“Frank left you a file,” Ferris said. “It’s there on the seat.” He flashed her a quick smile, then faced forward again.
“Thanks.” It couldn’t be the complete file. Frank must have taken out, or not copied, the gruesome stuff. That was also sweet, and she didn’t really mind. If she still had a job at the end of her sudden leave, then there’d be plenty of gruesome waiting for her. She was more interested in the photos and personal details anyway. Not that she could have explained to anyone what it was she hoped to find. It was a feeling that didn’t even deserve to be called a gut instinct yet. Maybe never would. There were notes about the wife and miscarriages. Most interesting part, though, was that she’d disappeared, not died in childbirth, after the baby died. How had the rumor got started? She turned back to the photos. They were old, but still better than the ones Ferris had gotten for her. His frontal and mandible were very Slavic, more so as he aged, she noted.
Felt that twitch. Frustrating she couldn’t seem to connect any dots. An autopsy could be frustrating, but it was still—mostly—about a single body. This was like having a jumble of bodies and trying to match legs and heads to the right torsos.
She leaned back and tried to mentally mind map, letting the ideas float around and possibly connect on their own, but Alex’s voice cut into her drifting thoughts.
“Any sign of unusual interest in us?”
Hannah looked at Alex, then at Ferris. Realized that Ferris was scanning, discreetly, but definitely scanning for interest ahead, to the sides and behind.
“Nothing yet.”
She hated this. It didn’t even make crazy sense. Was that her problem? Too logical? She sorted the crazy stuff out of the more logical actions and studied them. Inside her own head she could look her own crazy ideas in the eye without flinching. No one could see them but her. So in addition to the very weird attempt to blow her up, she had…
The bizarre attempt to not kill Guido Calvino.
The execution of the four boys who had failed to not kill Guido Calvino.
Two missing wives, one of whom was definitely not dead. The other who probably was but might have left behind a child?
The problem was, she could postulate a living heir for Zafiro and even make the case for this heir seeking revenge against the three wise geezers, but she couldn’t figure out how that person learned they were the heir. No one in this file or in her world seemed to believe there was one.
Okay, it was possible that Zafiro also knew his wife wasn’t dead, so why not seek out his heir—the baby was a girl? That girl could have had had a son, but by then Zafiro was probably dead. And everyone—even the cops—agreed he’d planned for one of the wise geezers to take over his empire. So he’d…given up on a male heir?
The rings? Supposing there was a lost heir, the “X” she and Ferris had been postulating. Why the rings? Zafiro made them first. Was there another message associated with the three rings? But again, how would an heir find out? And why now?
Okay, she had a sort of idea about that. Zafiro had expected one of the wise boys to take over. What if there was some sort of trigger in place for when that person died? But that brought her back to how had X found out?
The radio came to life, changing their direction, from squad headquarters to crime scene. When Alex heard the name, he exchanged a look with Ferris and then said, “Repeat the vic’s name please?” It didn’t change, so he shook his head.
“Who is Raymond Leblanc?” Hannah asked.
“If it’s who I think it is,” Alex amended, “he’s only the lawyer to the mob.”
Hannah opened her mouth. Closed it. Pulled out her phone and Googled him. He wasn’t just the lawyer to the mob, he was the main guy in the firm, the oldest living. Until now. And, according to their website, the firm went back. Way back. Way, way back. She grabbed the file, and there it was.
Leblanc and Fontenot.
Less partners back then, but fewer bad guys to manage. And a possible path to knowledge for an X. It was an interesting thesis. Felt right, but had one big problem. Not an inch of proof or an inkling of who.
Okay, that was two problems, but who was counting?
* * *
She was not, Cinzia believed, easy to shock. But old Leblanc’s envelope had been, yeah, shocking was the only word for it. And, she was rather surprised she’d got out of Afoniki’s place alive. If Dimitri had known, she wouldn’t have. But she’d made sure he was out before she paid her call. Of course, he’d learn she visited, but the why? Well, that was up to the old man whether he told Dimitri or not. She had a feeling he’d keep his ring hand hidden until he couldn’t.
And if he died in his bed, would Dimitri remember and put it together? Depended on how long it took. She shrugged. What would be, would be. Always had. Always would. Until it wasn’t anymore.
Securing the ring was all Leblanc had asked her to do, though he must have known he’d told her enough to make her hungry for more. She was a Calvino, after all, even if she was a girl. A Calvino with a measure of honor. She’d put a guard on Leblanc’s family. He hadn’t gone home last night, but his death—if he was dead—hadn’t been reported yet. She felt a little sad for him, a little amazed for her—and yes, a little annoyed at what he’d unleashed on them all. It was, perhaps, a good thing he was dead. Because if she’d known what was in that envelope?
She would not have left the lawyer’s office without a name.
No name. No description. Didn’t know if it was a man or woman.
And yet, maybe Cinzia did know it was a woman. Bett would not have feared a woman. He’d been a chauvinist to the end. Yes, it had to be a woman. That was the only thing that explained Bett’s far-too-easy execution.
