Riddle Me This (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  “I appreciate you checking on me, but I’ve got work to do.”

  The only work I had to do at the moment was try to not let my butt get numb, but even that was more appealing that hosting another tricky conversation. I’d already had one this evening, and this was teetering on the edge of becoming a second. I was drained of all emotional responses and needed to recharge with a good old murder investigation.

  Russo glanced out the window, his profile highlighted just as Gem’s had been. While the two men shared some features, a similar quiet calm, for example, they were night and day different in every other way.

  Where Gem’s eyes glittered under the moonlight, his hair dancing freely and at will, Russo had a hardened look that was much more familiar. He’d closed off the light-hearted side of himself to outsiders, much like I had. Russo’s hair was ruffled in an attractive, disheveled look that required no more styling prowess than a set of fingers run through it.

  He faced me. “I see. Well, goodnight then, detective.”

  It appeared Russo was struggling to say more. A different night, I might have waited for him to figure out his words. Encouraged him, even. I was curious, deep down, to unravel the agent and what made him tick. But not tonight.

  Saved by the ring of my phone, I glanced down to find Asha’s name across the screen. By the time I looked up, Russo had let himself out of the car and was standing in the chill outside. As I answered, he closed the door and retreated to his own vehicle.

  “What’s up?” I greeted Asha, watching Russo as he settled in his vehicle. “Got something for me?”

  “Why are you awake?” Asha asked. “It’s four in the morning.”

  “Better question: Why are you awake?”

  “I woke up in a dead sweat an hour ago,” Asha said. “It occurred to me that I was missing something in my search for the guards. It bugs me when I can’t figure something out.”

  “You and me both.” I sighed and tore my eyes from Russo.

  “You talking about the case?” Asha asked. “Or is something else on your mind?”

  “Let’s just say my mind is overworked, and I’m desperate for a good lead.”

  “Then you’re in luck. So, I got to thinking—Jonathan Tate is the only personal tie Wilkes has to the case, right? He had contact with him from inside prison.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been hung up on.”

  “That’s a good place to get hung,” Asha quipped, “because I think there’s something there. The guard—Bellows—his real name is James Cordone. He’s got ties to Tate.”

  “What sort of ties?”

  “Bingo—they’re actually more of a direct link. Phone calls. I traced a burner phone that belongs to James Cordone, aka Bellows. There are records of calls from Jonathan to Cordone as recently as last week.”

  “You’re kidding me. Wilkes got Jonathan to do his dirty work, and then he killed him.”

  “There’s more,” Asha continued. “Cordone has been on three flights to LaCrosse in the last six months.”

  “Well, that just seems stupid,” I said. “Why would Cordone leave such an obvious trail?”

  “I’m assuming Cordone didn’t think I’d ever get this far,” Asha said. “In his defense, he used a discreet second phone that wasn’t easy to find. Not to pat myself on the back, but without that phone I wouldn’t have found the link.”

  I hid a smile. “You’re the best.”

  “Impressive, seeing as I’m not even done yet,” Asha said. “Though this next piece isn’t great.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Cordone’s coming to you. He’s on a flight landing in the cities at seven this morning.”

  My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “What? Why? That makes no sense. Wilkes always works alone.”

  “Then either Wilkes has changed and turned over a new leaf,” Asha said, “or he’s let Cordone think so. If I had to guess, Cordone’s presence here isn’t an accident. How could it be at this rate?”

  I shook my head. “Cordone must be an idiot, then. He’s walking right into a trap.”

  “A trap?”

  “Wilkes probably let Cordone think they were partners. Working together,” I said. “But Cordone’s coming to Wilkes... who will be wanting to tie up loose ends.”

  “That’s cold,” Asha said. “Especially since Cordone charged the flight on his own Visa. Granted, he got a mystery cash deposit of five grand a few weeks back. I’ll bet you that came from Wilkes, or Tate, or some combination.”

  “I’ve got to get to the airport.”

