“Frank made copies.” Hannah watched them saw them exchange looks.
“But without the rings?” Charlie looked grim.
“Frank probably had photographs taken of at least one of them…” She hoped. “These days, with computers, even a portion of the key might be enough. We’d need someone with real expertise to look at it. I’ll email Frank and see if he found someone. He was looking.”
“I’m surprised they trusted each other with anything,” Zach growled. “Only one it could affect now is Aleksi Afoniki.”
“I’m not so sure. There was some kind of trigger—that’s what Bett called it—if one of them died,” Ellie said. “They rose and fell together. Until the end.”
“So it might still bring the heirs down?” Hannah’s eyes widened. That was a reason for all of them to have her followed. They’d be afraid of what she’d found. And what she might do with it. Except—someone did know she didn’t have it. Because they had it. And at least one of the mob rings.
“I wonder if Helenne found out about it and that’s why she had Phineas killed?” Zach looked thoughtful. “And possibly why she went after Nell. She wouldn’t want anyone stealing her thunder.’
Hannah wished Ferris was here, while being glad he wasn’t. Hard not to shudder at the thought of Zach opening the door to them both. “Aleksi Afoniki is the last one standing and he’s got a couple of feet in the grave. I guess Helenne could have—but I don’t understand why he, Bettino,” Hannah said awkwardly, “would make the same mistake as Phineas St. Cyr? He told his bodyguards to wait by the car. If you believe them.”
“Bett wouldn’t have crossed the street to meet Helenne,” Ellie said with conviction.
Hannah hesitated, then said, “Would he have come to meet you?”
She didn’t answer right away. Hannah was impressed. She sensed Charlie wanted to jump in, but Ellie shook her head. “Yes. He would. He wouldn’t be afraid of me either.” She looked up, met Hannah’s steady gaze. “And I can’t prove I wasn’t there.”
“As she said, Aleksi is the only one left with skin in the game,” Charlie said, his tone suggested they’d been arguing about this.
“He wouldn’t know how to lure Bett out into the open. I think it was a woman,” Ellie said. “Bett would never have feared a woman.”
“Was there another woman from back then?”
Three heads turned toward her.
“It’s really the only thing that makes sense. Or at least a viable possibility. All of this is, has been about the past. We—I wondered about a new old player. Or an old, unknown player. When I wasn’t sure you were, you know, alive to be the ones.”
Charlie looked at Ellie, then at Zach. “I wasn’t in position to know who Bett might have dated.”
“He wasn’t faithful, if that’s what you’re wondering, I never knew—didn’t care enough to find out. It was a relief when he looked elsewhere.”
“Zach?” Hannah looked at her dad.
Zach frowned. “The only one who might have known is Curly—William Gastonieau.” Charlie looked a question. “He was my partner. He’d be in jail, but he’s in a coma. Had a stroke.”
“He tried to kill Nell,” Hannah explained. She didn’t make the mistake of patting Zach’s hand this time. That wound ran deep. Sadly, crooked cops were not that rare back then.
“I can see what I can find out,” Zach said in a particularly expressionless voice, “he might have had someone, but why she would—”
Hannah felt Charlie’s gaze on her and looked up.
“What do you feel, Hannah?”
The question wasn’t sarcastic, but there was a hint of humor in it. She didn’t speak for almost a minute, but only Zach shifted as if impatient.
“Old…cold…” she finally said. “It’s an old, cold case that doesn’t feel old or cold. It feels…like it’s about to explode.”
* * *
Dunstead dialed the broad’s number. When she answered, when he was sure it was her, he said, “You’ll want to keep track of the news today.”
He hung up without waiting for answer. He turned to his guy. Smiled. “Let’s get something to eat,” he said. “Some place quiet, where they have a TV.”
His guy grinned, exposing the gap in his teeth. It was a pity this would be his last meal. Good help was hard to find. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as last time. No one could say he didn’t learn. He thought about the broad. He wouldn’t feel sorry when he shut her mouth. Hadn’t taken him long to realize that she had a whole lot of crazy under that smile. Whole lot—
He frowned as something in his head twitched again. Like an itch that wouldn’t be scratched….
* * *
Hannah’s pace might have lagged a bit as she followed Zach to his car. Questions simmered in the air between them. Actually, they were almost at boiling point. His problem? She had questions, too, lots of them. They hadn’t gotten through even half of the information that needed to be exchanged when she’d got called from work. Apparently her “I’ll be a little late” had gone on a little too long.
She needed time to process. It was how she handled, well, everything. Take information in. Ponder it. Process it. Arrange it in manageable order. Only she wasn’t going to get that time. Hadn’t gotten processing time for days, or so it felt.
She peeked at her dad. He looked grim and a bit shell shocked. She saw her face in the rear view. She’d never looked so much like him. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again when he turned toward the NOCC.
“I…need to pick up my car.” She’d felt so clever when she left it for the streetcar. Pride really did go before the fall. Or opened one up to parental grilling.
“And where is your car?”
