It was time to track down Sarge.
After punching in the man’s cell number, he put the phone to his ear. Barely into the first ring, Paul barked out a greeting. Flinching, Cole yanked the phone back a few inches. “Sarge, it’s Cole. I’ve uncovered a lot of interesting information since we talked this morning that I’d like to pass on so we can discuss next steps. Are you coming back here today?”
“I’m walking into the building as we speak. I also saw Carlson pull into the parking lot. I’ll flag him down. Meet me in my office in five minutes.”
A click told Cole the call was over.
He set the receiver back in its cradle, gathered up his notes, and headed for Paul’s office. Hoping Alan wouldn’t be too miffed he’d taken over his case . . . and found some holes.
Kelly swirled the sable tuft of her favorite #8 filbert brush into a bar of soap, then dabbed it against her palm under warm running water until the suds were white. After a final rinse, she squeezed the water out of the brush with a paper towel, reformed the hairs to their original shape, and laid the brush next to the others on the terry-cloth square beside her utility sink in the basement.
Although she’d been distracted by Cole’s intimation this morning that the disparate pieces of information she’d uncovered were fitting together, she’d managed to focus long enough to complete the dogwood illustration. Tomorrow she’d get back to her woodland fairies.
As she ascended the steps to the kitchen, she heard the muffled ring of her cell phone and picked up her pace. Maybe Cole had some news to report.
By the time she dug it out of her purse, however, it had rolled to voice mail.
Before she could check her messages, though, her landline rang. She dashed across the room and snatched it out of its cradle, issuing a breathless greeting.
“Kelly? Cole. I’ve got some information I’d like to share in person. May I stop by on my way home from work?”
She checked her watch. “You do put in long hours. First you work all weekend, then you stay until seven-thirty? Did you get pulled into the homicide again?”
“No. I’ve been on your dad’s case all day. It’s officially reopened. That’s what I want to talk with you about.”
Her fingers tightened on the phone. “You discovered something important.”
“Very.”
“You can come anytime. The sooner the better.”
“Did you eat dinner yet?”
“As a matter of fact, no. I just stopped for the day too.”
“Why don’t I grab a pizza for us? I worked through lunch and I’m starving.”
“If you worked through lunch on my dad’s case, I should feed you.”
“You already did that twice. It’s my turn. Is pizza okay?”
“Sure. Any kind is fine. And takeout pizza is one of the few things I rarely have to worry about in terms of peanuts.”
“I’ll ask anyway. Look for me in less than an hour.”
As Kelly hung up, she inspected her paint-stained shirt. Anxious as she was to hear Cole’s news, she was glad he’d given her some warning. If she hurried, she could grab a shower and wash her hair before he got here. Not her usual routine of an evening—but then again, she didn’t have many visitors as appealing as the tall detective.
Forty-five minutes later, as she brushed on a touch of mascara, her doorbell rang. Lucky she hadn’t dawdled in the shower. He hadn’t wasted any time getting here.
The savory aroma of pepperoni and tomato sauce greeted her when she opened the door and ushered him in. “That smells great.”
“Tell me about it.” He grinned, waving the box under her nose as he passed, his five-o’clock shadow clear evidence he’d had no opportunity to freshen up after his long day. “It took every ounce of my willpower not to pilfer a piece—or two—as I drove. Kitchen?” He hefted the box.
“Yes.”
She preceded him, grabbing paper napkins and plates as she passed a cabinet. “Would you like a soda?”
“Sure.”
She pulled out two Cokes and joined him at the table, dispensing the drinks, plates, and napkins.
“Thanks.” He popped the tab and eased the box in her direction. “Dig in.”
She took a piece, waited while he did the same, then bowed her head and said a silent blessing. She’d offered a brief prayer of thanks the other two times they’d eaten together too, and while he hadn’t commented, she sensed it made him uncomfortable.
Not a positive omen for their future.
But she set aside that concern for the moment. Tonight she wanted to focus on his news. Based on the way he was wolfing down his first piece of pizza, though, he hadn’t been kidding when he’d claimed to be starving. Better to give him a few minutes to take the edge off his hunger before plying him with questions.
Half a pizza and ten minutes later, after offering no more than a few words of conversation, Cole came up for air.
“Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish grin as he wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I don’t make a habit of devouring my food like that. Skipping lunch was a bad idea—but I had good reason.”
“And I’ve been waiting patiently to hear it.”
He surveyed her plate, and she checked it out as well. Only one bite was missing from her second piece of pizza. “Anxiously too. Sorry to keep you in suspense.” He wadded up his napkin and pushed his plate aside. “Go ahead and eat while I bring you up to speed.”
Her appetite had vanished, but rather than argue, she picked up her pizza and nibbled at it as she gave him an expectant look.
“Okay.” He pinned her with those intent, assessing blue eyes. “On the drive over, I tried to think of a way to ease into this, but I couldn’t come up with anything. So I’ll give it to you straight. The picture you found of your mom and dad on their wedding day did contain the right names. Your father was a witness in a Mafia trial in New York thirty-one years ago. My assumption is that your dad, you, and your mother were given new identities and put into the Witness Security program after the trial ended.”
