Tough Justice Box Set

by Carla Cassidy

  Nick carried his phone to Cass, reading off the ID number.

  Her fingers flew across her keyboard, and then she swung her laptop outward. “Here’s your partial match.”

  Nick hunched forward, his mouth dry. “Robert Penzey, Bobby Penzey, fifty-eight years old, in and out of prison for petty theft, sexual assault, drugs—a real upstanding citizen.”

  Lara hovered next to him. “He’s still alive?”

  “He’s still alive and living in Queens. The DNA’s a partial, not a full match.”

  “So Penzey—” Lara flicked her fingernail at the monitor “—is related to the guy in Mason’s coffin?”

  Nick tapped the corner of his phone on the table. “It’s a close match—brother, son, father.”

  “So, he’d know if a close relative has been missing all this time after an unexplained disappearance?”

  “I see a trip out to Queens in our very near future. Let me transmit this info to Victoria. We finally got lucky. The State just started collecting DNA for all criminals a few years ago, except for murderers, rapists and other sex offenders—like this guy—which they’d started collecting before. So if he hadn’t been a sex offender and had managed to stay clean the past few years, we never would’ve gotten the hit.”

  “Thank goodness for DNA.” Lara smiled.

  * * *

  Nick drove to Penzey’s place in Queens with Lara in the passenger seat jotting down possible questions. “If this Bobby Penzey is fifty-eight, I’m guessing the deceased is his brother or son. A man his father’s age wouldn’t have been hanging out with the Moretti brothers.”

  “Who said the dead guy was hanging out with the twins? They could’ve lured a stranger to their place.”

  “Like those homeless kids Mrs. O’Hara talked about.”

  He pulled the car up to the curb in front of a run-down apartment complex on a block of run-down apartment complexes. When they exited the vehicle, a group of men who’d been congregating on a set of stairs scattered.

  They found Penzey’s place and knocked on the door. Nobody responded, and Nick pressed his ear to the door in case Penzey was playing deaf.

  He shrugged at Lara. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “We can sit out front and wait. I’ve got all day. How about you?”

  “Same.”

  He jogged down the front stairs behind Lara, admiring the way her tight, black jeans fit her.

  “Keep your mind on the case, Delano.”

  “Do you have eyes in the back of your head now?”

  Without turning around, she replied, “You never know.”

  A thin, gray-haired man heading toward the apartment building pivoted and picked up his pace, his gait jerky.

  “Mr. Penzey? Mr. Bobby Penzey?” Nick’s muscles coiled. If the guy took off, he could take him down—easy.

  Penzey’s shoulders sagged, and he turned around. “Yeah? I didn’t do nothin’. I’ve been clean for years.”

  “Since your last stint in the joint?” Nick caught up with him.

  “That’s right. Whaddya want? You NYPD?”

  Nick spread his arms. “Do we look like NYPD?”

  Penzey fumbled with a cigarette carton. “All you guys...and gals...look the same to me. Can spot you a mile away.”

  “That’s funny. That’s how we feel about ex-cons.”

  Penzey gave a hoarse laugh. “You’re tellin’ me. Now who are you and whaddya want?”

  “I’m Special Agent Grant and this is Special Agent Delano with the FBI.” Lara cleared her throat. “Do you want to talk inside?”

  “Who says I wanna talk at all? Squealing to the cops is a dangerous game.”

  “No squealing on anyone. We just want information, Bobby.” Nick jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Inside?”

  “Nah, and it’s not because I’m hiding anything either.” Penzey held up a cigarette between two gnarled fingers. “I don’t like to smoke inside my place.”

  “Yeah, we all have our standards.” Nick pointed to the steps up to the front entrance of the building. “Have a seat. You’re not in any trouble...for a change.”

  “FBI, huh? Yeah, sure. What the hell?” He shook out a stack of cigarettes from the carton. “Smoke?”

  “No.” Nick then asked, “You ever have anyone go missing from your life, Bobby? I’m talking several years ago—just poof—like gone from the face of the earth.”

  Penzey rubbed his grizzled chin. “I used to have a son. Ran away after I was paroled. Think he’d wanna stick around when his old man came home, but he took off.”

