by Steve Hadden
The receptionist covered the phone. “Mr. Rossi, Mr. Scott is busy. You can leave your card and I’ll see that he gets it.”
“I’m not selling anything,” Ike said. “Tell him I’m here about information regarding his partner’s death.” Ike’s bomb had been detonated and the woman’s face went crimson. She relayed the message minus Ike’s tone. She hung up the phone and said, “He’ll be right down.”
A security guard in a dark-blue blazer appeared from a room behind the desk. Ike instinctively sized him up. He was unarmed and Ike quickly determined he could easily be incapacitated. He breathed deeply and quieted his mind. It was the nature of his business, but he was sure it wouldn’t be necessary. The security guard was there for show.
The elevators behind the card-activated security turnstiles opened and a dark-haired mustached man of about forty, dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, emerged. The guard stepped to the turnstiles and whispered as the man carded through. He walked up to Ike, trailed by the guard, and offered his hand with an expression that said he was ready for the worst.
“Bobby Scott, sir.”
Ike shook his hand. “Ike Rossi.”
“I know who you are. I just Googled you.”
“I was speaking to Lauren Bottaro last night and I have some questions regarding her brother.”
“Did she hire you?”
“We’re discussing it.”
Scott looked puzzled. Then acquiesced. “Sure. Anything I can do for her.”
Ike didn’t want to do this in public. “Can we go somewhere private?”
“Yes.”
Scott turned, gave the guard a wave, and led Ike through the turnstiles and up the elevator. They passed his assistant and entered his office. It was sparsely furnished and adorned with plaques announcing various oil or gas discoveries Ike recognized from his days working in the exploration and production business. A few pictures on the back credenza showed Scott was a family man with three young children. This would be easy.
“Sorry for coming unannounced, but something came up.”
Scott squirmed in his seat. “No problem. How can I help you?”
Scott was structured and a bit stiff. He clearly had a technical background and was uncomfortable outside the numbers.
“First, I need to know if you deactivated Tom Cole’s e-mail account.”
Scott looked puzzled. “Yes. We did that two weeks ago. Why do you ask?”
“So, it would be impossible to send an e-mail from that account?”
“Yes. Did someone hack his account or something?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t say.”
Now Scott looked as if he were sitting on thorns.
“Can you tell me about Tom—how you met and got this all going?”
“Tom and I met at the University of Texas. We were both undergrads. Our sophomore year we became roommates and remained that way through our PhDs.”
“In geophysics?”
“Yes. Our focus was sub-salt seismic interpretation. That was just emerging back then in the Gulf.”
Ike wanted to connect with Scott in some way, so he said he understood that sub-salt seismic interpretation was a challenge, since the deeper oil and gas targets in the Gulf of Mexico were covered by a layer of salt that varied in its geometry and composition. That effectively distorted the seismic waves that bounced off the layers of rock below, making it difficult to image a target reservoir with a drilling rig that cost a million dollars a day to operate.
Scott seemed impressed with Ike’s knowledge and stopped squirming. “That’s right. Long story short, Tom came up with a technique a few years ago that provided a much better image than anyone else. Using it, our clients had an unprecedented string of discoveries. Tom continued to refine it and the business rocketed to what it is today.”
“Impressive,” Ike said. “I hate to have to ask you, but what can you tell me about Tom’s attitude leading up to his death?”
Scott’s face darkened. “I didn’t see it coming.” Scott leaned back and looked out the floor-to-ceiling window. “Tom seemed okay. Sure, the crap with his ex was shitty, but he expected that. He never should have married her.”
“How so?”
“Tom didn’t date much when we were in school. He had a few flings, but I got the sense he was holding back for some reason. Then three years after we started this company, Brenda came along. I could tell from the start she wasn’t good for him. But they met at a party and a one-night stand set him up. Then, once she moved in, I think he felt obligated. He ignored her previous two marriages, which had ended quickly and badly, and he married her. I think he thought he could help her—that it would be different with him.”
“Do you think he was depressed about his divorce?”
“Not really. He seemed happy when they awarded him temporary custody of Jack. But that’s when the shitstorm started. They made up stuff, accused him of crazy things. They even called me and said he was in trouble and I needed to get him to settle before it took our company down.” Scott leaned forward. “I think that was the worst. The lies, the shame—that really hurt him.”
“Do you think that’s why he killed himself?”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t see him killing himself. He had Jack. He’d never do anything to hurt him.”
“What about work? Was there anything unusual going on here?”
Scott’s attention drifted out the window again. “You know, now that you mention it, about two months before he died he started on a project for a client, using a new technique he’d developed. He was tight-lipped for the entire project.”
“That’s not unusual in your business, confidentiality?”
“No. But this was a little different. He personally worked on the final data set. Kept it on his personal workstation. Said the client wanted to keep it tight. Once he’d processed the data he removed all the files and said he returned them to the client at their request. He was a little different after that.”
Ike saw Scott’s eyes widen. “Different? How?”
