Ghosts of Christmas Past

by Corrina Lawson

  “You’re welcome.” Silence for a bit. Lucy took a deep breath. “So what’s on the thumb drive? Why did you go to Rickey’s? Why get so drunk? And why didn’t you call Cassandra?” She didn’t ask him how he might be involved in murder. Better to start small.

  “Yeah, enlighten us. I can’t wait to hear this.” Cassandra sat forward and looked over the rim of her mug.

  “I didn’t call you because I was drunk off my ass and then passed out,” Salvatore said.

  “Oh, like that’s an excuse,” Cassandra said.

  Salvatore set his empty coffee mug down on the table. “I was an idiot, Cassandra. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.” But her voice was soft and Lucy guessed their fight was over for now.

  “I never, ever thought they’d find me there or send SWAT.”

  “Who’s ‘they’?” Lucy asked. “What’s so important that they send SWAT?” How are you involved in murder?

  Salvatore walked to the kitchen area and poured a second cup. “That thumb drive has my proof, though fat lot of good that’ll do anyone.”

  “Proof of what?” Lucy said. This was like trying to get Al to talk about his feelings.

  “That my boss, Schneider, and Johns, the museum curator, have been slowly selling off valuable pieces from the museum and pocketing the proceeds.”

  Lucy whistled. “No wonder Schneider sounded desperate. How much money are we talking about?”

  “Well into seven figures.”

  “Holy shit,” Cassandra said. “How did you figure it out?”

  “I caught wind of it a couple of weeks ago when the new mayor put me in charge of overseeing an audit of the museum’s inventory.”

  “Why does the museum need an audit?” Lucy asked. “And is that part of your job, overseeing audits?”

  “My job is whatever work needs done that they think I’m remotely qualified for.” Salvatore shrugged. “Since the city filed bankruptcy, the artwork is part of its assets. Everything has to be listed for the creditors.”

  “That art belongs to everyone. They can’t gut the museum like that,” Cassandra said.

  “They can, but I don’t know if they will. If there’s any left to sell after what Schneider and Johns did, that is.”

  “That’s why you had a postcard of the museum in your office,” Lucy said.

  “Yeah. Some of the postcards had artwork on them that wasn’t present in the museum. When no one at the museum could find those pieces in the back room, that’s what tipped me off.” Salvatore put his elbows on the counter, leaning on it.

  “Why didn’t you report it to the police?” Lucy asked.

  “The police, even if they weren’t on Schneider’s payroll, would need proof. And I had no idea of how far up this went or how far they’d go to keep it quiet. There have to be more involved than my boss and Johns.”

  “Al would have investigated,” Lucy said.

  “I had to keep this quiet. I knew the minute Johns realized I’d figured it out, I’d be in trouble. Sure enough, he threatened me.” He put his arm around Cassandra. “He threatened you too. That’s why I went to Rickey’s. To think about the next step.”

  “How did SWAT find you?” Lucy asked. Interesting. Salvatore talked about Johns in the present tense.

  “Schneider must have known I met Johns in that neighborhood and guessed I was hiding around there.”

  That all made sense, Lucy thought, but Salvatore could still be a murderer, especially since he’d just said Johns threatened him.

  “Why are you sure that more people are involved besides Schneider and Johns? I mean, maybe SWAT is on the take, but they might not necessarily know about the theft,” Lucy said.

  “You’d have to have a team to pull this off.” Salvatore poured a third mug of coffee and moved back to the couch, more animated than he had been all day. “For one, they’d need someone to cook the books and make the proceeds ‘vanish’ along with ‘disappearing’ the artwork from the actual inventory.”

  “What do you mean?” Lucy asked.

