“What am I missing?”
“You weren’t around when Nell and Alex met, were you?” She knew he’d been on vacation, but was not willing to admit that. Felt almost stalker-ish for some reason. Wasn’t like she’d been tracking his movements. Just noticed he wasn’t around and managed to ask Alex without sounding like she cared. Not that hard to do with Alex. He was a guy.
Ferris shook his head.
“But he told you the basic story?”
Ferris hesitated. “Maybe refresh my memory? I might not have paid strict attention.” He looked a little sheepish.
Hannah chuckled. “Alex does go on about it. I’d have tuned him out, too.” Mostly she avoided him. She shifted so that she could see him. “What do you remember?”
“Three geezers before they were geezers decided not to kill each other. Killed Zafiro instead. Divided it all up. Two of them got married. Had kids. Kids fell in love.” He hesitated, frowned. “Not sure why that got them blown up.” His frown deepened. “Or not blown up.”
Hannah opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. “Unless Afoniki didn’t like the idea of the other two making a deal that didn’t include him?”
“That was, I think, the theory at the time.” They were all relying on the memories of old men, since the file had gone missing at some point.
“So where does Charles Baker fit in?”
“According to Zach, Charlie and Ellie Calvino were an item in high school. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but Charlie left for college, then went missing, and Ellie married Bettino Calvino.” Hannah felt her face tighten at the thought of why that might have happened. “Zach was, well, not happy with her. Blamed her, I think, for Charlie leaving, though Zach doesn’t say much.” Massive understatement. “But I think he came to believe she was pressured into it.”
“And when her daughter…died, she disappeared, too.” Ferris looked thoughtful.
“And Charlie’s ring ends up in one of the coffins they weren’t buried in.”
He stared straight ahead, but she had the feeling he didn’t see the jogger doggedly moving past, his face glistening.
“I would guess that your dad tried to find him.” He shifted, half turning to face her again. “Two high school kids could have disappeared. But they couldn’t rig up the fake burials. They’d need help for that.”
Hannah nodded. “I think Alex suspected Zach had helped them, for Ellie’s sake. Possibly for Charlie.”
“But—?”
“Zach wouldn’t tell us if he had helped.” Zach might not have been the perfect dad, but he did try to set a good example. It was her turn to stare ahead, not seeing. “Curly—William Gastonieau—who was Zach’s partner at the time, sort of implied he did the helping, but then he tried to kill Nell. Alex has been mute on the subject. It feels like there is something—or someone—we are missing.” Could Zach be protecting someone else? If the dolls were a message, what was it? It was all old news now, wasn’t it?
“I see your point.” Ferris shifted again, resting his arm along the back of the bench, not touching her, so there was no reason for the spurt of heat along her shoulders. “You could ask your dad?”
“If I show him the ring,” she shifted impatiently, “Zach will make me put it back in evidence.”
“And if you do, then the wise families will know it—” he stopped, one brow lifted.
She knew the question he wasn’t asking. What would they think about it? What would they do about it? Of course, there was only one geezer left to do something. Aleksi Afoniki hadn’t been invited to the viewing but he’d probably hear about it. He had eyes and ears everywhere. It’s why he’d managed to get old. That and being über evil.
“What if Charlie,” she hesitated, “isn’t dead? What if—” She stopped. Three dolls with holes in their heads. And two wise geezers with holes in their heads. What if Charlie had come looking for them? With a cane and a silenced weapon? There was a thought to make the eye twitch. A geezer-on-geezer crime?
“Ellie Calvino may have put that ring in there. If they were high school sweethearts, he would have given her his ring.”
“That’s something you give back when you break up,” Hannah objected.
“Unless he disappeared before she could.”
Hannah nodded. He had a point.
“You’re wondering if Charlie came back for Ellie. But how would he know—”
Hannah couldn’t help the worry she felt as she looked at him.
“You’re afraid your dad was in touch with Charlie? That he told him? Helped them both?”
