The Blood of Saints (Tom Connelly Book 2)

by Nick Dorsey

  “I don’t know.” When he first saw it the wound looked like a deep gash wrapping around the side of his head, like someone had gone after Patton with an ax or something. The shirt he was using as a bandage was a sopping red mess now. Tom was afraid to investigate further.

  Ray was talking. “Don’t leave him. If you can, get a towel or something and hold it to his head, okay? Keep pressure on. If you can.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said. He pressed the shirt to Patton’s head and ran for the bathroom. He pulled a fresh towel from a cabinet and ran back to Patton’s side.

  Ray was cursing and yelling from the phone. “Tom? Where are you? Call a damn ambulance.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “You called one?”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Tom. Remember. You don’t have to do this alone. We got people for that.”

  Tom sighed. “I know. I called you.” He hung up.

  An eternity later, he heard sirens in the distance. Patton’s breath was shallow now. The towel was soaked through, warm and red in his hand. He felt bad about what he was going to do, of course, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it. Guilt had cut a path Tom’s mind and it was well-worn. Familiar to him.

  He heard the air brakes of the fire engine groan and hiss in the apartment parking lot and then there were voices in the courtyard. A moment later they were outside his door.

  “Yeah, come on! Come on,” Tom called.

  Two firefighters in blue shirts, one carrying a red first aid rescue kit, were suddenly standing in his kitchen.

  One cursed. “That ain’t a heart attack.”

  No, it wasn’t. Tom stood.

  The other guy, the younger one, waved a hand to keep Tom in place. “Keep pressure on him!” Then he was the one next to Patton, holding the red rag to the kid’s head. His partner groaned. It was too late for them. They were already inside. Patton was their patient whether they wanted him or not.

  Tom stood at the wall and listened to the firefighters radio for help, then he listened to the older firefighter say how they weren’t even supposed to be inside. Somebody said it looked like a gunshot wound and that’s when Tom decided to leave. He remembered Amelia LaRocca sighing next to the table full of sweets in the Pan. “What’s the point of growing old, Tommaso, if the world’s just going to break your heart?” Her looking at him with those sad eyes. Now Patton’s eyes were fluttering in a way that was terrifying somehow. Both firefighters leaned over him, doing something Tom couldn’t see.

  He slipped off the wall. Taking slow, deliberate breaths, he left the room and made a quick stop in his bedroom. He pulled a flat case from under his bed. Ray’s gun. Moving quickly, breath forgotten, Tom left the strange pool of coffee, the bleeding man on the floor, and the two firefighters trying to save him. They’d help Patton more than Tom ever could. He just had to keep telling himself that.

  Outside, the fresh air smacked Tom in the face. He stopped long enough to take a few deep, lung-searing breaths. Great chest-bursting breaths designed to push the smell of coffee and blood from his mind. He couldn’t think straight with that smell wrapping him up. He needed to be clear if he was going to go visit Dominic Barese.

  When Tom arrived at the modern Napoleon Avenue apartment building, Ray’s gun left the case and went into his pocket. Tom didn’t stop to think about what he was doing, because that might have made him think of all the reasons he shouldn’t do it. He drove around the block twice but didn’t see Dominic’s white SUV. Still. That didn’t mean the kid wasn’t in there. Tom waited on the sidewalk, pretending to be focused on his phone while he watched the double glass doors at the front of the building out of the corner of his eye. He thought he should have a dog or something, that would make him a little less suspicious-looking.

  “You sure?” A voice behind him said. There were two men holding to-go cups coming down the street, stopping a few yards away. The speaker was bulky with muscle straining the fit of his black windbreaker.

  His friend had a blonde circle beard making up for a sharply receding hairline and was wearing a burgundy sport coat. The two characters didn’t belong together, somehow. Like they would be on the opposite sides of every argument if there wasn’t something else holding them together. Tom could guess what that something was. Circle Beard pointed a long finger at him. “Yeah, I saw him at the St. Joseph Altar. Talking to the big guy and everything.”

  Tom thought about turning away from the pair, but where would that get him? They were LaRocca’s people. Probably here picking up Dominic, or at least looking for him.

  The muscle said, “You know who lives here?”

  Tom sighed and turned to them. “I met the janitor once.”

  They exchanged a quizzical look. The muscle handed Circle Beard coffee and advanced on Tom. He stuck his neck out like a bull ready to gore. “Where is he?”

  “The janitor?”

  The muscle turned back to his friend. “What do you think?”

  “Hold this.” Circle Beard handed the coffee back and reached into his coat. Tom could guess what he was reaching for, too. He decided not to let the man pull a gun. Circle Beard was standing close to the raised curb and when Tom body-checked him he stumbled off the edge of the sidewalk and threw out his hands to break his fall. A gleaming silver revolver flew from his pocket and clattered into the street. Tom wasn’t as quick as he used to be, but the muscle was still cursing and holding two coffees. He dropped them when Tom slammed his fist into the man’s nose.