  “Look, first you put in a budget line item that records the sale of the painting. Money comes into the city. All good so far. The person bought a painting, the city got the money. But after that, someone comes in and wipes the painting and the payment from the city records. But there’s still money in the city account from the sale, right? So then you create a bogus budget line item, like paying for 1,000 imaginary widgets, and the money is paid to the fake company that made them. Money goes out of the system to pay for it, the same amount as the sale. And no one would ever check for the thousand widgets, given the mess the city’s finances are in. Meantime, the fake company vanishes, so even if someone catches on to the imaginary widgets, there’s still no connection to the missing paintings.”

  “Damn. That’s some magic trick,” Lucy said.

  “Exactly. That’s why the postcard tipped me off. The items on it weren’t listed anywhere in the city’s inventory. That made no sense.”

  “So how did they fool the buyers?” And Lucy had thought accounting was boring.

  “If I were doing this, I’d tell the buyers the purchases had been approved by the city and show real paperwork to that effect, only tell the buyers this was controversial so keep it quiet. That’s a guess.”

  “And the rest?” Lucy asked.

  “The fake company that ended up with the money was probably owned by Schneider or Johns. The art vanishes and the money’s clean.”

  “Damn,” Cassandra said. “So you’ve been tracking this?”

  “I’ve been poring over all the expenditures and revenue to see where they buried the funds. They’d need at least two people in city hall besides the ones I know about to be involved. And maybe more on the museum side.”

  “And the proof is on the thumb drive?” Noir asked.

  “Yes, I have all the original numbers, before the revenues and expenditures were added by them, and the full list of original inventory. They’ve made millions.” Salvatore slammed his mug down on the coffee table. The sound echoed in the cavernous warehouse. “For all I know, everyone at Schneider’s level got a taste.”

  “If millions are at stake, I can see why they sent SWAT after you and didn’t care about Rickey’s place,” Lucy said.

  They’d been very lucky Al had been there.

  Salvatore nodded. “It was dumb to get so drunk. I should have known they could trace me. It’s just, I got to Rickey’s last night and realized how far over my head I was. Whiskey seemed a good idea at the time.” He put his arm around Cassandra. “How did you two find that other thumb drive anyway?”

  “I found it in your office. That was a dumb place to hide it.”

  “It’s a duplicate.” Salvatore pulled another drive from his pocket. “And it’s in code. I wanted a backup.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this when you suspected it?” Cassandra asked.

  “I wanted to be sure.”

  She punched his shoulder. “Next time, tell me.”

  “So what happened at your meeting with Johns? What did he say?” Lucy asked, trying to sound casual—Al had told her that worked better in interrogations than threats.

  She liked Salvatore. He was sneaky smart. She didn’t want to believe he was involved in the murder.

  “Johns demanded the meeting. He’d caught me poking around the museum inventory and guessed I’d found him out.”

  “You still agreed to meet with him?” Dumb. Maybe Salvatore wasn’t sneaky smart, after all.

  “I thought I could get some more information from him if I pretended to want in on the scam. After we met near Rickey’s, Johns told me to follow him over to the museum. He said he’d iron out how much money I’d be paid. Something felt hinky, off, and it was too easy. So I turned right back around and left.”

  Salvatore stared off
into space, abruptly silent.

  He was hiding something, something he didn’t want to tell about what went down at the museum. There had to be a reason why Al thought Salvatore could be a murderer. “What happened at the museum to scare you off?”

  Salvatore shook his head. “Nothing specific.”

  “I bet it was something very specific.” Al strode into the room. “That’s not the full story.”

  Lucy snapped to her feet. “Hey!” She smiled.

  “How’s your ear?” Al nodded to her but there was no answering smile. He was still in detective mode.

  “Ear seems fine. No more ringing.”

  “Good.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and glared at Salvatore. “So did you?”

  “Did I what?” Salvatore stood, glaring back at Al.

  “Did you leave the museum before or after Johns was stuffed into a glass coffin?”

  Salvatore’s face lost all color. “Johns is dead?” he whispered. He looked at Cassandra. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I forgot, like you forgot to call me,” Cassandra said. She focused on Al. “Don’t tell me you think Salvatore did it?”