“He never seemed at ease. I felt like he was always thinking about something else. I wrote it off as part of the custody thing with Jack. But he seemed worried. The strange thing was the client. I don’t know why he’d even do the work himself.”
“Can you tell me who the client was?”
“Sorry. I’m bound by the confidentiality clause in the contract: location, the data, the client.”
“Did you tell the detective about this?”
“Detective Cassidy never asked.”
Ike sensed a thread of energy pulsing in the back of his mind. It was like the hair standing up on his Lab’s back when she sensed a threat. What if Tom didn’t kill himself? What if Cassidy didn’t do a thorough job? These were the same cops—the same justice system—that couldn’t give him closure after twenty-two years.
“Can you tell me anything about them?”
There was a raging ethical debate going on in Scott’s eyes. Then he pulled out his lap drawer, typed something into the keyboard, and smiled at Ike. “I need to use the restroom. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
Scott stood and glanced at the monitor, then Ike. “Feel free to enjoy the view.”
Scott left the office and Ike walked around the desk. The web page was of the typical corporate format he’d seen hundreds of times. But the name turned the pulsing energy in his mind into a lightning bolt.
Falzone Energy.
CHAPTER 11
Ike arrived at Confluence Assisted Living in Homewood just before ten. Bright sunshine warmed his back when he exited the Shelby. His mind crackled with anticipation and possibilities. As he approached the entrance that disguised the place as a chalet, he shook off the thought that there might be more to Jack Cole’s case than he thought. Still, he had no intention of taking the case in the face of this opportunity and his commitment to be in Houston tomorrow. He’d convinced himself he’d share wh
at he’d learned with Lauren when he called and be done with it. Right now, he’d focus on coaxing as much as he could from Miss Emma Sosso.
He walked to the sign-in desk and wrote his name, then Emma Sosso’s, and scribbled an illegible room number in the log book.
The older woman at the desk pulled her attention away from the computer screen. She was probably sixty but fit and well-dressed. Her smile was infectious.
“Welcome to Confluence.” She looked down at the log book. “Oh, you’re here to see Emma.”
Ike spotted her name badge. “Good morning, Grace. I’m Ike Rossi. Emma and my mom were close. I was in town and I thought I’d visit Miss Sosso. She was always good to me.” A lie, of course, but a necessary one. He wasn’t sure how secure the facility was.
“How nice. She’s in our memory care facility. It’s on the fifth floor. Up the elevator and you’ll see a door with a keypad. Just punch in 710204 and the door will unlock. She’ll be in the activities room down the hall to the right. If you don’t see her, just ask one of the aides.”
“Thanks, Grace.”
He made his way through the lobby, then past the sitting area, a small movie theater, and a hair salon and reached the single elevator. A few residents were headed to the sitting area for some activity. A blue-shirted woman welcomed each one as she helped them into the sofas and chairs. Some walked well, some shuffled, and some struggled with their walkers, staring at their feet as if commanding them to obey. Ike spotted a man and a woman, each helping the other. For a moment, he envisioned his own parents. That’s how’d they’d be now. Old but active and kind. He drove the thought back down before the sadness could reach his throat. The elevator chimed and he made his way to the fifth floor.
The door was heavy steel with a push bar. Above it, a sign read “Welcome to Our Neighborhood.” He punched the code into the keypad and pushed the bar. The door opened and he entered the hallway. In front of him, a door had a miniature shingled pitched roof over it. To either side of the door was about four feet of siding. Ike looked to the right and left. Every door was adorned the same way. There were sitting areas at each end, one imitating a park and the other a lake shoreline, complete with sound effects.
He made his way down the hallway and passed a woman who gave him an empty smile. She tried one apartment door and then crossed the hall to another and continued the zigzag wandering down the hall. He wanted to help, but he sensed the pattern made her comfortable. Still, it saddened him. He approached two open double doors to his left and heard a TV. A blue-shirted girl wearing a name tag leaned against one of the doors. Stopping between the doors, he looked in. The walls were lined with residents with varying degrees of physical handicaps and awareness. It was worse than he’d expected.
“Hi, sir. Can I help you?” the young girl said.
“I’m here to see Emma.”
She looked into the room and then walked toward a white-haired woman, seated but draped over her walker. “Emma, dear, you have a visitor.”
The woman strained to raise her eyes, but her head didn’t follow. She spotted Ike and gave a childlike smile. The aide helped her stand and Emma shuffled with her walker to meet Ike. The confusion was obvious but the smile stayed.
Ike decided to take command. “Emma, I’m Ike. You and my mom were friends.”
“Oh, how nice,” she said, turning her neck but still not raising her head. It looked painful.
“Can we visit over here?” Ike pointed to the park setting at the end of the hallway.
She started to make her way in that direction. Ike patiently walked at a snail’s pace beside her. He’d always had immense respect for his elders. His father and mother had seen to that. They reached a padded park bench facing a fake lakeside beach.
“Is here okay?”
Emma kept smiling, rotated with her walker, and positioned herself above the bench. Ike helped her sit, then dropped beside her.
“How are you this morning?” Ike said.
“Oh, I’m fine. You’re such a nice young man. What’s your name?”
