by TJ O'Connor
“Jesus, Bear. Relax. Get me off this wall—I don’t like heights.”
“I don’t like liars.”
“You never asked about none of that, Bear. You never asked anything about stuff like that. Dammit, let go.” Tommy’s face was normally round and dark, a product of pasta and Sicilian heritage. Now, it was round and white, like a giant snow cone about to hit the sidewalk.
“Really?” Bear nudged him closer to the wall’s edge. “I hear the probation department calling, Tommy. Should I let go and take the call?”
“No. Jesus, Bear, pull me back. Please.”
Bear hauled him back and relaxed his grip.
Tommy dropped on his haunches onto the rock wall. He scrambled back and peered over the edge. His brow beaded with sweat.
I was enjoying myself. I hadn’t seen Bear this upset since setting him up with an Internet date last year. His date, as much of a surprise to me as him, turned out to be a fifty-year-old transvestite from Baltimore. I wasn’t good at computers, so how was a guy to know?
“All right, Tommy, give.”
Tommy wiped perspiration from his face and sized Bear up, perhaps contemplating some retaliation. I’m sure somewhere in the back of his mind he was considering snapping Bear into firewood and tossing him off the overlook. Tommy could probably do it, mind you—he was a very experienced, very capable man. He made a wise choice and cooperation reigned. He slinked away from Bear and caught his breath resting on his Buick.
“I dunno what you want. How can I tell you if I dunno what you want?”
Bear closed in on him, leaned forward, and eyed him. “What’s Nic got to do with Liam McCorkle’s death?”
“Who?”
“You heard me.”
Tommy’s mouth gaped open. “Nothin’, Bear. I’m sure of that. Nothin’. I didn’t even know he died.”
“He was murdered.”
“Shit, no.” Tommy looked down at his feet—not that he could see his feet. “Okay, look. When I first started workin’ for the Man, I delivered packages back and forth to McCorkle. I guess it’s been a few years. I don’t know what’s in ’em, and I don’t wanna know. It’s a private thing. Capisce?”
“Keep going. I’ll tell you when to stop talking.”
“Jesus, Bear. This is all innocent, I swear.”
“If you don’t know what’s in the packages, how do you know that?”
“Ah, I dunno.” Tommy frowned. He was a terrible liar. “Bear, there are some things that ain’t that kind of business, you know? This is one of them. Mr. Bartalotta has a real life, too, you know. This is part of that. Goes back years and it ain’t for me to ask about.”
“What does that mean?”
Tommy’s lips pursed and his one, thick eyebrow wrinkled low across his eyes. He had reached his end. “This is a no-go. The Man is entitled to some privacy when it ain’t nothing bad. I deliver stuff between him and McCorkle. The Man keeps the packages in his vault and I never see what’s in ’em. I don’t wanna see.”
“Bullshit.” Bear thrust a gun-finger into Tommy’s chest. “You’re lying, Tommy. You’re a phone call from violating parole.”
“Then do it. I got nothin’ to say this time. The Man is clean on this, Bear. I swear. Whatever’s in them packages, he never lets me or Bobby see. He’s private—weird private—about it. He gets mad as hell sometimes, and like, you know, sad other times.”
“Find out.”
“No.” Tommy’s voice was flat and defiant. It surprised me as much as Bear—maybe Bear more. There was something odd about it, too. Tommy was drawing a line in the sand. He was facing jail and he wasn’t budging. Whatever he was protecting, it scared him more than anything Bear could do to him.
“What did you say, Tommy?”
“No. Not this time.”
The two stood nose to nose glaring at each other. Tommy’s defiance sent an unnerving message. The only things worth guarding this much were treasure and secrets. Both were dangerous. Both might get you killed.
“Tommy, I’m not screwing around …”
“No.” Tommy’s defiance was clear. “Bust my parole if you want—the answer is still no. You got my word that the Man’s clean on McCorkle’s killin’. He ain’t involved in nothin’ bad with him either. It’s a family thing. And I know not to step into that. So, no.”
Bear wasn’t used to hearing “no” from snitches, in particular those who danced with the probation department so often. Nonetheless, he knew wasn’t budging.
“Okay, Tommy. Okay.”
“Thanks, Bear.”
Bear pulled an envelope out of his pocket and tossed it on the car hood. “This month’s benefit plan. But listen, paesano, you so much as hear him say ‘McCorkle’ and you better be ringing my phone, capisce?”
Tommy hesitated, then picked up the envelope and handed it back. “No, not this time. I ain’t givin’ on this one. I can’t. Anythin’ else, okay. Not this. Keep your money. But hey …”
Bear just looked at him.
“Maybe tell your lady pal to stop poking around about stuff. She ain’t no cop.”
“What?” Bear’s face gave away his confusion. “What’s that mean —exactly?”
“Just tell her. I’m just sayin’, ya know, as a favor. She ain’t makin’ no friends.”
Bear grabbed the envelope of money off the car. “Get the hell out of here before I bust you for being out of state without permission.”
Tommy left in a torrent of gravel and dust.
Bear watched him disappear down the mountain road. “Angela, what the hell have you done now?”
fifty-two
“Churning up trouble? Do you hear yourself?” Angel’s face was red. She sat at her university desk opposite Ernie and slapped her hand down on the desktop, killing pencils and paperclips in the eruption. “André is lying in a hospital bed. He could have died, Ernie—died. Bear and I didn’t do that. And you’re only worried about your historical society and Kelly’s Dig?”
“No, of course not, Angela. Please, I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s casting a bad light on the site.”
“The site?” Angel jumped up. “I could not care less about your historical preservations right now. But it certainly is about your site. Someone is killing people. All of this—and I mean all of it—is somehow about that site.”
“You don’t know that,” Ernie said. “Not really.”
I said, “Yes we do, Ernie. Two dead girls convinced me.”
“There have been killings there before,” Angel began. “Two missing girls may have been killed there. It’s all connected to that damn site.”
“Two girls? Murdered?” Ernie squinted at her and his face wrinkled up as though she was speaking in tongues. “Have there been more murders? I haven’t heard anything about that and I’m sure I would have.”
She was caught.
“Now you’ve done it.” How was she gonna explain the girls?
“Listen, Ernie.” She dug into her purse, retrieving the small emerald we’d found. She handed it to him. “I found this at Kelly’s Dig this morning. I think there’s more going on that we don’t know. I did some research into old, unsolved cases and found some information on two missing girls. I asked Tyler about them and he got angry—very angry.”
Damn, she lied well, and was fast on her feet, too. I wonder how many times she’d done that to me?
“Really?” Ernie looked up from the emerald and his eyes went dark. The mention of Byrd’s name seemed to grab his manhood and squeeze. “Tell me what you’ve found.”
She did. Well, I should say, she told a story. She didn’t say that I told her about the two dead girls—that would make her a little crazy. She referred to me as a “source.” For many years, I’d been a cop. Now I was a “source”—a snitch.
“I see.” Ernie returned the em
erald. “Angela, I realize you’re still distraught over Tuck. Now André’s been injured. Nevertheless, my dear, you’re seeing shadows. I’ve lived here my entire life and don’t recall anything about unsolved murders or missing girls.”
I said, “Angel, let it go. We need names and details. You can’t very well tell people, ‘oh, my dead husband told me that two dead girls told him’ … blah, blah, blah. Leave it alone.”
She knew I was right. “Okay, Ernie, maybe you’re right. I still have to check it out some more, though. I’m going deeper into the Kelly’s Dig history. If I get nothing more, I’ll drop it.”
His face grew darker. “You mean the Bartalotta family?”
“Yes, you knew his family owned the farm?”
“Of course I did.”
“You’ve never mentioned it.”
He looked amused. “Well, neither have you.”
“Tell me, Ernie. Anything you can.”
