by Jeff Carson
Rossi looked at Lia with dead eyes.
Wolf stole a glance back to the CZ-99. With a full stretch, it was now in reach of his left arm. But it lay on its left side, pointing forward. It would be an awkward move picking it up, repositioning it, pointing it, and firing, even if he was left-handed. Which he wasn’t.
Suddenly, Rossi’s face twisted in agony, his mouth moving silently and rapidly as if saying a well-practiced prayer. Then he slowly, steadily lifted his gun.
Wolf reached out to Lia with his right hand, gripped her sweatshirt, and flung her behind him to the floor. At the same time, he reached for the CZ-99 with his other hand.
Rossi’s eyes were shut tight, “Non avevo scelta! Prenditi cura di loro per me!”
Wolf now saw what Rossi was doing. Wolf grabbed the pistol off the counter, briefly focusing on it as he transferred it to his right hand, slapped it into his palm, and threaded his finger through the trigger guard. He aimed true with as much speed as he could muster.
One deafening pop reverberated as two muzzle flashes lit the barroom, Rossi’s and Wolf’s rounds discharging simultaneously. Rossi’s head exploded into a red twist of expanding skull and hair. For a moment, what was left flopped sideways, dangling from his still standing body, and then he dropped to the hard barroom floor with a thump.
Wolf set the smoking CZ-99 down and looked to a wide-eyed Lia sprawled on her back. He raised his eyebrows, and she nodded. Satisfied she was okay, he walked through the open bar gap to Rossi’s lifeless body. He stepped directly into the expanding crimson, bent close, and spit.
Chapter 48
The Saturday lunch crowd in the piazza was the largest he’d seen yet. Day-trippers from Milan, Lia had told him, flocked to the lake when it was good weather. And it was great weather. The air was warm, and the gentle breeze carrying the scent of food and espresso kept the humidity at bay.
Wolf shook his head and took his first bite of yet another pizza. “How the heck were you there last night at the pub?”
“The whole thing was lucky,” she said. “I saw Cezar in the piazza just a few minutes before we talked on the phone, and thought it odd to spot him there, so I was watching him the whole time. He kept stopping and looking around, like he was searching for someone. Then he got a phone call and left the piazza in a flash, and I watched him go out of sight down an alley.”
“And you followed him?”
“No. After he left I got the call from you, then I got a call from Paulo no more than a minute later. He told me Valerio’s dad wasn’t buried in Lecco, so I couldn’t send flowers. And that I had the time of his death completely wrong. I was puzzled to say the least. I didn’t even know what he was talking about. Then he said that Valerio’s dad had been killed twenty-five years ago in Sicily, something to do with the mafioso.
“I asked him what the hell he was talking about, and he said that you called saying that I was the one requesting the information. I hung up, and remembered what you said on the phone, and figured you were trying to tell me something about Valerio.
“From that second on, all I could think about was Cezar in the piazza. And I realized he had been looking up at your apartment also. I wondered if maybe he was looking for you. Since he ran off, and I realized you must have been near the piazza, I decided to follow his trail.”
“They caught me shortly after our phone call,” Wolf said with creased brow. “I was pretty far away from the piazza. How did you find us?”
She shrugged. “I went down, and down, and wound my way toward the lake. Then I saw Valerio and Cezar loading you in the back of Valerio’s Gazella. You were out cold, which was shocking to see. Then of course, there was no call on the radio from Valerio that he’d caught you, so I was suspicious. So I ran to my car and went to the only place I could think they’d be taking you, The Albastru Pub.” She gave another shrug and dove back into her pizza.
“Jesus.” He stared at her.
She smiled and took a sip of Coke.
“Jesus.”
“You said that.”
“Have I thanked you for saving my life last night?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said laughing, “You have. Last night.” She took another sip. “So my question for you. How did you get the idea to have Paulo look into Valerio’s father’s death?”
“Everything came to a head when I saw Vlad’s dead body. I knew someone was trying to set me up, and doing a damn good job of it. And there were only a few people who could have been doing it—you, Rossi, or Cezar.” He shrugged. “That’s basically everyone I know in this country. Well, there’s Cristina, the girl who was dating my brother, but I was with her just before Vlad had been killed. And Colonnello Marino or Tito?” Wolf shook his head. “No. Those guys have issues, but they aren’t murderers.”
“Then I saw a few things, and then I saw Rossi inside the pub,” he continued, “and well, I realized it had to have been Rossi. I saw some shipping documents last night, and couldn’t read anything but the ports. The destination port was Genoa, Liguria, Italy and the source port Tenes, Algeria. The only other thing I could gather from them was the shipping company name, which was Fratello Importing or something like that.
“What caught my eye was Liguria. I remembered that as the place Valerio said his brother lives, working for the Guarda Di Finanza. Remember he said his brother bought a nice house in Liguria with his inheritance money?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “That’s where he lives. Liguria is the region. Genoa is the capital, where the port is. In fact, his brother lives minutes from Genoa.” She shook her head. “And it was called Fratelli Importers?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“What?”
“Fratelli means brothers in Italian.”