“Ike.”
Emma just smiled. In her eyes, Ike could tell she was barely keeping up with the conversation.
“Emma, my mother’s name was Luciana. Luciana Rossi.”
“That’s a pretty name. She widened her eyes. And what’s your name?”
“Ike, Miss Sosso.” Ike had read that with Alzheimer’s, long-term memory sometimes lingered, depending on the stage of the disease. He was banking on that. “Miss Sosso, something happened to my mother a while back. I thought you might remember something about it.”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
Ike was patient, but each time she asked he drifted away from hope and closer to hopelessness. “Luciana Rossi. She worked at Carmine’s on Liberty Avenue.”
Ike saw something click in Emma’s struggling mind. Her face shifted to fear and concern. “I told her not to do it.”
Ike’s brain ignited a rush that shuddered through his body, but he remained calm. “Do what, Emma?”
The smile returned and she remained silent.
“Emma, what shouldn’t my mother have done?”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“Luciana. Emma, what shouldn’t she have done?”
Still the empty smile. “What’s your name?”
Ike held his frustration. The woman was clearly struggling. “It’s Ike. What shouldn’t my mother have done?”
The smile vanished and she was searching, straining for an answer. Nothing came. She began to seem a little agitated and Ike saw confusion in her eyes. She’d had enough. As much as he wanted answers, he refused to put Emma under any stress. She didn’t deserve it.
“It’s okay, Emma. We can just sit here. Where are you from?”
She knew that answer. “Bloomfield. I lived there with my mom and dad.”
“That’s nice.”
“My mom let me help her in the kitchen. I liked to cook,” she said proudly.
“My mom liked to cook, too.”
“That’s nice.”
Emma looked off into a place Ike hoped he’d never see. She didn’t say another word. As each second passed, Ike’s despair ate away at him. He hated this feeling. It happened every time he ran into a dead end on his parents’ case. It was a stew of worthlessness and guilt. He told himself that it was nothing compared with what Emma was going through. But she wouldn’t remember. He’d never forget.
After they’d sat for an hour, the aide came over. “Emma, it’s time for lunch. Will your visitor be joining us?”
Ike declined and watched Emma shuffle away into the dining area along with any hope of solving the case. But she had told him something. If it was reliable, which was unlikely, his mother might have been involved in something that got his parents killed. Right now, Ike just didn’t want to believe that. His frustration built as he left the building and thought about what might have happened if the police had found Emma years ago.
The frustration grew into a smoldering rage and he knew what he had to do. It was what he always did when he felt this way. He got into his car and pulled a new burner phone from the glove box. He punched in the numbers and the man answered.
“Set it up. Tonight,” Ike said. He hung up and slammed the phone into the console.
CHAPTER 12
Ike studied the contents of the flat-panel monitor on the wooden desk in the center of his office above Rossi’s. Late-afternoon light leaked through the stenciled glass on his office door and the music below his feet grew more audible, signaling the beginning of Wednesday’s happy hour. A tone preceded the reminder that blocked the document he’d been reading. It told Ike it was four p.m. and time to call Lauren. Instantly, he felt he’d stepped on a high wire with no net. It was a simple call—one he’d made many times before—but somehow this was different.
He’d been scouring police reports, confidential documents, and financial statements provided by GCP Energy in connection with his
commitment in Houston. He’d immersed himself in that work all afternoon and distracted himself from thinking about the dead end in his parents’ case, and the black hole the kid’s case represented. Hours earlier, he’d decided to tell Lauren he couldn’t help Jack and then he’d head to Houston. The reasons were solid: he had a contract and had accepted a retainer and given his word to the client. GCP’s chairman had indicated there was an uneasiness among the executive team, the board, and their families—they wondered who would be next. It was affecting not only their families but everyone in the company, and the bottom line was suffering. They needed to be certain that the deaths of their CFO and CEO were not, in fact, murders. The chairman had information that made him wonder, and he needed Ike to run it to the ground.
That was it. He’d tell Lauren he’d given his word. And his father had said to never break that promise. His commitment. The reasoning had sat well when he decided to turn her down, but now he’d have to tell her. The image of Jack sitting on the courthouse bench alone, eyes begging, didn’t help.
Ike picked up his phone as he stood and looked out onto Liberty Avenue. Traffic was thickening thanks to the shift change at West Penn Hospital down the street. He entered the number Lauren had given him and leaned against the window frame.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded full of expectation and hope. He hated to do this.
“Lauren, this is—I—”
“Mr. Rossi. So nice to hear from you. I thought we’d hear from you today.”
Ike heard Jack and another boy yelling and laughing.
Lauren covered the phone, but Ike still heard. “Boys, boys. I’m on the phone with Mr. Rossi. Please go in the other room.”
She wasn’t making this easy.
“Okay,” she said returning to the call. “Jack and my son, Jimmy, finished their homework and I let them get out the Star Wars gear.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It is. It’s just a joy to watch them play. Jimmy is the only one Jack plays with these days.”
Ike sank even lower against the window but stayed silent.
