Murder In the Past Tense (A Giorgio Salvatori Mystery Book 2)

by Lynn Bohart

  Giorgio pulled into his driveway a few minutes later, and the three of them emerged from the car and moved quickly toward the front door. Angie met them.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, alarm written all over her face.

  “Mia Santana, that reporter, has been abducted. We’re going after her.”

  Angie paused momentarily and then nodded and stepped back to let them in.

  “The kids are upstairs,” she said.

  “Angie, this is Flame. She’s…she’s helping with the case.”

  Angie nodded and smiled briefly at the young woman. “Joe, there’s someone…”

  “Evening, Detective,” a voice cut in.

  Giorgio turned to find Detective Abrams standing in the middle of his living room.

  “Hey,” Giorgio responded, stepping forward with his hand out. “Boy, am I happy to see you! I don’t know why you’re here, but I don’t care. We can use you,” Giorgio said, giving Abrams’ hand a quick shake.

  “From what you said on the phone yesterday you’re getting close to nailing the guy who killed Montgomery,” Abrams said. “I thought I could help. Besides,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “I have some new evidence I thought you should see.”

  He pulled out a grainy photograph of a van parked in the nursing home parking lot. The California license plate was clearly visible – XTC 434.

  “Where did you get this?” Giorgio said.

  “Turns out there’s a domestic violence shelter right next door to the nursing home. It sits on the other side of the parking lot. They have security cameras everywhere. They got this shot. They also got a shot of the kid who wheeled Montgomery out there. It’s not too clear, but we’re working to clean it up.”

  “Good to go,” Giorgio said. Giorgio handed the photo back. “By the way, my brother Rocky just joined the force,” he said, nodding towards his brother. “Sean’s with the Seattle PD,” he said to Rocky. He turned back to Abrams. “We believe the guy who killed Montgomery and his father have now abducted a young woman – a reporter.” He strode into the hallway and started moving toward the back office. Everyone trailed after him. “It’s a long story, but this is all part of the same family. Their modus operandi is to torture the women and then kill them. We have to find her tonight. We just stopped to get armed.”

  “Okay, I’m in,” Abrams nodded. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Are you carrying?” Giorgio asked as the three men moved into the back office.

  “Yeah,” he said patting his waistband.

  “Okay,” Giorgio said, stopping at the gun cabinet.

  Giorgio turned and saw both Flame and Angie standing silently in the doorway, Angie with her arms crossed. He paused.

  “It’s going to be okay, Ange. We have plenty of back-up. We just need to save this girl.”

  Angie’s pretty features were drawn into a mask of defeat. A look of resignation he’d seen before. She knew the drill and knew she had no hope of changing his mind.

  “Just be careful,” she murmured, and she disappeared up the stairs.

  Flame watched her go, her hands hanging onto the backpack strap slung across her shoulder.

  “What back-up?” Rocky asked quietly after Angie had left. “The psychic?”

  Giorgio shot him an angry look.

  “By the way,” Giorgio said to Detective Abrams. “This is Flame. She’ll be our way finder.”

  Abrams nodded, as if having a civilian along was no big deal. Giorgio unlocked the gun cabinet. Standing on end were three rifles, two for hunting and one Remington Arms M24. Held in drawers below the rifles were two Glock pistols and loaded magazines.

  He and Rocky each pulled out a second handgun and two extra magazines, and Giorgio grabbed a high-beamed flashlight.

  “Mind if I take one of the rifles?” Abrams said, studying the weapons. “I’m pretty good with a rifle.”

  “Suit yourself,” Giorgio replied.

  “This is nice,” Abrams said, pulling out the Remington Arms. He held it up and pointed it toward the far window, adjusting the scope.

  Giorgio turned to his brother.

  “Can you get the bolt cutters from the garage? They’re hanging above the workbench.”

  Rocky nodded. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

  As Abrams grabbed extra cartridges for the rifle, Giorgio pulled out his cell phone and dialed McCready.

