by Susan Fleet
And Orazio was acting strange. A half hour ago when the newspaper was delivered, he took it in the sitting room to read it. A minute later, he called Tommy over and showed him something in the newspaper. Then they had gone upstairs, visibly concerned.
What had Orazio seen in the newspaper?
She rose to her feet and said to Catarina, “I'm going to take my tea in the sitting room and read the newspaper.”
Impeccably dressed in one of her new outfits, Catarina smiled and said, “I miss reading my newspaper in the morning, especially the fashion section. But we'll be home in a few days.”
She forced a smile. “Yes, just in time for Christmas. How nice.”
Nice for Catarina, but she didn't intend to be on the plane with her. By then she and Bianca would be gone. If Orazio hadn't killed them.
She set her tea on the table beside the wing chair and picked up the Times-Picayune. A headline in the Metro section caught her eye. No Leads in Restaurant Massacre. Beside the article was a photo of a restaurant surrounded by police vehicles and yellow crime scene tape.
But she had no interest in that. The newswoman's words flashed into in her mind. Detectives have identified one man but won't release his name until his next of kin are notified.
Tears misted her eyes. Bruce's family would be devastated, especially his grandfather, who had sent him to meet her at Pak Lam's request. Last night she'd been too exhausted to call Pak Lam, but she could no longer avoid it. She had to call him before Bruce's grandfather did.
She finished her tea and set the mug on the table beside the newspaper. The other headline drew her eye. No Leads in Restaurant Massacre. She skimmed the article.
The Saigon Canteen remains closed as homicide detectives seek clues to what happened there Sunday night. Witnesses say two men entered the Vietnamese restaurant shortly after five o'clock. Detectives believe they shot the owner, Bao Ng, 64, and his nephews, Chien Ng, 24, and Dung Ng, 26, in a storeroom at the rear of the restaurant. The owner's son, Nguyen Ng, 23, also died, apparently from a broken neck.
The Ng family is well-known to police. Two months ago the nephews were arrested in connection with a home invasion in which a Vietnamese family was viciously beaten and robbed of money and jewelry. At the time of the massacre the nephews were free on bail. Witnesses have been reluctant to talk to police. Detectives ask anyone with information to call the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's office.
She rubbed her swollen jaw. Five o'clock Sunday night. Four men dead. Was that where Orazio and Tommy went after the steamboat ride? Was that why Orazio showed Tommy the newspaper? An icy chill prickled her neck. She had no proof that they were at the restaurant Sunday night, but it seemed like a reasonable assumption. Not that she was going to call the detectives and tell them.
She had to escape. Human life meant nothing to these monsters.
She returned to the table and said to Catarina in Italian, “I need to talk to the woman who cooks lunch. I'm not feeling well. I want to ask her to make me some soup.”
“I want to come with you!” Bianca said, pouting.
Her stomach clenched in a knot. If Bianca pitched a fit, Orazio might hear it and come downstairs. “Not now. I'll bring you down later for a Popsicle.”
“No. I want one now!”
Catarina came to her rescue. “Settle down, Bianca. Laura doesn't feel well. Stay here with me while she talks to the cook.”
Dreading the phone call she had to make, she hurried to the kitchen. Annmarie wasn't there, but the door to the garage was open. When she stepped into the garage, Annmarie was coming out of the laundry room. “Hi, Laura, how ya doing?”
“I need to call my boyfriend in Boston, but I'm afraid Nicky will come looking for me. Can you warn me if he does?”
Annmarie frowned. “What happened? Your jaw looks like it's swollen. Did someone hit you?”
“No. I need to make my phone call. Can you help me?”
Still frowning, Annmarie said, “Okay, but you need to put ice on your jaw. I'll shut the door to the garage while you make your call. If anyone comes looking for you, I'll rap on the door.”
“Thank you.” As soon as the door closed, she took out her iPhone and punched in a number.
Pak Lam answered right away. “Natalie, I've been so worried. Why didn't you call me last night?”