  “How old was he when he ran away?” Lara waved at the smoke curling in front of her face.

  “About sixteen or seventeen. Still in high school, I guess.”

  Nick ground his back teeth. The man didn’t even remember how old his son was? Didn’t even know if he was in school or not? Hadn’t gone looking for him all these years? Some people didn’t deserve to be parents.

  He scratched his chin. “Was he that kind of kid? Into drugs?”

  “Hell if I know, man. I’d been locked up. Hardly knew the kid. I came home, tried to knock a little discipline into him, and he took off. Never did see him again.”

  “What was his name?” Lara’s voice had a strained quality, but Penzey probably wouldn’t even notice.

  “Joseph Penzey. Joseph Elliott Penzey. Elliott’s my middle name.”

  “Any idea where he went? Did he take off with friends?” Nick asked.

  “His mother hired a private dick. Waste of money, but the PI tracked him down to Brooklyn.”

  Lara’s heart started beating faster as Nick continued his line of questioning.

  “Was he staying with friends? Did the PI give you any names?”

  “Was living on the streets one day and was gone the next.” Penzey lifted a scrawny shoulder. “What’s he done? Did he take after his old man, after all?”

  Lara hopped up from the porch and took two steps, and then turned, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “I’m sorry, Mr. Penzey, but he’s dead—murdered, been buried in someone else’s grave all these years.”

  The cigarette fell from Penzey’s mouth and rolled down the step. “I’ll be damned. How the hell did that happen?”

  Penzey sounded surprised but not all that upset.

  Lara gripped the iron railing on the side of the stoop. “It’s a long story, Mr. Penzey. He got in with the wrong people. They used him to perpetuate a hoax.”

  “Goddamn.” He sank his head into his hand. “All these years.”

  “Where’s Joseph’s mother?”

  He sniffled and ran a hand under his nose. “Hell if I know. She divorced my ass. Haven’t heard from her since.”

  “What’s her name and last known address? And I’ll need the name of that PI.” Nick pulled out his phone and took down the information.

  Lara’s body quivered with rage as they walked back to the car. When Nick slid into the driver’s seat next to her, she rounded on him. “What kind of animal is he? Did he seem upset to you? A few sniffles? That’s all a son’s worth?”

  “Unfortunately, not such a rare breed. Sociopaths, criminals, addicts...and some lawyers don’t make good parents.”

  She reached out and touched his arm. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Nick. How you could sit there calmly questioning him instead of smashing his face in is a testament to your self-control.”

  “He was cooperative. That’s all I wanted from him—a name. And he even gave us his ex-wife’s name.”

  “She’s in Brooklyn.” Lara shoved her hair behind her ear. “Do you think she moved there to look for her son? He’s been so close to her all this time.”

  “Let’s find her and give her some closure after all these years.”

  Lara rested her head against the window of the car. “I can’t imagine—to lose a child like that, never knowing, always wondering, and now we have to tell her he’s dead.”

  “I’m sure it’s what she’s been expectin
g all this time, Lara. Let’s give the woman some peace. Let’s give her son back to her.”

  Lara closed her eyes. Every child deserved to be safe. Every child deserved a home. “Let’s bring him home.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lara fanned her hands in front of her face. “That was torture.”

  “I thought she took it as well as could be expected.” Nick started the car and pulled away from the curb. “It’s all about closure. Don’t you get that psychobabble from Dr. Oliviero?”

  “Don’t make fun of him. Dr. Oliviero is very good at what he does.” She cocked her head at him. “Haven’t you ever had to see him, tough guy?”

  “I’ll never tell.” He drew a line across the seam of his lips. “We all have our secrets.”

  Did Nick have secrets from her? He’d told her about his father, his brother, his worry about his mother. Hell, she even knew about him and Mei—although he hadn’t told her that one. Nick Delano would still keep his secrets...and she’d keep hers.

  Lara picked up the photo in her lap by the corner and swung it in front of her. A cute boy with curly, dark hair and a crooked smile stared back at her. How could it have all gone so wrong for Joseph Penzey? Joey, his mom had called him. After they’d confirmed his death to her, she’d sobbed his name over and over as she rocked back and forth, clutching his last school picture to her chest. That was closure?

