Warrior Without a Cause

by Nancy Gideon

  "Mom? Who was that?"

  "Julianna Williamson. We've served together on several boards. I asked her to see what she could find out about that baby with AIDS and who was the main contributor to the fund that's paying for his treatment."

  "And?"

  "There's only one. It's called Save the Children. It's a foundation established by the former mayor, Paul Martinez. Rachel's late husband."

  "Gotcha."

  Before Tessa's elation had a chance to settle in, her mother hurried from the room and raced downstairs to the family room where the big-screen TV reigned in a recessed cabinet. By the time Tessa got there, Barbara had thrown open the doors and was searching around in the back for something.

  She pulled out a video cassette and brandished it triumphantly. "They didn't get it."

  "What?"

  "The surveillance tape from your office. I'd only gotten halfway through it."

  "Maybe it's time you saw the rest of it."

  While Tessa cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, Barbara ran through the next few hours of comings and goings on the video tape, concentrating on the screen with a determined intensity. Tessa believed the key to wherever her father hid his secrets showed more promise but just after the two-and-a-half-hour mark, Barbara's call brought her running to see the picture her mother had frozen on the screen. It showed a rather blurry image of a man wearing a service uniform carrying a clipboard and a toolbox. The brim of his cap hid his face from view.

  "That could be anyone," Tessa began.

  "Watch."

  And as Barbara started the tape again, the man was seen moving toward the elevator. Just as he pressed the button, he turned slightly in response to the guard—Maurice's—approach. And for an instant, immediately frozen by the remote control's pause, his features were apparent. Average-guy features. Pale, haunting eyes.

  "Meet Chet Allen."

  * * *

  Chapter 16

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  The exclusive country club was a bust.

  Robert D'Angelo did, indeed, have a locker there and after expending an annoying amount of greenbacks into the hand of the greedy young attendant, who would probably put it right up his nose behind the seventh green, he was allowed to try the key. It didn't fit. And neither did he in these posh digs where wealth and prestige created its own aura around the membership.

  This was Tessa's world, one of privilege and pedigree, where money opened doors and power kept them that way. Its charter listed the crème de la crème of the city's social registry. Prospective joiners were screened and examined as if they were applying for jobs protecting national security. How would they view the son of a cop, a third-generation immigrant, with no Ivy League degree and a military service record even their prying eyes would be denied? They might hire him to do their dirty work but never would they invite him to sit down to share Heinekens and jokes in the elegant restaurant bar. They wouldn't want him dating their daughters.

  What was he doing, thinking serious thoughts about Tessa D'Angelo? She was out of his league. Sure, they'd shared some great sex but when this case was solved, what were the odds she'd stick around to see what else he had to offer? She was cashmere to his cotton, Dom to his on tap.

  But the way she'd kissed him that morning, nearly suffocating him on the sudden upward lunge of his heart. Good God, what had that been all about? He didn't want to guess. He didn't want to hope. He was paralyzed from doing either. Afraid to move or to speak lest he give her encouragement. The journey might be pleasantly distracting but it would be a short trip. He'd rather pass on the whole ride. And he had Rose to consider. Rose who clung to him as if he were her whole world, and he couldn't make himself return that trust by telling her the truth. What did that say about the kind of man he was? Tessa had summed him up completely. Coward. Damn right. Right down to his socks. Scared of living yet terrified of living alone.

  And still there she was, pushing all his buttons, making him feel the rush of duty and pride, the thrill of conquest and desire. But he was what he was, not what she was trying to make him. He was not one of those good guys.

  Damn her for scrambling his soul with that kiss. For coming into his life and turning it inside out. For making Rose smile and Russell smirk knowingly. And for making him wish he could be that better man she deserved.

  He drove to Roseville under a dark cloud of emotion. The grittier streets and common surroundings suited him better than the civil clime he'd left in the rearview. The gym where Rob D'Angelo had sparred with his college buddies was still here, a dreary, uninviting building of chipped brick and boarded windows tagged colorfully by neighborhood artists. But once he opened the door to inhale the crisp, pungent scent of ambition and honest sweat, he felt himself relax. These were surroundings he fit into. Here, no one would ask to see his visitor's pass.

