One by One

by Sarah Cain

  He’d have to go through the book again more carefully. Greg had a large circle of friends. It would take time to remember them all. He needed to write down all of the names of the Awesome Eleven.

  “Yo, Daniel.”

  He started at Alex’s voice. She bounced up the stairs a moment later and poked her head in his office door. “It’s a beautiful evening. What’re you up to?”

  “Research.”

  “Looks more like a trip down memory lane.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Put it aside for tonight. I’m inviting you to the official opening of our pool. Sam’s in a snit. He wanted a quiet evening, and now we’re having company. God forbid. He’ll get happy if you come.”

  “Don’t you ever cut that poor man any slack?”

  She sashayed into the room and sat on the arm of the sofa. “I cut him all kinds of slack last night.”

  Danny leaned back in his seat and assessed her bright-yellow dress. It clung to every curve. He was sure Sam had no complaints. Alex brought zest and passion to his life. He brought soothing tranquility to hers. Twelve years of marriage hadn’t broken them. Yet.

  “If you come, he’ll make an effort to be social.”

  “Maybe he’s tired.”

  Her face hardened a little. “Yeah, he’s a saint with a bitch for a wife.”

  “I never said that.”

  “I should be more like my sister, Thea. The dermatologist. She’s a perfect lady, you know. She has a perfect cardiologist husband and two perfect children—a boy and a girl who go to the perfect private school where they get perfect grades. And did I mention that they have a perfect Golden Retriever? It even wears a red bandana. They live in New York.”

  “I’m sure she’s not as interesting as you.”

  She waved him off, but she gave him a little smirk. “Listen. I talked to Paul Gargan, who covers business and economic development for the Camden Journal. Something’s very funky about old Greg.”

  “No shit. Someone mailed me Greg’s tongue.”

  She jumped up. “Oh, no, babe! Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you call?”

  “I figured you didn’t want to be part of this after the last Greg experience.”

  Alex said nothing for a moment, just tapped her foot. “I shouldn’t have freaked out. Okay?” When he started to protest, she held up her hand. “Just shut up, Ryan. It’s on me. I’m not pissed at you, so don’t go all white knight on me.”

  “You’re tough, is that it?”

  “You know I am.” She jerked her head up, looking like she was ready to devour him. The lioness was back, and he was glad he was sitting. The electricity shooting out from her was tangible. It zapped over his skin, hot and powerful enough to bring him to his knees.

  “Good.” She gave him a small, triumphant smile. “And I have news. Greg Moss was more than a realtor. He had a lot of high-powered political ties. The rumor is he was tight, as in close personal friends, with Congressman George Crossman and possibly—though I don’t have this confirmed—Robert Harlan.”

  Bile began to work its way up toward Danny’s throat. It was a familiar thing, and it followed a well-worn path. The poisoned undercurrent of political sludge, creeping up his sunny lawn, sliding in through the cracks in the foundation to hover just out of sight; it lingered, waiting to pull him back into the shadows.

  Danny ran his hand over the pebbled black vinyl cover of the yearbook and stared at the gold embossing. It was a cosmic oddity: the curious coincidence of graduating from the same high school in the same year. Maybe it was more of a karmic fuck-you.

  Everything happens for a reason.

  Somehow that didn’t make him feel better.

  Alex came over to him, sliding a hand around his shoulder. He forced himself to look up at her. Golden. Alex was golden. Gold-brown hair. Tawny skin. Amber eyes. Funny how he’d never thought about it before. She’d probably been popular in high school.

  “Danny?” She spoke softly, as if he were a child, and he wondered at the slip-slide of their positions. Comforter one day, wreck the next.

  “Does Gargan have proof?” he said with some effort.

  “Nothing solid. Just innuendo at this point. Greg had a lot of high-powered clients. Of course, he was a top real estate guy. He did seem to have been friends with Crossman. He did recently close a sale on a huge property in Avalon for Senator Harlan.”

  “Residential property?” Danny couldn’t recall the senator owning any private property on the Jersey shore. He had preferred the privacy and exclusivity of his Maine retreat.

