“What was he doing at Margo’s?” she asked.
“After midnight, the night of Paola’s death, a phone call was made from Michael’s car phone to Margo’s number. Margo’s prescription for Seconal was renewed twice in the past few weeks. Fifty capsules in all.”
“And?”
He shrugged.
Mina knelt in front of him. “Come on. You’re keeping something from me.”
He shook his head.
“Tell me!” Her stubby fingernails dug through the cloth of his trousers. “Tell me.”
“De Fiore had come to arrest Margo for Paola’s murder.”
CHAPTER 24
In the dim light of the hospital room, Mina watched the miracle machines keeping Margo alive. Would she come out of the coma or would she float forever in the twilight zone of the living death? And what about her secrets? Put on your red shoes—She looked so helpless, so spent. Was she really the mind behind Rachel and Paola’s death? Why, why, why?
A hand brushed her shoulder, and Mina looked up. “Adams!”
Glancing at Margo’s colorless face beneath the oxygen mask, the lawyer shook his head.
“Let’s go,” he said, “It’s past three in the morning. You need some rest.” Mina followed him past the policeman sitting outside Margo’s door, back to the ICU waiting room—now De Fiore’s temporary headquarters.
The detective seemed the only one with any energy left. Looking at Mina he said, “Go home, kid. Get some sleep. We’ll call you when there’s news.”
Her eyes searched the room for Brian.
“He went to the restroom,” De Fiore said.
Right then Brian came in, smiled at her and lifted his hand to greet Adams.
“We need to get Mina out of here,” Adams said.
She caught—a glance? No, it was a feeling at the pit of her stomach telling her something just passed between Adams and Brian. Something—secretive—what? ”My car’s at West Coast Software,” she said, hiding her thoughts.
“You’re in no condition to drive anyway,” Brian said.
“He has a point,” Adams said. “Spend the night at my house, Mina. My daughter is away, you can stay in her room.” Here it is, that feeling again.
She was so tired that even talking seemed a major effort. When Brian put his arm around her waist and guided her out of the waiting room, she didn’t protest.
“I’ll drive her,” Brian said to Adams.
“Good, then we’ll all have a nightcap; I sure could use one.”
Adams went to get his car, and Mina followed Brian to the Mustang. Once they were rolling, she closed her eyes, sadness and a sense of doom loomed over her. She kept seeing Margo’s pale face, the sweaty hair stuck to her scalp, showing the gray roots. A poster child for the fleetingness of life. All her assumptions about Margo’s lack of depth and mental sophistication were crushed by this new twist. Why would she phone and play David Bowie’s song to her. De Fiore found a phone call from Mina’s home to Margo’s place. Could calls from Margo to Mina’s phone also be tracked? Who would she ask? Who could she trust? The pit of her stomach was full of doubts. Still, stress and the long day caught up with her. Mina heard Brian mumbling something about a policeman around the clock just before she nodded off.
When she opened her eyes, they had arrived at Adams’ home. Before getting out of the car, Brian cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
Her fatigue evaporated. She could trust him.
“What took you so long?” Adams asked.
“We stopped to neck,” Brian grinned.
“Youth! Come in, my wife’s upstairs sleeping. Let’s go to the den.”
He led them into the wood-paneled room, paused before his liquor cabinet. “Brian, you should try this brandy.” He pulled out a bottle of Stock ‘84.
“That’s Italian,” Mina said.
“Paola brought it back for me on her last trip.” He poured the brandy into a snifter, his blue eyes thoughtful. “Poor Paola, poor Margo, how terrible. To tell you the truth, I never thought Margo was all that bright. Hard to imagine her plotting all this.” He shook his head. “Well, enough worrying for tonight.” He handed the glass to Brian.
“Next?” Adams turned to Mina.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ll stay with the brandy. I know you like sweet liqueurs. How about a Brandy Alexander?”
“No, thanks. Maybe a little Crème de Menthe.”
