“Oh, I can’t believe I forgot about—” Yasmine put a hand to her forehead. “What am I talking about?” Tears pooled again. “He’s probably wondering where we are.”
For Stein to call Yasmine’s cell phone, he obviously knew that if he couldn’t reach Bates directly, he might be able to do so through Yasmine.
“Let’s listen to his message and find out what he wanted.” Madison glanced down at the phone, and it hadn’t locked her out yet. “What’s the passcode for your voice mail?”
“Nine-two-three-eight.”
Madison called in on speaker, keyed the code in, and played the message.
“Where are you? Are you with Jimmy? Call me back immediately.”
The man was clearly annoyed and frustrated, even angry.
“Whoa, he is pissed,” Yasmine said.
“He doesn’t normally sound that way?” Madison asked. Sometimes people at the top weren’t the easiest to deal with.
“No, he rarely raises his voice.” Yasmine was wringing her hands on the table.
“You mentioned a meeting. Who was it with, and what was it for?” Madison pointed to Yasmine’s hands. “It must have been important.”
“It was with the stuffy uptights.”
“Stuffy uptights?” Madison asked for clarification.
Yasmine nodded. “That was Jimmy’s nickname for the board of directors.”
“It doesn’t sound like he had good relationships with them,” Madison stated. It was possible one of them had an issue with Bates.
“Not sure if it’s that. He just likes to do things his own way. That’s what I loved about him. Not that I loved him,” she clarified.
Yasmine hadn’t exactly denied an underlying conflict with Bates and the directors, though.
“And from what you said earlier, he was secretive.” Madison gave Yasmine her phone back. “So he could have had a problem with one of them and maybe you wouldn’t have known.”
Yasmine bobbed her head. “That’s possible.”
“Do you know what the meeting was about?”
“He never tells me what’s discussed at board of director meetings,” Yasmine said.
“One of those things he’s secretive about?” Madison asked drily.
“I suppose. It might not be my business to know, either.”
“Fair enough.”
“Am I good to go now?” Yasmine sounded hopeful.
“We’ll still need to confirm your alibi,” Madison told her. “Do you have your landlord’s number?”
Yasmine got on her phone again and rattled off the number. Madison wrote it down, closed the folder, and got up.
“Please don’t leave me here,” Yasmine pleaded.
“We won’t be long.” Madison held the door for Terry, and they stepped out into the hall.
“Did you see the way she kept pressing her palms against her head, running her hand through her hair, and touching her face?” Madison asked. “She’s terrified of someone, Terry.”
He was nodding. “I agree. It’s just afraid of whom that we need to find out.”
“You call the landlord, and I’m going to try Kevin Jones.”
Terry pulled out his phone and keyed in the digits while she dialed the number for Kevin. She received an out-of-service message and hung up. From her phone, Madison proceeded to e-mail Cynthia Kevin’s full name and number and asked her to see if she could track it somehow.
Terry was talking to someone, though. Thank god he was meeting with more success. A few minutes later, he was putting his phone in his pocket.
“Her alibi is confirmed,” he said.
Madison didn’t love confirming alibis over the phone, but she already had reservations about Yasmine’s guilt. And the girl really didn’t seem like a flight risk.
Terry gestured toward her. “How did you make out?”
“The number’s no longer in service.”
“Figures,” he said, discouraged.
“Maybe Cynthia can track the number, but if it’s a burner, we’ll be SOL.”
“Here’s a question, though,” Terry said. “Why would the guy need burner phones?”
“And does he have anything to do with our murder?”
-
CHAPTER
4
YASMINE WAS RELEASED WITH THE direction to go home and not leave town. Madison and Terry’s next stop was to notify Bates’s next of kin, and that was Rodney Bates, the man who Madison’s grandfather had put away.
Madison had never met the man face-to-face before, and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to doing so now, but it wasn’t because of the news they had to share. Telling people their loved ones died normally churned her gut and filled her with whirling and complex emotions. It was one reason she and Terry liked to keep track of who gave notice and take turns. But with this case, even though hours had passed since she’d first laid eyes on Bates’s dead body, she still didn’t feel any heartfelt empathy for the man, nor could she conjure any for his father.
She pulled the department car to the curb in front of Rodney’s house. It was compact and on the older side—a far cry from the lifestyle his son had been living. But Madison was wiser than to be fooled by first impressions. A man previously locked up for fraud and embezzlement would be wise not to flash his wealth if he’d found it again.
“I’ll take this one.” Madison stepped up ahead of Terry onto Rodney’s front porch before he could argue. She rang the doorbell.
Footsteps came toward the door, and then it opened to a gray-haired man wearing reading glasses and holding a newspaper. He was dressed in trousers and a collared shirt. His brow wrinkled at the sight of them.
“You’re cops,” he hissed. “I can smell you a mile away.” He moved to close the door, but Madison put her hand on it, holding it open.
“We’re here about your son, Jimmy Bates, and we’d like to come in,” Madison said.
Rodney glared at Madison’s hand on his door and put the newspaper under an arm, crossed his arms, and cocked his head. “What about him?”