Mafia. New identities. Witness Security program.
The words echoed in her mind but wouldn’t compute.
As Kelly stared at him, the bite of pizza lodged in her throat. She groped for her can of soda. Took a swig. Swallowed.
And then, as the implications began to slam into her, she started to shake.
Her whole world, her very identity—all she’d believed about her parents—was a sham.
The aluminum crinkled beneath her fingers, and a geyser of soda spurted from the can.
On some peripheral level, she was aware that Cole rose and circled the table. He gently tugged the can from her grasp, wiped the sticky residue of soda off her fingers and the table, and pulled her to her feet.
“You can finish eating later. Let’s continue this in the living room.”
She didn’t protest. Nor did she object when he kept a firm clasp on her fingers as he sat beside her on the couch.
“Sorry to lay all that on you at once.” He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “Are you okay?”
She blinked and refocused on his face. Twin grooves were etched on his brow, and concern darkened his eyes.
Get a grip, Kelly. You prayed for answers. Don’t cave now that you’re getting them. Be grateful they’re coming from a man you trust. A man who cares.
Forcing herself to take a calming breath, she nodded. “Yes. I’m just trying to . . . regroup. Are you sure about this?”
“The U.S. Marshals Service won’t deny or confirm your dad’s participation in WitSec, but it’s a safe conclusion. I do know the number you found in your dad’s wallet belonged to a WitSec marshal who has since retired and passed away.”
“I thought WitSec was for criminals whose testimony put them at risk.” She couldn’t believe her father had been part of the Mafia—but she was finding it hard to believe most of what Cole was telling her.
“In general, it is. But a very small percentage of partic
ipants are people like your dad—ordinary citizens who have information the Feds need to prosecute a crime figure.”
Relief coursed through her. “So my father wasn’t a criminal.”
“No. Not by a long shot.” Cole squeezed her hand again, his gaze locked on hers. “After I uncovered the initial information, I did some digging in the case files. It appears your dad was an honorable, responsible citizen who was forced into WitSec.”
She squinted at him. “What do you mean, forced?”
“An attempt was made on his life.”
The pieces started to fall into place. “The old scars . . .”
“Yes. He was shot when Vincentio Rossi, the major-league Mafia boss he testified against, found out he was cooperating with the Feds. Rossi was known as a man with a long memory who always punished those who betrayed him. It was either join WitSec or face execution.”
“And my mom and I—we were threatened too?”
“No. My research suggests Rossi had an unusual code. He didn’t punish peripheral people or take retribution on innocent family members. You and your mom would probably have been safe, but I’m assuming she decided to give up her old life and go with your dad. If she hadn’t, you and she would never have seen him again.”
“Wow.” Kelly caught her lower lip between her teeth as the magnitude of her parents’ sacrifice began to register. “But I still don’t understand how my dad got involved in all this.”
“I’m still digging up background, but based on what I’ve found so far, your parents were from Rochester. They moved to Buffalo not long before you were born, when your dad was offered a much higher-paying accounting job in what turned out to be the umbrella organization for the front businesses operated by Rossi, whose real business was racketeering—mostly illegal gambling. Not growing up in Buffalo, he had no idea Rossi was third-generation Mafia. In his testimony, your dad said he uncovered some unrealistic jumps in income levels for several of the umbrella businesses—a string of coin-operated laundries, car washes, a garbage collection service. He put two and two together and came up with money laundering. Until that point, he thought the businesses were legit.”
“Double wow.” Kelly combed her fingers through her hair, trying to imagine her mild-mannered, straight-as-an-arrow dad in the midst of such a mess. “So he went to the FBI?”
“Eventually. But not before Rossi tried to bribe him into silence. The testimony suggests Rossi liked your dad and treated him well during the three years he worked for him, steadily moving him up in the pecking order and pay scale. When your dad questioned him about the income irregularities, Rossi assured him the funds were legit. Not long after that, your father received a sizable bonus. Plus, Rossi offered to get him a great deal on a home in a very desirable part of town. I suppose he assumed your father would be grateful for his benevolence and overlook the inconsistencies in the books.”
“Instead, he went to the FBI.”
“Yes. After he drove by a few of the rundown businesses Rossi claimed were generating significant income and realized there was no way he could be telling the truth. The Feds convinced him to play along while they continued to gather evidence, but Rossi found out about the investigation and put a contract out on your dad. He would have died if an off-duty street cop hadn’t interrupted the hit, which took place at a convenience store your dad frequented. The police officer was wounded as well.”
This all sounded more like it should be the plot of a movie than her family history. “So Rossi went to prison and we went into WitSec.”
“Yes. He spent twenty-eight years behind bars for racketeering and money laundering.”
“Was it my dad’s testimony that convicted him?”
“It was instrumental. But three members of Rossi’s organization also agreed to testify in exchange for reduced sentences.”
“What happened to them?”
“They served their time. And they all died within a year of their release. Car crash. House fire. Construction accident.”
The air whooshed out of Kelly’s lungs. “Suicide.”
His mouth settled into a grim line. “Yeah.”
“None of them traceable to Rossi.”