She didn’t move, but knew her eyes gave her away.
“It’s a decent theory. But they’re, well, geezers, too. If they are even still alive? Revenge after all this time?”
“Unless it’s not revenge, or not completely. There’s Nell.”
His eyes widened. He looked away for several minutes, sighed, then looked at her again. “What do you want to do about it?”
Her lips twisted a bit. “I want to go back to this morning and have a do-over that doesn’t involve an exhumation. There’s a lesson in here about being careful what you wish for.”
He chuckled and she sent him an inquiring look.
“You were wishing for an exhumation?”
She half grinned. “Maybe.” She rubbed her face, then sighed. “I delve into bodies, not…secrets.” Really, really old secrets. How could they still matter now? They wouldn’t if Nell—
“You can let sleeping rings lie. If Guido didn’t smell your secret?”
“If he did, what can he do about it?” She couldn’t stop the chill running down her back, though.
“He’s a bad guy. He can do what he wants. If he thinks you know something, he will try to find out what it is.”
“I won’t tell him.” Her chin came up, then drifted down. She hated it, but she asked it. There was no one else to ask. And she trusted him, which surprised her but didn’t dismay. Which was also a surprise. “What do you think I should do?”
“Maybe it’s time for the secrets to come out. All of them. Had a mentor that used to tell me that only the truth makes you free.”
“We don’t know—besides, I’m a forensic pathologist, not a detective.”
“Well, isn’t this your lucky day. I’m a detective.”
She fought back the relief. “This isn’t your problem.”
“Well, maybe I’m willing to make it my problem, if you’ll call me Logan, and answer one question.”
Her lips twitched. “And what’s the question, Logan?” She could like this guy. A lot. Too much? She hoped not.
He leaned close, a slow smile turning up a sudden heat in his eyes, and igniting a quiver in her mid-section that her brain tried to discount…
“Is the age difference going to be a problem?”
Her eyes widened. Her heart sped up. It got hard to breathe. “With what?”
“This.”
The arm along the back of the bench slid down to her shoulders and tightened, bringing her in close. His eyes open, he moved in, holding her gaze as he very deliberately and with intent pressed his mouth to hers. At first the pressure was light, but her lips parted involuntarily, surprised by the sweetness flowing from his touch—sweetness with a little fire in its core—and he increased the pressure. Not too much. Didn’t want to go up in flames in the park. In the summer. Her head tilted, her lids sliding down. His grip tightened then. That was nice, too. Maybe more than nice. Might have made her head spin a bit.
Then gently, slowly, he dialed it back, bringing them back to earth. And the bench. No thump though. His arm was still around her.
“Well?” he asked, his voice husky.
She cleared her throat. “No, the age difference won’t be a problem.”
The way the kiss had curled her toes and scrambled her brain? Yeah, that was a problem.
* * *
Claude expected Helenne St. Cyr to be pleased at the news of Bettino Calvino’s death. That she was no
t surprised him. He knew the old story. Oh, not because she—or anyone else—had shared it with him. Everyone thought him dull and defeated, a pale imitation of Phineas St. Cyr. Even Phineas had failed to perceive the man he was beneath the dull.
It was—he’d learned early—much better to be underestimated than overestimated. Look at Phil. Phineas had such high hopes for his son’s ascension to power. Had believed what he wanted to believe about his only son. He hadn’t minded the love affair with the Calvino girl. He had minded Phil’s honesty. Oh yes, he’d minded that. Enough to kill him? Claude was still not sure.
Claude might not be handsome and brilliant like Phil, but he wasn’t honest. And he knew how to find out things. Knew how to adjust to the prevailing winds and alter course to stay out of the center of the turbulence. Even during the month since taking control of the St. Cyr business, he had managed to steer around the worst of the undercurrents. He knew everyone betted against him keeping control.
Let them.
They would find out that he could both have and hold. While they had been ignoring him, he had been watching them. He may not know where all their bodies were buried, but he knew what he needed to know about them. And he knew they wouldn’t see him coming until it was much too late.
