Follow the Money (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 3)

by Gina LaManna

  “Well, he must have gotten into something that got him killed. Any chance you know what he was into lately?”

  “I don’t ask too many questions about business these days.”

  “What sort of business are you involved in these days? You must be paying the bills somehow.”

  “I work in security.”

  “And you’re qualified to do that because...”

  “I’ve got experience on the other side,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t claim Ricci is on the straight and narrow; I just don’t see him doing Peg Leg like this.”

  “Is he involved in the drug industry? Cocaine?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know or won’t tell me?”

  “I’m staying out of it,” he said. “But if you want to find Ricci, he’s probably holed up at his girlfriend’s house.”

  “Angel?”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Who’s his girlfriend?”

  “A woman by the name of Gayle. Do you know that house we used to pass—the one next to the bakery on the way to church?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s her place.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “I appreciate you answering my call. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you took on the case,” my father said. “It gives us the chance to talk.”

  “Yeah, well. I’ve got to get going.”

  “I hope we speak again soon. Outside of the investigation, if possible.”

  I hung up without making a promise that I couldn’t keep. The retired detective’s house loomed before me. Getting out of the car, I pushed the conversation with my father out of my mind and waited for Jimmy to join me.

  “I might have a lead on Ricci,” I told him when he arrived. “I’ll explain later. For now, let’s focus on Cox.”

  Jimmy knocked on the door this time, giving a powerful rap that got the attention of the old detective on the first try. The door opened to reveal a man with a slightly pudgy middle, broad shoulders, and graying hair. His expression was hard, but his eyes softened when he recognized Jimmy.

  “Jones!” he exclaimed. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  The two detectives clasped one another in that half-hug men tend to do when they’re friendly but not friends. The two made small talk for a good minute before either of them seemed to remember I was there.

  “This is Rosetti,” Jimmy said, clasping a hand on my shoulder and giving a squeeze with what I might have imagined was a hint of pride. “I’m sure you’ve heard the name. Kate might be young, but she’s the best we got.”

  “You’re Angelo’s kid,” Cox said, turning to study me. “Yeah, I know who you are.”

  “She’s made a name for herself on her own,” Jimmy said a bit sharply. “She’s the best detective on the TC Task Force.

  “I don’t doubt it. Her father was good too.”

  “So, you know my dad,” I said, not loving his tone. Nor did I like the way he looked at me, as if seeing my father’s history and not my own. But I’d steeled against that sort of judgement a long time ago and stomped forward with ease. “He’s actually one of the reasons we’re here.”

  “What’s Angelo gone and done now?” Cox didn’t look surprised.

  “We don’t know that he’s done anything,” Jimmy said, his voice even. “Mind if we steal a few minutes of your time to discuss an old case? Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Come on in,” Cox said. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  Jimmy and I both declined, but Cox led us into the kitchen anyway. The small house on the east side of St. Paul was homey and aged, but neat as a pin.

  There was one coffee cup drying on a rack next to the sink, and one cereal bowl, and one spoon. There was nothing in the way of decoration—nothing on the walls, no flowers, nothing on the refrigerator. If I had to guess, he lived alone and wasn’t married.

  Cox put on a pot of coffee. He nodded for Jimmy and me to take seats at the tiny, café-style table that was pushed against the window. We did, though the chair creaked as Jimmy’s weight hit it. The metal from my chair dug into my skin.

  “What case are you wanting to discuss?” Cox asked once he’d gotten himself a cup of coffee and hauled it over. “Must be something big for you to dig up my address.”

  The three of us barely fit around the table. I had to move my hands from the surface to my lap to make room for the sole mug there. It seemed like a lonely sort of existence. Frankly, the same sort of existence I’d be headed for if I didn’t look out.

  “A few years ago, there was a case that had some similarities to the one we’re working now,” I began. “Jonny Sacchetti. He was found dead—”

  “On the floor of his kitchen. I remember that one,” Cox said. “You always remember the ones that didn’t get closed.”

  “Do you remember the details?” I asked. “Specifically, the ones surrounding Joe Ricci?”

  “Your father’s name also came up in that case if I remember correctly,” he said. “But yes, Joe was considered the primary suspect for quite some time. We eventually had to let him go because we couldn’t get anything to stick.”

  “What led you to believe Joe was involved?”

  “Joe is...how do I put this?” Cox ran a hand over his chin, which was studded with a day’s growth. “Joe is smart enough to be trusted. But he’s sloppy enough to have never risen to the big leagues.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You need a job done for cheap, Joe’s your guy.”

  “What sort of job?”

  “Anything.” Cox shrugged. “We’ve looked into him for more than one homicide. In all of them, there was a homemade suppressor used, no clear motive for cause of death, and almost enough evidence to convict...but not quite.”

  “Well, I don’t plan on letting him weasel his way out of this one if it turns out he is responsible,” I said. “Has Joe ever been linked to the drug industry? Cocaine, in particular?”

  “Linked? Definitely.” Cox shook his head. “Then again, I wouldn’t doubt if he has his hands in a little bit of everything. The man has likely killed before, but that’s not all he does.”