“Not yet.” His eyes hardened.
“Why wouldn’t those men have gone into the Witness Security program when they were released, given Rossi’s reputation for vengeance?”
Cole shrugged. “Years had passed. Maybe they thought his power had diminished, since he was still in prison. Maybe they hoped he’d softened. Or they might have been confident their street savvy would keep them safe. WitSec is a last option, Kelly. Your life as you know it ends, and a lot of people would rather take a risk than make that sacrifice.”
She sighed. “I’m beginning to realize that. Where is Rossi now?”
“Back in Buffalo. Keeping his nose clean, per the local cops and the FBI. I checked this afternoon.”
“But he isn’t. He found my dad, despite the WitSec program.” She searched his face. “How could that happen?”
Cole released her hand long enough to weave his fingers with hers. “I think he broke the rules. Even though WitSec participants aren’t allowed to contact friends or relatives directly or give them their new identities or location, they can funnel mail through WitSec and talk by phone on arranged calls. He only had one relative he might have kept in touch with on a regular basis. An English-professor brother, who was dying of ALS. Lou Gehrig’s disease. His name was Patrick.”
P. From the letter.
She’d had an uncle she’d never known.
The shocks kept coming, wave after wave.
“My guess is your dad’s trip to Niagara Falls was a cover.” Cole stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, the soothing motion comforting at some elemental level. “That he went back to see his brother one last time, assuming it was safe after all these years, and was spotted by someone in Rossi’s organization.”
Kelly closed her eyes and lifted her free hand to massage the headache beginning to pulse behind her forehead, clinging to Cole’s fingers as if they were a lifeline. His solid presence was the one steady element in a life suddenly turned topsy-turvy, where nothing was as it had seemed.
“We’re going to work this out. Justice will be done. I promise you that.”
At his steely, take-no-prisoners tone, she opened her eyes. His granite-like resolve was comforting—but it was clear they were up against a canny, careful adversary.
“I want to believe that, but . . .” She frowned, trying to make sense of all she’d learned. “How did Rossi arrange my dad’s death? Who did it? How did the killer make it look like suicide?”
“I don’t have those answers yet.”
Her mind began to race as logic kicked in, the questions forming faster than she could voice them. “You said Rossi didn’t hurt innocent people. So do you still think my peanut episode was connected to my dad’s death?”
Twin furrows appeared on his brow. “That piece isn’t fitting. Unless he’s changed his code, he wouldn’t have targeted you.” He reached around and rubbed the back of his neck. “But I’m not buying the coincidence theory, either.”
“Is my uncle still alive?”
“No. He died while your father was in New York. He may well have gone to the funeral.”
“Do you know if I have any other relatives?”
“Your mother didn’t have any siblings. Your dad’s brother was a widower, but he had three children. Two are in Rochester, one’s in New York City. That’s it, as far as I could tell.”
She had cousins. Family connections. And now that her cover was blown, maybe they didn’t have to be strangers once the situation with her father was resolved.
That was the one bright spot in this whole sordid situation.
“Would you like to know your original name?”
At Cole’s gentle question, she blinked. Of course—her name would have been changed too. She wasn’t Kelly Warren. Her heart stumbled, and she gave a jerky nod, b
racing herself. “Yes.”
“In WitSec, people are often encouraged to keep their first name or their initials. It’s easier to cover mistakes if they start to say or write their old names. That’s why your parents’ real initials matched their new ones. Yours do too. You were born Kathleen Walsh. A fine Irish name.” One side of his mouth quirked up as he fingered a few strands of her hair. “And the complexion and hair fit.”
Distracted by his touch, she had to force herself to focus on this new piece of information. “Kathleen Walsh. That will take some getting used to.”
“There’s no need to change it back if you don’t want to. All the records have been sealed. In the eyes of the world, you’re Kelly Warren. In my eyes too.”
The warmth of his smile helped chase away the disquieting chill that had settled over her. “So where do we go from here?”
“You’re not going anywhere. But I’m going to Buffalo to have a long talk with Mr. Rossi. My boss approved the trip this afternoon.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “I doubt he’s going to admit anything.”
“I’m not expecting a confession, but it’s possible we’ll learn something that might help us identify the man who carried out his orders. And if we find him, he might cave and give us the link we need back to Rossi.”
“Unless Rossi takes care of him first.” That seemed a more probable scenario, based on the ruthless picture Cole had painted of the Mafia boss.
“He could.” Cole caught and held her gaze. “But the Buffalo police and FBI say Rossi has kept a very low profile since his release, and he’s been out of circulation for a lot of years. Most of his former colleagues have died or been imprisoned for various crimes. His circle of influence has tightened considerably, and he has fewer resources at his disposal. He’s also a careful planner who doesn’t make rash moves. And we’re not going to give him a lot of time to put into place the kind of meticulous arrangements he prefers.”
She furrowed her brow. “Whoever did it, I still don’t get how he convinced my father to willingly take drugs, drink alcohol, and sit behind the exhaust pipe of a car. Yet there was no sign of a struggle.” The pounding behind her forehead increased. “I don’t understand any of this.”
Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) Page 12
