by Lynn Bohart
Rocky’s eyes darted toward his brother. “Do you think Fritz will be there?”
“Hell if I know,” Giorgio snarled. “But I have no doubt that Edmond is the puppeteer in all of this. I doubt the others do much of anything without his blessing. He’s a man who likes to be in control.”
When they pulled up to the intersection closest to Edmond Martinelli’s home, they encountered three other police cars – two from the Altadena Police Department and one from Sierra Madre. Giorgio and Rocky got out and Giorgio explained the situation. They were told that the lights were off at the home, but Edmond Martinelli’s car was in the garage.
After conferring with the officer in charge from Altadena, the group of eight officers got back in their cars and pulled into the big circular drive. Car doors opened and officers emerged with guns drawn, fanning out to surround the home. While two officers planted themselves behind their vehicles in the driveway, Giorgio and Rocky approached the front door.
Giorgio pounded on the door.
“Edmond Martinelli! Police. Open up.”
Nothing.
“Mr. Martinelli, come out with your hands up!”
Still nothing.
Giorgio counted to five and was about to call one more time when the porch light finally flicked on. He and Rocky stood back, their hands cradling their weapons.
The front doorknob clicked, and the door opened about an inch.
“Mr. Martinelli,” Giorgio called through the door. “We don’t want a confrontation. Please come out with your hands up.”
“No, Detective,” a voice called from inside. “I know the game is over. At least for me. But you’ll have to come inside to arrest me.”
“Mr. Martinelli, the house is surrounded.”
There was a mirthless chuckle from inside. “Don’t you think I know that? No, Detective. This will be on my terms.”
“Damn!” Giorgio said under his breath.
“What do you want to do?” Rocky whispered.
“I don’t trust him. He could have booby-trapped the entrance,” Giorgio said, glancing around them. “Step back,” he ordered Rocky.
Rocky backed off and Giorgio lifted his left leg and kicked in the door. The door swung all the way open, but nothing happened.
Giorgio signaled to McCready to have a team enter from the back. He waited a moment as the men got into position. When he heard glass shattering, he counted to five and then entered the house, his gun held firmly in front of him. He crossed through the entryway and cautiously entered the living room where an officer had just relieved Edmond Martinelli of a pistol and a cell phone.
“I caught him with these, Detective,” the officer said, handing the gun to Giorgio. Rocky took the cell phone.
“He had the gun pointed at his temple,” the officer said.
“Check the phone,” Giorgio said to Rocky.
Rocky scrolled through the call log.
“He just talked to Fritz,” Rocky said.
Edmond slumped into a high-backed, leather chair as Giorgio tucked the weapon behind his back.
“Stand up!” Giorgio ordered him.
Giorgio nodded to the closest officer to move in. But Martinelli ignored the officer and remained where he was. He turned to Giorgio instead.
“I’m an old man, Detective. I’m not going anywhere. By the way, how was your little trip to Big Bear?” he said, as if this was just a casual visit.
“Fritz told you we were coming,” Giorgio said, matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” he nodded.
“So this is a family affair,” Giorgio snarled. “First you and your brother. And now your son and grandson. Which one of them tried to kill us up in Big Bear?”
Edmond turned and gazed out the window, his heels together on the floor, his large feet turned out to the side.
“There’s really nothing in life more important than family, wouldn’t you agree, Detective?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
The old man remained silent.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” Giorgio said, advancing. “We met the woman you tortured up in Big Bear – the one that got away.”
“The one that got away,” Edmond said with a wistful smile. “A rather colloquial way of describing it, don’t you think? I told Royce we should have gone back and taken care of her. But he was convinced there was no way anyone could trace us. We were so careful, you know. We didn’t talk to one person in that town. We brought everything with us and then burned the cabin down when we left. Royce thought that going back would have only served to put us at risk. So we just moved our little hobby to other locations.” A smile played across his lips at the thought.
“Where? Where else did you go?”
