He shook his head at his audacity to think that it was a good time to ask her to marry him. He hoped that giving her something to look forward to would strengthen their relationship and help Kelly weather her emotional storm, but upon further reflection, it was more likely to drive her away. What she needed was time. She’d let him know when she was ready to take the next step.
The best thing he could do was to tie up all the loose ends of the David Harper and Tommy Moretti cases. Hopefully, that would put Kelly’s mind at ease.
Pete had no idea that in diligently carrying out his investigations, he wouldn’t be putting Kelly’s mind at ease.
Far from it.
80
Kelly suffered through another sleepless night. Her body begged for rest, but her mind never got out of overdrive, recounting over and over every moment in that garage. Her temptation to down a few Valium was overruled by her need to be clear-headed. She hadn’t begun to process the things she’d learned last night from Anthony Moretti and what the ramifications might be. How many other people knew Gideon’s identity? Had Benedetto gotten out the word that the hit on Angelo was done by Gideon? If so, would that misdirect be effective in signaling that Gideon was alive and well?
She needed to meet with Benedetto one last time. She’d been led to believe there were no more loose ends, and that belief almost got her killed. Where was Benedetto getting his information and why didn’t he know about Anthony? Or worse yet, if he did know, why hadn’t he told her?
Kelly made two calls from her house phone: one to Benedetto to set up a meeting, and the other to Vik to let him know she’d be late (again). Both men were amenable and said they’d be happy to accommodate her.
She had one more call to make, but she didn’t know what to say to Pete about last night, or, for that matter, about anything. He’d be worried about her, which seemed to be a constant theme these days. In this instance, he’d have reason to, given the fact that she didn’t show up or even call him last night.
Kelly reluctantly dialed his number, and her shoulders untensed when she got his voicemail. “Pete, it’s Kelly. I’m so sorry about last night. I was headed to the restaurant when I suddenly got really nauseous. I thought I was going to die.” She paused, wishing she hadn’t said that. “I caught a taxi home and spent the night in the bathroom. I’ll spare you the details. Anyway, sorry again that I didn’t call. Let’s talk later.”
She hung up and stared at the phone. It was getting easier and easier to lie.
An hour and a half later, Kelly was seated across from Benedetto, greedily finishing a flaky palmier from Arsicault Bakery and a double cappuccino. She craved the sugar and caffeine, and after second helpings of both, she was finally able to quell the frayed electrical connections inside her brain.
As always, Benedetto was the model of calm. She’d told him on the phone that she urgently needed to speak to him, but it was apparent she had to get her thoughts in order first. Hence, the nourishment. Once Kelly’s eyes were clear and her hands stopped shaking, he bade her to tell her tale.
It took a full thirty minutes for Kelly to recap the night, beginning with waking up in the garage to breaking down in her shower. Benedetto stopped her a few times to ask questions (“What were his exact words when he referred to your father?” and “Did you leave anything behind that could place you at the scene?”).
Benedetto assured her he’d get an update on the status of the fire, including the forensics and arson reports. This gave Kelly the opportunity to question the veracity of the intelligence he was gathering.
“Your information has been sketchy, and it almost got me killed… twice. You said that Tommy Moretti killed my father, which turned out to be wrong. You said that Anthony Moretti had died overseas. If I’d have known he was alive, I could’ve taken some kind of precautions,” she said with an edge of anger and exasperation. “As it was, I took revenge on… murdered, the wrong man and then was almost cremated!”
Benedetto took a sip of water, then gently placed his glass down. “I understand your frustration. It’s frustrating for me as well. Let me say a few things. The information we collect from the street is often embellished by sources that are looking to make a buck or garner favors. Over the years, I’ve gotten quite adept at weeding out the bullshit and getting to the truth. In the case of Tommy Moretti, I had several reliable sources tell me that he was taking credit for the death of your father. Either he was trying to protect Anthony, or, more likely, he was looking to bolster his street cred in the right circles. When you combine that with the police findings, I felt rather certain that he was driving the car that struck your father.
“You feel bad that you killed Tommy, but as you yourself discovered, he was onto you and Jessica, and was planning on killing you both. So while you didn’t gain vengeance from his death, you accomplished your primary objective, which was to protect yourself and your sister.
“As far as Anthony’s concerned, I have no explanation. The United States Army listed him as killed in action. There was no record of him resurfacing anywhere in the country. He had no driver’s license, no credit cards, had never applied for a job or rented an apartment. He was invisible. I realize that’s no excuse, but I hope you can understand how he escaped our attention. He simply no longer existed.”
“Except,” Kelly said, “to kill my father and then try to kill me.”