  “Not a bad idea. And if I were you, I’d aim to hit the QuickCar rental. He’s got a reservation for when he lands.”

  “Perfect.”

  “One thing, Kate—do me a favor. Bring some friends. Don’t take this alone.”

  I looked over to Russo. “I don’t think I have a choice. Thanks, Asha. Let me know if anything else pings.”

  “You got it. Good luck.”

  I climbed out of the car, made my way to Russo’s new rental. He had the window rolled down by the time I stopped next to him.

  “My car or yours?”

  Russo glanced over my shoulder. “I’d hardly call that a car.”

  I extended a hand with the set of keys I’d pulled from the ignition. “You can drive.”

  “We shouldn’t take a civilian’s car.”

  “I thought you’d say so,” I agreed. “So, your car, then?”

  Chapter 19

  We made it to the airport without incident. I’d texted Gem on the drive to let him know I’d left his car behind. He responded by asking if we’d bought the insurance on Russo’s new rental.

  “Funny,” I said, reading the message as Russo pulled into the QuickCar slot at the airport and shut the lights off. “Gem doesn’t think we can get this car back in one piece.”

  “I have my doubts.”

  “You’re the one driving!”

  “The sheer fact that you’re in the car with me makes this trip a thousand times more dangerous.”

  I rolled my eyes, settled back in the seat, and set in to wait. According to the flight plan, we had another ten minutes or so until the plane landed. Twenty minutes or so until Bellows would be off the aircraft and in the lobby.

  “I want to apologize,” Russo said. “I’m sorry I snuck up on you and Gem. I really did assume you were in danger. I wasn’t thinking in the moment; I just reacted.”

  I gave a playful cluck of my tongue. “You were worried about me, admit it.”

  Russo didn’t deny it. “At least I didn’t pull my gun on my partner.”

  “You startled me!” We sat in easy silence for a moment before I continued. “You don’t owe me an apology. I appreciate you watching my back.”

  “If there’s something between you and him—”

  “There’s not,” I said quickly. “I mean, it’s complicated. But we’re just friends.”

  Russo nodded, not looking entirely convinced. Frankly, I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t convinced myself. Seeing as I didn’t know exactly where I stood with Russo either, it was safe to say my relationships were a bit of a mess.

  “So, you said Asha called,” Russo said. “Why don’t you fill me in on the rest of the details while we wait for Bellows to show?”

  I was grateful for the change in subject. Sitting back, I studied Russo as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. His face was hard to read. However, as I delved deeper into the circumstances that had brought us to the QuickCar lot at the airport, his expression morphed from one of conflict to one of determination. We’d successfully switched from personal to business.

  “What I don’t understand is the connection between Tate and Cordone,” Russo said. “I see the obvious connection, but why him? Why the easily traceable flights? It doesn’t fit for me. Think about it. We’ve got a guy nicknamed Bellows—the name itself lends me to think he’s not the subtle, thoughtful type.”

  “Fair.”

&nb
sp; “He also didn’t know enough to ditch his burner phone. Without meeting the guy, I’m going to guess he’s not a stealthy mastermind—he’s the muscle. Even low-level drug dealers know to keep cycling through different burners.”

  “I agree, but we can’t ignore the fact that Bellows is here now, and so is Wilkes,” I pointed out. “Maybe one or the other was too paranoid to talk over the phone and wanted to make plans in person.”

  “Even if I bought that—which I don’t—it doesn’t explain why Cordone’s here now, at this moment. Wilkes has already escaped. Wouldn’t it be best for both to lay low?”

  “Maybe Wilkes doesn’t know anything about it,” I said, taking on a new spin. “Maybe Cordone caught wind of us sniffing around at the prison and got nervous. Booked a ticket up here to confront Tate—not knowing he was dead.”

  Russo considered. “I could see it. That’s an emotional reaction, not a logical one. He’s renting a car, so he might’ve been planning to drive up to LaCrosse.”

  I looked down at my phone and held up a hand to pause Russo in his tracks. “I’ve got a message from Asha. She was cross checking withdrawals from Jonathan Tate’s account to see if it matched up timing-wise with deposits to Cordone’s account.”

