“You have a deal. I’ll start on the dishes so we have a mug to drink from. And plan on staying for dinner.”
A couple of hours later, I pulled into Julie’s driveway. The unmistakable gravelly voice of Janis Joplin blasted at me when Julie opened the door. Then she led me through a doorway covered with long strings of beads. I felt as if I were going back in time and would emerge on a field at Woodstock. Her kids, Zach and Kirsten, greeted me with a big hug.
“What’s in the bag?” Zach asked.
“I brought some tools to help your mom fix the electric socket.”
“What about my bike?”
“We’ll fix that too, if we can.”
It took only half an hour to fix the socket, and then I moved on to Zach’s bike. The problem there was just a loose chain—a five-minute job to fix it, and ten minutes to wash the grease from my hands.
“Where did you learn to do all that?” Julie asked.
“One of the benefits of growing up in New York,” I said. “No one can afford to hire an electrician, and if you wait for the super to fix something, you may be waiting a month, so you learn to do it yourself.”
“We’re going out riding,” Zach said, as he and Kirsten raced for the door.
“Be home in an hour,” Julie called.
“Two,” Kirsten hollered, and laughed as the door closed.
“Great kids,” I said.
“They are good kids,” Julie said. “Do you want coffee or something else to drink?”
“Coffee’s fine for now, as long as it’s that good stuff you gave me last time.”
“You mean the Turtle Creek? I’m still using it,” she said, and started grinding beans.
After the coffee was made, we sat on her back patio, chatting and enjoying the sunshine. After a few minutes, Julie said, “How are you doing, Connie?”
“I’m great.”
She smiled. “I mean, how are you dealing with what happened?”
I set my mug on the table and looked up at the sky, not wanting to look at her; she had a hypnotist’s gaze. It reminded me of those gypsy fortune tellers at the carnivals. I didn’t want her reading my face. “I know what you meant. I’m doing okay.”
“From great to okay in just a few seconds. What’s it going to be if I ask again?”
She got me to laugh, which is what Julie was best at. “Some days I’m great. Some days I’m just okay. And some days…not very good.” I turned to look at her. “But I’m not ready to talk about it.”
She didn’t give me a chance to breathe before asking, “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not. I’ve come to terms with that.”
Julie took a long sip of coffee and said, “I’m not asking about what happened to you on the case anymore. Now I’m asking about you. About the things you keep locked up inside you.”
I thought about her question. What am I afraid of? My hands were shaking.
“Do you mean, am I scared? Yeah, Julie, I am. I’m scared I’ll never have a man to share my bed with two nights in a row. Scared I’ll never wake up to a warm kiss instead of a goodbye peck on the cheek.” I looked away again. “And I guess I’m scared I’ll never have someone that understands me. Really understands me.”
“Now you’re treading dangerous ground. When you start wishing for a man to understand you, that’s crossing into a fantasy realm. I don’t know if that man exists.”
That made me laugh again. “I’ll take a drink now, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, what do you want?”
“Wine, beer, anything.”
“How about a beer?” she said, and bounced off the chair like she had springs. I didn’t know where she got all the energy.
She brought back two beers in bottles, handed me one, and set hers on the table. “There’s no reason you can’t have all those things. And you’re smart enough to know that, which means that something else is bothering you.” She grabbed her bottle, clanked it against mine, and took a sip. Then she leaned back against the sofa and hit me hard with her next words. “What are you really afraid of?”
I laughed. “Julie, we did pretty good today. We fixed the electric socket, and we fixed Zach’s bike. Fixing me will have to wait for another day.”
“All right. I know when to quit,” she said.
The rest of the day went great. We had tacos for dinner, and then we played games with the kids. Around seven o’clock, I told her I had to get going. “Tip and I have a lot to do this week, and I’m still trying to get settled in.”
“Say goodbye to Connie,” Julie said, and Zach and Kirsten rushed over to give me a hug.
“Thanks for fixing my bike,” Zach said.
“And for playing games with us,” Kirsten added.
Julie walked me to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, see ya,” I said. “Dinner was great.”
I got in the car and headed for home. On the way, I thought about a lot of things, but mostly I thought about what Julie had asked me. What are you afraid of?
I’d dodged her question, like I dodged everything I didn’t want to face. But I knew damn well what I was afraid of. I was afraid to fall in love. Afraid because the people I was attracted to were criminals.
An image of Frankie Donovan came to mind. He wasn’t a criminal, although my gut told me that he wasn’t far from it.
But Frankie “Bugs” Donovan wasn’t the kind that worried me. He had his primal urges, if that’s what they were, under control. The ones that worried me. The one that worried me, was Fabrizio. The first time I ever saw him, my body tensed with a combination of fear and lust. Every time I’d seen him since, I’d had to stop myself from dragging him to bed at gunpoint.
I had dated honest men. Men with good jobs and rigid morals. Hell, I’d almost married one. But at the last minute, something inside me had roared denial. And at that moment I knew, beyond any doubt, that I’d never be happy with an honest man.