  “Too bad Bobby Penzey was ever released from prison.” She touched a finger to Joey’s face. “Do you think the kid would’ve made it if Dad had stayed locked up?”

  “I’m sure he was already troubled if his response to his dad’s beating was to run away and live on the streets.” The knuckles of Nick’s hands turned white as he clenched the steering wheel. “There are other options.”

  “Who knows?” She trailed her fingers down Nick’s corded forearm, a cold form of comfort, but it was all she had. “Maybe Joey would’ve made it off the streets and found his way back home if he hadn’t run into the Moretti brothers.”

  Nick flicked his finger at Joey’s junior class picture. “Do you really think it’s worth it to pay another visit to Mrs. O’Hara? She’s not a young woman, and the fire happened a long time ago. And we don’t need her confirmation since the DNA and Joey Penzey’s parents pretty much confirmed he was the one in Mason’s grave.”

  “Her memory is sharp, and maybe once she sees Joey it will jog some other memories for her. We still want to find out as much about the twins and their actions as we possibly can. You never know when one thing will lead to another.”

  “And that’s why you’re one of the best. You don’t leave any stone unturned.”

  Lara navigated their way back to the Briar Ridge Assisted Living Facility, and Nick pulled the car into visitor parking.

  He sniffed the air as they walked to the front entrance. “This is a nice place. Reminds me of my mom’s hospice.”

  Lara swallowed. Maybe Nick could open up to her more if she could do the same. Is that what she wanted? Not now. Not ever?

  The receptionist from the other day looked up. “Can I help...? Oh, you’re the police officer who visited Vivian O’Hara the other day.”

  “FBI.” Lara jerked her thumb at Nick. “This is Special Agent Delano. We’d like a few words with Mrs. O’Hara.”

  “I know exactly where she is this time. Her hip’s still bothering her, so she’s relaxing in her room.” She picked up the phone and spoke into it. “Viv has more visitors. Can you let her know and take them back to her room?”

  A few minutes later, Delilah crossed the room with a smile on her face. “Hello, again. Follow me. I told her she had visitors.”

  They followed Delilah past the TV room and down a short hallway. They turned a corner into a sitting area with four doors opening on to it. Delilah led them to one of the two open doors and poked her head inside. “They’re here, Viv.”

  Viv’s cheerful voice called out. “Come on in.”

  The sweet, heavy scent of lilies invaded Lara’s nostrils as she entered Mrs. O’Hara’s room. She pointed to the large flower arrangement on the table by the window. “Those are beautiful.”

  “They are, aren’t they?” Mrs. O’Hara beamed, looking almost girlish. “And who’s this young man?”

  Nick held out his hand. “Special Agent Delano, Mrs. O’Hara. Thanks for talking with us again.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. O’Hara patted the pillow in her lap. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay here on the bed. It’s more comfortable for my hip.”

  “Is it getting worse?” Lara pulled a chair up to the bed while Nick lounged against the wall, papered with sprigs of blue flowers.

  “It’s getting better. I should be back to my regular activities in two days.” She smoothed back a silver strand of hair. “At my age, you don’t want to sit too long in one place, or you may never get up. But you didn’t come here to listen to a litany of my ailments. Do you have more questions about the Moretti family?”

  “I’d like to show you a picture.” Lara held the photo of Joey Penzey out to Mrs. O’Hara. “Do you recognize him as one of the homeless boys Andrew and Mason...tried to help?”

  “I don’t think so.” Mrs. O’Hara squinted at the picture.

  “Do you need these?” Lara picked up a pair of glasses on the nightstand.

  “Oh, no. Those are for small print. I can see this young man’s face perfectly clearly.”

  Nick cleared his throat. “And he doesn’t look like one of the visitors to the Moretti house?”

  “Perhaps, but those boys weren’t clean-cut like this one, like Andrew and Mason.” She pinched the bottom of the picture between two bejeweled fingers. “If I could see this boy with longer, unkempt hair and a sullen look on his face, I might recognize him.”

