“Dominique.” He kisses me once again. “I need you to do something that you probably won’t want to do.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to go back to work.” He runs his hand along my cheek. “I need to know what they are up to. You are our best chance to get these men.”
I stare at him for what feels like an eternity and then my eyes narrow. He seems shocked by my reaction but I don’t know why he should be. After everything I told him, after confessing that I’m afraid, after expressing a desire to leave, he asks me to stay, to be his little spy. He came here for me, like hell he did, he came here to screw me so I would do what he wanted. Well no way, Mr. fine ole agent man, I don’t want to end up dead, like Phillipe.
“Get out of my house!” I seethe.
He leans back slightly, confusion on his face. “Dominique…”
I push him away from me and stand up. I start to walk away and stop, turning to him with my hands on my waist. “You came here for me?” my hands ball into little fists. “You lied to me!”
He rises and starts to walk towards me. “Dominique, I don’t…”
I push my hand in front of me to keep him away. He stops where my hand is. “You came here to screw me so I would one, give you information about the owners, and two, so I could get you in the restaurant without a warrant.” He starts to open his mouth to say something but I lean forward and slap him, tears in my eyes. “I wish I had never met you!”
He closes his eyes and brings his hands to his head. He almost looks like he’s going to cry, and, for a moment, I want to pull him into my arms, but then I remember that I’m pissed. I think I’m angrier at myself than at him. This is probably how he gets most of his insider information, but damn it, I was already developing feelings for him, feelings I thought he might be reciprocating. The tears shoot down my checks as I turn and run to the bedroom, slamming the door with purpose.
19 Making Headway
Valentino Masterson
July 30th
My eyes close and my hands go to my head as I try to control the emotions that seem to be bubbling to the surface. Her words pierce my heart in a way I didn’t think was possible. I hear footsteps and then the slamming of a door. I need to fix this! I take off down the hall and start banging on the door. I need her to open it so I can tell her that’s not why I am here, that she misunderstood what I wanted, and that I… that I care about her, but she won’t open it.
“Dominique, please open the door.”
“Leave!” I hear before something hits the door, causing me to jump back.
I stand in the hall staring at the door for a long time before turning and heading back in the dining room. The table has already been cleared and everyone is trying to avoid making eye contact with me. Everyone except for Santiago, that is.
“I’ll talk to her but I think you should all go,” Santiago says firmly.
“Yeah, we should go,” Clayton agrees, giving me a steely expression.
“I know this is gonna sound strange,” Jackson interjects, shifting on the balls of his feet slightly. “But, I have some stuff that I’ve been collecting that I’d like to share with you,” he finishes intensely.
“What kind of stuff?” Clayton asks, glancing at me.
“I’ve been gathering information on the three owners of Le Creole, but Adams won’t take my calls.”
I nod because that doesn’t surprise me at all. Adams doesn’t want to solve this case. For all I know, he is working with Enrico. I’m not sure what kind of information Jackson has gathered, he seems a bit intense. Then again, so am I, but if he has anything good then maybe, just maybe, I can salvage this morning after all.
“We’ll follow you to the station,” I say, glancing at Clayton.
“Well,” he pauses uneasily and then sighs. “It’s at my house. The guys in the precinct don’t believe me.”
There is something that flashes in his eyes. Hurt that morphs to anger, and I wonder why that is. I would think that in New Orleans, being gay wouldn’t be much of an issue, but maybe it is. I hope not. That shouldn’t interfere with his ability to do a great job.
“Of course, now that De la Fosse is dead they think I might be on to something,” he adds with an eye roll.
I smirk, knowing what people thought of me when I first started collecting information on the Sicignano family. They thought I was obsessed and paranoid. Maybe I was a little bit but I see things better when they’re spread out before me. It’s the primary reason I started my Sicignano wall in the first place.
“Trust me, I know the feeling,” I say as we start for the door. I stop and take one more look down the hall, debating on whether I should go try and talk to her again.
“Come on, Masterson,” Clayton squeezes my shoulder. “Focus on the case.”
I nod and shut the door behind me. We drive to Jackson’s home in relative silence, although Clayton keeps glancing my way. I remain stoically firm in my posture. I don’t want to deal with this right now. I need to detach myself from Dominique. She’s right, of course. It would probably have been better for her if we had never met. And, in truth, she is probably right about the other stuff too, maybe on a subconscious level at least. I don’t know. I hate this feeling of confusion I have related to her. I wash my hand over my face, the first sign of a break in my posture, and the first opportunity that Clayton sees.
“You know, Masterson, I’m here for ya if you want to talk about this Dominique thing. I have some experience in the fine art of eating crow. It is a fine delicacy.” I can see from the corner of my eye that he has brought his fingertips to his lips. “Not as good as those steaks this morning, but…” he pauses, which makes me glance at him. “Damn, that girl can cook.”
He notices me looking at him and shrugs slightly before continuing. “Anyway, you have to give a woman some time to decipher what she’s ‘feeling’.” He lets go of the steering wheel to use air quotes and then places one hand on the wheel. “Women are difficult to figure out and well, sometimes, there is no telling what will set them off. Ultimately you have to go with the whole smile and nod approach. It’s the secret to mine and Kailee’s success.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say before looking out the window.
“Like I said, I’m here,” he mumbles as he focuses on Jackson’s car.
I most certainly don’t want to talk about this right here and now, especially since I don’t know what the heck I’m feeling myself. After a little while, Clayton stops trying to get me to talk and continues to follow Jackson in silence. We pull into a not so great neighborhood and follow Jackson to his home. No one seems to pay him any attention, or us, for that matter. He notices us surveying the street, both of us with our hands close to our weapons. He smiles as he puts the key in the lock.
“I grew up around here and everyone knows I’m a cop so no one messes with me.” Before entering, he turns to us, a determined look on his face. “They also know that I do things right. Don’t jump to conclusions. They respect that.”
“Good to know,” Clayton says, slapping his shoulder.
As we walk in, Clayton and I look around. Jackson has a clean yet humble home. A hand-me-down sofa occupies the living room with a thirty-six inch television against the wall. He doesn’t have a dining room table, only a bar with a couple of chairs. He motions for us to follow him, which we do. A bed and a dresser are the only furniture in the bedroom, but that’s not what strikes me. What strikes me is… the wall. I am eerily reminded of home.
“Wow!” Clayton states with his hands on his hips, staring at the detail before him.
I glance at Jackson and he is looking to the ground. I recognize that look of worry as well as embarrassment. It’s difficult to show someone your, let’s say, obsession, wondering if they are going to think you need to be hospitalized for being crazy. I had that same look on my face the first time Joseph saw my wall. He had tapped my shoulder and told me he was proud of what I had d
one. After that, I didn’t care, I was even more motivated. I reach over and touch Jackson’s shoulder, wanting to reassure him like Joseph did me.
“Jackson, this is great detective work. Why don’t you run through what you got here?”
He looks up and nods with a big smile on his face. “Okay.”
Clayton side-eyes me, but I think inherently he knows what I did. Jackson has a great deal of information collected. Some is somewhat crude, printouts from a computer it looks like, a lot of candid pictures of all three of them, some together, some individually, that are printed on paper. The makeshift nature of the collection doesn’t matter though because ultimately he has been chronicling the whereabouts of Beauchamp, De la Fosse, and Badour, something that may give Clayton and me a leg up on our investigation. He walks to the beginning.
“After the serial numbers I ran came up with nothing, I still felt that something was off. I got this churning in my gut that something bad was going to happen so I started researching them, but it’s as if these guys were invented,” he shakes his head. “No police records, no previous work employment, no school or juvenile records.”
“Yes, that’s what our research has come up with as well,” I lament with a sigh.
“I spent days cross-referencing police records, school records, library records, looking for anything to start with.” He is standing, looking at his wall, with his hands in his pockets. I glance at Clayton, who is watching Jackson. “If Santiago lost Dominique, it would break him. I can’t have that so I kept digging and digging, even when my captain said to stop because it was interfering with my job. I couldn’t let it go so I brought it here,” he turns to me, his eyes pleading. “You understand, right?”
I nod. “Jackson, you did a great job with this and I believe you should always follow your gut.”
He nods and turns back to the wall. “I decided that computer records were going to be pointless since the government...” he pauses and looks at me again. “No offense.”
I smile. “None taken.”
“Well, you guys, the FBI, a whole number of people can alter a person’s record, making it impossible to find out information so I decided to think outside the box.”
“So what did you do?” Clayton asks generally curious.
Jackson turns to him. “I went to the library and pulled up microfiche of newspapers dating back twenty years.”
Clayton whistles and I let out a loud breath. That is a heck of a lot of work. It’s like fishing without bait, you might hook something but most likely it’s a wasted day. I have to admire the guy. He is determined and not afraid to do the tedious part of an investigation. We need more people like him in the agency.
“I spent most evenings and every weekend for the past several weeks going over information and when I wasn’t doing that I was taking pictures, trying to follow their movements. I know this is going to sound strange but I think they have some secret entrance or something because I have tried to catch them entering and leaving and haven’t been able to.”
“Clayton and I wondered the same thing.”
He nods. I think he’s relieved that he wasn’t going nuts. “Last Sunday evening all my time scrunched over microfiche paid off because that’s when I found it.”
“Found what?” I ask.
He takes down an article and hands it to me. Clayton walks over so I put it between us. It’s a 1998 picture of a group of teenagers standing outside an old building. The headline reads something about local teens trying to resurrect some Boys & Girls Club that had been damaged by Hurricane Georges. The article itself is irrelevant; it’s the picture that is significant. To the side is a boy who bears a striking resemblance to a younger De la Fosse. Clayton and I glance at each other and then Jackson, who now has his back against the wall, his arms crossed. He nods at us just slightly.
“Phillipe Garrison,” he states simply.
“Phillipe Garrison,” I repeat with a slight smile. Finally!
“Holy shit, Jackson, you identified Phillipe’s true identity,” Clayton states excitedly.
Jackson smirks. “Yeah, I was pretty excited. I called Adams on Monday morning to let him know that I had figured out who Phillipe really was, asked him to look into it since any juvenile records would be sealed. Figured he would have more access than me.” He looks down, frowning. “Next thing I know, my Captain is calling me in to the office and telling me that he has been informed that I am interfering with a federal case and if I didn’t drop this pursuit of mine I would be suspended.”
“I’m threatened with suspension pretty regularly. It lets me know I’m on to something,” I say, trying to reassure him.
He shrugs. “I let it go, and two days later De la Fosse was shot. My partner and I were the first responders on the scene,” he shakes his head sadly. “It was a bloody mess and Dominique was in shock. I called Santiago immediately because I was worried about her. You know what happened to her don’t you?”
I shake my head. “What happened to her?’
“I suppose it’s not my story to tell but, needless to say, I was worried how she would respond. They took her to the hospital and that piece of...” he pauses again. “No offense.”
I roll my eyes, but before I can say anything, Clayton does.
“That man shouldn’t be an agent. He’s a disgrace to what we all stand for.”
“He dismissed me at the hospital. Granted, he probably didn’t know it was me at the hospital but he didn’t even want to talk to my partner or me at all. He just ushered me and Santiago out and then Dominique told me later that he was a jerk to her, made her uncomfortable.”
“What I say here must be kept confidential…” I start to say.
“Masterson, what the hell are you doing?” Clayton interrupts.
“Clayton and I have until Tuesday evening to investigate De la Fosse’s murder. Our flight leaves at eight in the morning on Wednesday. I have misgivings about Adams. I don’t trust him.”
Clayton is eyeing me like I am divulging top secret information. Granted, I am not supposed to say anything to anyone but I need Jackson on my side. I need him to keep an eye on Dominique. She’s involved somehow, and until I figure out how, I want her safe. I ignore the looks Clayton is giving me and continue.
“I know Dominique’s angry at me right now but I don’t want her hurt. I need your assurance that you will look out for her.”
“With my life,” he says unquestionably.
“Good, now tell us what else you found out,” I say, as I walk closer to the wall to examine some of the pictures.
We spend the next several hours with Jackson as he goes over what he discovered. We then head out. I want to change clothes before going to the restaurant to try and get eyes on Beauchamp and Badour. Once we are in the car, Clayton eyes me.
“You shouldn’t have said anything to him about the case,” Clayton begins.
“I know.”
“You know, huh?” he states, shaking his head. “Don’t blow this, Valentino. It’s too important!”
I sigh, before pulling out my phone. “Zach, I need you to do a search on Phillipe Garrison.”
“Who’s that?” Zach asks.
“De la Fosse’s real name.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks,” I say hanging up.
We drive the remainder of the way to the hotel in silence, me staring out the window, trying to wrap my head around all the new information we have obtained. Jackson had explained how he had only been able to follow them as a group a couple of times. Once to another restaurant where he had taken a lot of pictures and the second time they were at the docks. He had also taken pictures of Phillipe independently, a couple of times at the dock and then meeting with a yet to be identified man and woman, more people to add to our growing list of suspects. The question is, how do they all fit together? I also have a suspicion that Jackson calling Adams on Monday and alerting him that he had discovered Phillipe’s identity led to Phillipe’s demise. But wh
y? I assumed that Adams was working for the Sicignano family and that Beauchamp and crew were also working for them. So why kill De la Fosse?
“What are you thinking?” Clayton asks as we pull up to the hotel.
“I think Jackson inadvertently got De la Fosse killed.”
“Yeah, me too,” Clayton concurs. “It’s not a coincidence that he gives that info to Adams and then two days later De la Fosse is shot by someone who has experience with guns. That was not an amateur shot. It took a marksman to make it without hitting Dominique as well.”
I cringe at that thought and quickly correct myself. “Do you think Adams did it?”
He shakes his head and then sighs. “I hope not.”
“What I don’t understand is why kill De la Fosse? If he is working for Enrico, and Adams is also working for Enrico, what do they gain by killing him?”
“Maybe he was undercover, maybe he switched sides, hell, maybe he grew attached to Dominique and wanted out,” he says the last part glancing at me. I narrow my eyes but he continues. “She seems to have that effect on people.”
I take my hat off and rub my hands over my head. He’s right about Dominique. There is something about her that makes you immediately want to be near her. I open the car door, slamming it shut as I march to the room, once again slamming the door. I quickly change clothes while Clayton waits outside for me. Splashing water on my face, I close my eyes and try to focus on what needs to happen, but all that pops into my head is Dominique.
“I wish I had never met you.”
Rubbing my temples, I think back to the dream I had last night. It had seemed so real, she had been in danger and I couldn’t help her, resulting in her death. She had held me until the images left my brain and I was able to sleep again. Something I’m never able to do after I have a nightmare. I can see how Phillipe would be willing to switch sides, so to speak, for her. She’s already got me questioning how I do things. My phone buzzes in my pocket, which distracts me from my thoughts of Dominique.
Retaliatory Justice (The Talionic Files #1) Page 18