“Huh. That would have been nice to know at the time.” He stared for a beat at the ground, then snapped out of it. “But it was seeing Rossi talking to Cezar in the pub that clicked everything into place.
“And I thought, that could be a great cover story for a pair of brothers who were involved in smuggling drugs and actually wanted to enjoy spending the money they earned. ‘Our father died. It was an inheritance.’ Who’s going to call them out on such a sensitive subject? Nobody.
“Then I remembered Rossi said that his father was never around, but suddenly gave them an inheritance. So I started wondering what their father’s true history was. I suspected Rossi and his brother had to have been exploiting that, and I was hoping they’d made up the whole dying three years ago thing.” Wolf shrugged. “And I was right.”
Lia stared through her pizza. “Our family always assumed their father just lived in Sicily, and that his parents were divorced, and that’s why he was never around. It never came up that he was dead. They never talked about their father. It was like a taboo subject.”
“It probably was. Maybe he died in a disgraceful way back then, and no one liked to talk about it growing up.” Wolf took a few more bites and stopped. “Rossi’s wife,” he said.
“What?”
“You’ll have to check on her. See if she was in on all this, or if she was duped into thinking Rossi’s father left the inheritance.”
Lia took a deep breath and shook her head. “I think they don’t know. He was ashamed at being exposed so much that he shot himself. I don’t think his wife would have known. She’s not the criminal type.” She looked at Wolf. “I hope for the kids’ sake she wasn’t in on it.”
They ate silently for awhile, and then she looked at him with a wry smile. “How did you get Paulo to do that for you?”
“Simple. He didn’t do it for me. I just pretended like I was calling in the favor for you, like you were too busy to talk at the moment, and we didn’t want to bring it up to Valerio. You know, because it was a touchy subject. He seemed pretty reluctant, or suspicious, but I sealed the deal when I told him to just call you directly with where to send the flowers.”
She blushed and forked her piz
za.
Wolf gave a shrug. “Any excuse to talk to you.” Wolf turned serious. “I wish I could say I’m sorry Rossi’s dead. I know he was a lifelong friend. A friend of the family …” He let his sentence trail off.
“No. It’s okay. I know now he was a mere shell of a person. A phony. It’s strange to say, but the person I was friends with probably died a few years ago and maybe a long time before that. He was just using me for reasons I can’t even imagine.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said.
As they finished eating, Wolf reflected on Rossi’s final actions that had allowed Wolf to satisfy his need for revenge, and his single-minded imperative to avenge John’s murder. Wolf would never know which bullet had arrived first, Wolf’s or Rossi’s, which had penetrated that part of Rossi’s brain that ultimately ended his life. In the end, all that mattered was that John’s honor was restored, and those responsible for his death were dead. All of them.
Chapter 49
Wolf and Lia spent the rest of their Saturday in Marino’s office recounting the week’s events leading up to the harrowing demise of Detective Rossi.
Relief flooded Wolf that evening in a crashing wave, allowing him a much-needed release of grievous emotion. He called his mother, told her the real story of her son’s death, and joined in her emotional outpouring as well.
To his surprise, his later date with Lia was the most enjoyable night with a woman he’d had in years.
They both slept at John’s, and Wolf found out that Lia Parente was a liar. She was vicious. And he told her so facetiously as they lie in bed next to each other, completely spent.
The next morning she took him to the airport, and they hugged, and gave each other a soft kiss, knowing it was a long shot they would ever see each other again.
…
Wolf’s back pressed deep into his coach window seat as the 777 Lufthansa flight lifted from the Tarmac of the runway. He stared at the receding clay tile buildings below, looking forward to seeing the mountains of Colorado once again.
The plane climbed to cruising altitude, and Wolf requested a coffee from the flight attendant pushing the drink cart. As he sat back sipping the watery confection, the thought of home raised his pulse. The last six days had colluded to mercilessly change his life, bringing him to a wholly foreign land, and now back home with a dead brother. But something told him it wasn’t about to get any easier.
He had the sense that he’d missed so much at home, and at such a critical time. Connell and his lies, slandering Wolf while he was a half-world away, undoubtedly hurting his chances for a sheriff appointment. Sarah and her new sober life, with a new man to share it with. A suspicious death in Rocky Points on Wolf’s watch, one that he wasn’t around for to help his department investigate. All these things were contributing to a feeling that Wolf was going back to a life where he had little control.
“Sir,” a flight attendant with a bored expression and a thick accent snapped him out of his thoughts. She held out a steaming tray of food, “would you like some breakfast?”
Wolf nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“And for you, sir?”
“No!” The man next to Wolf blurted, lifting up his glass of liquid. “I have my ginger-ale. That will be enough.”
The man leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes tight as the flight attendant moved away. Then he dug into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pill without looking at it, put it in his mouth, and swallowed it down with a sip of ginger ale.
Wolf watched the spectacle unfold next to him, and then turned to his food tray.
“Dramamine,” the man said with a deep breath.
Wolf turned to see that the man was looking at him through the corner of his eyes.
“Ah,” Wolf said.