  “It was commercial property, and it went for a ton of money.”

  “I wonder if Pulaski, Soldano, or Farnasi was involved with any property development.”

  “I don’t know, but I believe Greg went to their funerals.”

  “Pulaski.” Danny flipped back through the yearbook. Nate Pulaski was the huge kid with the smooth bullet-shaped head, turned-up nose, and close-set eyes. He was a bull of a guy. Danny couldn’t imagine someone overpowering him.

  “When did he die?” Alex asked.

  “According to Kevin, around December, two years ago. He was living in Austin, Texas, at the time. Some folks found him outside his apartment.”

  “When did Farnasi buy it?”

  “Last September. In Boston, or maybe it was Cambridge. He was shot, supposedly while being mugged. Nine millimeter.”

  “How about Soldano?”

  “Same thing. Mugged in New York. He died six months ago.”

  Alex frowned. “That’s kind of a nasty pattern, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, it is. And how did Gargan find out about the development stuff?”

  “He talked to one Barbara Capozzi.” She sat back down on the arm of the sofa. “Do you know her?”

  Greg’s old girlfriend, the queen of the social pyramid. “Everyone knew Babs,” he said.

  “Then she’s the person to start with.”

  13

  In the back booth, Kevin hunched over his Yuengling and watched the top of the Phillies batting order go down. One. Two. Three. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried to shut out the voices that buzzed around him in increasing volume as the bar began to fill. An Old City sports bar, it faced I-95 and the Delaware River beyond and hosted a younger crowd of twenty-somethings who sported tattoos and spent every cent on fancy cell phones, computers, and booze.

  The padded green vinyl seats and dark paneling were almost enough to make him nostalgic for the Shamrock, but that hole had been a second home to the biggest rat bastard who ever walked the earth. Kevin finished his beer and held up his bottle.

  Fuck you, Dad.

  The cute dark-haired waitress with a nametag that read “Amy” approached his table smiling. “Another beer, sir?” God, he was so old, young women called him “sir.” Not like the old days when the girls would drape over him and feel his bulging arm muscles.

  “Just one more, thanks. And you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

  She tilted her head toward him. “Okay. Do you have a name?”

  “Just Kevin.”

  Her smile broadened. “Okay, ‘Just Kevin.’ I’ll be right back.”

  He knew she was trawling for tips, but his mood lightened a tiny bit. Nothing like having a cute girl smile and tease you.

  “Hey, man. Sorry I’m late. I had to drop the kids.” Jake appeared at his right and sat down at the table. “If I’m ten minutes late, Cindy calls her lawyer, then I don’t see ’em for a month.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “I was a shitty husband.” Jake slouched in the seat, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. “I miss the boys though. Twice a month sucks. I’m afraid they’ll get used to Uncle Daddy.”

  “The boys love you,” Kevin said. Jake may have been a shitty husband, but he’d always been available for his boys. Every game, every school event. If only he’d learned to keep his fly shut, but Kevin didn’t judge. The job was hard enough. Stress wore yo
u down in so many ways, like water running down a rock. Some guys dove into a bottle. Some slept around. Everyone got a little harder.

  The waitress arrived with Kevin’s beer. “Hey, Jake. Long time,” she said. “The usual?”

  He waved and gave her a wan smile. “Thanks, yeah.”

  “She’s cute,” Kevin said.

  “And young. Some days, man.” Jake grimaced when he shifted. “I pulled a muscle at the gym a couple days ago. It still hurts.”

  “Well, you can do some research then,” Kevin said. “I need some background on a cop, but it has to be done quiet-like.”

  “Someone I know?” Jake leaned forward, his eyes alert.

  “Camden County cop named Ted Eliot. Ring a bell?”

  “This the cop that dealt with your brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’s up?”

  “How many detectives you know wear custom suits?”

  Jake chewed on his lip. “Well, Dez Hinton dresses sharp. I always wondered where he gets his threads. I mean, he must spend his whole paycheck on clothes.”