Benedetto nodded. “There are a lot of dangerous people out there, and most of them are under the radar, walking around in daylight, working at your local shops, eating at McDonalds, taking their children to soccer practice. Even the ones who do have driver’s licenses and credit cards and jobs and houses, have secret lives, some of them incredibly dark. Try as we might, no one can know when a person is going to snap, buy a rifle and shoot up a school or a movie theatre. Similarly, no one could predict that the brain-addled homeless man who came into your clinic ranting about your father cutting out his organs was actually the KIA son of a mob boss looking for revenge.”
Kelly’s anger abated. Benedetto was right. There were a lot of evil people hiding in plain sight. She was one of them. “I hope Anthony was telling the truth when he said ‘this is how it ends’, and that the vendetta is over,” she said.
“All I can tell you is that Arthur Moretti only had two sons, and Tommy was his only nephew. I highly doubt anyone else in the organization was aware of Tommy’s hypothesis that Gideon was your father, because Tommy wanted that reward money for himself. Also, we’ve planted the information that Angelo Moretti’s death was a Gideon hit, so that should put an end to any speculation to the contrary. There is one other thing.”
Kelly took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Despite herself, she even felt a small twinge of a smile. “Of course there is.”
“A week ago, two men attempted to set fire to your clinic.”
“I know all about it.” For once, she was ahead of Benedetto. “Nathan Curtis risked his life to save the building.”
Benedetto nodded. “I mention this because you never know who your enemies are, and who’s watching your back.”
Kelly sat quietly, taking it all in. The incident at the clinic had nothing to do with Gideon, or the Moretti family. It was purely a case of greed and malicious business.
There was no question that society was plagued by countless evil people.
The question was, what, if anything, was she going to do about it?
81
Kelly had gotten word to Oscar (she couldn’t bring herself to refer to him as Spider) that she needed to see him. A twelve-year-old boy dressed in low-slung blue jeans, an oversized red T-shirt and a red bandana waited for her outside the clinic and gave her a time and place. She noticed that the boy hadn’t even started shaving yet.
Oscar was in Clarion Alley, leaning up against a mural of a heart decorated with a banner that read “we’re all in this together”. Oscar had a flair for the dramatic, as well as armed bangers on either end of the alley to ensure his safety.
Kelly began by thanking him for protecting the clinic and for taking Nathan to the hospital. Oscar nodded and repeated to her what he’d said to Pete. That she was familia. Which provided her with a perfect segue.
“Diego comes home tomorrow,” she said. “He’s going to need time to recover and adjust to his new way of life. It’s not going to be easy.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re the closest thing he has to a father. You need to protect him.”
“I always do,” Oscar said, his ire starting to rise. “No one messes with my bro.”
“Except when he’s working as a lookout and catches a stray bullet.”
Oscar shrugged. “The price of wearing the colors.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Let Diego go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“Don’t force him into the gang.”
Oscar scoffed. “Force him? It’s who he is.”
Kelly shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“You’re talking crazy. Diego loves the gang. He’s proud to be a Norteño! Just like me, and our brothers.”
“You’re wrong. I spoke to him. He wants out.”
“Bullshit! You been filling his head with this fucking chorradas?”
“No. He asked me to talk to you.”
Oscar shook his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t he tell me himself?”
“He’s afraid to. He looks up to you and he doesn’t want you to be disappointed in him.”
“So he acts like a chavala and begs you to do his dirty work?”
“See what I mean? That reaction? That’s why he’s afraid to talk to you.”
Oscar was getting increasingly angry with Kelly’s attitude. “Dr Kelly, you’ve been very good to my family, but this is none of your fucking business.”
Kelly felt herself getting flushed. It was time to lay her cards on the table. “Diego told me about Joker and Sad Boy.”
Oscar’s face went slack. There was no way his brother would’ve betrayed his trust.
Unless he was desperate.
Oscar shrugged. “What about them?”
Kelly glanced at both ends of the alley to make sure they were still out of earshot of anyone else.
“You found out that Joker was the one who shot Diego, so you killed him. What you didn’t know was that Sad Boy was hiding in the alley and saw the whole thing. When you heard about that, you killed him as well.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I even spoke to your boyfriend. He told me those Scraps were killed by someone in their own gang.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Your brother Rodrigo in Pleasant Valley Prison, made a deal with an inmate named Chico Romero. Chico convinced his brother Eddy to lie to the police about how Nano was the gunman. In return, you paid off Eddy in firearms to be smuggled across the border to Mexico.
“Eddy leaked the same lie to Payaso, who’d been looking for a reason to take out Nano. In the end, it worked out well for everyone, except the three dead Sureños.”
Oscar knew this could’ve only come from Diego. No one else knew the whole story. His own blood sold him out, and for what? So he could go his own way? How was he planning on getting by if he didn’t have the gang? What fucking good was a one-legged Mexican anyway?
“So, you got this fairytale. What do you plan to do with it?”
“Nothing, as long as you respect Diego’s wishes.”