So there, Julie. There’s your answer. The one you’ll never hear me say. I’m not just afraid, I’m terrified of falling in love, because I know what kind of man he’ll be.
Chapter 21
An Accidental Death
Tip and I shoved our weight around at the law offices of Barnes and Griffin—formerly Barnes, Griffin, and Lipscomb—but it didn’t do any good. It’s tough to bluff your way through a law firm. What little cooperation we got didn’t help or add anything new to the case file. We spoke to Barnes again, but Griffin was out of town. We talked to several lawyers and a few admins. No matter who we talked to, no one could think of anyone who’d want to kill Lipscomb except his wife or the jealous husband of a woman he’d been with, and we didn’t see either one of those as the motive.
A few minutes before noon, my phone rang. “Gianelli.”
“Connie, it’s Captain Cooper. We’ve got a dead body west of town. It may be nothing more than an accident, but we need to check it out. Can you and Tip get there this afternoon?”
“We just finished at the law office. Yeah, we can get there.”
“I’m sending you the address.”
“Did I hear Gladys on the phone?” Tip asked.
“We have a possible case out west,” I said.
Julie called while we drove and filled us in on a few details. The body belonged to the former Brent Davids, a senior vice president at one of the banks in the Galleria area. He was a bachelor, as clean as Lipscomb had been, with no apparent financial problems.
The house was a large French Colonial with a gorgeous front yard and a balcony to die for. Ben Marsh was at the scene when we arrived. We walked in, and the officer at the front door directed us out back. Ben stood by a hot tub, which sat next to a large pool. The stiff was in the tub.
“You saved me a phone call, Tip. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m fairly certain the lawyer at the hotel died of a heart attack brought on by shock. It’s most likely a result of the amount of Viagra he took. I’m ruling it an accide
nt.”
“I think you better take your fairly certain hat off. Somebody killed him as sure as I’m standing here.”
“I see you standing there,” Ben said, “but I’m ruling it an accident.”
“Even though you know it’s not an accident?” Tip said.
Ben’s voice rose. “I know no such thing. And I’m not changing my opinion because you need a case to keep busy. Wait a day or two. I’m sure somebody else will get killed.”
After Ben calmed down, he nodded to me. “Connie, it’s good to see you.” He turned to Tip. “As far as your opinion, when did you get your medical degree?”
“The week before you got your detective badge.”
Ben laughed. “Okay, I admit I’m no sleuth. Now why don’t you tell me what you have that makes you so sure he was murdered?”
Tip filled him in, which was mostly a handful of suspicions and a few things that didn’t add up. Ben made notes on a pad he had on a table by the hot tub. “I’ll run some more tests and go back over everything. It shouldn’t take long.”
“What have we got with the new guy?” I asked.
“He’s a bigwig with one of the banks. When he didn’t show up this morning, they sent someone to do a welfare check. They found him like this.”
“Was the door open?” I asked.
Ben nodded. “According to the woman who found him.”
“You have a TOD?” Tip asked.
“Just a guess right now. I’ll narrow it down when I get him back to the office. The hot tub, water, and cool air may be throwing it off, but if I had to guess, I’d say late Saturday night or early Sunday morning.”
“What’s it look like?” I asked.
“If you mean, was this an accident?” Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. It looks like an accident.”
“Tell me why,” Tip said.
“No prints wiped off the door handles or the bottles,” he said, and gestured to the empty tequila bottle. “And I have to tell you, if he drank a lot and then got in that hot tub, it could easily have made him fall.”
“And that’s what it looks like? That he fell?”
Ben rubbed the back of his head. “So far, yeah.”
Tip looked around. A towel lay on a chair beside the tub, and an empty tequila bottle and shot glass sat on the table, along with a salt shaker and a few lime slices. “I don’t like it,” Tip said. “People don’t do shooters alone. I’ve known a few who do, but not many.”
“And the door being unlocked,” I said. “Unless he was expecting someone, why leave the front door unlocked?”
“I hear you,” Ben said. “I’ll get back with you as soon as possible.”
“And don’t forget to check Lipscomb again,” Tip said.
We spent time going through the house but found nothing out of place. No drugs, nothing that looked as if it had been searched, just an ordinary, immaculate bachelor’s house.
“I wish we’d get some hard-core criminals to investigate,” Tip said. “At least that gives us a place to start.”
On the way back to the station, Delgado called. “I have you on speaker, Ribs. Connie’s with me.”
“Gianelli, one of these days you’ll realize your mistake and ask to be transferred so you can work with a good detective.”
“I’m already thinking that, Ribs. What’s new on your case?”
“Remember how I told you that somebody got into the ICU and put a four-inch blade into our lowly victim’s left eye, and then for grins, shoved another one into his right eye?”
“I remember. Those details tend to take root.”
“Here’s the best part,” Ribs said. “He got away clean. Nobody saw him—and it was the ICU. What the hell kind of shit is that?”
“Have you got any leads?” Tip asked.
