Leroy folded his hands onto his lap, then immediately unfolded them.
“And what if they don’t?” he asked.
“Then we go to the media, tell them about how fucked up the Nuit du Femme or whatever the fuck it’s called went.”
Leroy offered an affirmative grunt, but Drake could tell that the man was apprehensive.
Drake was, too.
The last time they’d involved the media in a case, the streets of New York had nearly become the scene of a riot. But recourses when it came to people who owned places like the one that they pulled up in front of now—a sprawling estate with an intricate wrought iron fence guarding a long, bricked drive—were limited.
“Maybe we won’t be without the cops after all,” Leroy remarked.
Drake spotted the NYPD cruiser a second later and cursed himself for not noticing it before. Hanna was right. For a PI, Drake’s observational skills were lacking. He parked and exited his Crown Vic, instructing Leroy to follow. As he neared the cop car, an officer he didn’t recognize stepped out.
“Mr. Drake?” the cop said. “The Fairchilds are expecting you.” He gestured toward the iron gate that hung open.
Drake’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t entirely clear who had summoned this police officer: Yasiv or the Fairchilds.
“Just Drake. Is the—”
“I thought you said the cops weren’t coming?” Hanna asked, appearing behind them. Screech was at her heels. “Who’s this?”
“Officer Pete Macallister, ma’am.”
Hanna rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.
“Ma’am?”
There was an awkward silence as the officer’s dark eyes shifted to all four members of DSLH.
“Sorry,” the cop grumbled. Then, focusing on Drake, repeated, “The Fairchilds are expecting you.”
“Good.” Drake turned to his team and spoke in a voice low enough that the officer couldn’t overhear. “Screech, you and I ask the questions. Leroy, they might have—” he paused, knowing that what he was going to say next wouldn’t go over well. “—hired help, maids, that sort of thing. Try to spark up a conversation with them. They might be more receptive to you because you’re younger. Hanna, look around but don’t—aw, whatever, just do your thing. Got it?”
“Got it,” Screech confirmed.
When Drake stepped toward the gate, the officer moved in sync with him.
“No, you stay here,” Drake instructed. The cop might have been summoned by the Fairchilds, but this was part of the case and Drake was the one in charge. The officer must have realized this as he made a face but allowed them all to pass and remained by the gate.
“Gee, thank you, sir,” Hanna said in a thick Southern accent.
As Drake walked up the driveway, he took in his surroundings, forcing himself to observe so as to not be chastised by Hanna later if he missed something. It was about fifty meters or so from the front gate to the door. The right half of the driveway was framed by topiary, but the left opened up, continuing down the side of the brick mansion to allow for additional parking. There were two foreign cars were sitting directly ahead of them, but it was a third car that held Drake’s interest. An old, gray Chevy hatchback from the late eighties was parked off to one side. It didn’t look as if someone were trying to hide the vehicle, but it was parked in a way that indicated they weren’t keen on advertising it, either.
“Hello, Drake,” a woman with tanned skin sporting a white blouse and dark uniform trousers said from the doorway.
“Hi,” he said, smiling back. She was pretty, with full lips and shiny black hair that was pulled into a tight bun. “I believe the Fairchilds are—”
“—expecting you,” a grinning Burt Lancaster finished for him. “Thank you, Sylvie.”
The maid left and Burt held the door wide.
“Come on in.”
Drake wasn’t surprised that the lawyer was here, but Hanna was.
“Hey, Burty, you know why they bury lawyers fifteen feet underground?”
“Hanna—”
“Of course,” Burt said, his grin growing. “Because deep down we’re good people.”
Hanna blinked.
“No, it’s because you guys are fucking assholes.”
Leroy chuckled and Drake felt a smirk forming on his lips.
“Okay, okay, rocky start, I get it. But like I said last night to Drake, we’re all here to help.”
Always posturing.
“Well, you can help by telling me where the bathroom is because I have to piss. I presume that you have at least two per penis in this house. So—” Hanna made a point to cast an exaggerated look over Burt’s shoulder. Norm Fairchild was standing in the hallway, pretending not to have noticed his visitors. “—I guess that means you have two of them.”
Burt’s smile faltered but didn’t vanish completely.
“Sylvie? Can you please direct Mrs. Hanna to the restroom?”
“Missus?”
Thinking that the temperature of the room was about to change, Drake finally stepped in.
“You’re right, we all want the same thing.”
Hanna sneered but remained silent while being led off by the maid.
“Good. Please, come with me.”
Burt led them through a massive marble foyer and beneath a spectacular crystal chandelier. The two winding staircases that rose on either side were equally impressive. But they mounted neither. Instead, Burt took them down a hallway and into a separate room.
Drake had seen luxury before, had seen wealth of the sort he had no business ever casting eyes upon. Ken Smith had that sort of money, but this was different. If the late mayor had fuck you money, the Fairchilds had fuck everybody raw, no reach around, no fancy lubrication or even spit required, money.
They were untouchable.
Drake could see this now.
And that was the real reason why Burt Lancaster was always flashing his veneers—it wasn’t just because of the Botox.