“One Crème de Menthe coming up.”
He handed her the drink then sat at his desk. The three of them sipped in silence for a moment. Then Mina said, “Adams, do you have a picture of my father?”
Adams nearly choked on his brandy.
“I’d like to know what my father looks like, that’s all.”
“I’ve never seen a picture of him.” He put down his glass and dried the tears brought on by the cough.
“You told me you knew my father. I think it’s time I met him too.”
“Wait a minute, young lady. I may have said I know who he is, but I’ve never said that I knew him.”
“What’s his name? Where does he live? He is alive, isn’t he?”
“Mina, it’s late.” He glanced at Brian, who looked uneasy.
“You’re right,” she said. “I should have been told about my father a long time ago.”
“My God, with all the craziness that’s going on, you want me to—”
“I need to know. Don’t you see? My past is like a puzzle. I’m asking for the missing pieces so I can put it all together and maybe understand the present.”
“Very well. Brian, could you excuse us?”
“No,” Mina said on impulse, “I want him to stay.”
Adams stared into his brandy for a moment. “Okay, Mina,” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “You must understand, I’m telling you what Paola told me. This took place in a different time, a different culture.”
With a sigh, he continued, “Paola was walking home from school—she was fourteen at the time—and took a shortcut through the churchyard. A sudden summer storm hit, and she stepped inside the recessed doorframe of the church bell-tower to wait for the rain to let up.”
Images of the hundred years old campanile flashed in Mina’s mind’s eye. As a child, she remembered playing hide-and-seek in that same doorframe. Dear God! Adams’ voice brought her back to reality.
“When she leaned against the door, it opened and she fell backward. Someone grabbed her, pulled her inside. The heavy door shut behind her, and all she got was a glimpse of a cassock.
“She never saw the face of the man in the priest’s robe. She only remembered the wet dog smell permeating his clothing. They fought; she fell on the stone floor and blacked out.
“When she awoke, it was dark and she was lying in the thick bushes behind the tower. She ran home, hysterical. Her mother sent for the doctor, who examined her and knew immediately that she’d been raped. When she told them that a priest had done it, they thought she’d lost her mind. The parish priest was old and in bad health. At the time of the rape, he’d been administering the last sacraments to a dying woman.
“The only people who knew what happened were her mother, the doctor and the parish priest. Well, the rapist too.
“Paola refused to leave the house—wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk. Her mother began to think she was mentally ill. When she realized that Paola was pregnant, they used a cousin’s illness as an excuse to move to Milan. The cousin died. A year later, Paola’s mother married the cousin’s widower and they adopted you. They went back to your mother’s hometown and Paola came to the States, to my house. You know the rest.” It seemed to Mina that Adams grew older and more tired-looking as he told the story. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his forehead and hands.
She closed her eyes and slumped in her chair. Dio Mio, she expected one of those Romeo-Giulietta made-for-TV affairs. Stories of love and lust, and betrayal. I thought I was a love child. Love child. Try
to translate that in Italian. Mina laughed, a brief shriek of sound.
“Mina, are you okay?” Brian asked.
She nodded, wishing everyone would disappear. She tried to imagine how it must have been for her mother. What was it Paola had written? A frightened young girl who couldn’t even tell the truth, it being so inconceivable that every one involved labeled me insane.’’ God, how could you have let this happen? Tears rolled down Mina’s cheeks.
“You said you knew who he was,” she said to Adams. “I need to know.”
Adams swallowed his brandy, put the empty glass on the table. “There isn’t much to tell. When Paola went to Italy on her honeymoon, her mother gave her a letter that had been sent from India. No return address. It was from a missionary, Father Anthony something...I don’t remember his last name. It’s in my papers, at the office.”
Mina didn’t move. She waited for him to continue.