  “Drew, where are you?”

  “I’m at the hospital. They just took Edmond Martinelli into surgery.”

  “Okay, do me a favor. We’re going after the girl. I need you to come watch and my house, just in case.”

  “Uh…okay. What about Martinelli?”

  “Get an officer to stand in for you. Edmond won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Giorgio said. “I don’t trust these guys, and they know where I live.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” the young officer said.

  “Okay, just park outside. Don’t let my wife know you’re here unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Got it,” McCready answered.

  Giorgio hung up and turned to Flame. Her dark eyes were staring at the rifle in Abrams’ hand.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” Giorgio asked her.

  She glanced up at him. “Of course I’m not okay with this. But we’re wasting time.”

  She turned on her heel and led them back outside.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  It was after midnight by the time they reached the gravel road that led to the old sanitarium. The sky was clear, and they followed the deeply rutted road as it wound its way through a forest of old oak and eucalyptus trees back into the foothills. As the car bounced along, it was quiet inside. The four occupants sat contemplating what lay ahead.

  Giorgio had to slam on the brakes when a deer bounded across the road. A moment later, it was just a fleeting image of bob tail as it disappeared into the darkness.

  After six or seven minutes of straining to keep the car on the road, the locked gate in a tall chain link fence blocked their way. Barbed wire topped the fence. The monstrosity of a building, as Ron Martinelli had described it, sat a hundred yards beyond, camouflaged by trees and looking every bit like something out of a gothic horror movie.

  Giorgio cut the headlights and the four of them just stared.

  “Shit,” Rocky murmured. “Ron Martinelli wasn’t kidding. This place is huge.”

  Giorgio turned to his brother.

  “Wire cutters?” he asked.

  “In the trunk,” Rocky said.

  Giorgio sighed deeply. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

  He killed the engine and they all got out. The air was crisp and the moon shone brightly onto the ground below.

  Giorgio grabbed Fritz Martinelli’s baseball cap off the seat and stuck it into his jacket. He came around the back of the car. Rocky had opened the trunk.

  “Do you have a plan?” Abrams asked Giorgio, as he pulled the rifle from the trunk.

  Giorgio glanced at Flame, as if she could provide the answer.

  Flame was staring at the building, one hand to her ear, a pained look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Giorgio asked.

  She looked up as if coming out of a trance.

  “I’m getting images from hundreds of spirits,” she said. “A lot of people have died here. It’s coming across like a buzzing in my ears. I can’t focus on any single one. I need to get closer. I think I need to connect with the building itself,” she said.

  Giorgio had no idea what the heck she was talking about, but he didn’t care.

  “Okay, let’s go in from the back. They’re less likely to expect that. If she can, Flame

  will tell us where to look once we’re in there. We’ll split up and try to come at them from two directions.” He looked from Rocky to Abrams, and they both nodded. “Wait a second,” Giorgio said, reaching in and removing a box from the trunk. The box was wrapped in Christmas paper and a bo
w.

  “What the heck is that?” Rocky snarled.

  “It’s Tony’s Christmas present,” Giorgio said, ripping off the wrapping paper. “I just bought it the other day.”

  He finished removing the wrapping and quickly opened the box. It held a pair of kid’s night vision goggles. Rocky took one look and snorted.

  “Jesus, Joe. First a psychic and now a toy!”

  “Just shut up and grab the batteries,” Giorgio said, pointing to the box.

  Rocky did as he was told and handed them over. “Joe, those are made for kids.”

  “We only have one flashlight,” Giorgio said. “These might help.”

  “I doubt it,” his brother said skeptically.

  “These will work okay,” Abrams said, looking at the box. “My nephew has a pair. They just might not fit too well.”

  Giorgio put the batteries in and adjusted the strap as wide as it would go. When he put them on, Rocky chuckled quietly.

  “You’re an idiot, you know that?” he said, shaking his head.