“Nothing yet. The knife came from Academy. We checked, and they sold almost two hundred of them in the past month in Houston. Most of those were cash transactions.”
This didn’t sound right for a guy like Martin. He wasn’t even on the radar two weeks ago. I leaned toward the speaker and said, “Who wanted him so dead that they’d risk sneaking into an ICU to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” Delgado said. “Like you said, our guy was a small player. I’m guessing whoever he took those stickers from got a little pissed off, and they wanted to use him as an example.”
“Or it could have something to do with the meth,” I said.
“You may be right. It’s more logical that this would be about the meth,” Delgado said.
“We’re going to have to talk with Stenson,” Tip said.
“That could be dangerous, amigo.”
“That’s the way I see it, too. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”
Chapter 22
Blood Doesn’t Lie
The Bronx, New York
Janice Quintana got off the subway and walked the six blocks to the hospital where she’d worked for the past twenty-two years. Today would be different, though. Today she would be breaking the law. If not for her brother and his drug problems, she wouldn’t be involved in this. She didn’t like breaking the law for anything, but what she was doing today didn’t seem so bad. Just accessing a few old hospital records.
What can it hurt?
By midmorning, Janice had gotten the birth record for Maria Gianelli’s husband. The hospital had no record of Maria, as she had been born in Italy. At lunchtime, she gained access to the birth record of Concetta Gianelli, as well as the death certificates for both of her parents. Odd that someone would want this information.
Perhaps it’s for insurance purposes.
When Janice got home that night, she uploaded the information to her computer and sent it to the address the people who contacted her had provided. Then she went to the kitchen and boiled water for tea. Now her brother was safe.
Damn him.
***
Anna Santiago finished vacuuming then wrapped the cord around the holder on the upright handle. She placed the vacuum in the closet, grabbed a clean cloth, and began dusting from the back of the room. Father Benjamin Rosario turned off his laptop, changed into his jogging pants, and headed for the stairs.
“Are you ready, Anna?”
“You go, Padre. I have much cleaning to do.”
“It’s late. You should go home to your children.”
“It won’t take me long, Padre. You run. It’s good for your heart.”
“If you finish before I return, lock the door. I have a key.”
“Good night,” Anna said.
She pulled the curtain back and watched from the window, waiting until Padre Rosario was halfway up the block. Then she sat in front of his computer and turned it back on. He had trusted her with his password, but even so it wouldn’t have been difficult to guess—HolyTrinity123 is not the most secure phrase. Once the computer booted, it took no time to get into the baptismal records, and then into the matrimonial records. Gianelli was not a rare name, but it wasn’t that common a name, either, not even at Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
She blessed herself before downloading the information, and then she tucked the flash drive into her purse, turned off the computer, and went home to her little ones. This information would give her enough money to pay the bills for six months. She hoped God would understand. And that He was as forgiving as Padre Rosario said.
***
The phone rang three times. Dominic pulled the disposable phone from his pocket. “Pronto.”
“I was told to call this number if anyone ever accessed certain records at the hospital.”
“What is your name?”
“Henry Barnes. I work in IT.”
“Which record was accessed?”
“Just a minute, sir…There were a few. Maria Gianelli, Tommy Gianelli, and Concetta Gianelli.”
After a few seconds of silence, Dominic said, “Let me know if there is any more activity. I also want to know who accessed the files. Can you find out?”
“I can n
arrow it down to a few who have access to that information.”
“Send the list to your contact,” Dominic said, and then he hung up and dialed another number. It picked up on the second ring. “What exposure do we have on the Gianelli hospital records?”
“Let me think,” a man said. “Dates of birth for the man and Concetta. Death certificates for the parents. Nothing else.”
“Suppose whoever is looking had information from other sources?”
“The father is the weak link.”
“What conclusions could be drawn from the documents?”
“The logical one would be that he is not Concetta’s father, but there would be no proof.”
Dominic thought for a moment. “But nothing about Maria?”
“Not without DNA. Blood type alone won’t do it, but it could rule someone out.”
“Henry Barnes will get you the name of the person who did this. I want to know who the information was given to.”
“I will see it’s done.”
“And make sure to reward Barnes,” Dominic said, and hung up.
Before Dominic could even think, the phone rang again. “Pronto.”
“This is Mazza.”
“What troubles do I have today?” Dominic said.
“Somebody’s been asking a lot of questions about you.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About the old days. About you and Maria.” Mazza paused. “And Connie.”
“Do you know who is asking?”
Mazza’s tone seemed to lighten. “I have a lead on him. It won’t be long.”
“When you find him, keep him. You’ll hear from me.”
“Yes, sir,” Mazza said.
Dominic hung up and sat in his chair by the back patio. He lit his pipe and stared out the window. Just stared. Setbacks in his business he could tolerate. Problems with the police he could tolerate. He could not tolerate problems that affected his family. He tapped the bowl of the pipe on a cork buffer at the side of his ashtray, set the pipe in its holder, and reached for his phone.
Bullet From Dominic Page 12