“This Father Anthony—he was seeking forgiveness, from Paola. He was your father, Mina. In the letter—it’s more a confession than a letter, really—he explained that he was a young seminarian, bicycling on his way to a nearby town to visit a friend. He got caught in the rain, sought shelter in the recessed entrance to the bell tower, just as Paola did. He never knew about you.”
“What did my mother do?”
“About what?”
Mina stared straight into Adams’ eyes. “About this...monster.”
“You mean the priest? Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“You were doing fine with her parents. No one suspected who you were and, by the time she got the letter, she was married to Michael and happy. I don’t think it mattered to her anymore.”
“She should have shown it to those people who thought she was insane.”
“My darling girl, Paola was better than that. You’d have been the one to pay the price, and she would have done anything to protect you.” He got up from his chair. “I have a headache. I’m going to get some aspirin.”
Mina wiped the moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand, “You know, Paola was named after the parish’s protecting saint; Saint Paul The Apostle. What a joke.” She rested her head on Brian’s chest.
The phone rang once and stopped. After a moment, Mina heard someone hurrying down the wooden stairs. Adams appeared, holding a sweater in his hands.
“What’s going on?” Brian asked.
Before speaking, he swallowed twice. “That was Paco; something’s happened.”
“Margo?”
“No, Mina, it isn’t Margo.” He looked at Brian. “Something happened at West Coast Software. I need to go. The police are already on the premises.”
“I’m going with you,” Mina said.
“It isn’t necessary, you know.” Again he looked at Brian.
“Excuse me?” she said. “It is my business.” She grabbed her jacket and purse. “Let’s go, Starrs.”
Adams sighed. “We’ll take my car.”
When they pulled into the company parking lot, Mina felt overwhelmed by déjà vu: the flashing lights of police cars, onlookers and an ambulance. Adams drove around to the back, parked behind De Fiore’s car.
“Maybe you should wait in the car,” he said, protectively.
“Not on your life.”
They got out of his Lincoln and pushed through to where the ambulance, engine running, was parked in front of the open warehouse door.
Adams went to talk to a policeman. Mina saw a gurney being loaded into the back of the ambulance. She started toward it.
“Wait!” Brian grabbed her arm.
She wrenched her arm from his hand, but it was too late. The ambulance doors slammed, and it pulled through the crowd and out to the street.
“Why did you do that?” she snapped. She saw Paco walking out of the warehouse with De Fiore, and shouted, “What happened? Who is it this time?”
“Mr. Davies.” Paco said. “He had a heart attack in the warehouse.”
“Is he—?”
“He’s alive,” De Fiore said. “Go home.” He turned his back on her and moved to the two policemen crouched on the ground outside the bay door.
“Paco, what was Michael doing here? Did you find him? Was he stealing? Is that why you called the police?”
“Mina, take it easy,” Brian said. He called out to the detective, “Dan, can we go in the office?”
De Fiore waved his hand, still talking to the men searching the ground.
“What are they looking for?” she asked.
“Let’s go inside,” Brian said. “Are you coming, Paco?”
“Right behind you.”
Inside, all the lights were on and the door to the storeroom was open. She could see the forklift, almost against the wall where the disks were stacked.
“Would you like some coffee?” Paco asked her.
“No. I want to know what’s going on. Who called the police?”
“Night security guard,” Paco said. “He was doing the rounds and he heard shouting coming from the warehouse. When he banged on the bay door, the voices stopped. He heard the roaring of an engine, got suspicious and called it in.”
“Voices?”
“Yes, but according to the police, they found only Michael, lying on the warehouse floor. I got here the same time as the ambulance.”
“Was someone working the night shift?” Mina asked.
“No.”
“Then how did Michael get in?”
Paco shook his head.
“I’m calling the alarm company. I want to know if they got a clearance call after you and De Fiore left,” Mina said.
“Good idea,” Brian said.
She ran into the front office. By the time they followed her a few minutes later, Mina had the information from the alarm company. “A man called in at twelve twenty-nine and gave Paco’s clearance code,” she said. “He had a heavy Spanish accent.”
