knew the office had a camera, so he must have been in the office at some point. The traffic in and out of this room can’t be that heavy. Facial recognition will help us cross-reference people seen on security footage from street cams around DeLuca’s crime scene. We may get lucky and find a match.”
“I’ll request copies of old footage from security,” McGrath announced with a sigh. “Start a list of everyone in and out of this office.”
“Where’s the girlfriend who found the body?” Holden asked.
§
Holden approached Emily being consoled by her father on the sofa in the employee’s lounge. The lounge was a small room, since they had few employees, and only consisted of a couch, two small tables, a set of cubicles doubling as lockers, and a small kitchen. For an otherwise uninspiring room, it had numerous framed paintings on the walls and tasteful decorations. Rosenthal had his arm around his daughter while she attempted to hold back her tears, although she appeared almost sedate now. Holden paused before the father and daughter on the couch.
“Ms. Rosenthal,” Holden announced. When she looked up, he flashed his badge. “I’m Special Agent Falcone.” He replaced his badge. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“FBI?” her father remarked with some surprise. “Why would the FBI be investigating this?”
“That’s an excellent question,” Holden replied while studying the distraught father and daughter. “What do you know about Michael Rinaldi?”
Emily stared at Holden, appeared somewhat puzzled, and sniffed. “We’d been dating for a month,” she informed him. “I’d say I knew him pretty well. Why do you ask?”
“Do you know who his father is?” Holden then asked.
“Sebastian Rinaldi,” her father replied. “We’d both met him a couple of times.”
“Okay,” Holden continued, then reluctantly sighed, not wanting to come directly out and say it. “Do you know who Sebastian Rinaldi is?”
Both stared at him with some confusion. “What does that mean?” her father asked.
“Sebastian Rinaldi is high up on the mafia food chain,” Holden informed them. “His son, Michael, was in the family business.”
Both stared at Holden with a look of reality hitting them in the face.
“What?” Emily gasped with some disbelief.
“I know this is a bit of a shock for you,” Holden replied with his own understanding. Michael keeping his family business a secret made a lot of sense. He wouldn’t want to scare away the woman he loved.
“Is my daughter in any danger?” Rosenthal asked while clinging to the young woman. “Are they coming after her next?”
“I don’t think your daughter is in any danger,” Holden informed him. “Whoever did this completed his intended mission. There’s no reason to believe they’ll be back. I just need to ask a few questions.”
“My daughter didn’t see anything,” Rosenthal insisted and turned stern, realizing Michael’s death was potentially a mob hit. “She doesn’t know anything, and I don’t think you should involve her any further.”
“Dad,” Emily whispered, practically pleading with her father.
“No,” he announced in anger. “You’re not getting involved in a mob hit.”
“Maybe he lied about who he was,” Emily gently informed her father, “but I still loved him.” She looked back at Holden, drew a deep breath, and straightened proudly. “What do you want to know?”
“In the last two weeks while you were with Michael, did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around?” Holden asked. “Did Michael seem distracted by anyone?”
“I can’t think of any particular incident,” Emily replied. “He wasn’t looking over his shoulder or anything weird.” She then hesitated. “Although--”
“What is it?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Holden remarked. “Tell me anyway.”
“Well, we were at a restaurant bar having a drink while we waited for our table,” Emily announced. “Some man wanted to buy us drinks. The bartender pointed him out. Michael seemed angry and refused the drinks. When our table was ready, Michael excused himself. I can’t be sure, but I think he talked to the man.”
“What did he look like?”
Emily shook her head. “Honestly, I didn’t really take notice,” she replied. “One of our local artists was at the bar, and I was talking with him.”
“I’ll need the name of the restaurant, a description of the bartender, and your artist friend’s name.”
§
Holden walked through the now empty gallery, which had been closed after discovering the murdered mob boss’s son. As he placed his small notebook in his inner jacket pocket, Harris approached him from the front door where a police officer was posted guard. Harris’s facial bruises from his brief encounter at Reeves’s mansion were still prominent but healing nicely.
“Anything?” Harris asked, meeting Holden halfway within the gallery.
“Pretty much the same as the others,” Holden announced with a defeated sigh. “No one saw anything, security cameras were disabled, and no sign of struggle. This guy knows his target, knows his surroundings, and strikes hard and fast. Detective McGrath is going to review the security footage for the past two weeks. Maybe we can collect a few guys for facial recognition and compare them to footage from other crime scenes in the weeks leading up to the killings.” Holden straightened and tensed. “How did it go with Sebastian Rinaldi? Is he going to cooperate with our investigation?”
“Oh, yeah,” Harris announced with excessive sarcasm. “He’s going to cooperate fully.” He then rolled his eyes and shook his head. “While he played up the old ‘no mafia ties’ gambit, his men were skulking around gathering intel and preparing for war.”