“Something terrible happened.” Her heart pounded and her mouth felt drier than burnt toast. What would Pak Lam say when she told him Bruce was dead?
“I managed to get out of the house, but someone followed me. The CIA agent who's been hunting for me because I killed his friend in Boston. I don't know how he found me.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“We should have locked the door, but we didn't. Bruce told me you know his grandfather. While we were talking in the back room, the CIA agent came inside, but we didn't hear him. He shot Bruce.”
A sharp intake of breath. “That is terrible! Is he badly hurt?”
She clenched the phone in her sweaty hands. “It pains me to tell you this. I'm so ashamed. I know this will bring dishonor to you. Bruce is dead. I should not have allowed this to happen.”
Silence on the other end. She waited.
At last Pak Lam said, “You could not foresee that this would happen. Tell me the rest of it.”
She glanced at the door to the kitchen. “I can't talk long. I'm hiding in the garage. The mobsters might come in and find me. The CIA agent tried to kill me, too, but I kicked him in the head and ran in a storage closet.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I killed him.”
“Good. I would expect nothing less from my esteemed daughter. When I speak with Bruce's grandfather, I will tell him you have avenged his grandson's murder. But why did you not leave New Orleans immediately? Did Bruce give you the documents?”
“Yes, but I'm worried about Bianca. If I leave her with these mobsters, they will kill her. She's only five years old.”
“You want to take her with you.”
“Yes. I know it will be complicated, but—” A sharp rap sounded on the door to the kitchen. “Someone's coming. Call you later.”
She jammed the iPhone into her purse and lunged into the laundry room. She heard the kitchen door open, then footsteps.
Orazio appeared in the doorway of the laundry room.
“What are you doing in here?” he said, glaring at her.
“I want to hand wash some clothes and I need detergent,” she said, angling her face away from him so he wouldn't see her swollen jaw.
His relentless eyes locked onto hers, hard as granite. “After dinner I will take you and the girl Christmas shopping. That should make you happy.”
“Tonight?” she said stupidly, the headache pounding her temples like a sledgehammer.
“Yes, tonight. Did I not say after dinner? Make sure she is dressed and ready to go.” Orazio punched the button to open the garage door and climbed into the black SUV.
Filled with despair, she went in the kitchen. Orazio had just given her a death sentence.
Annmarie handed her a towel wrapped around a bag of frozen peas. “I don't know what's going on, Laura, but remember what I said. These guys don't mess around.”
“Thanks for the warning, and the frozen peas.” She forced a smile. “I promised Bianca I'd bring her down for a Popsicle later. See you then.”
That would make Bianca happy, but it would take a lot more than a Popsicle to make her happy.
Delivering the bad news to Pak Lam was bad enough.
After dinner Orazio was taking her and Bianca Christmas shopping.
Nonsense. He was going to take them somewhere and kill them.
CHAPTER 32
TUESDAY 10:15 AM
Orazio leaned against the redwood railing behind the seafood restaurant, puffing his cigar. Leaden clouds filled the darkening sky. A storm was brewing over Lake Pontchartrain, like the problems festering in his mind. What was the nanny doing in the garage this morning?
He didn
't believe her bullshit excuse about washing clothes. She was up to something. When he said he would take her and the kid shopping after dinner tonight, he had seen the anxious look on her face. Almost as though she suspected what might happen.
On his way to the restaurant he had driven past the elegant property that would soon be his, but this failed to ease his black mood. Thursday morning he would sign the papers, launder close to million dollars in cash and acquire a fine piece of real estate. His ownership would be hidden in the LLC trust Silvano had created many years ago for Father. The one satisfactory part of his stay here.
The matter at the Vietnamese restaurant worried him. Thanks to the sensational article in today's newspaper, the cops would be under pressure to solve the crime. The article said the Ng family was known to the cops. If Silvano saw the article, would he recall the comment he'd made at the sit-down about Vietnamese gangs?
Orazio puffed his cigar. The SUV was the problem. In his haste to escape from the Saigon Canteen, Tommy had turned right on Veterans Boulevard, which took them past the restaurant. What if someone saw them and described the vehicle to the cops? There were plenty of black SUVs around, but cops had ways to identify the owners.