“It wasn’t me.”
Mina touched Paco’s arm. “I know that,” she said. “The question is how did someone get your code?”
“Good question,” De Fiore said from the doorway. “Mina, can you join me for a minute?” Coming down the hall, he disappeared into Michael’s old office, and she followed him.
“Do you know if your brother-in-law had a gun?”
“Yes, he kept one in his car.”
“A .38 caliber revolver?”
“I don’t know anything about guns. Besides, he has a permit. It’s in his car. Where is his car? I didn’t see it outside.” But De Fiore was already on his way to the warehouse.
She followed him, and then stopped by the forklift. By the smell of exhaust she could tell it had been operated recently. No one was paying attention to her. She circled the machinery, checking the ground. Like the cops were doing outside. Light reflected from a tiny piece of metal caught under the tire. She covered with her foot. Pretending to scratch her ankle, she bent down, swiftly grabbed the shining thing and pulled. Nothing. She jerked hard, felt the metal snap. Her fist clamped around what felt like a chain, a piece of jewelry. Still scratching with her fingernail, she straightened up, plopped her hand in her pocket and went back to the office where Adams had joined Paco and Brian.
“What does De Fiore want with Michael’s gun?” she asked the three men.
“They found it next to Michael,” Adams said. “It had been fired and there was a trail of blood from the warehouse to the parking lot.”
That explained why the cops were searching the ground.
“Michael shot somebody?” Paco asked. “Who?”
“That’s what the police are trying to find out,” Adams replied.
“Paco, was the forklift still running when the police arrived?” Mina asked.
He nodded.
“I think someone was trying to steal our disks by the carload, using the forklift,” Mina said. “But where was Michael going to stash them, in his Corvette?” Maybe it wasn’t Michael. “Suppose he surprised the intruder and shot hi
m—maybe the thief took off in Michael’s car? We’re still one car short. The thief had to get here somehow. Unless, he or she came with Michael.” She felt the chain in her pocket, a few links, smooth and flexible. Did they hold the answers?
“I have the feeling De Fiore has that figured,” Adams said. “His men have checked the license plates of every car in the parking lot against a list of stolen vehicles.”
“And?” Mina said.
“A van parked by the side of the back building matches a vehicle stolen in Long Beach earlier this evening. They’re dusting it for prints now.”
Paco stroked his mustache. “I’ll bet—”
“What?” Brian asked.
“He bets,” Mina finished, “that if they pick up the Corvette, they’ll find Ishmael Fernandez in the driver’s seat.”
“Ishmael Fernandez doesn’t exist.” They all turned to De Fiore, who leaned against the doorframe, looking smug.
“Ishmael is Rachel and Sarah’s brother,” Mina said.
“There isn’t a brother in the Fernandez clan.”
“There must be a mistake,” said Adams.
De Fiore shook his head.
“Aspetta, wait, you’re making me crazy,” Mina collapsed in the receptionist chair. “How do you know he isn’t their brother? What’s his name if—”
“How did you find out?” Brian asked.
With an amused glint in his eyes, De Fiore answered, “The old fashioned way: I ran a check on him. He has a rap sheet three feet long. Wanted in three states.”
“Detective!” The voice came from the front office.
“Wait, wait.” Mina got up from her chair.
“Sit down,” De Fiore said. “I don’t need an escort.”
“I was going to use the ladies’ room,” she lied.
“Yeah, right. You pulled that on me in the hospital. Stay put.” He left.
Brian got to his feet.
“Are you going out there?” Mina said.
He winked at her. “Dan didn’t say anything about me not following him.”
In the restroom, Mina sat down and leaned her cheek against the cool metal stall. The broken chain links found under the forklift glistened in her hand. Broken or not, it looked like Paola’s chain. The same one Sarah wore around her ankle. How had it ended up in the warehouse? Most important—when?
Love Thy Sister (Mina's Adventures Book 1) Page 19
