Annie Seymour 01 - Sacred Cows

by Karen E. Olson

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to give it to me now? I know you’ve had this all along, and you didn’t offer it. Now, when I’m off the story and I’ve been forbidden to write another word about it, you suddenly become very generous. Why?”

  “You’ve been forbidden to write about it?” He seemed amused with my choice of words, but they were accurate.

  “Damned straight. I could lose my job, straight from the horse’s ass himself, my mother’s boyfriend.”

  “He’s not officially one of the victims named in the complaints, but I do know he invested.”

  “Why?” I asked again.

  “He wanted to make money.”

  “No kidding. Why do you want to give me this stuff now?”

  “It needs to be made public. Torrey needs to be forced out.”

  “Wouldn’t that just push him underground even further?”

  “It would make everyone aware of what’s going on. So if someone sees him, or if he contacts someone, he could be traced.”

  It made sense. It also told me Vinny was having no luck in finding Torrey himself.

  “How much is my mother paying you to find him?”

  Vinny smiled. “That’s none of your business.”

  “But if I help you find him, then I should get a cut, right?”

  “It’s your job.”

  “Not anymore.” The words hung in the air between us like a smelly fart.

  After a couple of minutes, I finally gave in. “Okay, let me see it.”

  “You think I have it with me? It’s at my office. Come by in the morning and I’ll show it to you.”

  “And your etchings, too, will you show me those?” I felt like an idiot.

  “No, really, Annie. It’s safe at the office. But you’ll have to come early, I have to be at Bradley at ten A.M.”

  The airport. “You do know where he is.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “But you have an idea.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then why do you need me?” We were going in circles.

  He stood up. “I’ll be in my office at seven.”

  “Seven A.M.?”

  He didn’t even turn around as he let himself out. I locked the door behind him and put the chain on. It wouldn’t hurt just to look at it, I told myself as I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. If Bill Bennett wasn’t named specifically, maybe he’d let me write something. Maybe pigs fly, too. I took off my robe and slid between the sheets, cold against my skin. Just before I fell asleep, I realized I hadn’t heard from Tom all day.

  CHAPTER 16

  As I blinked into the mirror in the morning, I thought my face looked a little better. Or maybe it was just the goop in my eyes. I was getting too old to go to bed that late and get up this early. I rummaged a pair of jeans and T-shirt out of my laundry basket. Maybe later I’d get a little time and drop my dirty clothes off at the laundry. I paid extra to have the little old lady behind the counter take care of them. It was worth it. I’m certainly not going to spend my time listening to my clothes in a washing machine while I watch bad TV. Someday I’d actually purchase a washer and dryer. I’d been told there was a spot for them in the basement, but since I’d never been in the basement of my building, I couldn’t say for sure. Just another place to run into my neighbors.

  Speak of the devils, they were early risers, just my luck.

  “You look better today,” Walter mused. He actually looked good in a suit.

  Amber peered into my face and I suppressed the urge to slap her. “What happened?”

  “You were looking out the window when I got mugged,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Is that what was going on? I just thought you’d met up with friends.”

  I hung back and let them move past me on the sidewalk, turning to their cars. It was hard for me to believe that she’d seen me on the ground with two thugs trying to shove me into a car and thought they were my “friends.” It strengthened my resolve to stay out of the way of my neighbors.

  Vinny’s office was in a brownstone on Trumbull Street. Besides “Private Investigations,” the sign out front also boasted “Madame Shara: I’ll Read Your Palm and Tell You Your Future for the Right Price,” and “Cobb Doyle, Attorney-at-Law.” I walked up to the door and let myself into one of those fake foyers. The inside door was locked, and I found Vinny’s bell and pushed it.

  There was no answer. No buzz letting me in. I rang the bell a few more times, but there was no sign of life behind the door. I peered through the glass at a dark hallway. It puzzled me, since he’d been adamant about the time and I didn’t think he was the type to stand me up. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag, found his card in my wallet, and punched his number.

  “This is the voice mail for Vincent DeLucia, Private Investigations. I am unable to take your call, so please leave your name, number, and a detailed message and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”

  “Where the fuck are you?” I said into the phone and hung up. Still no response.

  I saw Vinny had scribbled his home number on the back of the card. Maybe he overslept.

  “I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Vinny? Are you there? It’s me, Annie. I’m at your office and you’re not here.”

  He didn’t pick up.

  Footsteps behind me made me freeze, memories of being jumped from behind still too fresh.

  “Hello?” The man had a narrow, long face, like a horse, with big teeth, also like a horse. He carried an armful of manila envelopes.

  “I’m looking for Vinny.”

  He shook his head. “Too early for Vinny. I’m Cobb Doyle.”

  “He said I should meet him here.”

  Cobb Doyle frowned and stuck his keys in the door. “You can come in if you want, but Vinny never comes in early. Sometimes he never comes in at all.”

  An interesting tidbit to sometime throw back in his face, but at the moment I was actually getting worried.

  “Hmm, that’s funny,” Cobb Doyle murmured as I followed him into the dark hall.

  I saw an open door farther down the hall.