And the black SUV belonged to Silvano.
Dread pierced his gut like a corkscrew ripping into a piece of cork. If the cops questioned Silvano as to the whereabouts of his Toyota Sequoia on Sunday night, the consequences would be catastrophic. Silvano was no fool. He knew Orazio had stolen diamonds from a jewelry store in Venice. Would he now suspect that Orazio had gone to the Saigon Canteen to fence stolen jewelry? Valuable jewelry he had not reported to Tick-Tock, denying him the tribute he rightfully deserved.
Now Silvano's SUV was parked behind the restaurant where the cops wouldn't see it. And it was safe enough parked in the garage where they were staying. But tonight after dinner when he got rid of the kid and the nanny, he couldn't use Silvano's SUV. That would be foolhardy.
Tommy's pain-in-the-ass wife was another problem. Catarina wanted to go shopping this afternoon. To quiet her incessant demands, he had agreed to drive her and Tommy to Canal Place, a ritzy shopping mall in the French Quarter, at two o'clock. Using the black SUV to get there would be a huge risk. The cops might already be looking for it.
He drew on his cigar, a fine Montecristo imported from Cuba. The distinctive aroma reminded him of his father. What would Father do? At certain times, he felt Father's presence, swirling around him like smoke from a cigar. Times when danger lurked on all sides.
A piercing screech distracted him. Seagulls hovering over a nearby dumpster flapped their wings and emitted raucous calls, fighting over discarded scraps from the seafood restaurant. Rolling thunder drew his attention to the sky, black with clouds now.
Perhaps this was an omen. The gulls knew a storm was approaching. Trolling the lake for fish during a violent storm would expose them to danger, so they settled for less, the entrails of fish from the restaurant kitchen.
He puffed his cigar and blew a smoke ring, just as Father used to do so many years ago.
What would Father do?
Like a puff of smoke, the solution came to him. He would drive to the airport, park Silvano's SUV in the garage and take a shuttle bus to a rental car agency. There he would rent another SUV, a different make and model, and not black. Tommy and Catarina might wonder about this, but to hell with them.
He would need a credit card to rent a car. Maybe he would ask Laura for hers. The thought amused him. He wouldn't, of course.
That would lead to bigger problems when her body was found and the cops identified her.
Drops of rain spattered the redwood deck. He tossed his cigar in the water and headed for the SUV. He would use one of his own credit cards to rent another SUV. No worries. His name wasn't on the card.
_____
10:35 AM
Frank hustled into the homicide office, finger-combed his damp hair and sat down at his desk. After he dropped Mary Hogan at the airport, a downpour had snarled traffic and delayed him. David and Orville were out working cases. Perfect.
He punched Kelly's number into his cellphone. She answered right away. “Kelly O'Neil.” That meant she was in her office. She knew it was him, but that's how she answered when other people were around.
“Kelly, I need your help.”
“What's going on?”
“Now that King Rock's locked up, I want to serve the murder warrants on Natalie.”
He told her about the surveillance house and ended by saying, “Natalie needs an excuse to leave the mob house with Bianca. Can you bring Jacques to the Hogan house this afternoon? Maybe take him outside, make it look like the kids want to play with each other.”
“Difficult. My supervisor called a department meeting at two.”
“Make it work, Kelly. This might be my only chance to grab Natalie. The kids won't be in any danger. David will be there. We'll handle the arrest.”
“Okay. I'll think of something. I'll call the social worker and call you back.”
“Thanks, Kelly. You're the best.” He ended the call, and pumped his fist. Arrest Natalie, put her in the lockup and everyone would be happy.
Well, he and Vobitch would. Natalie, not so much.
His cellphone rang. When he answered, Vobitch said, “Frank, where are you?”
“Just got back to the office. I lined up a surveillance house near the mob house, just drove the owner to the airport. She few to Phoenix to spend Christmas with her daughter. I'm going to text Natalie and get her to bring Bianca to the house this afternoon.”