She gave him the address. How did he manage to make her feel about seven years old? Had she felt seven when she was seven? Dimly she recalled hearing Zach tell someone that, “Hannah is seven-going-on-thirty.” Did that mean she was thirty-three-going-on-fifty now? Oh crap, maybe she was a cougar where Ferris was concerned. Unless she was thirty-three going on seven, which she didn’t want to think about.
“You’re being followed?”
“It’s not my fault,” she said and then clamped a hand over her mouth.
“I suppose it’s Alex’s fault,” Zach growled.
She choked. “Actually…”
A red light gave him a chance to give her the dad “look.”
“They were his girlfriend’s relatives’ coffins,” Hannah felt compelled to point out.
He choked this time. His mouth twisted. Luckily the light change saved him.
“If you turn here—”
“I was finding my way around this city before you were born.”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly and had the satisfaction of seeing him bite his cheek. And here she’d thought she got her sense of humor from her mama.
* * *
Logan Ferris found it hard to relax, knowing that Hannah was out there being followed for unknown reasons by an unknown number of bad guys.
Lose the parade.
She was a doctor, not a cop. How was she supposed to spot, let alone lose the parade? He itched to call her, but tough to do with her big brother at the wheel next to him. He had no desire to yank Alex’s attention his direction either, not with that level of scowl on his face. He opened his mouth to ask about Nell. Closed it. No point asking about Dunstead. Nothing to know until they got to their desks and could look at reports.
Who would have bailed him out? Ferris would have said the guy had no friends left. Sucked to be wrong.
Their radio chose that moment to come on. Vehicle explosion. Fire department at scene. One fatality. Suspicious circumstances. That was the part that triggered their involvement. Ferris flicked on their lights as Alex applied some pressure to the pedal.
They weren’t far from the scene, but the traffic got worse the closer they got. Even their lights didn’t shift it out of their way, not when cars had nowhere to shift to. In a r
are, missed opportunity, no Lucky Dog truck had shown up yet. Finally Alex was able to nose their car through the tangle and into a spot enough out of the way to count. Still had a bit of a walk. They headed for the mob of people and the thinning smoke billow rising into the washed out, mid-day sky.
“Car bombs are kind of rare,” Ferris said, more thinking aloud than trying to get conversation going. Wasn’t surprised when Alex only grunted.
When they finally broke through the crowd, a uniform waved them through the police line. They paced around a fire truck and got their first look. Fire was out and the body had already been bagged and tagged. Ferris couldn’t be sorry about that.
Through the babel of talk, he heard one of the crime scene techs—not a Baker—say something about the explosion probably killed the driver before the fire….
He gave a bit of a shudder.
The front end looked like something from an Iraq news story. Gutted and twisted, the damage extended almost to the back seat. Interior was completely burned but firemen must have got it out fast, because burn marks streaked along the rear, but some of the color showed through the carbon and the general shape—
His thoughts slowed, as color and model registered. Like he had the night before, he went around the side of the car and looked down. Remembered opening a truck just like this one, down to the scratches around the lock. His mind registered the plate as if from a great distance. Then he looked up, saw the grim face of the uniform talking to Alex. Watched color bleed from his face leaving it gray and ashen. He swayed once, but shook off helping hands. His big hands curled into fists, but there was no one to hit—
He should go to him. Couldn’t help, but Alex was his partner, his friend. No one noticed Ferris stagger back two steps, hit the side of the fire engine and sink down on the running board.
It was a crap time to realize that he’d just lost the woman he…he…
He couldn’t think it because if he did—he dropped his face in his hands and groaned. He could. No one heard him. No one looked at him. All eyes were on Alex. Just needed a little time…a little more time…to…to…
…wish he was dead, too.
Twelve
Zach’s phone shrilled. He was driving so he ignored it. Stopped and started again. If a phone could sound insistent, even urgent, then his did.
“Sometimes these dang things…” he pounded a finger on answer and snapped, “What? I’m driving—of course I’m sitting down. Would I drive standing up?—What about Hannah?” His eyes widened. Widened some more. “Listen to me very carefully, Alex. Hannah is sitting right here with me in my car—do you think I don’t know my own daughter?” Another longer pause. “Just because I mix up their names—We’ll be right there—okay. Fair point. Hannah needs to report to work. Meet us there.” He ended the call and looked at her.
Hannah resisted the urge to repeat the “not my fault,” possibly because the look is his eyes was so grim. “What?”
“Someone blew up your car. Alex thought you were in it.”
“Someone blew up my car!” She got the “look” again. Man, he was dishing them out today. “Sorry,” she muttered, even though it really wasn’t her fault. “Is Alex okay?” Though why he wouldn’t be…wasn’t his car—Ferris. He’d have been with Alex. “So, they—he’s meeting us at the NOCC?”
Zach had started to turn back to driving, but he stopped and looked at her again. “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”
“Done what?” She’d learned early to never admit anything. Ever.
“Changed plural to singular.”
She swallowed. Had hoped he hadn’t noticed and was wondering if she’d ever heard her dad use a sentence with—
“Well, in our family, it’s not easy to get over using plurals…” Hannah pointed out. Not her best, and sadly, not her worst attempt at deflecting Zach.
“Right. How about we talk about those plurals while I drive you to work. And then you can tell me what else you aren’t telling me.”