“So they’re blaming whatever family they’re feuding with at the moment?”
“I’ve no doubt the emergency room will be bustling tonight setting broken
bones,” Harris muttered. “Talking to any of the families won’t get us anywhere. They’re going to take matters into their own hands and paint the streets with blood if we don’t find out who’s behind this.”
“Offer someone else’s head on a platter, huh?”
“Better than letting them wipe out a city block trying to find the killer themselves,” Harris replied, then eyed Holden and tensed. “You know what you have to do.”
Holden groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I’d rather keep Sal out of this,” he remarked. “Trouble finds Sal without taking it to his doorstep.”
“Sal may not be an active player in the game, but he’s warming the bench,” Harris announced. “You need to see what he knows before someone drags him off the sidelines and forces him to play.”
“Fine,” Holden announced with a sigh. “I’ll drop by Sal’s and say hello.”
“All off the record, of course.”
“Always is,” Holden replied, lacking enthusiasm.
Chapter 10
Sal Romano’s Colorado Springs country mansion was nestled on a large parcel of land beyond tall, stone walls. The professionally landscaped estate didn’t have a hedge out of place. Weeping willow trees and faux split rail fencing lined the long driveway. The driveway split off to the left to circle a large fountain outside the front door while the remaining driveway branched off to the kitchen, staff wing, and eventually to the massive, detached, eight-car garage. A new, black, luxury sedan pulled up to the front of the house and parked. A man in his mid-forties got out of the car, removed two grocery bags from the back seat, and headed for the double front doors. The wealthy homeowner was Salvatore Romano. Sal was a robust man with a round cherub face and a youthful appearance. His clothes were casual yet stylish. It was apparent the man took care of himself.
Sal unlocked the front door using a code rather than a key on the state-of-the-art keypad. He entered the foyer and walked past a smaller scale, “Gone with the Wind” staircase and headed down the grand hallway toward the kitchen.
“Rosa,” he called out to his house manager as he entered the elegant yet modern kitchen through the swinging door. “They didn’t have that black cherry ice cream you love so much, so I got you strawberry instead. I hope that’s--”
Sal looked up and saw two muscle-bound men in expensive suits sitting before the marble-top island counter. They were devouring an entire cheesecake that was still in the expensive bakery box. Sal froze and eyed the two moderately familiar men in their late thirties. Both men stood around six-foot-four and were built like professional wrestlers. Between their large, muscular chests and biceps, the additional girth of their hidden shoulder holsters almost kept their arms from touching their sides. Both men, neither looking particularly friendly, stared at Sal without saying a word.
Sal indicated the massacred cheesecake on the island counter. “I was saving that for tonight,” he informed the two men.
Neither man took their eyes off Sal, who still didn’t move. He was attempting to place the men. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen enforcers invading his quiet, little home. A man appeared from the pantry doorway. Sal was finally able to breathe when he saw his old friend, Giovanni. Even though his friend was a notorious, former mob boss, Sal was still relieved. It could have been someone much worse. Giovanni was a handsome, moderately athletic-built man in his late forties with dark hair and a classic Italian look about him. Although he was somewhat imposing, standing a little over six feet tall, his reputation as a powerful mob boss was his most intimidating feature.
“Giovanni,” Sal announced and managed a relieved smile. “You gave me a bit of a scare. At my age, that isn’t exactly healthy.”
“Given either of our reputations, it probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I didn’t want to risk waiting outside for you to come back from your grocery store run,” Giovanni teased, then held his arms out to Sal as he approached. “How are you doing, my old friend?”
Sal set his bags down and gave Giovanni a manly hug. Giovanni pulled back, grinned, and lightly slapped Sal’s face.
“Look at you,” Giovanni proclaimed. “Wasting away to nothing. Curse that maid of yours. She’s starving you.”
“Down another five pounds,” Sal reported proudly while grinning. “Rosa allows me one desert a week.” He then indicated the two intimidating men glaring at him while they continued to shovel cheesecake into their mouths. “Your boys seem to be eating it all.”
“I don’t recommend you attempt to take food from either of them,” Giovanni announced. “They’re not as friendly as they look.” He then shrugged without care. “But at least they’re housebroken.”
“Good to know,” Sal remarked and removed the ice cream from the bag. He approached the freezer and stashed the ice cream before either muscle-bound man made a move for it. “Where’s Rosa?”
“I gave her the night off,” Giovanni informed him, then added a slightly humored smile. “The old gal was in a bit of a hurry to leave.”
“Hmm?” Sal casually reflected while hiding his knowing smile. “I wonder why?”