Was this Karma somehow tempting her to just come out with his son’s death right there on his porch? Even now, in front of the the man who had truly started the spiral of events that ended with her grandfather’s murder, she felt nothing at all. Surprisingly not even hatred.
She tilted up her chin. “This conversation would be better to have inside.”
Rodney eventually stepped to the side to let her and Terry into the house. Rodney closed the door behind them.
“You’re inside now, so tell me why you’re here.” He was scowling as he curled up his newspaper and tucked into his back pocket.
Madison looked past him into the home. “Do you have someplace we could sit?”
“We can talk here.” Rodney crossed his arms again.
“Jimmy is dead.” It was always best to come right out with the news, yet normally her emotions would tug at her and she’d share the news more compassionately. Still…she felt nothing.
Rodney retained his rigid posture, disclosing no emotion. “How?”
Did he not care that his son was dead, or was it simply the initial phase of grief—denial?
“He was murdered early this morning,” Madison told him.
Rodney’s gaze hardened. “How?”
“He was stabbed multiple times.” Stating it matter-of-factly, she was more detached than she’d ever been during a notification.
Rodney just stood there silently scrutinizing them. His gaze went from Madison to Terry, Terry to Madison. Usually the family members of a murder victim wanted to know how the investigation was coming, if there had been any arrests, or if there were at least suspects. Rodney hadn’t asked about any of this.
“How well did you know your son?” Terry asked, breaking the silence. He must have tho
ught Rodney’s reaction was odd, as well.
“I’m not sure how that matters.” Rodney arched his brows. “Do you think I killed him?”
“He’s not implying that, but we do need to know how well you knew your son,” Madison jumped in, her tone firm.
“I knew him fine enough,” he responded curtly.
“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘fine enough,’” she retorted.
“I visited him in prison, and we saw each other on occasion after he got out.”
She let out a ragged breath, frustration filling every fiber of her being. He was making them drag everything out of him. “How frequent was ‘on occasion’?”
“Just that.” Rodney turned back toward the door and put a hand on the knob.
“We have more questions, if it’s not an inconvenience,” she said coolly.
And even if it is, we still have questions…
“Fine. Let’s go to the living room.” Rodney brushed past them and then turned to the left of the entry. He pulled the paper from his back pocket and slapped it onto a side table next to a recliner. He took a seat there, and Madison and Terry sat on a couch.
“When I was sent to jail—” Rodney said. “I’m sure you’re aware of my background and know that my son killed the cop who put me away.” A twinkle of something like pride crossed his eyes, and it made Madison want to sock the seventy-five-year-old right in the mouth.
“You think that’s something to be proud of?” she snarled.
Rodney shrugged. “I think it shows the love a son has for his father.”
Screw it. She couldn’t haul off and hit the guy physically, so she may as well do it verbally. And technically, the old man had brought up the past first. “Was Jimmy involved with the Russian Mafia?”
Terry turned toward her, but she didn’t acknowledge him.
Rodney picked up on Terry’s glance and slowly said, “I wouldn’t know.”
“You really expect me to believe that?” she spat.
Terry was staring at the side of her face now. With it, though, she realized how she’d said me not us. She hadn’t included Terry at all. And just when she’d convinced herself this wasn’t personal… The hell it wasn’t!
Madison continued. “You of all people should know if Jimmy had dealings with the Russians. You were certainly close with them.”
“Were being the operative word here,” Rodney said drily.
At least Terry seemed to have stopped staring at her. But now it was Rodney, and his gaze was doing as much to make her feel self-conscious as it was fueling her rage. His earlier dismissal of her grandfather’s murder made her stomach churn and the blood boil in her veins.
Rodney was angling his head now, left and right, right and left. “Why do you look familiar…?” After a few beats, Rodney snapped his fingers. “Aha! I know why.”
Her heart began to race. Did he connect her to her grandfather?
“You’re the detective who put Dimitre Petrov away.” Rodney smiled. “Impressive.”
“I don’t need you to be impressed.” Her jaw was so tight with contempt, she barely got the words out.
Dimitre was the son of the Roman Petrov. Roman headed up the Mafia back in Russia, and Dimitre ran things in Stiles. He’d been untouchable up until about eight years ago when Madison was able to tie him to a murder. Dimitre had been given a life sentence and was currently serving it in Mitchell County Prison. But he still had a reach that extended beyond bars.
“You do know, though, that you can’t stop a man like that…” Rodney leaned forward, peering into her eyes. “Even behind bars, he has ways to get what he wants done.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Her body stiffened. She had a feeling Rodney was holding back. Maybe her next question would get him to talk. “Do you think Dimitre’s behind your son’s death?”
Rodney laughed, but the amusement didn’t touch his eyes. Her breathing became shallow. Did that mean Constantine was, in fact, back and possibly acting on Dimitre’s orders? It had been on Dimitre’s command the first time that Constantine had cleaned house in Stiles, including the assassination of Dimitre’s own right-hand men, Sergey and Anatolli.
“Did Dimitre order a hit on your son?” she asked, this time with more conviction.