* * *
Leblanc knew better than to show surprise when she came back. He’d heard about Calvino, of course, but Afoniki, well, it had not hit the news yet, he supposed. Her husband had died since they last met, so he murmured condolences as he got her settled and then took his seat behind his desk. He very much hoped she didn’t invite him to the funeral. It was a conflict of interest that she might not understand. She’d draped herself in tasteful black and wore a gentle air of sorrow, but her eyes showed her to be embracing her heritage with an almost unbecoming eagerness. To head off an invite, to give the visit a business-like theme, he spoke first.
“You have the, er, items, Ms. White?”
She opened her purse and pulled something out. “I have two of them.” She opened her hand.
Leblanc considered the two rings with no outward sign of emotion. He’d never seen the rings, except in photos taken by his grandfather. “May I?”
After a short hesitation, she handed him one. Leblanc did not smile at her obvious distrust. And it was…mutual. He pulled out a loupe and studied the stone. It was a fine stone, almost unblemished so that the numbers etched in the setting could be seen. But the outer band was not as pictured. Had Zafiro added something after delivery? It was, he supposed, possible, but out of character. If he had trusted a Leblanc with the secret, why not with all the secret? He studied the engravings through the loupe. The series of numbers and letters meant nothing, could have referred to anything.
Without speaking, he handed this ring back, accepted the second from her. He had no reason to doubt its authenticity. Though, he noted, the numbers and letters were different from the other ring. He handed it back.
“And the third ring?”
“That stupid old man won’t leave his house,” she snapped.
Leblanc waited without speaking.
“Well, I thought maybe there’d be something for two out of three.”
“No,” he said, managing to infuse spurious regret into the single word. The world, not just his world, but the world, would be a better place if she failed at the task set before her. He’d wondered when he read of her husband’s death. He didn’t wonder now, though he was curious how she’d managed it. Impressed she’d managed to take out Bettino Calvino, though with him, she would have surprise on her side. Aleksi would definitely be the hardest nut to crack.
The flash in her eyes almost—but she needed him. That knowledge held her in check. For now.
Her mouth opened and almost he guessed what she wanted to say. What did it matter now if he told her what he knew without that last ring? Her lips curved, like a tiger, waiting to pounce.
“How loyal you are,” she murmured. She tucked the rings back inside her matching black purse and closed it with a loud snap. “I feel so…comforted by that.”
Leblanc waited until she was gone before tugging at his tie. It was too late to undo what he’d done, and it went against his deepest grain. Of course, he was unlikely to live long enough for an ethics probe, assuming someone complained about him. He extracted his cell and dialed. Had he always had this number on speed dial? Interesting that he’d only just realized—
“It’s Leblanc. I was wondering if we might meet today?” He paused and looked at his full calendar. “I’ll be free all afternoon.” Then he buzzed his assistant. “I’ll need you to clear the rest of my calendar for today.”
It was unusual and he wondered if the man would remember later and if he did, if it would help the police.
* * *
Hannah could only be grateful when the way-too-long ride with Zach ended at the NOCC. He followed her inside, but even he wouldn’t grill her at her workplace. Or in front of other people. She hoped. She was on track for the lab when she saw Miz Cookie looking sweetly tragic in the hallway. Hannah halted so abruptly Zach almost bumped into her. She stepped into the scarce shadow of an office door, acting on instinct. Not sure why she expected Zach to say something, but other than glancing down the hall, then at h
er, he stepped out of the direct light as well.
Well, he was a cop, even if he was retired.
“Scary,” he muttered.
And she’d needed Sarah to give her heads up on Miz Cookie. Hannah made a mental memo to sigh once Zach was gone. Would he leave after she’d almost been blown up? Her world tilted a bit, but before she could fully process this, the receptionist looked around for help and spotted her. The least she could do was spare Zach, so she stepped out.
“Something I can help with?”
Miz Cookie turned, her careful smile faltering as she spotted Hannah. A puzzled look of ‘should I know you,’ then the color drained from her face and she swayed, her eyes almost rolling back in her head. Hannah grabbed one arm, knew she couldn’t keep her off the ground by herself—
“Help me,” Hannah snapped. The girl jumped in and so did Zach, though he retreated as soon as Miz Cookie was in the chair. Lucky man that he could. Hannah eased her head down until she stirred and pushed against her. After a minute Miz Cookie sat up, but kept a hand over her face, a small moan escaping her lips.
“This place,” she faltered, “is so distressing.”
It hadn’t been that distressing until Hannah joined the discussion. Had she recognized the prime rib cutter from her party? But why would that make her almost faint? Hannah arched a brow at the girl.
“Mrs. White wanted to claim her husband’s body, but he donated it to science,” she explained.
“Science can have him. I just want him until after the wake. I need closure, I need to say goodbye to my own dear Harold.”
Hannah looked a question at the girl, who shook her head.
“It looks like science already claimed him, ma’am,” Hannah said. “Is there someone we could call for you?” If she had science’s number, she’d have called them.
Miz Cookie said in faltering tones that now sounded fake, “My driver…he should be right out front….”
Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 Page 15