  “And?”

  “They don’t match up, but...”

  Russo waited while I skimmed Asha’s note.

  “Jonathan didn’t deposit every one of his paychecks,” I said. “He’s probably got a cash stash somewhere or even a second account.”

  “Not something most average, upstanding Americans often do,” Russo said. “Unless they’re hiding something.”

  “Whatever the logic is, we’ll find out soon,” I said. “Seeing as that’s him.”

  “What’s your plan?” Russo asked. “Take him in for questioning?”

  “I vote we follow him for now. Give him a head start. It’s possible he could lead us to Wilkes.” My heart pounded at the thought. “I guarantee Bellows is going into this blind. Wilkes wouldn’t have told him anything important. Bringing him in this early would just blow the best lead we have.”

  “Bellows will need to know where to go.”

  “Exactly. Following him might be our only chance to get Sarah back alive.”

  “Maybe we should have taken Gem’s car,” Russo said. “I’d hate to have to fill out more paperwork if something happens to this one.”

  “I don’t plan on anything happening to the car,” I said. “My only plan is letting Cordone lead us to Wilkes.”

  Our conversation dissolved into a tense silence. We watched as James Cordone made his way to the counter and handed over a credit card, which supported Russo’s theory that Cordone wasn’t the brains behind the operation. Paying with a credit card, leaving paper trails, flight plans—not exactly the sneakiest guy.

  “Unless he’s got nothing to hide,” I muttered. “What if this has nothing to do with Wilkes at all? He’s really not trying to be sneaky. No hat, no cheap disguise, and I’m betting that credit card’s not a fake. What gives?”

  “If he’s not trying to hide something, why did he have the second phone in the first place?” Russo cranked the car on, put it into drive. We buckled our seat belts.

  Cordone signed a slip of paper, then accepted the keys from the employee behind the counter. He set off toward the garage while the receptionist was still talking and didn’t give him a backward glance. Cordone didn’t look happy. If anything, he looked angry.

  “You want to call this in yet?” Russo asked.

  “Asha knows we’re here,” I said. “Let’s just focus on keeping up with him. He’s hopping in that Subaru.”

  Russo eased out of the parking spot. He allowed Bellows plenty of time to throw his bag in the trunk, adjust his seat and mirrors, slip the keys into the ignition.

  We were just pulling forward when Bellows turned the key.

  And the world exploded.

  The confined quarters of the parking garage made the incredible boom all the more deafening. I threw the door open, glanced back. Russo’s mouth was moving, but I couldn’t make out a word he was saying.

  I left the door open as I hurtled toward the burning car, but the heat kept me back. The mushroom of smoke and flames grew and spread, blackening the cement around it.

  Just as quickly, it slipped into a controlled burn. Cordone’s car, a mangled mess, simmered beneath a slew of orange licks of fire. I covered my nose as smoke engulfed us. My ears rang.

  I looked to my left, startled to find Russo beside me. His face was pinched. His elbow brushed against mine, and the touch was like a rock of comfort in a sea of confusion.

  We exchanged a look. The heat had mostly died down, letting us move close enough to get a glimpse of the body in the front seat. I cursed at the sight of Bellows’s burned remains in the driver’s seat. He hadn’t stood a chance.

  “Looks like we’re not going to be talking to him after all,” Russo remarked. “In true Wilke’s style, the guy doesn’t even have fingerprints.”

  “He’s got teeth,” I said. “Which I suppose is an improvement.”

  “I knew we should have intercepted him.”

  “It’s my fault,” I said angrily. “I underestimated Wilkes.”

  “You couldn’t have known.” Russo put a hand on my shoulder, squeezed. “You did what you had to do. I thought it was a solid plan.”

  “I should have seen it coming. I know Wilkes,” I said. “He wouldn’t have taken the chance we’d have found out about Cordone. And with how sloppy Bellows was, Wilkes wouldn’t have let him hang around town for long.”