“Oh, Detective,” he said, glancing at Giorgio. “I’m afraid I’m not going to just give up that kind of information. I know my time is up. I’m an old man. And an old man has to have a few memories that are his alone.”
Giorgio was near the fireplace and kicked out with his foot and sent the wrought iron fireplace set crashing to the floor.
“They’re not just your sordid little memories! These were young women!”
Edmond Martinelli merely glanced at the iron tools now splayed across the floor and then turned to Giorgio with a smile.
“Careful, Detective. You’ll have to pay for anything you break.”
Giorgio flinched and Rocky stepped in front of his brother.
“We know Perry killed Carson Montgomery,” Rocky said.
The octogenarian glanced up, his eyes reflecting a momentary surprise. Then he rested his
elbows on the arms of the chair and brought his hands together, fingers touching in a church pose.
“You’re all going to jail for a very long time,” Giorgio said, anger searing his voice.
“I don’t think so,” Martinelli murmured.
“What?” Giorgio blurted, moving forward again. “What do you mean?”
“No one’s going to jail,” he said in a casual voice. He turned very calm eyes in Giorgio’s direction. “I’m afraid that’s not in the game plan.”
“And I suppose it’s your game plan, isn’t it?” Giorgio said.
He flashed a confident smile. “It’s always my game plan, Detective. You…standing here in my living room is part of my game plan. The Martinellis have always had a game plan. Starting with the family motto and right up to the end. No one will be going to jail. But the world will remember us,” he said with a smile.
“Joe!” a voice called out.
Giorgio and Rocky turned. McCready burst into the room.
“I just heard it on the radio! That reporter, Mia Santana…she’s been abducted right off Sierra Madre Boulevard. Two men pulled her into a van.”
A voice shouted, “No!’ and a shot exploded behind them, shattering the silence.
Everyone dropped into crouches, guns aimed at Martinelli.
But Edmond Martinelli had slumped sideways in the chair, a gaping wound in the side of his forehead. Blood ran down his neck into his starched white shirt. A 45-magnum pistol had dropped from his hand to the floor. The smell of sulfur hung in the air.
Giorgio ran forward and kicked the gun away and then checked his pulse.
“Shit, he’s alive! Call an ambulance!”
Rocky pulled out his cell phone.
“What the hell happened here?” Giorgio spun around on the young cop assigned to guard Edmond.
“He…he must’ve had a gun tucked into the chair,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I glanced away for just a moment…and…”
“Never mind,” Giorgio snapped.
He leaned over and observed the elder Martinelli. The man’s breathing was shallow and his mouth had dropped open. But he was still alive.
“McCready!” Giorgio yelled.
McCready appeared behind him.
“Secure this area and wait for the ambulance. When you get this guy to the hospital, put a guard on him.” He glanced up at the
young cop. “Someone who will actually watch him. We’re going after Fritz Martinelli.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Giorgio and Rocky converged on Ron Martinelli’s home one last time. He was waiting for them, Ms. Brinson, his attractive and able assistant by his side.
“What’s going on?” he said, from the entryway to his home.
“Your uncle just shot himself,” Giorgio said.
“What?” Ron Martinelli said, the blood draining from his face. He reached out for Ms. Brinson’s hand and clasped it tightly. “So we were right,” he said. “It was the two of them together, wasn’t it? My father and my uncle?”
“Yes,” Giorgio replied. “But now Fritz and Perry are involved. One of them tried to kill us tonight.”
Ron Martinelli’s eyes widened. He backed up, allowing them inside.
“Why…would Fritz try to kill you?” he mumbled.
“Because we think he killed Alex Springer, and Perry killed Carson Montgomery up in Seattle,” Giorgio said.
Ron looked from Giorgio to Rocky and then turned and walked into the living room. He stopped at the fireplace as if in a trance.
“Mr. Martinelli!” Giorgio called, following him. “I need some answers. Another young woman was abducted tonight…a female reporter who has been covering the Lisa Farmer story. We think Fritz and Perry have her. They’re desperate. Your uncle knew we were coming, and he was on the phone to Fritz when we got there. He said something about having a game plan.”