Oscar seemed to ponder this for a moment, then responded in kind. “You know, I got a story, too. It’s about this guera who came to me for heroin. Puro, and strong as a horse. The next day I hear about this dealer who ODed on heroin. My heroin. I’m thinking it could be an accident, but this woman, she was messed up. Like someone had been beating on her or something. And one other thing, she knows her way around a needle because she’s a doctor.”
Kelly’s blood was racing. Even though they were outdoors, it was hard to breathe.
“I could be wrong, but I think she may have killed this motherfucker on purpose. I don’t know. And, of course, I’d never say anything to anyone, because I know how the game is played.”
He leaned in close and uttered, “Comprende?”
Kelly nodded.
“I’m glad we understand each other, Dr Kelly. You have a good night, okay?”
She watched as Oscar headed down the alley. Her heart was beating fast and her head was spinning. The only coherent thought she could latch onto was that she’d just broken her promise to Alexa.
She had made a deal with the devil after all.
82
Pete was at his desk when Ron arrived with a forensics report from the fire. Since no actual murder took place, it wasn’t their case, but Homicide was part of the Personal Crimes Division, which also handled arson. Since Pete was the first inspector on the scene, he became a tangential part of the investigation.
“Don’t we have enough cases of our own?” Ron asked, as he tossed the report onto Pete’s desk. “We don’t have time for this arson bullshit.”
“There’s nothing for us to do. Bibble is keeping me in the loop out of courtesy.”
“Courtesy, my ass. Bibble is an overweight, lazy dickwad who wants to spread the blame when he screws this up. Congratulations for stepping directly into his shit, partner. And by the way, forensics didn’t come up with squat.”
Pete smiled. “So you read their report?”
Ron shrugged. “I was en route to the crapper when Bibble handed it to me.”
Pete scanned the initial findings, which were meager at best. Most of the analyses were pending, as particle testing took time. The bottom line was: the accelerant was gasoline, the igniter appeared to be a common Zippo lighter (with no inscriptions) and there was one fatality. The officer who wrote the report didn’t want to officially speculate on the cause of death without further evidence, but there was a Post-it note attached to the back page that read, “Victim appears to have slit his throat with a Strider knife that was found at the scene.”
“Slit his own throat?” Pete uttered.
Ron nodded. “This motherfucker definitely didn’t want to leave anything to chance.”
“Why would someone set themselves on fire if they were just going to cut their jugular?”
“When are you going to listen to what I’ve been saying? There’s no logic behind stupid! If you could get inside this moron’s head, you’d find a vast, empty space. Maybe cluttered with a few dumbass thoughts about life and death. Maybe some vague memories about being abused as a child. Don’t try to figure it out. Just chalk it up to ‘stupid is as stupid does’ and move the fuck on.”
“Did I ever tell you how inspiring you are to work with?”
“I can see it in your eyes every day,” Ron grinned. “It’s the only thing that keeps me from cashing in my twenty-year chip and moving to Palm Springs.”
“What the hell would you do in Palm Springs? You don’t play golf, you don’t like the heat, and you’re not particularly fond of old people.”
“I can get a condo for like 250Gs and then cruise for wealthy, naïve widows. Find myself a sugar momma with a new set of tits.”
“I hope the three of you will be very happy.” Pete gestured back to the report. “Says here the victim used a Strider. That’s a serious military-issue blade. Maybe he was in the service.”
“Or maybe he bought it at a surplus store. Or stole it from some homeless guy. I’m telling you, if you spend more than the time it takes for one good bowel movement on this case, you’re not the brilliant Inspector I brag about to all my friends.”
“What friends?”
“See, that’s just hurtful. No need for that kind of stuff.” The phone on his desk rang and he answered. After a moment of listening and grunting a few affirmative responses, he hung up. “That was one of many friends, who happens to work for the Oakland police department.”
“Oakland?”
“It’s a little
city on the other side of the bay.”
“Thanks. Why’d he call?”
“First of all, it was a she. Tight little Hispanic chick with an amazing ass. Unfortunately, she loves her husband, who used to play linebacker at San Jose State.”
“What’d she have to say?”
Ron tapped a file on his desk. “Your favorite case? Tommy Moretti?”
Pete sat up straighter. “Yeah? Is this about his cousin?”
Ron nodded. “Angelo Moretti. This boy genius was highly allergic to shellfish, so what’d he do? Chowed down on some Chinese takeout that had shrimp in it. Throat closed up and he asphyxiated himself. Chalk up one more for this year’s Darwin Awards.”
“Tommy dies of an overdose, and a week later, his cousin dies from an allergic reaction.”
“Sometimes the world is a beautiful place and shitty things happen to shitty people.”
Pete grabbed the Moretti binder and flipped through it until he found what he was looking for. “Angelo’s father Arthur died a few months ago from a heart attack caused by faulty electrical wiring.”
“That family was born under a bad sign.”
“Either that or…”
“Or what? Someone is running around knocking off people and making it look like accidents or suicide?”
Gideon Page 32