  “Hey, you said it yourself. Wilkes wouldn’t have told Bellows anything. You getting involved sooner would’ve only put you in danger, too.”

  “Still.”

  “Come on, Kate.” Russo tugged me back from the car. “Let’s give our statements and get out of here. There’s nothing more for us to do.”

  I spun around, surveyed the parking garage as if I might find Wilkes slithering amongst the onlookers to survey the damage his hand had created. He was nowhere to be seen. That didn’t stop my heart from pounding, my palms from dampening with sweat.

  A crowd had appeared now that the immediate threat had passed and was growing by the second. There were some shrieks, some gasps. A few people were on the phone with 911. The front desk receptionist was hurriedly speaking into the landline, gesticulating wildly from his post, his eyes the size of saucers as he stared out at the smoldering car.

  As I took in everything, every movement, every glance, every breath, I felt my pulse slow. Russo’s hand never once left my shoulder. It was a calming presence, and by the time I regulated my breathing to a normal pattern, I wondered if I’d missed Wilkes’s smiling face hiding among the crowd.

  Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer by the second. An involuntary shudder shook my shoulders. When the cop cars arrived on the scene, I finally unfroze myself from my perch near the burning car and fished out my badge. Russo did the same.

  We gave our names to the cops and unloaded our version of the story on them. I requested the report be completed with the utmost urgency and sent over to the TC Task Force as soon as it was ready. But deep down, I knew we’d learn nothing of any significance from the report in the case against Wilkes. By the time the information came back, Sarah might be dead.

  I turned, trying to keep my chin up as we returned to Russo’s rental. Russo got in the driver’s seat. His expression was stern. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was upset by what I saw in return: A woman dejected, frustrated, helpless.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I murmured to Russo. “That was our best lead, and I blew it.”

  “You need some rest,” Russo said. “Let me take you home. I’ll sleep on the couch. Give me two hours, and then we’ll get the day started.”

  I was too tired to argue.

  He drove me home. I kept the window down the entire way. Russo never once complained, though he did pull his glove
s on as he sped toward my side of town. The early morning air was biting cold, but it served its purpose. It whipped through my hair, leaving tendrils dotted with snow from the light swirls in the air.

  I pulled out my keys, let us into my house. It was empty. Jane must have stayed with my mother like I’d requested, which was a small miracle.

  Russo cleared his throat as he stepped inside, knocked his boots on the front step to clear the snow. When he made another noise in his throat, I turned back to find the source of his dismay.

  There, on the floor, was another letter. I didn’t need to see the handwriting to know it was from Wilkes.

  Leaning over, I picked it up and made no effort to shield the contents from Russo. At this point, we were in it together. Peeling back the seal, I pulled out a simple white piece of folded cardstock.

  Kate,

  I’m sure you’re upset I haven’t let you see me yet. But I’ve watched you, and I don’t like what I see. You look tired. Don’t disappoint me. I expect more from you.

  I couldn’t say how long I spent looking at the card. Only that I snapped to attention when Russo gently pulled it from my grasp, relieving me of the bitter words scrawled on the paper.

  “I’ll turn this in,” he said carefully. “Later. Give me two hours of sleep.”

  I moved upstairs without argument. I’d slept no more than a disrupted three hours in the car outside of Gem’s, and it wasn’t enough. Even my bones felt tired.

  I fell into bed still dressed, smelling of a bonfire. I was out before my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter 20

  I woke to the sound of a buzzing phone. My cell was on the nightstand, vibrating with an incoming call. Reaching over, I answered it after one look at the name.

  “Hey,” I said, clearing my throat quickly to rid myself of the sleepiness in my voice. “What’s up, doc?”

  Melinda didn’t waste a beat. “Did I wake you?”

  “That’s not important. Do you have something for me?”

  While Melinda hesitated, I glanced down and found a blanket pulled over me. It was one I kept on the living room couch. With a sudden panic, I glanced at the nightstand, half expecting to see another bouquet of roses or stash of chocolate.