  “Jack of all trades,” I said.

  “Your old man ran around with him back in the day,” Cox said, looking at me with curiosity. “It might help to talk to him. Angelo might have a better idea.”

  “We’re here to discuss an old case, not Detective Rosetti’s family ties,” Jimmy said. “Let’s stay on topic.”

  “I’m just being honest,” Cox said. “That’s the reason these cases are so difficult to crack. Nobody sees anything.”

  “How’d you catch up with Ricci last time?” I asked. “If you did catch up with him at all?”

  “We caught up with him plenty. Joe’s not afraid to play the game.” Cox flicked his eyebrows up and down. “Figure out his current girlfriend situation and check there. He’s holed up with a woman about half the time. The other half of his free time, he’s at a poker game.”

  “Poker game?”

  “I wouldn’t know where exactly since the location rotates and is invite only,” Cox said. “I don’t happen to be on the invite list.”

  “Do you know who else might be?”

  “I think you know,” Cox said. “Your old man might have a pretty good idea.”

  I blew out a breath. “Anyone else?”

  Cox looked mildly surprised. “Angelo won’t talk, even to you?”

  “This isn’t about family,” I said. “This is about me being a cop, interviewing suspects. My relationships with others aren’t important.”

  “Sure,” Cox said, obviously not convinced. “Well, I can’t help you more than that. I don’t know where the poker game is, or even if it’s still happening. But guys like Ricci—most guys, actually—like their routines. Their friends, their game nights, their time away from the rest of it.”

  “The rest of it?”

  “Business. Wome
n. Family. Home. Taxes.” Cox sniffed. “Whatever you call it. I don’t see the fellas changing their ways.”

  Finally, something we can agree on, I thought. But I kept my mouth shut. “And what about Jonny Sacchetti? Did you ever have a good guess as to why he was killed?”

  “The case wasn’t ever closed. We had Ricci pegged as a good suspect. Your father was at the barbecue in the next room over—didn’t hear a shot. We wondered if he was an accomplice. Maybe they were in business together, a deal went bad. Men have been shot over lesser things.”

  “What sort of business?”

  Cox shrugged. “Hell if I know. Ricci has been tied to the drug industry, prostitution, money laundering. If Jonny Sacchetti was working for him and crossed him, that could’ve done it.”

  “And how was my father was connected?”

  “Maybe he was unlucky,” Cox said. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

  “You don’t believe it.”

  “I’m a detective. I don’t like coincidences.”

  I stood, glanced at Jimmy. “I don’t think I have any more questions. If we think of any, can we call you?”

  “Be my guest.” Cox heaved himself out of the chair, taking his mug of steaming coffee with him. “But don’t expect me to have any more answers. You want the truth of what happened to Ricci—or even to Sacchetti—talk to your old man.”

  Jimmy and I left in a hurry. We drove a few blocks to a Caribou Coffee and pulled into the parking lot. I was jittery as I climbed out. While I’d expected the case to get personal, I hadn’t anticipated a former detective turning it personal for me. But Kevin Cox was an old school guy, and he knew the old Rosetti—not the new one.

  “Cox was out of line,” Jimmy said. “Forget about it, okay? He doesn’t know you. He probably doesn’t know your dad all that well, either. Guys from Cox’s time on the force have a long memory.”

  “It’s not that he was wrong.”

  “It doesn’t matter who your dad is or what he did,” Jimmy said. “You’re what matters.”

  I gave him a thin smile. “Well, Cox was right about one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need to make a quick phone call,” I said. “And I think I should do it in private.”

  Chapter 9

  Jimmy and I agreed to meet at Ricci’s girlfriend’s house—which was apparently different than Hannah Trails’s apartment. The man was loaded down with girlfriends. On the way, I redialed the last number that’d called me. I got my dad on the second ring.

  “Kate,” he said happily. “It’s good to hear from you.”

  “This isn’t a personal call.”

  “I figured not, but did you have to dash a man’s hopes so quickly?”

  “I have a knack for that,” I said, wondering if our chat constituted light-hearted banter. “Do you play cards?”

  “Now and again. I’ve always loved healthy competition.”

  “I don’t suppose you could tell me if there was a poker game you were attending on the regular,” I mused. “Particularly one that involves Ricci, or any of the other guys I mentioned already?”

  “Who told you about the poker games?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It is if you want an answer.”

  I sighed. “An old detective who worked a case in which Ricci was a suspect. The Jonny Sacchetti murder.”

  My father went so quiet I had to strain to hear him breathing.

  “You forgot to mention that I was a suspect in that case,” my father said softly. “I’m sure Kevin Cox didn’t forget my name.”

  My father spit the name out like sour milk.

  “He did bring up your name, now that you mention it. Though he’s retired now.”

  “Good riddance. Not like he had much of a choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cox retired right after the Sacchetti case. Left us all wondering if he didn’t have something to do with the murder.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Cox was a crooked cop.”

  “Coming from you, I’m not sure what to make of that.”