  Abrams was smiling. “Here, flip this,” he said, turning the switch to ‘on.’ Then he helped Giorgio adjust the straps so that it fit snugly onto his head.

  “Okay, I’m good. Here,” he said to Flame, handing her the baseball cap. “You’ll need this. It belonged to Fritz. Let’s go.”

  The four of them moved to the gate. Rocky used the wire cutters to clip the chain holding the gate closed. The heavy chain and big padlock dropped to the ground with a whack.

  Giorgio pushed on the metal gate and it creaked open. As they passed through, an owl hooted somewhere up in the trees. A light breeze picked up the scent of sagebrush and swirled it around them. They followed the pitted road until they reached the circular drive that led to the main entrance.

  The Pottinger Sanitarium loomed before them. It was a three-story, C-shaped building, with broken windows and graffiti sprayed across each wall. Its once pristine stucco exterior was chipped and peeling. The red-tiled roof seemed intact, but there were three chimneys, one in each wing of the old hospital. Two of the three had crumbled into piles of rubble.

  Tall arched windows extended across the central wing, all of them protected by bars. Several large trees hugged the exterior of the building, tall enough to bump up against the eaves of the uneven roofline, while overgrown bushes and sagebrush obscured most of the first floor.

  The fence that surrounded the property was set to within six feet of the west exterior wall. The barbed wire extension faced outward, preventing all but the most ardent vagrants from gaining access. Only two security lights played across the front entrance, leaving most of the old sanitarium to sit like a monster in the dark, waiting to swallow them up alive.

  “Well, at least the electricity is on,” Rocky said, spying the security lights.

  “Yeah, but Martinelli was right,” Giorgio exclaimed, glancing around him. “This isn’t going to be easy. This place is enormous. There are even some outbuildings over there.”

  He pointed to where two smaller, single-story buildings sat off to one side.

  “He’s not in one of those,” the girl said, holding the cap in her left hand. “He’s in there.”

  She still had a strained look on her face, but pointed confidently to the big building. The three men turned in unison toward the direction she pointed.

  “Let’s go,” Giorgio said.

  He began moving up the driveway, his shoes crunching the gravel beneath his feet. They passed chunks of broken concrete, lumber and rocks. The lawn had been reduced to brown patches of dead grass and weeds.

  The building faced south, with the San Gabriel Mountains standing in the background. When they passed the front entrance, Giorgio motioned for them to cross the lawn to get up close to the building. Weapons drawn, they did as he instructed, moving quietly across the front of the east wing.

  They rounded the southeast corner and hugged the building, darting from bush to bush. Rocky and Abrams peered into windows as they passed, while they both kept a check on their rear flank.

  Each wing of the old building was about half a football field long, so it took them several minutes to traverse the distance, avoiding bushes, broken benches, and a few sections of old fencing that had been thrown into a pile. The once grand building was nothing more than a trash heap now, overgrown and forgotten by all but a serial killer.

  At one point, Giorgio stopped them with a finger to his lips.

  They froze and listened. There was only the rustling of trees and the occasional whoosh of a low-flying bat.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Rocky murmured.

  Giorgio waved them on.

  The grass along the building had long since died. It had been replaced with a tangle of weeds, broken bottles and trash. Everyone stepped carefully. Flame’s foot got caught once, throwing her into Detective Abrams’ back. Everyone stopped. He turned and helped her back on her feet.

  “Didn’t see that one coming did you?” Rocky quipped.

  “You okay?” Abrams whispered.

  She flashed Rocky an irritated look and nodded.

  “Let’s keep going,” Giorgio ordered.

  When the group finally came up to the northeast corner of the building, Giorgio glanced to where the driveway wrapped around to the back. He stopped them with a raised hand and then pointed to where the front end of the blue van poked its nose out from the corner of the building.

  Giorgio edged carefully around the corner, his weapon held firmly in front of him. Detective Abrams made a wide arc around the front of the van with the rifle aimed at its interior, while Giorgio advanced toward the rear. Rocky hung back with Flame.