  A gnomish character looking eerily like an African-American version of Burgess Meredith out of the Rocky movies was alternately coaching and cursing at two young Latino fighters. He saw Jack skirting the edges of the weight area and was quick to intercept him.

  "Help you?"

  "Looking for some information on someone who used to come here a long time ago."

  "I been here forever. Ask away."

  No hand outstretched for a little payola. Just an open curiosity.

  "Do you remember a kid by the name of Robert D'Angelo? Used to come in to train before he was shipped off to Nam?"

  He whistled. "That is going back a spell. Let me think. You mean, Robby? Didn't he get to be some kind of lawyer or something?"

  "Yeah, something like that."

  "Oh, sure, I remember him. Good-looking kid. Good right hook. Used to come in with his pals Allen and McGee. They were a rowdy bunch but never any trouble. All in love with the same pretty little girl. A cute little white-bread blonde from the other side of the tracks, if you know what I mean. Used to sit right over there and watch them work up a sweat. Wondered which one of them she would end up with."

  "She was Mrs. D'Angelo."

  "Huh. I would have guessed the other one." He shrugged. "You come here for something other than hashing up old times?"

  "D'Angelo had a locker here."

  "Sure does."

  "Does? You mean he still does?"

  "Pays monthly rent for it—'nough for me not to mind that he ain't sent a money order for a couple of months now. Not like I'd toss his stuff out or anything."

  "Can you show me where it is?"

  "Why not?"

  The wizened old boxer led him back to the locker room where the smell of mold, ointment and stale body odor nearly knocked him back a step or two. A little pine cleaner and elbow grease would have done wonders.

  "Right over there. Number 13. Lucky 13, he used to say."

  Not so lucky, after all, Jack mused as he stood in front of the dented door. He took the key out of his coat pocket and slid it easily home. The door opened with a complaining click and rasp of hinges.

  His cell phone rang. He reached for it instead of the neatly banded bundle of papers on the top shelf. They were all Robert D'Angelo had left behind.

  "Chaney."

  "Jack, I've got some intel for you. Meet me at Jo's?"

  "Half hour."

  The connection with Zach Russell terminated without pleasantries. He looked over his shoulder at the older man.

  "Mind if I take these to Mrs. D' Angelo? She sent me down to get them if they were still here."

  "Help yourself."

  Yes, indeed, he would.

  * * *

  Barbara sat for a long while staring at the still shot of Chet Allen dressed in his service tech uniform. Finally she said in a cold, dead voice, "He killed your father. Rachel Martinez paid him to do it."

  Tessa placed a comforting hand on her mother's shoulder. "We still have to prove it. And they're not going to make it easy for us."

  "I can't believe it. Your father and I helped Paul Martinez get elected to city office. He and Robert were always s
o close. That was before he married Rachel. She was the real powerhouse behind his campaigning for mayor. Smart, aggressive, with a background in humanitarian service that went all the way back to the sixties. She was a real asset to him. I never understood why Robert disliked her so intensely. He tried his best to talk Paul out of that marriage but it was true love. They say opposites attract and that was Paul and Rachel. He was upper crust and old money. She was inner city and ambition. They were so happy together until Paul had that massive stroke. She stuck right by him. Visits him every day in the rehabilitation center in St. Clair Shores even though they've told her he'll never regain any useful function. They say he doesn't even recognize her. So sad. I almost admire her. Except for the fact that she's a killer. Why, I wonder, when she had so much going for her."

  "I don't know, Mom. Maybe the payments for her husband's care got to be too much. Maybe she just got in over her head."

  "Maybe she's just a coldhearted hitch who got tired of a councilman's salary and decided to use those contacts from the Bureau of Substance Abuse to start her own Partnership for a Drug-Abusing Detroit consortium."