  “But the general look—” Lara circled Joey’s face with her finger “—the curly, brown hair, the sharp chin? He was average height, about five feet nine or ten. Any of the boys look like that?”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t pay much attention to their specific looks, just that they were scruffy.” She released the photo and wiped her fingertips on the bedspread. “Could he be the arsonist?”

  “Arsonist?” Nick pushed off the wall.

  “Mrs. O’Hara was thinking one of the homeless boys the twins took in could’ve set the fire.”

  Nick crossed his arms. “How many weeks or months were the homeless kids there before the house fire?”

  “A few months, maybe more. Maybe not.” The soft skin on Mrs. O’Hara’s cheeks crumpled. “I’m not sure. It was all so long ago now.”

  Nick raised his eyebrows at Lara, and she shrugged.

  “Did you think of anything else since I talked to you, Mrs. O’Hara?”

  Mrs. O’Hara wagged her finger at Lara. “I told you to call me Viv—makes me feel younger.”

  Lara smiled. “Viv, anything else?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Thanks for your time, Viv.” Lara took back the photo. She would’ve liked to have heard more about Joey Penzey’s time with the Morettis, but Nick was right. They didn’t need Viv’s confirmation that Joey had been there. They knew he was there. He’d died in that fire instead of Mason.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Hope you’re feeling better soon.” Nick shook Viv’s hand and then backed out of the room.

  Lara waved to Viv and followed Nick into the sitting room. When they hit the hallway, Lara sighed. “Waste of time. I swear she seemed to remember a lot more the first time I saw her.”

  “Her memory probably comes and goes. She was vague today. At least you caught her on one good day.”

  They stopped by the reception area. “Thanks, again.”

  “I’m glad you came by. Viv loves company, and she seemed to have a stream of visitors today, even bearing bouquets of flowers.”

  “They were lovely. Did her daughter bring them?”

  “A young man.”

  Lara’s forehead furrowed. “Her son? I guess I thought she
just had a daughter, Diane Teller.”

  “Not her son, an old acquaintance.”

  “An old acquaintance who was a young man?”

  “A young man by our standards.” Nina winked at Nick. “More like your age, but you’re still a young man to me.”

  Nick hunched forward, bracing his hands on the desk. “What did this man look like?”

  “Very good-looking.” Nina fluttered her lashes. “Like a rock star—tall, blond hair, fancy sunglasses.”

  Lara grabbed Nick’s arm, her heart pounding. “H-he brought her flowers? How long ago?”

  A vertical line formed between Nina’s eyebrows. “About two hours ago.”

  “Did he give his name?”

  “I don’t remember his name... Andrew something.” She shoved the guest book until it touched Nick’s fingertips. “But he signed our guest book.”

  Nick glanced at Lara, and then his gaze dropped to the pages of the guest book. “Two hours ago?”

  “Probably on the previous page. Are you all right, Agent Grant?”

  Lara held her breath as Nick flipped back to the next page, his finger running down the time column. When he reached the correct time, he skimmed across to the name column. He swore and tapped the page. “Look at this.”

  Lara leaned forward. The letters above Nick’s finger blurred as she read them aloud. “MM.”

  * * *

  Lara swirled her lukewarm coffee in the cup and then took a sip. She had to stay awake. Someone on the surveillance team had called in a sighting of The Ghost, and she and Nick had been on a lucky streak—if lucky meant being able to identify the body in Mason’s grave as a young seventeen-year-old runaway with a father who didn’t give a shit and a mother who had been brokenhearted by the news of her only son’s murder.

  And if lucky meant missing Mason Moretti by two hours.

  “We were so close yesterday. If we’d been at Briar Ridge just two hours earlier—” Lara snapped her fingers “—we would’ve run smack into Mason. We could’ve nailed that smug SOB right then and there.”

  “What amazes me is Mrs. O’Hara’s loyalty to the twins after all these years. What’d they do, cut her lawn for free?” Nick shook his cup of ice. “Viv knew we were interested in the Morettis, she should’ve told us Andrew paid her a visit. Or at least she thought Mr. Charming with the flowers was Andrew.”