  “Like four-grand sharp? I don’t think Dez is dropping four grand on suits, man.”

  “Not four grand.”

  “And this guy wears a . . . wait a minute.” Kevin dug in his pocket and pulled out his notebook. “A Patek Philippe watch. Ever hear of them?”

  Jake shook his head. “I thought rich guys wore Rolex watches.”

  Kevin nodded. “Nobody owns these except really rich guys. Twenty thousand is low end. Okay?”

  A cheer went up at the bar, and Kevin glanced over. The Phillies had scored a run. Now they were only behind by two. Three guys in sidewise baseball caps were dancing, and Kevin looked away. The old man would have clubbed him for wearing a hat inside.

  “So you’re thinking this guy’s a dirty cop? Or maybe he’s a dumb cop because he’s wearing that bling to work? Or maybe he’s working undercover. Is this relevant to anything?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know. I just need more information, but I don’t want him to know I’m looking into him.”

  “It’s pretty weird. A cop wearin’ suits that expensive. And a watch like that? Shit. I’d be afraid it’d get smashed up or caught on something.”

  “Well, he’s not on patrol, but yeah, you’re right.”

  “So what brought this on?”

  Kevin could have told Jake that Danny was suspicious of Ted Eliot, and he would have looked into him just the same. They’d been partners for too long. He didn’t say anything, and he wasn’t sure why. He trusted Danny’s instincts, and he trusted Jake with his life. But Jake didn’t need to know the source of his distrust, just like Danny didn’t need to know he was checking out Ted Eliot.

  “Could you just do it?”

  Jake nodded. “Okay. Give me a day or two. My cousin’s in the Camden County PD. He’s cool. It won’t come back to you.”

  “Thanks. You’re okay.”

  Jake grinned. “Aw hell, Kevin. You’ll make me blush.” He watched the waitress approach with his Sam Adams. He nudged Kevin. “Now if you really want to be a pal, you could head on back to your adoring wife and let me entertain a certain waitress.”

  “I thought you said she was too young.”

  “No. I said she was young.” Jake winked. “But I’m up for it.”

  Kevin sighed. He owed fourteen for his beers and dug out a twenty. Jake could pay for his own drink.

  “Hey. You’re not leaving yet, are you, Just Kevin?” Amy said as she set down Jake’s beer.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Family commitments.” He handed her the twenty. “Keep the change.”

  14

  Even on a bright spring evening, coming back to Northern Liberties, a gentrifying section of lower Northeast Philly, still raised specters of memories best forgotten. Danny drove around the neighborhood, past the street where the Sandman Case had started, past the rebuilt warehouses where young girls had been held captive waiting to be sent to slavery or death, past the deserted club that had once held a chamber of torture. His ghosts drifted along, almost transparent, but always present.

  It hadn’t been hard to find Babs Capozzi. She ran a catering business called DelecTable, located on the edge of Northern Liberties, down the street from the new tapas restaurant on Second Street where she agreed to meet Danny for dinner.

  Babs had been the fantasy girl for many of the guys. She had always been the kind of girl who made you dream of breathless nights with your mouth on her perfect breasts, her long toned legs wrapped around you. She walked with the sleek assurance of a queen, and tonight when she’d entered the restaurant, she’d paused in the doorway, adjusted her low-cut aqua dress, and sauntered toward him. Her short red hair was slightly more blonde now, and her face was a little harder, but she was still Babs, and her full red mouth with its perfect teeth opened in a knowing smile when he stood to greet her.

  “Dan Ryan,” she said and leaned in to kiss him. “You haven’t changed a bit.” She’d never noticed him in high school, but now she seemed happy to see him.

  “Babs, you look beautiful as always.”

  “What have you been up to these days? I heard you left the Sentinel.”

  “I still do the occasional guest column. Now I freelance.”

  She looked him over, and he watched her calculate the cost of his wardrobe. “It must be lucrative.”

  “I get by. What about you?”

  “I have my business. It took a few years, but I’m finally making a profit.”