  “That’s Vinny’s office,” Cobb Doyle said, two steps ahead of me.

  The office was in a shambles, papers strewn on the floor, file cabinet drawers open; the computer was on, but the monitor was blank. I stepped over the mess and moved the mouse. A photo of Humphrey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon popped up as his screen saver. How unoriginal, I thought.

  “Don’t touch that!” Cobb Doyle barked.

  “What?”

  “This obviously is a crime scene. Look at this place. We have to call the police.” As he moved out of the room, he suddenly stopped. “By the way, who are you?”

  “I’m Annie Seymour, with the Herald. Vinny wanted me to meet him here, he said he had a flight out of Bradley at ten.”

  Cobb Doyle nodded, his head bobbing like one of those stupid dogs in the back of some vintage vehicles. “He said something about the airport.”

  “Where was he going? I didn’t get a chance to ask him. Do you know?”

  “He said he was working on something. That’s all. Maybe all this”—he swept his arm around to indicate the paper trail—“is somehow connected.”

  Okay, so he went to law school. He wasn’t stupid.

  “How could someone get in here if the door’s locked?” I asked.

  Cobb Doyle ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe he came through the back.”

  I followed him farther down the hall and into a little alcove that looked out over the back parking lot. The door was ajar and one of the windowpanes was broken.

  “Don’t you have a security system or something?” I asked.

  Cobb looked decidedly uncomfortable. “We’ve been trying to get the landlord to do something about that.”

  We started back toward Vinny’s office, and Cobb veered off to the left
into another office. He unlocked the door and turned the lights on. It was sparse, with a big desk that could’ve come from any of those office stores. Several file cabinets lined the back wall; a tall bookshelf stood sentry across from the desk. A pile of old law journals spilled along the floor in the corner, but that must have been the way he left it because he sighed deeply. “Thank God no one got in here.”

  I didn’t think whoever had broken in was looking for Cobb Doyle’s files. But I didn’t want to burst his bubble.

  I went back down the hall to Vinny’s office, pulling my phone out of my purse again and dialing a familiar number.

  “Hello?” My mother is always up at the crack of dawn, first her exercises, then a cup of coffee and a bagel to start her day.

  “Where was Vinny DeLucia going this morning?”

  “And hello to you, too, dear.”

  “Listen, Mother, I think Vinny’s in trouble. His office is trashed and I don’t know where he is. I was supposed to meet him here.”

  “Oh, my, you are getting close to him, aren’t you?”

  I wasn’t in the mood for her this early. “Do you know where he was going today or not?” I couldn’t keep the edge of out my voice.

  She must have heard it. “He said he had a lead, but he didn’t say what it was. Do you really think he’s in trouble? I think he seems fairly capable.”

  “I don’t know. All I know is, something’s up and I could try him at the airport if I knew which airline he was flying.”

  “You’ve got me there. I didn’t know he was flying. Did you call the police?”

  “Not yet.” I could hear Cobb Doyle talking in his office and I assumed he was taking over that job. Too bad Madame Shara wasn’t here yet, maybe she could channel herself into some other world and locate Vinny for us. Maybe a cow had fallen on him somewhere in the city and he was the first human victim of this silly parade.

  But that wouldn’t explain the mess.

  My mother was saying something as I checked out Vinny’s desk. Whoever had done this probably found what he or she was looking for, but you never know. I took a pencil off the floor and pushed some of the folders around.

  “So you don’t know what he was up to?” I asked again.

  “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”

  No shit. “The cops’ll be here soon. I’m going to call the airport and just ask them to page him. Maybe he’s there. It’s worth a shot.” I hung up. She was useless again. Why did I keep trying?

  I heard the police arrive. Cobb was greeting them.

  “Who are you? You have to get out of here,” the uniformed officer growled at me. I stepped aside, my eyes still scanning the room. But there wasn’t anything that caught my attention. It was just a big mess. I didn’t have a clue.

  “I’m Annie Seymour. I was supposed to meet Mr. DeLucia here. We had an appointment this morning. I tried his home number, but he doesn’t seem to be there, either.”

  “You’re that reporter.” It was an accusation.

  I nodded, trying to ignore the tone of his voice. “But I’m not here as a reporter. As I said, I had an appointment . . .”

  “You’d better wait outside.”

  I was used to being shunned, pushed out of crime scenes. It was all part of the job. But this time it was different. I was part of this story. I’d discovered this. I was a witness, for Christ’s sake. It felt very odd.

  It dawned on me that the cops might be able to track Vinny down better than I could. I went back into the office, and I could tell by the scowls that I wasn’t welcome. But I didn’t really give a shit.

  “I was supposed to meet Mr. DeLucia here,” I said for what felt like the umpteenth time. “I know he had a flight out of Bradley at ten. I was hoping maybe you guys could track him down and let him know what’s gone on here.”

  More scowls. Okay, so it’s not good form to tell the cops how to do their job. But if they didn’t know about the flight, they should know, so I told them. So there.

  “You have to leave,” they said again. It was getting old.

  “Could you at least let me know if you find him? I’m a little worried,” I said, handing my card to the tall cop with the bad teeth. He took it, much to my surprise.