  Tessa glanced at her mother, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "There's that possibility, too."

  "Let's find out. I feel like going to a party. How about you, Tess?"

  Tessa stared at her as if she'd gone mad. "A party? Now?"

  "A good place to mix and mingle and have a casual conversation with the guest of honor."

  "And that would be?"

  "Councilwoman Martinez. She's being honored at a luncheon hosted by the Urban Improvement Council. They're making her Woman of the Year." Barbara turned in her seat to regard her daughter with a fierceness that surprised her. "We can't let her get away with it. I won't let her get away with it. Obviously they don't know what we have. You were right before. Maybe we can shake her up a little and get her to give herself away."

  Jack would strangle them both for even considering something so foolhardy. Rightly so. The smart thing would be to wait for him, to rely on his expertise.

  "I need to call Jack first to see if he found anything at one of the lockers. If he has proof, we don't need to take the risk." But her pulse was pounding as she made the call. And got his voice mail. She hung up and regarded her mother thoughtfully. This wasn't the fluffy piece of decoration she'd always thought Barbara D'Angelo to be. This was a woman with a score to settle. And that made them two of a kind.

  "I'll need something to wear."

  * * *

  The lunch crowd at Cuppa Jo's was bustling, with every booth and table filled. Squinting through the smoke, Jack still didn't see any sign of his friend.

  "Hiya, Chaney," Jo called from behind the counter. "Come on back."

  He skirted the counter and pushed through the bat-wing doors where the smells and sounds of the busy kitchen assaulted his senses. Zach Russell, glaringly out of place with an apron tied over his three-piece suit, was at one of the stoves leaning over a giggling young cook's shoulder. One hand rested on her tiny waist and the other held a ladle. He sipped from it carefully and nodded his head.

  "You see, lovey, tarragon, just like I told you. Just a pinch to bring the stock to life. Jack, come over and take a taste."

  Obligingly, Jack went to slurp up some of the chicken broth and his eyebrows shot up. "That's good. Compliments to the chef."

  He inclined his head regally. "After growing up to bland English food, one appreciates a little stimulation to the palate."

  Jack grinned. "I'm sure that's it. If your shift's over, think we can get down to some business."

  Russell took off the apron and bussed a kiss against the young woman's temple. "Never be afraid to experiment, darling."

  She looked up at him with a swooning devotion and at that, Jack had to walk away. Russell followed him back to a small metal table that served as the employee's break room.

  "Moonlighting for tip money?"

  Russell returned the wry smile. "Some tips are better than others, Jacky boy." He spun the chair and straddled it, getting right to business. "You have some very dangerous friends."

  "How so?"

  "Your three college chums weren't your average grunts. They went right into serious business behind sniper scopes."

  "Are you sure?" Jack couldn't imagine the smoothly debonair D.A. taking out unfriendlies at one thousand yards.

  "The government had it locked up behind some very heavy doors but I was able to peek around it for a wee minute."

  "What else?"

  "Allen went a bit mad out there and did some pretty nasty stuff to those who didn't deserve it. Doing a bit of business on the side for a private contractor, if you know what I mean. D'Angelo and McGee were bringing him in and somehow he managed to slip away on D'Angelo's watch. McGee went after him and then the trail grows ice-cold."

  "What were they involved in, Russ?"

  "Drugs, most likely."

  "One or all?"

  An elegant shrug. "Can't tell you that. D'Angelo was taken out a hero and given a medal. McGee went into Special Ops behind borders we weren't supposed to cross. And Allen, he just got more crazy and more dangerous until the government didn't know what to do with him."

  "So the story about him getting killed?"

  "Nice bit of fiction to protect his commanding officers from the whiplash of having one of their own run amuck. Swept him under the rug with the understanding that if he came up from underground again, they'd put him under it permanently."

  "Wonderful."

  This was the psycho stalking Tessa.