What he said changed everything. “Nicholas’s family owned the farm many years back. I should say, his cousin did—his namesake cousin. They bought it in the late fifties or early sixties, I think. Just after his family came over from Italy. Nicholas lived in New York back then, and he vacationed at the farm during his summers. I don’t think many people know that.”
I asked, “Then how does he know this?”
Angel asked him, and his answer added to the swelling ache in my head.
“Very simple, Angela,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’ve known Nicholas for years. In fact, we knew each other rather well in those days. André knows him well, too.”
“André? He never mentioned that.” Angel was surprised.
Ernie went on. “Our families—André’s and mine—were very friendly as you know. We’re all from academic backgrounds, mind you. Nicholas’s family and ours did not get on; nor did they with André’s. After all, our families were respectable and Nicholas’s were rather, shall we say, notorious. Whispers followed them everywhere.”
Notorious? Whispers? My, my, Ernie sure had a flare for cheap drama. If I didn’t know better, I would say Ernie Stuart was enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame as an old pal of the retired mobster. I wonder what Poor Nic would say about him?
“Ernie,” Angel asked, “you said Nicholas’ namesake owned the farm. I don’t recall seeing ‘Bartalotta’ in the land records.”
He grinned as his fifteen minutes headed for twenty. “You wouldn’t. His distant cousin, Nicholas, owned it, on his mother’s side—Nicholas Voccelli.”
fifty-three
When Ernie left, he was gloating. Having a big secret in the game puffed him up like a peacock. Odd, though, that he never whispered that secret before—especially considering his involvement with Kelly’s Dig. Then again, there wasn’t much I didn’t find a little odd about him from time to time. I never knew about André growing up around Poor Nic either.
I wonder what other secrets were out there waiting.
Angel promised to call Ernie the moment something more happened. He left angry, unhappy with her to be still chasing murderers. He meant well, but the old fart was getting a little too protective for me. But, like all good dead husbands, I kept my mouth shut and stretched out on her office couch.
“Angel, do you think old Ernie …”
There was a knock on the door and Angel called out, “Come in.”
“Sorry to interrupt you, Angela. May I come in?” The voice was familiar but the woman who walked through the door was not. “It’s me, Sarah Salazar.”
If not for her name, I would not have recognized her. As the country folk say, “she sure does clean up good.” Sarah was dressed in a white cotton top and a tan skirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back and she was wearing round glasses that made her appear more sophisticated than I knew she was. Sarah had transformed herself into a lovely co-ed who was going to turn a few heads around campus.
“My, my, will you look at her.”
“Stop it and be quiet.” Angel said under her breath. “Privacy, remember?”
I looked at her and her ire bothered me. She was more and more testy with me, and while all the mayhem may be to blame, I didn’t deserve it. Maybe it was never knowing when I was around or not, or, perhaps, not having me really around. Maybe I was wearing out my welcome and being just a voice in the room was no match for flesh and blood and real companionship. Maybe.
She said, “Sarah, come in. What a nice surprise.”
Sarah walked in and gave Angel a long, tight hug. When she let go, she blushed and retreated behind a chair facing the desk. “I’m sorry to drop by like this.”
“Don’t be.”
“You’ve been so kind to me.” Angel gestured for her to sit. Sarah went on, “The daycare is perfect, and I start a reception job tomorrow. I’m gonna take some classes if student aid works out.”
“That’s wonderful, Sarah. I’m happy for you. You’ll be back on your feet in no time. Can I do anything else?”
“No, no. I had to say ‘thanks.’” She hesitated for a second and I thought she was going to leave. Instead, she fidgeted in her chair. “Well, I wanna to give you some things. You’ll know what to do with them—I sure don’t.”
“Some things? What?”
Sarah opened her shoulder bag and took out a rolled-up brown paper bag. She handed it to Angel. “Ray left this stuff—you know, from the diggin’. ”
Angel emptied the bag out on her desk and gold coins, a ragged leather pouch, and tarnished pieces of metal spilled out. I recognized the coins from Sarah’s bedroom. The pieces of tarnished metal were an old, broken belt buckle and several buttons—pieces of a soldier’s uniform. She started to open the leather pouch but decided to wait.
When I looked at the coins, I knew we were closer to a murderer. “Angel, those are 1881 twenty-dollar gold pieces. They look like Poor Nic’s.”
Angel picked up one of the coins and examined it, holding it to the light to read the engravings. “You got all this from Ray, Sarah? The coins, too? They came from Kelly’s Dig?”
Sarah nodded but didn’t speak. Angel sorted through the items piled on her desk. Sarah twitched each time Angel picked one up.
“Angela, I lied to you the other night.” She rubbed her wrist and refused to look at her. Then, without warning, she began to cry. “I knew Ray and Iggi worked for Mr. Byrd. Ray was so happy about that job. He was makin’ more money there than as a guard. Mr. Byrd and Poor Nic have been real good to me. I lied because Nic’s men came by and …”
“It’s okay, Sarah. I understand.” Angel put a hand on her shoulder. “Really. It’s okay.”
“No, I should have told you.” Sarah continued sobbing. “Mr. Byrd paid Ray under the table so we didn’t tell nobody. It was only for a couple weeks.”
“I know.”
“Then, Iggi got a call from some guy about that farm they was working on—the one that’s been in all the papers.”
“Kelly’s Dig?” Angel asked.
Sarah nodded. “Yup. Ray was real nervous. There was something scary about the deal—but it was lots of money. Anyway, they were supposed to move these bones—”
Angel interrupted her. “I know all that, Sarah. Iggi told us.”
“They never even touched those old bones—Ray said they were too scary. But they found all this stuff—more even—and they sold a lot of it.”
I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “She’s hiding something.”
“Hiding?” Angel repeated. “Sarah?”
Sarah paled and her eyes grew rounder. She started rubbing her wrist again and that’s when I saw it. She was wearing an ornate silver bracelet that was badly tarnished and bent. Its band was inlaid with green gemstones and it looked as though some were missing.
Angel looked at her wrist and gently touched her hand. Sarah tried to cover the bracelet.
She nodded and cried harder. “Yeah.”
“It’s all right, Sarah. May I see it?”
With slow, hesitant movements, she slid the bracelet off and held it out. Her crying made her stutter. “Ray found it with the other stuff. He cleaned it up himself. He said he wouldn’t sell it ’cause he couldn’t afford anything like it for a long time.”
Angel held it up to inspect. The band was heavy, tarnished silver that bore the scars of years buried in earth. The band was decorated with the shapes of musical notes connected by two G-clefts—one on each side. There were mounts for four emeralds. Two were still affixed in the silver; two were missing. Each of the G-clefts had a ruby mounted in its center. The piece was old, but how old I didn’t know. I doubted, though, that it came from any Civil War soldier.
“Angel,” I said. “Remember those two nice, dead young girls? I think this belongs to one of them.”
She held up the bracelet. “Did Ray say anything about finding more pieces like this? Any other jewelry?”
“No, I don’t think so. Just those coins and stuff—I brought what’s left. ”
Angel retrieved her purse from behind her desk. She took out a folded white mailing envelope and dumped out the emerald we’d found at Kelly’s Dig. The stone fit into one of the empty G-cleft settings and matched the other emeralds perfectly.
“Sarah, may I keep this for a couple days?”
“Umm, sure,” she said, staring at the floor. “Do you think Ray was killed because of it?”
“That’s what I want to find out.”
“Take it. I don’t want it anymore.”
Angel smiled knowingly and scooped up the coins and other items from her desk. She carefully replaced them in the bag Sarah brought, keeping the bracelet out in front of her. “I’ll try to return it to you. But Sarah, I may not be able to.”
She shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t want it now. If that’s why Ray was killed—even if it’s just part of it—I never want to see it again.”