  “Okay, but do you want me to tell the detective about this?”

  His question caught me off guard. I thought they all knew me just because I worked for the Herald. But it was Tom.

  I frowned. “You can tell him whatever you want,” I said curtly and finally left. But once on the sidewalk, I realized Tom might wonder what I was doing at Vinny’s office at 7:00 A.M. I shrugged the thought away. I wasn’t at Vinny’s apartment. Which led to my next thought: Where did Vinny live and was his apartment trashed, too?

  I drove to the paper, which was pretty empty because no one in his right mind would come to work this early. I located a recent phone book and looked up DeLucia. I found his parents on Wooster Street. But no Vincent DeLucia, which figured. A private investigator wouldn’t exactly advertise in the phone book where he lived. I glanced at the clock. It was almost eight. Parents were always up early. Or so I told myself.

  The voice was a little groggy, or maybe she just hadn’t had her coffee yet.

  “Hello, Mrs. DeLucia. I’m Anne Seymour, an old friend of Vinny’s. It’s very important that I find him and was wondering if you could give me his address.”

  As I spoke, I realized I sounded like a complete nut. I wouldn’t give me his address, and she agreed with me.

  “How do I know you’re a friend of my son’s? If you were a friend, you would know where to find him yourself.”

  The dial tone rang in my ear. He probably was at the airport, waiting for his flight, maybe I’d misunderstood when I was supposed to meet him.

  No. I didn’t. Vinny obviously was on to something, and something had happened to him because of what he knew. I dialed again. She must have had some coffee since I’d talked to her a minute ago.

  “I really hate to bother you, Mrs. DeLucia, but I’m afraid something has happened. Vinny’s office was ransacked, and I haven’t been able to get him on his phone. That’s why I was wondering if you could help me out here.” I put a little pleading into my voice, but not too much so she would think I was a whiner. I also didn’t want to emphasize that I thought something bad happened. But I guess I did anyway.

  “Ransacked?” The panic rose in her voice.

  “I was supposed to meet him at his office an hour ago, but he wasn’t there and his office had been trashed. I’m sure he’s fine, but I just want to make sure.”

  “Come to the restaurant and I’ll go with you.”

  “The restaurant?”

  “DeLucia’s Pizzeria.”

  It was on Wooster Street, right around the corner from my apartment. “I’ll be right over.”

  She was a tiny woman with big eyes. Vinny must look like his father. She jangled some keys at her side. “It’s not too far,” she said, and I had a hard time keeping up with her as she moved down the street. Much to my surprise, she brought me to a brownstone just catty-corner to my own building on Wooster Square. Vinny was my neighbor. Go figure. No wonder he’d been around so much, especially the night I got jumped.

  “What happened to your face?” Mrs. DeLucia asked as we moved up the stairwell.

  “I had a little accident.” I didn’t want to tell her any more, but she turned around and glared at me. Since my father’s Italian, I recognized my grandmother in Mrs. DeLucia’s eyes. She knew I’d been up to no good, and it was no use lying to her. But I kept mum. She could think what she wanted for the moment.

  “You’re Joey Giametti’s daughter,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I nodded, hoping that was a good thing.

  Mrs. DeLucia nodded back, but didn’t say anything else. She stopped at a door and knocked. “He might be home,” she explained, as if I was leading her on a wild goose chase. But when we waited a little too long, she finally put the key in the lock
and swung the door open.

  It was neat. Really neat. Obsessively neat. Not a thing out of place, not a dust bunny to be seen. It was creepy.

  “There doesn’t seem to be a problem here,” Mrs. DeLucia said accusingly. Okay, okay, so I’d gotten her worried for no reason. I was a troublemaker. I was the first to admit it. But Vinny was still missing.

  “I’d like to just take a quick look around, just in case,” I said apologetically. I started moving around the apartment, which was set up kind of like mine. I peered around the kitchen and went down the hall and looked in the bedroom. The bed was neatly made. Either he’d made it up this morning or he hadn’t gone to bed last night. A picture of a very pretty brunette sat on the night table next to the bed, and I admit I had to look. I was holding the picture, studying the woman’s face, when Mrs. DeLucia caught me.

  “I thought you were looking for Vinny, not snooping around his private things.”

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “That’s Vinny’s fiancée, Rosie.”

  Fiancée? Did I hear that right? And I thought he was coming on to me all this time. Was I so wrong? Were my antennae that out of whack? Couldn’t be. Could it?

  “When is the wedding?” I tried to keep the curiosity from leaping from my throat.

  “May twenty-second.”

  Next spring. A springtime wedding. This was really bothering me for some reason. I had to snap out of it.

  “He never mentioned her,” I explained.

  Mrs. DeLucia frowned. “They’ve been together five years.” She paused. “Have you seen what you need to see?”

  I put the picture down and glanced around the room. Nothing. Not a paper out of place. The red light was flashing on his answering machine. I pushed the button, even though I was getting the evil eye from his mother. “I’ve got something you might want. Come to Edgerton Park, the entrance off Whitney, at seven A.M.” I couldn’t make out the voice, but it sounded vaguely familiar.