He studied Helenne, trying to imagine enough passion in her to nurse vengeance for so long. She was cold all the way through. Made it hard to believe she’d ever been warm. He had not pierced all the mists of the past, but he sensed that her long lost granddaughter was not the only secret trying to emerge into the present. Sensing currents was his specialty.
He didn’t make the mistake of commenting on her lack of pleasure. Just studied her in that way he knew irritated her into dismissing him. She would not be around to do that for much longer, though the wheels of justice were not turning as swiftly as Claude might like. She would either die or go to jail. He turned for one last look before he closed the door and caught a look on her face that gave him internal pause. He made his way to the library, the place that had been Phineas’ seat of power and now belonged to him. He sank into the chair behind the desk and considered that look.
He would never assume Helenne had been benched until it was done, but that look—there was something in that look. Something that said she had a card left to play? But why would Bettino’s death give her a card? Was it because someone had beat her to it? Or something more? He considered what he knew of the three men. Afoniki, Calvino, and St. Cyr. His researches into their collective past had been most carefully conducted, so that no hint of it would reach them. All three had so many secrets. Interesting that all three could trace their past to the Zafiro organization, which had—back then—comprised the territory now divided between the three families.
There was much conjecture about the past, but there were some things that seemed certain. Zafiro had intended one of the three to take over his organization. But when he died, the three men had divided it up. Claude mentally corrected himself. When Zafiro was murdered. Everyone believed either one, or all three, had conspired to kill him. But there’d been no proof. And the three had formed an uneasy peace that had been broken once, when Phil and the Calvino girl were apparently murdered.
Only they hadn’t died.
Claude considered that for several minutes. Who had helped them escape? They would have needed help. Phil had been eighteen. His thoughts moved forward once more, landing back in that room with the coffins. Dolls in coffins. His thought circled, for some reason, on that doll that had been a fake. If it mattered then, it could not matter now. He was more troubled by the…prescience of the three “dead” Ken dolls. For some reason, those felt like they mattered.
He heard Helenne’s light footsteps pass the closed door, tapping slowly up the stairs. He would need to keep a closer eye on Helenne. His instincts told him that, too.
* * *
“What are you thinking?” Ferris asked, curious when Holy Hannah didn’t get out of the car after pulling into her parking spot outside the NOCC. He’d asked her to bring him back here. That’s where Alex expected to pick him up, so that’s where he needed to be. Alex had a way of seeing what you didn’t want him to, so it would be better not to be around Hannah until he could stop thinking “holy.” Only he didn’t want to leave her just yet. That kiss had made him want to move in closer. And run for his life.
She glanced at him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was there, but then she smiled and the warmth in her eyes told him she hadn’t forgotten the kiss either.
“What if—” she stopped, a cute frown pulling her brows together. She rubbed there, as if it annoyed her. “My head feels like a maze. Disconnected thoughts. St. Cyr’s death—”
Funny how he usually didn’t like it when a woman followed up a kiss with talk about feelings. So he should be thrilled right now. Nope, not thrilled.
“Now Calvino. Old…” She half turned in her seat. “What if old was the catalyst? Or part of it?”
It took him a minute. “Old what? The past coming back to get Calvino? Maybe.” He frowned. “But the evidence against Helenne St. Cyr is pretty compelling.”
She nodded slowly. “But what if St. Cyr’s killing was…the trigger? First person the police will suspect will be Helenne, or Guido. And time is running out. They say Afoniki hasn’t got long. He’s the oldest of them.”
Ferris considered this. Though it was hard to wrap his brain around old killers— “You do realize what you’re thinking?”
Her gaze turned wry. “That Uncle Charlie and Ellie Calvino are not only alive, but have returned to kill?” She gave a gusty sigh. “Yeah. It’s an interesting mental exercise until that part.” Her lashes drifted down, then slowly lifted. “You said the truth would set us free.”