  Al shrugged off his overcoat. “He had motive and opportunity, and the method was at hand. I can prove he was there at the time of the murder, he disappeared immediately after Johns was killed, and he just admitted he had reason to fear the dead guy, so that’s one helluva motive. Plus, he just lied to you about going into the museum.”

  Salvatore appeared to deflate during Al’s speech, collapsing again onto the couch. Ah hell, he might be guilty after all.

  Cassandra, however, was having none of it.

  “You leave him alone,” Cassandra pointed her finger at Al and stepped in front of Salvatore.

  “Not a chance,” Al said.

  Lucy curled her hand around Al’s forearm. “Wait, I know you have to question him, but it can’t be as simple as Salvatore killing someone.”

  “Killing someone is rarely simple.” Al crossed his arms over his chest, shutting her out. “Salvatore Giamatti, did you kill Johns?”

  “No. No, I didn’t,” Salvatore said, staring at the floor.

  Lucy didn’t know what to believe. She suspected Al thought Salvatore was guilty, though. Crap.

  Al tossed his overcoat on the kitchen table, took one of the chairs, brought it out to the living area, flipped it around and straddled the chair with his arms hanging loosely on the top of the backrest.

  This was Al in pure Fixit mode. This pose would never work on her because she found Fixit sexy, not intimidating.

  Salvatore was about to be interrogated. That didn’t seem right, Lucy thought. Murderers should feel evil. Salvatore didn’t.

  “You need to tell me the whole story,” Al said.

  Salvatore only shook his head again. “Why would you think I did this?”

  “You were there and just lied about something.” Al loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He was on a roll now.

  “You add in the fact that you met secretly with the victim that day and you’re an extremely viable murder suspect,” Al added.

  “I didn’t kill him!” Salvatore stood, his face flushed.

  Al motioned for him to sit back down. “If there are mitigating circumstances surrounding Johns’ death, such as you being in fear for your life, I might be able to help, especially if you testify about the theft going on at the museum. But I need the full truth.”

  “He already told you he didn’t do it. Twice!” Cassandra yelled.

  Salvatore stared at the floor again, his hands hanging loosely from his knees. Cassandra sat down next to her guy and rubbed his back, trying to soothe him.

  “Al, if you think Salvatore killed Johns in self-defense, you should be on our side,” Lucy said.

  “Funny, I thought you were on my side,” Al snapped.

  Ouch. Al had never been this actively hostile to her.

  He looked back at the couple on the couch. “Look, Mr. Giamatti, from what I’ve learned today, Johns was a thief and a liar who probably got what he deserved. You know more about that than you’re telling. Out with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have you on video meeting Johns at the museum. What happened inside?”

  Lucy ground her teeth. Al was right. Salvatore hadn’t told them the full story. Yet that made her feel even more left out. Al could have called her with this news, the same as Salvatore should have called Cassandra instead of getting drunk.

  Salvatore shook his head. “I want a lawyer.”

  Al sighed, stood and pulled out his handcuffs. “Then you’re under arrest.”

  “Wait a minute, there has to be another way,” Lucy said.

  “I have no choice.” For the first time since walking into the warehouse, Al focused completely on her and without any hint of the affection she’d come to expect from him. “This is his doing, not mine. He’s invoking his rights, so my hands are tied.”

  “C’mon, Al, you can’t just haul him out of here in handcuffs,” she said.

  “If he wants a lawyer, then proper procedure has to be followed.” Al’s eyes narrowed, challenging her.

  “No. You arrest him, they’ll find a way to kill him, like they just tried at Rickey’s. He’ll be in danger in jail.”

  Al’s hand tightened around his handcuffs. “It is what it is. Stand up, Giamatti.”

  “No, you can’t do this,” Lucy said. “I’ll stop you.”

  “Oh, will you?” he growled.