Rodney’s lips set into a scowl. “And why would he want to kill Jimmy?”
“He could be cleaning house again.”
“Cleaning house?” Rodney’s brow furrowed in supposed confusion, and he glanced at Terry, but Terry didn’t say anything.
Rodney had been out of prison for twenty-four years, and Madison found it hard to believe that he hadn’t been involved with the Russians in any way. After all, it was difficult to teach an old dog new tricks. But even if he was telling the truth, the murders of Sergey and Anatolli, who had been gunned down on the courthouse steps, had been covered on the news.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Madison hissed.
“I’m afraid I don’t.” Rodney’s gaze drifted back and forth between her and Terry.
Madison clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of rehashing everything. What mattered at the moment was that Rodney seemed to be avoiding conversation about the Russians and that told her that he had his suspicions about them killing his son. For now, that would have to do. If she kept pushing him on the Russians, he’d show them the door. She wanted to know more about Bates’s career and how he’d gotten to where he was. Plus, law enforcement had never found out who had taken over the books after Rodney went to prison. Maybe she could get Rodney to slip up. Maybe it had even been his son.
“Jimmy did well for himself,” she said, managing to tamp down her temper. “He lived in a nice place, had a successful career at an accounting firm.” She did her best to hide her judgment and speculation. But as she observed Rodney, she realized he would have left prison a broke man, and given the fact that he was now seventy-five and an ex-con, he wouldn’t be at the top of any employer’s desirable to-hire list. “Does he take care of you, too?”
“My son caught a break,” he growled. “That’s all. Nothing more to it.” He swiped his hands together the way one would to indicate washing their hands of someone.
“That doesn’t really answer her question,” Terry said, finally speaking up.
Rodney slid Terry a glance. “He bought me this place and gives me a monthly allowance. Not sure how this helps you find out who killed him.”
Madison crossed her arms. “Who gave your son this ‘break’?”
Rodney smirked and pointed a finger at her. “I said caught, not was given. But you expect me to say the Russians. It’s written all over your face and in your body language.”
She relaxed her posture, but it wasn’t easy. “I expect you to tell me the truth.”
“Nah—” Rodney shook his head “—you’re obsessed with the Mafia. You hold them accountable for your grandfather’s murder even more than you blame Jimmy.”
She held her breath, frozen. “You know who I am?”
A sinister smile. “From the moment I saw you at my door.”
“You son of—” Madison hurled herself off the couch, but Terry caught her by the arm. She shrugged free and turned to glare at him. His expression mirrored her own.
Rodney was chuckling, holding a hand over his mouth. “Temper, temper, Detective.”
She was fuming and breathing rapidly, her chest heaving. If the man in front of her hadn’t been involved with the Russians, her grandfather might still be alive. Rodney’s conviction, his crime, had sealed her grandfather’s murder. It took all her self-control not to lay a beating on this man.
“How did Jimmy secure a job at Berger & Stein?” Terry asked the question as if he were just making polite conversation.
Rodney ran a hand over his mouth, literally wiping the smirk off his face. �
��His employer spotted a natural talent and hired him on.”
“A natural talent?” Madison mocked, drawing Rodney’s gaze back to her. “Jimmy was an ex-con and a cop killer. In the real world, someone like him is rarely given a second chance and is lucky to get work at a fast-food joint. There’s more to this.” She was sick of toeing some imaginary line between what was appropriate and what wasn’t.
Rodney’s pulse tapped in his cheeks. “I might have put in a word for him.”
“At Berger & Stein?” she asked.
Rodney pursed his lips. “Yes, at Berger & Stein.”
She tapped a foot on the floor. “With who?”
Rodney looked down, noticing her impatient mannerism. She kept tapping her foot.
“The more cooperative you are with us,” Terry told him, “the faster we’ll be able to find out what happened to your son and why.”
Rodney sat back and clasped his hands on his lap. “Are you telling me that if I don’t cooperate, you won’t do your job and find my son’s killer?”
Terry shook his head adamantly. “I didn’t say that.”
Rodney fired a glare at Madison. She stopped tapping her foot now.
“And neither did she,” Terry snapped. “Let’s just talk a minute about Berger & Stein. What’s your connection to it?”
Rodney sliced a glare at Madison. “Your grandfather harassed me. He was obsessed with proving my guilt. I wouldn’t doubt that he fabricated the evidence.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. He was trying to elicit a reaction, and it was a good thing Terry was there. “Don’t you dare say another word about my grandfather,” she ground out.
“Why? I didn’t even think you knew him. How can you defend him?” Rodney’s bitter judgment struck her like a bullet to the chest. Searing pain blossomed inside her, rendering her speechless.
Terry glanced at Madison but settled his gaze on Rodney. “We’re not here to discuss Detective Knight’s grandfather,” Terry said firmly. “And she asked you a question awhile ago that still hasn’t been answered. Who did you call on at Berger & Stein?”
Rodney gritted his teeth. “Greg Berger. He’s retired now, but his son, Lyle, took over as a managing partner.”
Power Struggle Page 4