  "The overseas telephone numbers you had me check connected to an Agency front in Southeast Asia. D'Angelo must have been tipping off his superiors on his pal Allen. Some pal. Want me to find him and take care of him for you?" Russell offered casually as if he were suggesting a favor akin to picking up his dry cleaning.

  "No. I want him loose for a little while longer, until I find out who's holding his leash."

  "A man like that doesn't take to a leash for long. You'd better keep your pistol close and your lady closer. Or I'd be happy to do that for you."

  "What a pal. What you can do is lean on a suit by the name of Jeff Boetright at Engle, Steiger & Steiger. He had a date with Tessa on the night her father died."

  "Checking out the former lovers?"

  "Only if this one was encouraged to get her out of the office for the evening so she wouldn't get in the way. I suspect you'll find the ambitious Mr. Boetright got a nice little bonus for that piece of work. I'll bet some sweet thing in personnel could be convinced to provide you with the documentation."

  "Could be. Kind of thin, though."

  Jack brought out the bundle of papers. "Maybe our friend D'Angelo gave us something in here to beef up our firepower."

  One by one, they went through the pieces of evidence Rachel Martinez had been willing to kill for. The materials were extensive—ledgers showing medical supplies that provided cover for the transportation of illegal drugs going in and out of Cambodia from 1968 to the present, pictures of the councilwoman meeting with unsavory characters on both sides of the ocean, receipts and records placing her at the helm of a long list of dummy organizations created to help her channel her product from point of purchase to point of sale, and a grainy photo of the lovely politician shaking hands with a supposedly dead Chet Allen. He pushed the evidence toward Russell. "Get these into the proper hands to have an arrest warrant issued."

  His cell rang. "Chaney."

  "Jack, I need you."

  The fragile thread of fear pulling through Tessa's voice was all it took to transform Jack Chaney into the most deadly man alive.

  * * *

  The awards luncheon was in full swing when they arrived. Barbara D'Angelo's presence opened any door within the tight society circle so they were ushered in without question. Even with the cloud of scandal hanging over her husband's memory, none dared shun her outright. It was more a subtle shifting away before she could reach them.

&
nbsp; Barbara seemed not to notice but Tessa fumed at their snobbery. After all her mother had done to chair their causes, to put a popular face on their needy ventures, to volunteer time and boundless energy, that they would shy away as if she were now some kind of pariah, it had to be a bitter pill to swallow. But Barbara put on her best serene smile and greeted everyone enthusiastically as if she didn't know they were whispering about her behind her back. Tessa saw her white-knuckled grip on her handbag. She knew and she pretended not to care. That was class. And Tessa felt a sudden surge of pride.

  "There she is, sucking up to the Mendlesson money in the corner. Let's go say hello." And Barbara strode forward like a cutter under full sail, breaking through the crowded assembly with her bow high and parade of canvas snapping. "Rachel, dear. How wonderful to see you."

  Rachel Martinez froze as Barbara leaned in for a pseudo-buss of either cheek. By the time she stepped back, the councilwoman had her political game face on. She was still a striking woman with jet-black hair styled high above her bronze multiethnic features. A trace of her rough background betrayed itself in her all too direct stare, like top dog willing the other to look away first to establish dominance.

  "Barbara, what a surprise."

  "I'm sure it is. I'll bet I'm about the last person you expected to see."

  She smiled but Tessa could imagine the sound of her professionally whitened teeth gnashing. "Barb, you know I don't listen to any of those rumors. You have no reason not to go anywhere you please with your head held high."

  "And why wouldn't I since the both of us know just how false those rumors are."

  Martinez's features tightened, becoming harsh angles and gaunt valleys. "Nothing was ever proven and I refuse to think the worst about Rob."

  "Why would you, knowing the truth as we both do now."

  Martinez reached out to grip her forearm. Though she was still smiling and Barbara didn't wince, Tessa could see it was no gentle hold. "Maybe we should discuss this someplace a little more private."

  Tessa laid her hand over the other woman's and squeezed tight. "Right here is fine. Right here in front of all our friends and witnesses. Let her go."