Both Leblanc and Afoniki had been certain they were going to die. But without the last ring, the woman would not get anything else. According to the information from Leblanc, this Zafiro heir needed all three rings to unlock the whatever it was that would deliver the empire back to the heir. As Leblanc had written, it was a checkmate as long as she never learned who did have the third ring. It was possible that Aleksi would spill it, but she’d told him just enough to make him dig in his heels. No, he wouldn’t tell. And in time, this enemy would have to appear and act. Or give up.
Cinzia could have gotten the other rings—with the name—which is why Leblanc had withheld it. He wanted the status quo to return. For his firm. For his family. Of course, she couldn’t appear in the office to claim the prize without some explaining, so perhaps Leblanc had been wiser than she first thought.
She frowned, staring into space without seeing the opulent bedroom that was not truly hers in this house that was now Guido’s. Perhaps she could achieve much the same result without the other rings? Was that why Leblanc had mentioned that Afoniki, her uncle Bett and St. Cyr had added to the ring’s engravings? It might just be a “little something” for her trouble. Or it could be more. It did make a girl think. Nor did she plan to stop looking for the other rings. Because everything had a solution, if one thought long enough.
It wasn’t that she disliked her cousin. Guido wasn’t bad for what he was. But she was rather tired of being seen as someone who only brought her ability to marry someone powerful—even someone as yummy as Dimitri—to the family equation. And no, wouldn’t touch Claude with a barge pole, thank you very much.
One couldn’t lobby for female equality with a bunch of, well, murderers and thieves.
But if one’s timing were right, one might, just might be able to teach them about girl power by other means.
* * *
Dimitri felt it oddly appropriate that they’d chosen to meet by one of the recently exhumed crypts. The Calvino one, of course, since he was meeting Guido. Since they were likely plotting against Claude, it wouldn’t be wise to meet by the St. Cyr crypt. Enough of a risk asking for the meeting, but the one thing Dimitri was good at, it was feeling the cold wind of trouble approaching. He did not know if Claude had that skill, did not care, but Guido, wel
l, in an odd way they’d grown up—not next to each other—but parallel. Like shooting stars moving at the same pace and on the same trajectory.
Perhaps it was the strange, and life-long, balancing act of Bett and Aleksi that had formed their almost friendly rivalry. Neither knew exactly what they—or the other—would do when the final curtain went down, but for now, a living Aleksi held them both in check. This might be the last time such a meeting could take place if the surprisingly effective assassin of Bett struck one last time.
Dimitri noted that Guido brought more bodyguards than usual this time but, like him, had to take the last steps without them. What was said here was for their ears only. And the bodyguards were more for what might be out there. Neither was fool enough to start shooting within sight of their guys.
It was quiet, hot and as musty as he remembered, though minus the smell of gun powder. Guido stopped a few feet away. There was trust and there was trust. Neither of them ever had trust. He knew Guido well enough to know he wouldn’t start the conversation. Someone, probably Bett, had told him there was power in silence.
“Do you think it’s Claude?” he asked.
Guido didn’t complain about the lack of greeting. Just shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like him.”
Dimitri nodded at this. “Someone new?”
He half nodded, but with a grimace. “Feels off though.”
“Random. Disconnected. With the occasional flash of competence.” That sounded better than successful, since the “bright” moment seemed to be Bett’s killing.
“How is Aleksi?” Guido’s expression didn’t change.
“Watching his flank.” And every other approach angle. He hadn’t seen him for days. No fear from the old man, but definitely a sense of waiting.
“How can someone be so good and so bad?”
Dimitri shrugged. One of his men signaled. After a nod from Guido, he let the man approach. What he whispered sent his brows shooting up. He sent the man back to his place before saying, “Raymond Leblanc’s been murdered.”
Guido stilled, like an animal scenting danger. Like Dimitri, he knew there was only one reason they could think of for silencing the old man.
So he couldn’t tell what he knew.
* * *
Aleksi Afoniki had chosen an interesting place for their first—and last—meeting. Gladys couldn’t think why he’d finally decided to meet her. He had to know—but perhaps he didn’t. He was old, possibly senile. That would make it less satisfying. And possibly make her a bit more careful.
She watched him for a while, knowing he would never expect it to be her. He would have noticed her twenty, possibly even ten years ago. She’d had that something until she fell into the middle age of invisibility. After that it didn’t matter if you knew how to dress and do your hair. You were just gone.
Aleksi had probably always liked his women real young. A dirty old man who had one thing she wanted, needed and then no one could stop her. No. One.
She turned from the river drifting past. It was hot and she felt the sheen on her face. Why did these meetings have to happen on hot days? Couldn’t Leblanc have dropped his bomb on her when it was cooler? Now she studied the people drifting about the below the Moon Walk. None of them had that look she’d come to recognize so well.
He really had come alone, well, he’d needed someone to push his chair and help him to the bench. The same bench where Phineas had drawn his last. She hadn’t killed him, more’s the pity. His wife had done that, if the papers were right for once. It felt right to bloody the bench for herself. Seal the end of the wise geezers’ rule and the beginning of hers.