“Good morning,” Norm said, extending his hand. Drake shook it. He looked to Lisa next, but she didn’t even bother rising from the couch. Norm introduced himself to Leroy and Screech. “And this is my wife, Lisa. It was her exhibit and as you can imagine, she’s quite—”
“Did you find the prick who ruined my night?” Lisa demanded.
Drake was glad that Hanna was in the bathroom because he didn’t think he would’ve been able to control her if she’d been present.
Or if he’d even try.
Drake sighed and looked toward the wall of windows off to the right.
“Please, sit,” Norm pleaded.
Maybe Leroy’s right, he thought. Maybe this is all just a big waste of time.
Screech sat on one side of the couch and Drake on the other. Leroy elected to stand behind it. The Fairchilds and Burt took up the exact same positions, with the lawyer remaining on his feet.
“It wasn’t a prank, Mrs. Fairchild,” Drake said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Lisa pursed her lips.
“Hmm, well, that’s too bad,” she said, not meaning a word of it.
Fuck.
“How can we help?” Burt offered, as unimpressed by Lisa’s comments as Drake was.
“Well, we went through the work manifest and found an anomaly with the catering staff.”
“What kind of an anomaly?” Lisa suddenly seemed interested.
Drake nodded at Screech and the man produced a photograph and held it out. Burt reached for it, but Lisa beat him to the punch.
“I don’t—I don’t know who this is,” she said after no more than a casual glance at the manifest and photograph that Screech had printed from the art gallery’s security cameras. She held it out, but Drake didn’t take it back. Eventually, Norm relieved his wife of the burden.
He spent a good minute looking it over before passing it on to Burt.
“Yeah, I—I dunno. I don’t remember seeing him either. Did he—did he do this?”
“All I know is that he wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“Well, I’ve never seen him before,” Lisa again.
“You sure?” Screech asked.
Lisa’s upper lip curled.
“Are you just going to sit there and ask me the same questions over and over again? Because if you are, I have more important—”
“My clients have answered you already. Is there anything else that you would like to ask?” Burt said, his smile gone now.
Out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw Screech reaching into his pocket for the other photograph that they’d brought along with them, the one that showed Lisa speaking, and getting close, to this very waiter. He reached out and gently grabbed the man’s wrist, staying his hand.
One thing that he’d learned as a detective was that you didn’t play cards with victims, suspects, or politicians while wearing mirrored glasses.
There would be a time to show that picture, but that time wasn’t now.
“Well, he was present during the exhibition, but he wasn’t supposed to be there—he wasn’t on the work list. And he snuck out before we could get his name,” he reiterated.
“Drake, my clients do not recall seeing this particular individual at the exhibition.”
Lisa’s scowl intensified and Drake took note.
“There were, like, a dozen waiters there… you expect me to know every one of them?”
“Eight.”
“What?”
Drake raised his eyes.
“There were eight waiters at the gallery.”
Lisa looked over her shoulder at Burt.
“Is this guy for real? How am I supposed to—”
Norm quickly changed the subject.
“Did you find anything on the security cameras? Did you get a shot of the person who did this? Whoever made that… thing?”
“Unfortunately, the cameras were switched off before the exhibit.”
“I guess you’re going to blame that on me, too?” Lisa said.
It was a curious choice of words given that Drake hadn’t blamed the woman for anything, yet.
Other than being a colossal asshole.
Lisa perceived his silence as a threat and became even more defensive.
“You know what, Burt? I’m done with this. I’m not going to sit here and be berated by these people in my own home. They’re not even cops.”
“Lisa, we said we would—” Norm put a comforting arm on Lisa’s shoulders, but she shook free.
“Please, ask these men to go,” she snapped.
When Norm failed to oblige, Burt stepped up.
“I’m sorry but my clients have answered your questions. Now, if you have any other requests, please address them to my office.”
“Really? We’re just getting started,” Leroy said. “We asked one question. What the hell is going on here?”
Drake stood.
“No, it’s fine. We’re done.”
“Drake…” Leroy protested.
“No, we’re done. Thank you for your time.”
Drake guided Leroy and Screech to the foyer and was unsurprised to find Hanna waiting for them there. He heard Norm speaking in hushed tones to his wife behind them, but it was Burt who followed them to the door.
“I’m sorry, Drake. As you can see, I tried to get them to help. You’re welcome to talk to any of the other guests, I’m sure they’ll be more… how should I put this… cooperative.”
Drake stared the man in the eyes, trying to determine if he was still posturing or if he was genuinely trying to help.
It was impossible to tell.
“That won’t be necessary,” Drake said. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Oh, shucks, just when the party was starting to get fun,” Hanna said in her fake accent again.
“Let’s go.”
Officer Pete Macallister met them at the bottom of the driveway.
“I hope you found what you were looking for.”
“What we found was a complete waste of time,” Screech grunted.
“I’m sorry about that. And I’m also—” the officer’s radio crackled, and he excused himself, turning his back to answer. “Yeah?”
“Ten-thirty: 5443 Doherty Ave. Level Three.”
“Maybe not,” Hanna remarked.
Drake looked at her as they moved toward their respective vehicles.
“Maybe not what?”