“What if the wiseguys won't let her leave?”
Trust Vobitch to zero in on the problem. “I asked Kelly to bring Jacques to the house and play with him outside. That will give Natalie an excuse to bring Bianca over there to play with him.”
“Good plan, but our gal Natalie knows we got outstanding murder warrants on her. Why go there and risk getting arrested?”
He didn't have an answer for that one. “What else can I do? It's too dangerous to try and get into the mob house to arrest her. Conti figures they'll fly back to Venice for Christmas. Thursday at the latest. That leaves today and tomorrow. Maybe Natalie will decide the mobsters are more dangerous than I am. Sitting in jail is better than getting shot.”
“You think she'll go down without a fight? I don't.”
“David will be there and so will Kelly. Natalie's not armed. Not that I plan on using a gun with kids around. I put Natalie in the lockup. Kelly brings Bianca to the social services people.”
“What about your pal Conti?”
“He won't be there. I didn't tell him about the surveillance house.”
“Okay, but be careful. Kids involved, we don't want any shooting. Speaking of which, IAD called me this morning and said they'd postpone your hearing until after the holidays.”
“That's good. Is King Rock still in the lockup?”
“Yes. They're holding him on the witness intimidation warrant. The DA needs more time to indict him for Angelique's murder. I told him to charge the scumbag with resisting arrest, shooting at you and a few other things. Christ, he's a convicted felon, unlawfully carrying a firearm.”
“What about his fifteen-year-old girlfriend?”
“They're holding her in juvenile detention. Her mother can't raise the money to bail her out.” And after a pause, “Did you hear about the murders at the hair salon in Metairie? Manager opens up yesterday morning and finds two corpses?”
“No. I didn't have time to watch TV this morning.”
“Jefferson Parish Sheriff's office called me a half hour ago. They ID'd one victim, a hair stylist who worked there. No ID on the other guy, but their detective ran his prints. You ready for this? It was our racist prick CIA agent, Clint Hammer.”
Frank sat bolt upright in his chair. “Hammer? Jesus! There's only one reason for him to be in New Orleans. He's after Natalie.”
“That's what I figure, but now he's dead. Looks like hi
s Beretta killed the hair stylist, one shot to the head. So, who killed Hammer?”
“Not Natalie. She's been in the mob house since Sunday afternoon at four-thirty.”
“Don't underestimate her, Frank. You may think she was in there, but maybe she wasn't. Two years ago she murdered three men here and got away. In September she escaped from Boston after she stole paintings from the Gardner Museum. Only reason we know she's here is because Conti called you.”
He hated to admit it, but Vobitch was right. “How did Hammer find her?”
“The fucking asshole probably used that face-recognition software he was always bragging about. Good luck with your plan to grab Natalie. Keep me posted.”
“Don't worry,” Frank said. “When I arrest her, you'll be the first to know.”
_____
Festus poured himself a mug of black coffee, sat down at his kitchen table and rubbed his bleary eyes. He'd slept late but he still felt sleep deprived. Last night he'd driven to Subway, devoured a steak-and-cheese and called Clint again. No answer.
When he drove to the motel on Vets Boulevard, Clint's rented Toyota Camry wasn't there, so he drove back to the mob house. The Camry wasn't there either, so he had driven home and fallen into bed.
He sipped his coffee. Clint already owed him for two days of surveillance. Damned if he'd keep working for him. If the asshole called today, he'd tell him to piss off. He'd already called his boss at Louisiana Livery, said he was feeling better and was ready to get back to work.
He glanced at the Times-Picayune on the table and skimmed the lead story. A local politician in trouble for skimming money from some fund or other. Nothing new there. He opened the Metro Section and a headline jumped out at him. Sunday Night Massacre at Vietnamese Restaurant. Nothing new there, either. These Vietnamese gangsters were beyond vicious.
Below the fold another headline caught his eye. Two Men Found Dead in Hair Salon. He skimmed the article. The cops had identified one man but not the other. They believed the men had been murdered after the salon closed at nine Sunday night.