“Game plan?” Ron muttered. “Shit!” he said, slamming his fist onto the fireplace mantle. He turned to Giorgio. “It’s my father again. His legacy lives on. My father lived in New Hampshire for a while. Their motto there is, ‘Live free or die.’ My father coined his own motto, ‘Live big or die.’ It was all about excess to him. He prided himself in never having lost at anything. He even once forced me to play in a football game even though I’d ripped my Achilles tendon.” Ron glanced up at Giorgio. “He told me that the Martinellis don’t give up, ever! They die trying.”
“Where would Fritz have taken her?” Giorgio demanded.
“I don’t know,” Martinelli said, exasperated. “Really, I don’t. But this is probably his last stand. Fritz used to fantasize about going out in a hail of bullets. He admired the guys who died at Ruby Ridge and Waco. I’ve always thought he was a little nuts.”
“But you know him. You grew up with him. He runs your real estate business. He knows every nook and cranny of this area. Where would he be likely to take something he wanted to hide? Something he wanted to play with?” Giorgio said with distaste.
Ron thought for a moment and then his expression changed. He slowly stood up.
“Wait, I do know. When we were kids, his family had a big tree with a tree house out in their backyard. Fritz loved to go hide up there.”
“So we’re looking for a tree house?” Rocky said with a sneer.
“No,” Ron said. “I climbed up there once when we were teenagers. I found him with a little bird.” He cringed at the memory. “He was pulling the feathers off the little bird one-by-one. The bird kept trying to get away, and he would just laugh. Then I noticed that there were two dead birds lying on the floor. One had its feet cut off, and the other had its wings broken.” He shuddered at the thought. “I asked him what he was doing, and he just turned to me with this horrible, self-satisfied smile and said, ‘This is my little hobby. Leave me alone.’” He inhaled and then said, “Fritz took her to the old Pottinger Sanitarium up in Monrovia. It’s been empty for decades.”
“Why there?” Rocky asked.
“Because he bought it a few years ago. He said he wanted to salvage what he could and then turn it into a luxury hotel.” He paused and looked from Giorgio to Rocky. “When I asked him why he would sink so much money into something so risky, he gave me that same self-satisfied smile and said, ‘Because it’s my little hobby.’”
Giorgio and Rocky turned for the door, but Martinelli stopped them.
“Detectives!” he said. “I’ve been up there. You’ll need bolt cutters to get through the gate. And it’s a monstrosity of a place. It has three stories with three separate wings. There’s no electricity. He’ll have the advantage. And he has nothing to lose. He’ll just kill her if he hears you coming.”
“What do you suggest?” Giorgio asked quickly.
Ron ran fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. But unless you have an army, you’re going to need a bloodhound just to find him in there.”
Giorgio turned to Rocky with a self-satisfied smile of his own.
“I think we have that covered,” he said. “But we’ll need something of his for scent. And I need the address.”
“Hold on,” Martinelli said. He turned and left the room. A moment later, he was back and handed Giorgio a baseball cap. “This is Fritz’s. We had a company picnic here a few months ago. He left it behind.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Giorgio raced back down Colorado Boulevard towards Sierra Madre. As he swerved to pass other cars, Rocky shouted, “So what’s our game plan? Should we call Captain Alvarez?”
Giorgio shot him a look. “No. You heard Ron. If he hears a cavalry coming, he’ll just kill her. We go in quiet and alone.”
“Are you kidding me?” Rocky exclaimed.
“We’ve got one chance to get her out,” Giorgio said, leveling a somber look in Rocky’s direction. “One chance. Are you in or are you out?”
Rocky turned to look out the front window as they sped forward. “I’m in. But as usual, you’re insane.”
“Okay, call Angie and tell her to have Grosvenor ready. We’ll be there in less than ten minutes. And tell her to make sure the kids are up in their rooms.”