  Chapter Nine

  Noir was supposed to back him up. She was his partner. His lover. He glared because he couldn’t find the right words for the anger that blazed through him.

  She blinked and stepped back as if only just realizing the line she’d crossed with him.

  Pain stabbed through his once-broken forearm. He flexed his fingers, reminded of exactly how it had been broken and why his injuries hadn’t been worse: Noir.

  Think, don’t just react. Think.

  But that was hard through the rage.

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered, as if hoping the others wouldn’t hear her.

  “I shouldn’t have to explain being a cop to you.” Al thought of Alvarez, who’d stuck her neck out for him. He had to get permission to pull her into Major Crimes otherwise she’d be screwed. And he wouldn’t have the authority to do that if he didn’t solve the museum murder.

  “He could be innocent,” Noir said.

  “He is innocent,” Cassandra said.

  Al held up the cuffs. “It’s not for me to say if he’s innocent or not, not when he asks for a lawyer and goes down that road.”

  He decided to glare at Giamatti instead of Noir, letting the handcuffs dangle from his fingertips. This was the accountant’s fault, the damn idiot. “I will spell it out for you. If you ask for a lawyer, the arrest happens, and you go into the system, where no one can protect you.”

  Salvatore groaned.

  “However, if you talk to me and tell me what really happened, I might be able to protect you. I saved your ass today. You want to keep me on your side, I need the whole story.”

  “And if he’s guilty, are you still on his side?” Noir asked.

  “Now you think he’s guilty?” he asked.

  “He told the whole story already.” Cassandra held Salvatore’s hand.

  Al snorted. “Not likely.”

  “Yeah, maybe not,” Salvatore said.

  “No maybes about it,” Al said.

  Silence reigned. He tucked his handcuffs away. He might salvage this situation yet if he could tamp down his rage. Their fight had been real but, even so, he and Noir had managed a game of good cop/bad cop that was working.

  “I trust Al,” Noir said.

  “Could have fooled me,”
Al muttered.

  If Noir heard that, she didn’t show it.

  “Tell him everything, Salvatore,” Noir said.

  “And what if he wants to arrest him afterward?” Cassandra asked.

  Salvatore waved his hand at Noir “Fine. You’re right. I left something out.”

  “I won’t believe for a second you killed someone and stuffed them into a glass box,” Cassandra said.

  “He went from the museum to get stone-drunk and didn’t call you,” Al said. “He was running or hiding from something that happened.”

  “He wanted me to be safe, that’s why he didn’t call me,” Cassandra insisted.

  Salvatore hung his head. Cassandra stared at her guy. Most importantly, Noir came over and stood behind Al. His rage receded, though it didn’t disappear.

  Salvatore sighed. “I have an idea about who killed Johns.”

  “Okay,” Al said.

  “I told the truth. I just left some out. When we met near Rickey’s, Johns told me he wanted to confess the embezzlement and help the Double C recoup the money. He even claimed to have put aside some of the artwork instead of selling it. He said he wanted to show it to me so I’d know he was telling the truth.”

  “And you believed him?” Cassandra asked.

  “Let him finish.” Al chopped the air with his hand.

  “Nah, I didn’t believe him but I had to go to the museum on the off chance it could be true. All I had were numbers I’d collected. It was basically my word against theirs that the dollars were wiped from the system and we know what would happen with that. If Johns backed me up, there was a chance to catch them all.”

  “I follow the logic,” Al said. “But he was lying?”

  “Yeah. Once in the museum back room, Johns grabs my arm and tells me I had to keep quiet about this or else. He threatened Cassandra.” He put his arm around her waist. “That pissed me off. I told him I’d take him down and he’d be sorry, some shit like that.”

  “And?” Al wondered if Salvatore was the killer after all.

  “He told me to chill. He offered me money. Asshole. I shoved him onto his ass and headed out the door. But…” He paused for a minute.

  Now, the truth comes out. Al nodded, signaling him to continue.