  “I got caught, and I served my time,” he said firmly. “I know I made bad choices. But I wouldn’t have ever murdered anyone to cover it up.”

  “What are you insinuating?”

  “I’m not insinuating anything,” he said. “But if you look deep enough, you’ll see what why I had my doubts about Cox. Or maybe you won’t because it’ll have been written out of the report.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think Jonny Sacchetti flipped. He was involved in cocaine trade for a while, but I think he turned CI.”

  “Sacchetti was an informant?”

  “It seemed likely. There were signs,” my father said. “And I think Jonny saw something, or heard something, that could have ended Cox’s career.”

  “You think Cox murdered Sacchetti to save himself? Then, by some lucky coincidence, he got the case?”

  “If you check the original records, Cox wasn’t the one who was due to catch the case. He filled in for another detective who was mysteriously hit by a car—just enough to break the leg.”

  “Do you realize how big of an accusation you’re making?”

  “I know exactly what I’m saying. I also know that I’m a permanently unreliable source so nobody’s gonna listen to me and my theories.”

  “Someone would have believed you if it were true.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  I considered. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll need to do more research and draw my own conclusions.”

  “Good luck, considering the reports will only tell you what Cox wants you to see.”

  “You don’t have much faith in me if you think I’ll be relying only on the reports.”

  He gave a short guffaw. “That’s my girl.”

  The phrase warmed me, temporarily making me forget about our long and arduous history. For a split second, we were just a father and daughter having a regular conversation.

  “About the poker game,” I said, clearing my throat. “Any tips on where I might catch wind of the location?”

  “I already gave up Ricci’s girlfriend,” he said. “What more can you ask of me?”

  “Come on. I just want the spot.”

  My father sighed. “It won’t do you any good. They won’t let you in, and if they catch you waiting outside, or worse—barging inside—my friendship with them will be over.”

  “Would that be the worst thing ever?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But it’s for your safety. If you spook them, if they know I’m giving you information on the crew, it’ll be bad news for all of us.”

  “All of us?” I persisted. “Or for you?”

  “I’m trying here, Kate,” my father said. “But you have to give me something in return if we are going to try and make a relationship work.”

  “I’m not trying to make a relationship work,” I said. “I’m trying to crack a case.”

  “In that case, good luck,” my father said. “I have no further comments.”

  By the time I parked in front of Ricci’s supposed girlfriend’s house, a weighty guilt had settled in my gut. I climbed out of the car and ran into Jimmy, absentmindedly stepping on his foot before I stopped moving and stood next to him.

  “Am I being too harsh on my father?” I asked. “Not wanting a relationship with him?”

  “I dunno, Kate. On one hand, I don’t blame you. He left you at a young age and never managed to reconnect. On the other hand, I believe people change. Does your dad deserve your forgiveness and a second chance?” Jimmy ran his tongue over his bottom lip and paused to consider. “That’s your call to make.”

  “I wish you could make it for me.”

  “Even if I could, it doesn’t make it easier. But you’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll figure it out off the clock,” I said, pulling out my phone and flicking open my emails. “We should probably get
a move on before Ricci sees us standing out here and gets spooked.”

  Jimmy let our prior conversation drop and moved to look over my shoulder. Asha had sent us the low down for the address of the house my father had given us. It had been purchased seven years ago by a woman named Gayle Barnes. There was no record of a current spouse, though it appeared she’d been married once over a decade ago.

  Gayle worked at Walgreens a few blocks away and had been steadily employed there for the past two years. Before that, she’d job hopped from one restaurant to another. Interestingly enough, she’d held down a position at Ladies of Luxury—just like Ricci’s other girlfriend. Gayle had been picked up for solicitation once during her tenure at the strip club, but the charges had been dropped. There was no mention of her being connected with Joe Ricci anywhere in the file.

  The house was cute enough for the location. It was somewhat ragged and in need of repair, but there were signs Gayle made an effort beyond the bare minimum of home care. A few lawn ornaments poked tired necks out of the ground. Their bedraggled appearance made me think those poor flamingos had spent the entire winter outdoors.

  Plants that hadn’t yet been pruned back for spring reached dry, scratchy fingers over the sidewalk, and I had to sidestep a few of the more overgrown bushes. A faded wreath made of fake flowers clung to the front door on its last legs. When I knocked, it gave a dangerous shudder.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to knock again. I was afraid the wreath wouldn’t survive a second jolt, but surprisingly it held on as the door flew open to reveal a woman in bright pink sweatpants and a crop-top black tank.

  Gayle chomped gum that smelled as pink as her pants, and she wore her bottle-blond hair in a stylish messy ponytail. Her fluffy sandals twitched as she stepped back from the door.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Ms. Barnes?” I asked. “I’m Detective Rosetti, and this is my partner, Detective Jones.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  “About what?” She continued to snap her gum and didn’t look the slightest bit surprised.

  “We were told you are acquaintances with Joe Ricci.”

  She leaned against the doorway and snorted. “Acquaintances. Sure. If that’s what you want to call it. What’d he do?”