She strolled closer, still watching for signs of interest. She didn’t expect any bodyguards to be in black, but there was a walk, a certain watchfulness that would give them away. But all she saw were tourists, some towing fretful kids. The calliope was wailing from the river, calling people to board the Natchez. She used the sound to cover her approach, but she didn’t need it. He didn’t even look at her until she sat down. Despite the heavy heat, he wore a coat and had both hands thrust in the pockets, denying her a peek at the prize she’d come to claim.
She didn’t look at him, not until the song ended. Then she shifted, turning so he could see her, if he had the wits to see.
Aleksi scowled, as if to drive her away, but the scowl faded. And then he laughed.
“That old devil.”
She eased her purse down just enough to give him a glimpse of the silenced gun she held.
“Am I supposed to raise my hands? Be a bit conspicuous, don’t you think?”
His open mockery made her grit her teeth.
“So, you are what is left of Zafiro. I think he would be as disappointed as he was with your…grandmother?”
The gun coughed without conscious thought. His body jerked, but his eyes showed life when she shoved the gun back in her purse and moved in. She pulled one hand out. No ring. The other—her chin jerked up hard enough to jiggle her jowls.
“Where is it?”
He laughed once, then coughed. “Checkmate.”
Fifteen
No one knew, no one but she and Leblanc.
And yet, he’d known.
And then he’d laughed at her. Gladys’s hands curled into fists in her lap, swaying slightly as her car took a corner a little fast.
And then he’d laughed at her great-grandfather. The man he’d murdered.
Checkmate.
He’d actually said it to her, like he’d known—the Queens had so much power on the board, but it was Kings who had to be checkmated to win. She tried to breathe. She hated chess. It was a stupid game.
Leblanc. She hadn’t talked, so it must have been him.
But he hadn’t told them everything, or she’d never have gotten close to the old man.
Had he warned the old man? Just because he wasn’t wearing the ring, didn’t mean he’d given it away.
But she knew he had. She’d seen it in his disgusting old gaze.
Checkmate.
There were other ways to take back what was hers, but they’d take too long. If that old man had meant to cheat her then why tell her? She frowned.
Unless…Dunstead? He’d given her some odd looks the last time they met. Like he found her familiar in some way.
She looked in the mirror of her compact. Adjusted a few strands of hair. She looked like him. She had pictures. Not good ones. She’d had to find them online. The only reason no one noticed was because they weren’t expecting it, weren’t looking for it. That’s one reason she’d wanted them at her house, at her party. To see if they’d see. But they hadn’t.
Had Dunstead gone through her things? She had the secret board with the photos of her grandparents, of what she found in public files about that side of her family. And she had the rings and those papers, the brick from the coffin. That had been taken on impulse, because there’d been nothing there to find. At least they’d all wonder if they’d missed out. She’d read something similar in a book. There was that old man who’d looked at her in the morgue. Janitor or something. Couldn’t have been him.
Dunstead or the lawyer?
Drawer of her desk was locked, but he was a criminal. Probably knew how to unlock things. Get past her security.
There’d been something about her desk that had bothered her when she went to get her gun. She’d pushed it aside, so eager for the meeting with Aleksi.
If Dunstead had been in her house…
He’d been ignoring her calls. Avoiding her since promising to kill Hannah Baker.
What if he’d been lying about that? She’d never read any book where a mob war was launched by killing a cop’s sister. She’d checked because, well, because. Not that she was wrong or could be fooled. She’d been distracted with so many things. That’s all.
That cop, the doctor’s brother, he’d been the one who took Dunstead down.
She gritted her teeth. He’d needed her, because she was the Red Queen.
&n
bsp; He needed money. Couldn’t run that far. But if he’d been the one to rat her out to Aleksi then he probably had money. What he didn’t have was payback. Helenne was out on bail. And Alex Baker? Back on the job. Dating Bett’s granddaughter, she’d heard, which was rather amusing. He must like that in whatever part of hell she’d sent him to.
She’d done that. Killed two of the most notorious organized crime heads in the city.
She had done what no one else could.
So what if Dunstead had slipped his leash. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need the ring. She would get what she wanted. She’d earn the name and then she’d take it.
Gladys Zafiro.
She’d show him, she’d show them all she was her great-grandfather’s true heir. That she had his will and guts and his ruthlessness. In fact, she’d show them she was better. And stronger. And smarter.
And she’d start with today’s other disappointment.
If Dunstead was trying to hit at Alex Baker, that’s where she’d find him. He might even try to pretend he was doing it for her. But she couldn’t wait for him to come to her. She’d find him by finding Alex Baker.
Gladys might not have the ring, or what went with it, but she did have one thing that Leblanc hadn’t taken from her, that all the good wise guys—even the female ones—in the best books had.
She had his snitch.
* * *
Ferris couldn’t believe it when the call came. They’d barely finished at the Leblanc scene. Hadn’t even had time for lunch. He had a bad feeling about the location—a bench on the Moon Walk in the Quarter—even before they got a name to go with their victim.
Aleksi Afoniki, the last wise geezer. It was kinda historic.
They couldn’t get the car close to their scene, so Alex told Hannah she’d have to come with them.
“You can sit in the CSU van while we process the scene,” he said, scanning their surroundings before nodding for her to get out.
Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 Page 18