  “Good for you.”

  The waitress came, and Babs ordered a pinot noir. “You don’t drink?”

  “Not much.” He pointed to his head. “Migraines.”

  “That’s a bitch. I heard about your family. I’m sorry.” She made a face. “Our class has had its share of bad luck, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it has. Like Greg Moss.”

  Understanding dawned on her face. “So I’m assuming we’re not getting together to reminisce because you’ve been pining for me.” She laughed a little. “Not that I’d mind.”

  “I was the one who found Greg’s body.” He figured he might as well come out and tell her what had happened. It might establish some level of trust between them. “I was supposed to meet him that day.”

  She blinked. “You were meeting Greg?”

  “He was getting some pretty strange text messages. He asked me to look into it.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  The waitress brought her wine, and she took a swallow. Some kind of Spanish guitar music began to play, but Babs sat staring into the ruby liquid.

  “You stayed in contact with him. Was he worried about anything? Having trouble with anyone?” Danny asked.

  Babs shrugged. “Of course, he didn’t tell me everything, but I guess he would have mentioned if he was being threatened. Why?”

  “I’m trying to figure out why someone would send him Bible quotes.”

  “That’s pretty strange.”

  “He never said anything to you?”

  Babs sucked in her breath, and Danny watched the way she avoided his eyes as she considered her answer. Babs was a cool one. She always had been.

  “Greg wouldn’t have wanted to worry me.”

  “But you talked.”

  “Poor Greg. He was a good guy, y’know?” Babs said at last. “We kept in touch. He was that way. If he knew you, he knew you. Like you could have called him up out of the blue, and he would have been glad to hear from you. That’s why he was so good at his job. I know he lived in that little house, but he did quite well, all things considered.”

  “So you don’t know anyone who’d want to kill him? A deal gone bad? Pissed-off girlfriend?”

  “Honest to God, no. Greg was just a happy guy.” She picked up the menu and pretended to study it. Danny glanced at his own menu, giving her time to work out what she was going to tell him. He’d have to sift through the information and decide how much of it was true. When the w
aitress returned, he ordered a bottle of pinot noir. It would be worth the migraine if it pried loose her tongue.

  “So Greg wasn’t worried about anything?” he said.

  “Well, okay. He did mention he’d gotten some messages. He didn’t tell me what they said.”

  “So he never showed them to you?”

  “No, but I think the others were getting them, too.”

  “The others?”

  Her eyes opened wide for a moment. “Yeah. The others. Greg kept in touch with Ricky, Chris, and Nate. Ricky was kind of an asshole, and I don’t remember Chris that well, but I liked Nate. The guys used to call him Penis Head because he had that shaved head sticking out of those massive shoulders.” She laughed a little. “You ever see Nate Pulaski in a bathing suit? It was scary.”

  Danny recalled Nate from the photographs in his yearbook. He was a fragment in the primordial soup of his memory. Babs was smiling at him, avoiding his eyes. She was playing games with him, pretending to know less than she did.

  “It just seems weird that Nate died, and Chris and Ricky as well. Now Greg,” Danny said.

  “Sure. But probably they aren’t the only ones from our class. I mean, people do die.”

  “They were all shot with the same caliber gun.”

  Babs’s smile faltered for a second, and something in her eyes flickered. “Oh, but what’s her name died, too, and she wasn’t shot, though that was years ago.”

  “Who?”

  “You remember. The fat girl. She had a crush on you.”

  “Jenna Jeffords?”

  “That’s the one. She was pretty pathetic, old Jenna was. She died in a house fire.”

  “I’d heard she’d died.”

  “It was bad. Her mom identified her.”

  “That must have been rough.”

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t like Jenna was going places.” Babs finished her wine and set down the glass. She looked at Danny like she wanted to say more and then decided against it. “Yeah, I know, it sounds cold, but it’s true. Don’t you remember that awful romance she wrote?” She put her hand against her heart and said in a breathy voice, “‘And as their lips met, her being filled with the molten lava of sensation.’ Give me a break.”