  The back of the vehicle had been left open, and Giorgio whirled around the open door, but the van was empty. No sign of Martinelli. No sign of the girl. But the now familiar license plate was in full view. Giorgio lowered his gun and pulled the goggles up. He glanced at Abrams, who had come up the other side and then nodded at the license plate. Abrams nodded back.

  The van was parked next to the loading dock, which at one time accepted the delivery of everything from food to pharmaceuticals and medical equipment. It extended for some thirty feet with stairs on both ends.

  All was dark and quiet.

  Giorgio gestured to the girl. “Okay, Flame, you’re up.”

  The breeze played with a wisp of hair at the crown of her head. She turned toward the building and held out the hand with the baseball cap.

  “Here,” she said, handing it to Giorgio.

  “But don’t you have to…”

  She stepped past him without a word and moved to the back of the building, where she reached out and placed both hands on the exterior wall. She kept her hands flat and dropped her head for a moment, as if listening to something. The three men watched her quietly. After almost a minute, Giorgio became impatient and was about to say something, when she nodded once and spun around to face them.

  “They’re in the morgue,” she whispered. “In the basement. They showed me a main hallway that leads to the center of the building.”

  “They?” Rocky said, his voice filled with sarcasm.

  She shifted her gaze to Rocky. “The spirits. As I said, the building is filled with them. Some of them are children. But a few know why you’re here, and they want these men gone.” She turned back to Giorgio. “They’ve done bad things here…things the spirits don’t like. I saw more women…” she stopped and took a breath. “I think they want to help you. But I don’t know how. Just be open to it.”

  The three men looked at each other, an unspoken question between them.

  “They showed me several sets of stairs,” she continued. “But I think they want you to go all the way to the other end of the building, because one of the hallways is blocked.” Then she turned to Detective Abrams. “And, they also showed me a tall man with a rifle out front. That seemed very important.”

  Abrams gave her a questioning look. “Do you trust what you’re seeing?�
�

  A breeze drifted through the portico, swirling dust and leaves around their feet.

  “Yes, I do. These people died of natural causes. This is their home now, and these men have invaded it.”

  Abrams paused and turned to Giorgio with a shrug. “Okay, with me,” he said in a hushed tone. “I’ll position myself at the entrance in case either one of them comes out that way. What do these guys look like? I don’t want to shoot the wrong person.”

  “Fritz Martinelli is tall, maybe your height, with dark hair and dark eyes. Perry, his son, is shorter with black hair and tattoos around his neck.”

  Abrams nodded. “What do you say when you’re about to go on stage?” he asked.

  “Break a leg?” Giorgio replied.

  He chuckled. “Okay. Don’t do that,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few.” He turned and started to leave, when Giorgio stopped him.

  “Sean,” he said. “The moment you hear gunshots, call it in. By that time, they’ll know we’re here and we’ll need back-up.”

  Detective Abrams nodded and left for the entrance. Giorgio turned to Flame.

  “You need to go with him,” Giorgio said.

  “I will,” she replied. “But first…you need to know…the boy is here,” she said.

  Giorgio’s heart skipped a beat. “He…why can’t I see him?”

  “He doesn’t belong here,” she said quietly. “So he won’t come in close. But he showed me a

  big tree. The tree is important for some reason.”

  “There are big trees all around here,” Giorgio said in frustration. “Okay,” he sighed. “You need to go back to the car. And stay there. No matter what. The keys are in the ignition. If something happens…if you get scared, just leave.”

  She gave him a weak smile. “The girl is still alive, Detective, but you need to hurry. Her captors know you’re here,” she said, and then she turned and followed Detective Abrams.

  Giorgio and Rocky glanced at each other, sharing a somber moment.

  “What boy?” Rocky said.

  “Never mind. Let’s do this,” Giorgio replied.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE