by R Weir
After mulling it over, she opened the door and we walked in. She grabbed her cordless phone and made the call, but got no answer.
“Did he say anything about doing something after school today?” I asked.
“He was going to hang out with friends and have dinner with them. I didn’t question him on who. I only told him to be home before dark.”
“What about his father? Can you check with him?’
There was a long pause before she answered, a sense of anger in her face she was trying to control.
“His father lives in another state and hardly talks to him. He couldn’t care less. And my current husband and Andrew don’t see eye to eye. So he wouldn’t have any idea either.”
Brow-beating her wasn’t getting us anywhere, so we went back to the house. The cell phones I’d purchased had GPS tracking, something I made sure of for this very reason. I called up the web portal and it showed the phone was offline. So either the battery had died or it had been turned off. Helen then called Jolene’s female friend and she was reluctant to say anything. Helen put her on the speakerphone.
“Please, Kristen,” pleaded Helen. “We need to know where she is. She isn’t in trouble, but could be in danger. If you know something, please tell us.”
“I really shouldn’t,” she answered.
“You know what happened to her father,” I said, trying to scare her. “How would you feel if the same happened to Jolene because you wouldn’t tell us?”
There was a long pause, though you could hear her breathing.
“Well, she was going nuts having to stay at home,” said Kristen. “She told me she was skipping last period and meeting up with Andrew. They were going to an afternoon movie at Jordan Creek. It was a 4:30 showing, I believe. They wanted to be together. They are so much in love, but his mother is being such a bitch about them.”
“Thank you, Kristen,” said Helen. “We are relieved she is okay.”
“I’ll go get them,” I said after hanging up, “and bring them both back here.”
Jordan Creek wasn’t too far away and I was there in about twenty minutes. I asked for the manager and showed him my ID and explained the situation. He agreed to allow me to check the theaters. Since the movie times were staggered, it was pretty easy to figure which one they went to if Kristen had the correct time. I walked in and they were in the back by themselves and appeared to be making out. I crept up the stairs and slid into their row a couple seats down from them. They sensed a presence, stopping their lip lock and looking at me. Jolene was surprised.
“Since you don’t appear to be watching the movie,” I whispered. “I figure we can leave now and go back to your mom’s.”
They both pouted for a minute, then reluctantly agreed, walking out with me. They were silent all the way home, her in the front, him in the back. Once in the house Helen walked up and hugged them both. She was mad, but happy the worry was over.
“Sit down, you two,” I said. “We need to hash this out.”
I motioned for Helen to come to the kitchen.
“So they were there?” Helen asked.
“Yes. They were in full make-out mode. Pretty obvious they haven’t broken up.”
“What should we do?”
“When you were young did your parents ever tell you not to see some boy ever again?”
She frowned.
“Of course they did. They told me to stop seeing Flynn.”
“How did that work out?”
“Out of spite I wanted to see him even more.”
“Then I’d say you know the proper course of action here. Do you want me in there with you?”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw the two of them on the sofa, holding hands.
“No, I can handle it.”
Out she walked while I took a seat at the table. I then realized Rocky was in there too, cooking, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, his gun holstered under his left arm. He had a couple of pots, one simmering and one boiling. The heat from the oven filled the room. Whatever it was smelled exceptional.
“Hired bodyguard cooks as well,” I stated.
“Needed to keep busy while we waited,” Rocky replied. “I can cook a few things and my three-cheese Italian sausage pasta dish is one of them. Figured Helen would be busy tending to family matters.”
“Smells good, I can hardly wait. Maybe you should put out a book: Rocky’s Recipes for Rough Men.”
It was possible he smiled, though I couldn’t say for sure. After Helen was done, the three of them joined us in the kitchen and enjoyed the meal. It had been agreed upon that Jolene and Andrew could spend time together at the house. If they wanted a little alone time, it would be allowed for them to go to her room, but no sex. If they wanted to go out somewhere, either Rocky or I had to be with them. After dinner, I drove Andrew home and we talked some on the way.
“You really like Jolene,” I said.
“She is special to me,” Andrew answered. “I do love her and want to be with her all the time.”
Missing Melissa came to mind. All those miles between us, literally and figuratively, were hurting us.
“I know the feeling. What about your mother?”
“She doesn’t understand.”
“She’s scared for you, after what happened to Jolene’s father. It’s understandable.”
“I’m almost eighteen. She can’t protect me forever. I have to make my own decisions.”
“I’d approach it from that angle.”
“She won’t listen.”
“You have to try.”
“And neither does Ben.”
“Is that your step-father?”
“Don’t call him that. He is hardly a father. I can’t stand him!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t come from a broken home, but I’ve worked cases of families that were. I know it can be difficult.”
“Between the two of them, I don’t stand a chance, and can barely get a word in edge wise.”
“I’ll walk in with you, see if we can reason with them. I’ve dealt with tougher people than her recently, so I’m not scared.”
He smiled as we pulled up. Together we walked to the front door and entered, braced for the onslaught. Maybe I should have been scared.
Chapter 36
My morning got off to a poor start when Detective Frakes called me.
“Where are you at?” he said. “I need to pick you up and take a trip down to Drake.”
This didn’t sound good.
“I’m still at Helen’s.” I gave him the address. “How long before you’re here?”
“Fifteen.”
On the drive down, it was quiet in his car, other than the radio playing soft jazz, which always made me sleepy. We pulled up to an apartment building I knew, several police cars on the scene. After Frakes showed his ID, we walked through the door I had kicked in a few days earlier. There was a buzz of activity and it became obvious why. Sitting on the sofa was the dead body of Carlos. He had been shot through the roof of the mouth, the gun still in his hand. I’d seen enough violent death in my life and it was never pleasant.
Over strode a Des Moines plains clothes officer. He acknowledged Frakes.
“Is this him?” he asked.
Frakes said, “Yes” and then introduced us. Detective Culbert showed no emotion. Apparently he’s seen his fair share of violent death too.
“You’re the one who recorded his confession?” he asked.
“I am. What happened?”
“From appearances, he killed himself. Killed a woman first, then one up through his mouth. Woman is in the bedroom.”
Once in the room, I recognized her as the one I’d found with him the other day. She lay on the bed naked, blood on the sheets behind her head. A pillow had been used to muffle the shot.
“So a murder-suicide then?” said Frakes.
“If not, then made to look that way. There is a note on the kitchen table. Looks like it was printed up on his laser printer.”
“May I see it?” I asked.
Culbert called out and had the note brought to me. It was in a plastic bag. It said:
I’m sorry for the death I’ve caused because of my jealous rage. May the angels forgive me for killing Flynn Mann, Taylor Gaines and Jill Westin.
“I’m assuming Jill is who is on the bed?” I asked.
“From the ID we found in her purse, yes,” answered Culbert.
“A neat and tidy confession,” I said.
“Our bosses will like it,” replied Culbert.
“It stinks. In my mind, this was staged.”
“Why do you think so?”
“For one, I know Carlos didn’t kill Flynn, for he would have told me when I was questioning him. Two, why use the pillow to kill Jill?”
“Trying to silence the sound.”
“True, if you planned to do it. If it was in a ‘jealous rage,’ like he said, I doubt he’d have taken the time to cover her face and shoot her. This seems more premeditated to me. Did anyone hear the second shot?”
“No.”
“Time of death?”
“Sometime after midnight. Nothing conclusive yet.”
“Gun?”
“Beretta 9mm. Probably a million of them in the world.”
“Any evidence he owned a gun? Extra bullets, cleaning kit, holster?”
“Nothing yet.”
“I’m not here to tell you how to do your job, but I’d look at this real hard before calling it a suicide. Might not be much to find, as they were likely pros. You know who he is? His family history?”
“Yes,” said Culbert. “You think it’s mob related?”
“Could be, though I’m inclined to think it’s related to my brother’s murder and my digging into it. He had a high-class lawyer fly up from St. Louis to bail him out. Could be worthwhile paying him a visit.”
“I doubt my budget or my boss will allow me a trip down there,” said Culbert.
“Nor mine,” added Frakes.
“Fortunately, mine does, and has some sway.”
“Wilson,” said Frakes.
“Yes. I always wanted to see the new Busch Stadium and the Arch. Now I have a good excuse.”
Chapter 37
Agent Wilson agreed to cover the cost of travelling to St. Louis, but insisted on going as well. I didn’t argue, as having an FBI agent throwing his federal weight around wouldn’t hurt any. I wanted to drive. It was only about five hours there and back, but he insisted on flying and being back later that day. Before leaving, I checked with Rocky to make sure he’d be fine by himself. Upon seeing his nasty expression, I knew I needed to stop asking the obvious. We flew out on an early morning flight and landed at Lambert St. Louis International by 9 a.m.
A local FBI agent met us at the airport in a large black SUV that the government must have gotten a volume discount on. He handed a folder to Wilson, who then passed it to me. Apparently he already knew the contents. It covered the lawyer we planned to visit.
Sydney Cay was fifty-five, wealthier than I’d ever be, with several houses throughout the Midwest and offices in St. Louis and Chicago. He owned a valuable collection of classic cars, was married, with three kids and seven grandchildren. He was the lead partner in Cay and Richmond Law Specialists, with an office in the heart of downtown, with a nice view of the Mississippi. His clients included several high profile Missouri and Illinois politicians, and a couple of names I knew: the two Gaines brothers and Alexander Toro.
“I don’t see any mention of Carlos DePaolo,” I said. “Why did Sydney come all the way to Des Moines to bail him out?”
“We’ll ask him,” said Wilson. “His connection to Gaines and Toro is a clue.”
“Got him bailed out quickly before he could spill anymore, and then had him killed.”
“Be my guess. Men like Toro don’t like people rolling on them. When he heard about the recording you gave the police, it was lights out.”
“Seems silly to call attention to himself.”
“Men like Toro don’t care about anyone digging into their business. They fear no one. Why he is nicknamed Alexander the Bull. Keep pestering him, and you’ll be the next one gored.”
Right now, I didn’t really care. I was in this till the end, though I would prefer it wasn’t my end. I read through the rest of the papers when we arrived at the tall building. The driver double-parked while we went inside, his federal muscle no match for any ticket-writing meter maid. We rode the elevator to the fifteenth floor and immediately we saw the shiny brass letters announcing Cay and Richmond Law Specialists.
I had made an appointment, but didn’t use my real name. I stuck with Smith, while still using Wilson for my FBI companion. Asking specifically for Cay, we were looking for legal advice for an issue with the law, we needed assistance with, money being no object. A leggy redhead led us to a meeting room with charcoal, oval, conference room table, conference phone and a view of the St Louis Arch. You could see some large freighters cruising the Mississippi, the liquid highway of commerce. She offered us coffee, tea, juice or bottled water. Wilson wanted coffee with cream and sugar, while I settled for water. I flashed back to my first glimpse of Melissa at Bristol and Bristol all those months ago, and the connection we had formed almost immediately. Feelings of how much I truly missed her, buried deep down.
We sat and waited for twenty minutes before Cay walked in. His suit was perfect: matching gray slacks and jacket, striped tie with diamond clasp. He was average height and build, in shape, with immaculate teeth and black, perfectly combed hair and graying temples. He smiled and introduced himself, saying he was sorry for being late. Another pretty woman joined him, introducing herself as Rita, his legal assistant. She would be taking notes of our conversation.
“So Mr. Smith and Mr. Wilson, what can I help you with today?”
“Well Sydney, we have a delicate matter to discuss,” stated Wilson. “Something you may not want Rita to be privy too.”
“She falls under the same lawyer-client confidentiality rules as I do. You may speak freely around her.”
“We have a hairy legal issue where we need you to come to Des Moines and bail out one of our partners who has been arrested for vehicular homicide. Seems there is a recording of him fingering one of our associates.”
“A bull in a china shop type of confession,” I added.
Sydney remained cool and calm, but understood what we were getting at.
“Rita, you can leave the room,” he said. “Please put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.”
After she left, Sydney lost some of his coolness.
“Who the hell are you?”
Wilson pulled out his ID and showed him. I left mine in my pocket. No reason to let him think I wasn’t FBI too.
“Agent Bart Wilson,” Cay said. “I thought I knew all the agents in the St. Louis office. You must be new.”
“Out of the Des Moines office. Here to ask you some questions on your involvement with Carlos DePaolo.”
“Wow, Des Moines office, pretty scary,” Cay said sarcastically. “My involvement with him is confidential. Lawyer-client privilege.”
“Has he been your client for long?”
“No.”
“Why would someone in Des Moines hire someone all the way down here in St. Louis?”
“Because I’m the best.”
“Doubtful he could afford you. He worked in a department store selling men’s clothes.”
“Pro Bono.”
“Or maybe someone called you and told you to fly up and get him out of jail before his big mouth stirred things up.”
“No comment.”
“Did you know who his family was? Their crime history over in Italy?”
“Of course, I know all of my client’s histories. Those accused of crimes need lawyers too.”
“Speaking of crime, are you aware your client is now dead? It didn’t appear you rushed up there to see what happened?”
“I understa
nd he killed his girlfriend and then killed himself. Murder-suicide is such a waste.”
“Yet, you aren’t there to handle his matters, now that he has passed.”
“I was his lawyer only on his legal problems. Someone else will need to handle his estate issues, if there are any. My specialty is criminal law.”
“And the criminals who commit them,” I said.
“So, he speaks too. Does Agent Smith have a badge?”
“Call me Smitty. Left it on my desk back in Des Moines. Luckily, Wilson is here to vouch for me. What about your ties to Edward and Gabriel Wyche? They appear to be your clients as well.”
“I have many clients, Smitty. I can’t remember all of them.”
“Really? So they didn’t call you to come bail Carlos out, since he was dating Edward’s daughter Casey?”
He threw up his hands and smiled.
“And what about Alexander Toro? When I mentioned the bull in the china shop, you obviously knew who I was referring to. He was mentioned on the recording. Carlos claimed he arranged the forged evidence in a hit and run, to show the driver was drunk at the time.”
“Gentlemen, this is getting tiring,” said Cay while standing. “You have come under false pretenses, wasting my time. Do you know how many hundreds of dollars I charge per hour for a consultation?”
“Send us the bill,” I said while standing. I walked over, looking him straight in the eye. “Tell the Wyche brothers and Alexander the Bull that Smitty is gunning for them.”
“Would this be a threat?”
With a grin, I patted him on the back.
“Most definitely”
I strode out of there oozing confidence, even though I’d just painted a large target on my chest.
Chapter 38
Surviving another jet ride, I returned to Helen’s knowing no one would be home yet, because Rocky would be out picking them up. When I arrived a familiar old beat-up Chevy was parked on the street, the two James Brothers standing in the front yard. I pulled into the driveway and got out, hearing Molly barking in the house. They both approached me, each carrying an aluminum baseball bat down at their side, nervously tapping their legs.