“Yeah. I get terrible airsickness. Same with boats. Cars. You name it. Any sort of motion. I’ll be fine, though. Just as long as I don’t try eating one of those ham and cheese omelettes, that is. Otherwise, we’ll be sopping up ham and egg chunks in less than an hour.”
Wolf closed the lid on his meal and pushed it forward. He could eat when he reached Denver. He sat back and closed his eyes, trying to keep his mind off the gag reflex of the man next to him.
A few moments later, he snapped his eyes open and stared at the food in front of him. Then he looked at the man next to him. And then he smiled.
The man apparently sensed someone staring at him, because he cracked an eye and turned to Wolf. “What?”
Wolf shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing. You just gave me an idea, that’s all.”
The man peered at Wolf suspiciously for a few seconds and then faced forward and shut his eyes.
Wolf sat back and looked out the window. He was suddenly more anxious than ever to get home.
Chapter 50
It was mid-afternoon Sunday by the time Wolf and Rachette drove into Rocky Points.
The weather was dry and warm, but they had driven through rain on the way up from Denver, and there was a thunderstorm looming behind the peaks.
At Wolf’s insistence they didn’t drive directly to the station, where Wolf’s truck had been parked for the last week. Instead, they passed by, continued a few blocks, and pulled into the Sunnyside Café parking lot.
“Okay,” Rachette put the truck in park and looked at Wolf. “You going to tell me what you’re thinking?”
Wolf unbuckled his seatbelt. “I’m going in to ask a question, I’ll be right back.”
Wolf only needed five minutes inside the Sunnyside to get what he needed. He came outside with a sliver of white paper in his hand and sat back in the SUV.
Rachette eyed it as Wolf settled in. “So?”
“Do you remember when we were talking to Vicky Mulroy on her porch the other day, and she got all angry when we talked about how the Wheatmans were worried about their son, and she took it as us implying she didn’t care about her daughter?”
Rachette frowned and looked out the windshield. “Yeah. I guess.”
“She said something about how Julie had been spending a lot of time there.”
Rachette shook his head. “Yeah. Okay. So what?”
“Then she said, That family of fairies turned my daughter vegetarian, remember that?”
Rachette looked at Wolf. “Yeah. I do. I didn’t really think anything of it.”
“Me neither. Not until the plane ride over. Let’s go to the Mayor’s.”
Rachette didn’t move. “The Mayor’s? To talk to Chris Wakefield? Why?”
Wolf sighed and sat back in the seat. “You take the car ride up there to figure it out. I don’t feel like explaining this twice today,” Wolf yawned. “I’m too jetlagged.”
Rachette headed out of the parking lot and east on highway 8, where they passed the small residences and businesses, backed by narrow dirt alleys, headed out of town through a cattle field, and finally up into the forest.
Soon they were passing large homes, with thick log trusses, natural wood siding, copper trim, horse barns, vast tracts of land, and other amenities a lot of money could buy. Before long they came upon their destination – Greg Wakefield’s residence, the Mayor of Rocky Points, Colorado.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rachette asked, slowing the SUV to a stop without driving into the property. “You know, with the sheriff appointment vote tomorrow? We could postpone...” Rachette looked at Wolf and let his sentence die.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned the last week, it’s that hesitation kills.”
Rachette eyed him, then sighed and looked out the window at the big house. It was a large and modern home with a magnificent view of the valley behind it.
Wolf opened the door and got out.
Rachette turned off the truck and followed him down the dirt driveway.
The front door, a stained-glass mountain scene framed with dark wood, stood open. Inside was the Mayor with a puzzled look on his face.
“Sergeant Wolf,” the Mayor said. �
��What can I do for you?”
“Hello, sir,” Wolf said walking toward him. “How are you doing, today?”
“I’m fine. I … I hear you’ve been in Italy.”
“Yes, sir. In fact I just got back into town.”
“And you came here?”
Mayor Greg Wakefield was dressed in his Sunday casual attire—jeans and a t-shirt with a mountaineering equipment logo on it. The latter was tightly fit, accentuating his athletic build. At fifty-two years of age, the Mayor was a perfect specimen of health. His skin was tanned from spending time outdoors, his hair sandy-brown without a speck of gray, and his face was handsome with an engaging smile.
Good looks aside, Wolf had always considered Greg Wakefield a good man. And when he’d become mayor of Rocky Points a year ago, as far as Wolf could tell, he’d stayed the same man, not letting whatever power he’d acquired cloud his judgment in any way.
All this factored in to coming to his house to question his son. Wolf saw Wakefield as a man of principle, a man who did the right thing. Wolf knew that if Wakefield’s son had done something unlawful, he’d want to know about it. Wakefield wasn’t the type that would surround his kid with a bunch of lawyers to shield him from consequences of his actions.
At least, that was the idea.
The Mayor stepped out the door and shook Wolf’s hand. “I … heard about John. I’m so sorry.”
Wolf nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
The Mayor shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “So, what’s going on?”
“I need to talk to your son, sir. It’s about the death of Jerry Wheatman.”