“She left your dinner in the oven.”
Sal eyed his old friend and unpacked the rest of his groceries. “Another surprise visit,” he remarked. “I know that can’t be good. Are you in trouble?”
“Me?” Giovanni asked, then smirked. “Almost certainly, but that’s not what brought me here.”
“Marco?”
“Have you heard?”
Sal leaned his back against the main counter facing Giovanni and drew a deep breath. “I’ve heard things recently,” he replied. “Rumors.”
“They’re all lies,” Giovanni firmly insisted, then held his breath. “My son didn’t kill those men. I know he’s been acting a little out of sorts since his wedding fiasco. Took off before I visited you the last time, and I haven’t seen him since. But it’s not like him to kill men in cold blood like that. He wouldn’t do it.”
“Ruffled quite a few feathers,” Sal remarked.
“Yeah,” Giovanni sighed with defeat. “Now, he’s a marked man. Every hitman and bounty hunter in the west is out looking for him. One million dollars with a bonus if he’s brought back alive.” He drew a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m desperate, Sal. They’re going to kill my boy. Even if they bring him in alive, whoever gets him is going to do a thousand times worse.”
Sal shut his eyes as if in pain and shook his head. “I can’t do it, Giovanni,” he muttered, then opened his eyes and looked at his old friend with sympathy. “Marco wants my friends dead. Last time you were here, you said as much.”
“I’m sure he’s over that by now. Your friends can find him,” Giovanni insisted. “They can find him and hide him until we get this all sorted out.” There was a moment of silence. “I’m desperate, Sal. I’ll give them the million plus the bonus if they just keep my boy alive.”
“They wouldn’t even know where to start looking for him,” Sal remarked. “Marco has to know bounty hunters are looking for him. He’ll go into hiding.”
“He’s already in hiding. I think I know where to find him, but I can’t go after him,” Giovanni insisted. “The moment anyone sees me poking my head out, they’ll be on my tail. You wouldn’t believe what I went through just getting here undetected.”
“Sal?” a male voice called from the foyer. “Sal, the door was open. Are you here?”
As Holden stepped into the kitchen, both enforcers leaped to their feet and reached for their guns hidden in their shoulder holsters. Holden appeared startled and reached for his weapon as well. Sal quickly moved away from the counter and stepped between the men.
“Let’s not do this again,” Sal announced while holding his hands out to both parties.
Holden saw Giovanni and groaned loudly. “Oh, not again,” he muttered. “I really need to call first.”
“Holden,” Giovanni announced cheerfully and approached him with his arms out to hug him.
Holden took a quick
step back and kept his hand on his weapon in his holster. “That’s close enough.”
Giovanni chuckled and lowered his arms. “Still nervous, huh?” he teased.
The oven dinged, catching everyone’s attention.
Giovanni suddenly grinned. “I believe dinner’s ready,” he announced cheerfully and reached for some oven mitts. “Who’s hungry?”
Holden slowly released the handle of his weapon as Giovanni removed the casserole dish from the oven. He set it on the stove and removed the lid revealing the large, perfectly cooked pot roast with small potatoes surrounding it. The intimidating man deeply inhaled the fantastic aroma and groaned his approval.
“Hmm, pot roast,” Giovanni announced. He then glared at his two starving goons, who appeared ready to pounce on the roast with their bare hands. “Don’t just stand there. Set the table, you big mooks.”
§
After an uncomfortable meal seated across the informal kitchen table from Giovanni and his hired goons, Holden leaned back in his chair and eyed the two large men, who ravaged what was left of the pot roast straight from the casserole dish. He then glanced at Sal and Giovanni.
“Something on your mind, Holden?” Sal asked while offering a tiny smirk. “I know you didn’t just stop by for a bite to eat.”
“I was anticipating speaking to you in private,” Holden informed him.
Giovanni, taking the hint, eyed his two men. “Make yourselves useful and clean up,” he gruffly ordered.
Both muscle-bound bodyguards collected the dirty dishes and headed across the kitchen, where they promptly began rinsing the plates. Giovanni looked back at Holden and grinned almost proudly as if he solved the federal agent’s dilemma. Holden eyed Giovanni and gently strummed his fingers on the table.
“I’m not sure I should be discussing this in front of you,” Holden remarked.
“You think I don’t know about the wave of murders among prominent families in the Colorado area?” Giovanni asked while raising a skeptical brow.
“That is why you’re here, isn’t it?” Sal then asked Holden. “You wanted some insight into the killings, correct? From an insider’s point of view.” Sal then managed a tiny, smug smirk. “Of course, I’m not actually an insider. You always did have a little trouble accepting that fact.”
Witness Protection 9: S.N.A.F.U. Page 8