His turn to sigh. “I might have been wrong about that. It might just be opening a really old can of worms.” The car had quickly turned stifling. He pushed open his door, but didn’t get out. Not that the open door helped that much. For air to circulate, it needed to move.
Hannah—seemed that was the trick to removing the holy, focus on business—opened her door, too. Also not a big help, but better than not open.
“Not your case,” she murmured. “Not my autopsy.” She slid out then, but turned to face him over the top of her car when he got out, too. “Just a lot of questions.”
He had one. “What are you going to do about, you know?” Felt risky to mention it outside, even though they looked to be alone in the lot.
“Right now it just looks like a personal keepsake. If anyone notices it, I might get teased about it.”
So that’s why she hadn’t locked it up. By silent agreement, they both headed toward the rear of the NOCC. Ferris didn’t see Alex’s truck yet, so they’d probably beat him back. It was quiet inside. No sign that Calvino’s body had arrived. Almost reluctantly, Hannah led him back to the coffins, her desk. She hesitated in the doorway, then stepped in.
“Did I forget something, Frank?”
Ferris moved past her, saw yet another of her brothers sitting at her desk examining one of the dolls. It was hard to not run into one of the Baker boys, he reminded himself. Frank dropped it back with the others, rising to his feet with a smoothness that went well with his highly pressed exterior. It was hard to believe he was Alex’s little brother. Oh, the family resemblance was there, but a resemblance that had been airbrushed. Frank had better clothes, too. Maybe the FBI had a better dress code than the NOPD.
Frank’s gaze rested on Ferris for several seconds, then tracked past as if he were looking for Alex. Ferris didn’t answer the unasked question. Neither did Hannah. Frank’s lips quirked slightly.
“I was curious about those.” He nodded toward the open coffins. “Alex was supposed to call me.”
“He wanted to talk to Nell, tell her about Calvino,” Ferris said, lounging over to one side.
Hannah headed for her desk, forcing Frank to move aside. She sat, opening a lower drawer where she stowed her purse. Ferris felt her hesita
tion, felt her decide to wait. She turned in her chair.
“So far that’s it. Disturbing, but so far lacking in clarity.”
Frank stopped by the Barbie coffin and looked down. “Disturbing?”
“I guess you had to be here when they were opened. Ask Ingrid for the photos. Certainly a first for me.”
Was there a hint of a question at the end there? Ferris wasn’t sure. Frank turned and studied his sister. Then glanced at Ferris. No question he wished Ferris gone. Ferris looked at Hannah. If she wanted him gone—but she gave no sign, her gaze meeting her brother’s for a long moment before her brows lifted.
“Was there something else?” Hannah asked.
Frank glanced at Ferris again. Either he wondered why Ferris was there or why he didn’t leave.
“So that’s it?” Frank glanced at the coffins again. “Just the dolls?”
“Was there something you were hoping I’d find?” she asked, not actually answering the question Ferris noted. He hesitated and she gave a frustrated sigh. “This isn’t my job. I did a cursory search for Ingrid. She can dig under the lining—”
Ferris glanced down at the closest coffin. “You haven’t searched beneath the lining?”
“I tore the lining when I removed the dolls,” she said. “There are bricks or something under there.”
“That’s more than a tear.” It was rent from end to end and then folded back.
Hannah joined him on one side, Frank on the other. “I didn’t tear it that bad.”
The base had been lined with bricks cut to match the shape of the coffin. Maybe so they wouldn’t shift during transport. It had been a nice job for something that appeared—through the lens of time—to have been cobbled together last minute. Up near the right end of the coffin, one brick was missing. His gaze met Hannah’s. As one they turned to the other coffin.
Same layout. Rent lining. Bricks, but none of them missing.
Ferris opened his mouth to ask who had access to the room, but closed it. Someone had known what to look for and had either bribed someone to get it or bribed someone to let them get it. Or just strolled in looking like they belonged.
Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 Page 4