“Why?” Rocky said, taking the phone.
“Because we need to raid my gun cabinet,” he said with a grim expression.
Rocky pulled out his phone and dialed Giorgio’s home phone.
“Hey, Angie, this is Rocky… No, no, everything’s okay,” he said quickly. “We’re…we’re on a case and we need to pick up Grosvenor. Can you have him ready?” Rocky paused as he listened to the response. “Really? Shit,” he responded. “Um…okay, thanks. But, well, we need you to get the kids up in their rooms. Can you do that?” He listened for a moment. “Like I said, Ange. We’re on a case. We need extra firepower. The kids don’t need to see that. Okay? What’s that? Okay, thanks.”
“Why’d you say shit?” Giorgio said, glancing toward his brother.
Rocky flicked off the phone and threw it onto the console. “Grosvenor’s not there.”
“What?”
“Angie said he ate a whole rash of chicken bones earlier. She took him to the vet and they wanted to keep him overnight.”
“Damn!” Giorgio swore, hitting the steering wheel.
“Now what do we do?” Rocky asked.
“I don’t know,” Giorgio said. “It’s too late to try and get a search and rescue dog.”
Rocky shrugged. “Guess it’ll just be you, me and those hunches of yours.”
“What did you say?” Giorgio said, glancing at his brother in surprise.
“When we get there,” Rocky said. “We’ll have to rely on your hunches.”
“No,” Giorgio said, turning back to the road. “We need something more reliable than that.”
He suddenly switched lanes and made a tire-screeching U-turn in the middle of the street. As Rocky flew against the door, he snarled, “What’s going on?”
“We need to pick up someone.”
“By the way,” Rocky whispered, as they raced down Colorado Boulevard. “Angie said something about Detective Abrams coming down. I guess he called.”
Giorgio’s eyes lit up. “How soon?”
Rocky shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
Two minutes later, Giorgio was pulling up to the small white bungalow. The porch light was on, as well as a light in the front window. The brothers got out and hurried up the walk. R
ocky spied the sign for Madame Mirabelle on the door.
“We’re picking up a psychic? You’ve got to be kidding!”
“You have a better idea?” Giorgio said as he rang the doorbell.
A moment later, the front window curtain was pulled aside. Dark eyes glared at them through the window until the individual recognized Giorgio. Then, the latch was released and the door opened. Flame stood there, dressed in sweat pants, a pajama top and a pair of baggy socks.
“Detective,” Flame said, standing back to let them in. “What’s going on?”
He and Rocky stepped into the reception area.
“We need your help. We need you to come with us.”
Her eyes opened wide. “What? Why?”
“A young woman has been abducted,” Giorgio said breathlessly. “By the son and grandson of the men who killed those girls. We don’t have much time,” Giorgio said. “Please, get dressed quickly.”
She hesitated. “Detective, it’s after eleven o’clock. I…”
“PLEASE!” Giorgio barked. “This time it’s to save a life.”
She flinched at the intensity in his voice.
“But I don’t understand. Why… do you need me?”
“Get dressed and we’ll explain on the way. Please,” he said in a softer tone. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was critical.”
She glanced at Rocky and seemed to make a decision. She turned and disappeared through a door behind her. It was only a few minutes later when she re-emerged dressed in jeans, boots, a turtleneck sweater and a hoodie jacket. She held a backpack over one shoulder.
“Okay, let’s go.”
÷
On the way to the house, Giorgio filled Flame in on the situation.
“So, I’m your bloodhound?” she said without animosity. “Okay. I get it.”
Flame was sitting in the front seat. Rocky was in the back.
“I don’t mean to gloss over the seriousness of what’s happening here,” Giorgio said gravely. “Or the risk. This is a very dangerous situation. But we won’t expose you any more than we have to. We just need help in finding where these guys have her in this building. Then you’re done.”
She glanced at him and then back through the front window. “I’m not afraid, Detective. I want to help. I’ll be okay.”