Hanna glanced toward the cop, but he was already in his car. Whatever had been relayed to him over his radio clearly took precedence over babysitting the Fairchilds.
Hanna, looking more than a little suspicious, produced a thick shoelace from her pocket and held it up.
“Maybe it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” she said with a sheepish grin.
Drake blinked. It wasn’t a shoelace, he realized.
It was a suture.
Chapter 22
“I have to go,” Screech said suddenly. He did his best to keep the tremor from his voice.
“What?” Leroy asked.
“I have to go,” Screech repeated, trying to inject more confidence into his voice. He looked at Drake whose attention was split between him and Hanna.
“What do you mean?” Drake asked.
“I just—I forgot I had to do something.”
Screech swallowed hard as the words that had squawked over the police radio echoed in his head: Ten-thirty: 5443 Doherty Ave. Level Three.
Hanna wagged the suture.
“Are you blind? Did you not see what I found? This links the two—”
“Put that away,” Drake hissed.
“Yeah, yeah,” Screech replied. “I saw it. But look, I gotta go. I’ll catch up later.”
With no experience in law enforcement, he had no idea what a ten-thirty was or what level three meant. But that didn’t matter; what mattered was the address he’d overheard.
5443 Doherty Ave.
Drake, Hanna, and Leroy didn’t recognize it.
But Screech did.
Located in Little Italy, 5443 Doherty Avenue housed a small Italian restaurant called Taglia’s. And this restaurant just happened to be owned by Nick Petrazzino, the head of the Casata Sacra, the largest crime family in New York City.
The very same organization that Leroy had become indebted to, a debt that had since been passed on to Screech.
“Am I missing something? What the fuck is going on here?” Hanna asked, looking around. “First Yasiv backs out and now you? I’m no expert like Drake here, but I’m thinking that this guy isn’t going to stop at just one skinsuit. I think he’s going to try and make an entire fashion line. We have to find him before he kills again.”
Screech winced. He felt bad about leaving his team in the lurch, but he had to see what was up with Nick Petrazzino.
Why were the cops called to his restaurant?
“I’m sorry, I just gotta go,” he muttered moving toward his car. “Hanna, can you… can you ride with them?”
The last time Screech had seen Nick, the man had ordered him to follow Tommy Wilde, a man who ran a crime scene clean-up company. This had nearly resulted in a car accident and being killed by Tommy’s strange Russian henchman. Screech’s most recent interaction with a member of the Petrazzino clan had been with Nick’s daughter, Aurora, for whom he’d wiped a cell phone.
And that had nearly put him straight in the DA’s crosshairs.
“Just… I-I’ll-I’ll meet you later,” he said quickly.
Screech got into his car and started to drive, trying not to look at the gawking faces of his partners as he sped off.
Suture or not, he had to find out what was going on at Taglia’s. Even though he’d only been to the restaurant a couple of times, he’d committed the route to memory knowing that it might come in handy someday.
Like today.
But even if Screech had only known the general area of the city that it was in, the dozens of flashing lights and blaring sirens would have led him right to it.
�
�What the hell is going on here?” he muttered under his breath.
In addition to the squad cars, he noticed two large black vans, the rear doors of which were open wide. He was still at least a block and a half away and yet Screech could see Nick’s right-hand man, the monster of a human with a long gray ponytail, being dragged out of the restaurant. It took two SWAT officers and three uniformed NYPD cops to contain him.
“What the hell?”
Screech squinted and leaned over the steering wheel, trying to get a better look.
“Hey!” someone shouted. “Hey!”
Screech glanced up just in time to swerve to the right and avoid running over a police officer who was standing in the middle of the road.
“Shit!”
He hammered on the brakes and the officer was immediately at his window.
“Open it!” the man ordered.
Screech looked from the cop to the restaurant, desperately trying to figure out what was happening.
Was this it? Are they bringing Nick down?
“Open the fucking window or I’ll break the glass!” To emphasize his words, the officer tapped the glass with the barrel of his gun.
Screech quickly rolled down the window and then placed both of hands on the steering wheel.
“You almost ran me over! What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I—I—I—”
“I—I—I,” the officer mocked. “Get the fuck out of the car.”
Screech swallowed but the lump in his throat failed to go down. He couldn’t get arrested now.
Not here. Not while there was a madman out there skinning women and fashioning their skins into dresses.
“I’m sorry, I was just—”
The officer scowled.
“You hard of hearing? Get out of the car.”
Fuck!
Seeing no other option now, Screech reached to open the door.
“I know Sergeant—”
“Hey! Draper! Get the fuck over here!” Another officer shouted.
“This guy—”
“I don’t care, get your ass over here!”
The cop outside Screech’s car window horked and spat a thick wad onto the pavement.
“You’re one lucky asshole… turn your car around and get the fuck out of here.”
“Yeah, I’m—I’m sorry.”
Not wanting to give the man a chance to change his mind, Screech slammed his foot on the accelerator and quickly pulled a U-turn. Despite the officer’s orders, Screech slowed as he noticed a second person being dragged out of Taglia’s. This man wasn’t as large as the first, but he was big, with a huge boiler of a gut that threatened to rupture all of the buttons on his white shirt.
Straw Man Page 10