  The muscle didn’t seem to mind. He glared at Tom over the smeared blood of his torn nostril. Before Tom could hit him again the guy was hunched over then dropping down. His shoulder went into Tom’s midsection and then they were both on the ground. Tom struck him on the back of the head and tried to squirm away but the muscle leaned back and did something with his legs. In no time Tom’s leg was sandwiched between two of his, and the other man’s ankles were hooked under Tom’s free leg.

  “Got you, you bitch,” the muscle said.

  Tom tried to kick out but the other man did something to his ankle and pain corkscrewed through his entire leg.

  A silver barrel appeared over Tom. Long fingers were wrapped around a revolver. Circle Beard was sneering down at him from behind the gun.

  “Do it,” the muscle hissed.

  Tom struggled and again the muscle did something. He felt his ankle twist in a way it was never meant to.

  “No,” Circle Beard said finally. “Let’s take him in. Don’t break anything. I don’t want to carry him.”

  “I won’t. I been going to the gym twice a week. I’m in control.”

  “Good for you.” Circle Beard pushed a hand into Tom’s pocket and pulled out Ray’s gun. “Look at this.”

  “You come in heavy, you bitch?” The muscle twisted Tom’s ankle and Tom grunted, then the big guy let go. They pulled Tom to his feet. At least they were taking him in, he was thinking. And Sal LaRocca was somebody he could talk to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jean woke up on her couch that morning and couldn’t quite decide if the previous evening had really happened or if it had been some strange fever dream. She stretched and ignored the cat mewling at her feet, then she saw the note on her coffee table.

  You fell asleep again. No hard feelings. I’m going to work. I’ll lock the door. It was signed -T.

  That was that. The previous evening had not been a dream after all. She made coffee and fed the cat, then ate a bagel while she dressed. When she saw the missed calls from Tom, she stuffed her phone in her purse to block out that part of her life. Hooking up with her investigator was probably not strictly against office policy, but it wasn’t exactly best practice. The fact that he was currently her ex-investigator didn’t make her feel any better. So, in the purse it went. Out of sight, out of mind. She hoped.

  The day promised to be trying at best. She had a meeting with Eason to go over her strategy for the Adelfi thing, and she knew he wouldn’t h
ave good news. He might have even made some drastic moves while she was out of the city. She gathered her thoughts as she drove downtown. What could she prove, after all? Not much. Perhaps she could make a case that Ernesto Adelfi had some hand in various businesses that had been cited in criminal cases over the years. And that he had family members that had been convicted. That didn’t hold much water, and none of it made any difference to Sofia Adelfi’s case. Not yet, anyway. Inside her purse, her cell phone called to her. Tom would no doubt have a few words to say on the matter.

  She resisted the impulse to answer.

  At the office she flipped through a stack of cases with similar charges, possession with intent to distribute marijuana/cocaine/heroin She was looking for a magic bullet that she could use on all three cases but couldn’t focus.

  The Adelfi case kept drawing her back. There was so much that she couldn’t prove, but the material was all there. Like a wheel spinning on its own. If only she could find the chain, the sequence of cause and effect that connected the wheel to the rest of the bicycle, she would have a good chance of defending Sofia. Ernesto had been involved in organized crime to some degree, and when she and Tom had asked questions, she got her visit from a thug of her own, Dominic. There was too much there. Wasn’t that true? Or was that how all paranoid people started?

  She had almost decided to call Tom and Patton and have them back her up in her meeting with Eason. She could have them lay out their best case. Everything that had a paper trail, everything they could prove. Maybe the three of them combined could turn his head. Honestly, it was unlikely. But it was something. Then Juanita asked to see her.

  Juanita’s dress was a psychedelic green and pink print so bright it hurt Jean’s eyes. She gestured for Jean to sit and said, “How was your time off?”

  “I saw my parents.”

  “Isn’t that nice? They asking after grandchildren yet?” Juanita said with a twinkle in her eye. Jean wasn’t sure if the woman thought she was married or what, but she knew what the proper response was.

  “Always, and I always tell them everything in due time.”

  The other woman chuckled and took her glasses off. Jean tried to keep her face impassive. Something was coming.

  “How’s your murder? Eason helping out?”

  There it was.

  Jean said, “He’s doing some interviews. Crossing my I’s and dotting my T’s.” Juanita smiled pleasantly and waited for more. Jean thought she knew what she was supposed to say. That together, she and Eason managed to convince their client to take a plea deal. That this case would be done and out the door before Easter. That Juanita would have two defenders ready to take on another case sooner rather than later.

  There in the office, Jean saw a slow, fat softball coming at her. All she had to do was hit what Juanita was pitching. All she had to do was tell her that Sofia Adelfi was taking a plea yesterday and the case was as good as closed. So, of course, she did the opposite.

  “I think there was some conspiracy behind Ernesto Adelfi’s death,” she said. She cursed Tom Connelly’s name as she said it.

  Juanita’s mouth opened, her jaw worked soundlessly. Then it shut. Her next movements were very deliberate. She slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose, clasped her hands in front of her ample bosom, and settled back into her chair. “What does that mean, baby?”

  Jean laid the whole picture out for her. She took her time, hitting all the salient points. Juanita listened carefully, and when Jean stopped talking she nodded. “Okay, baby. Why don’t you leave me to think on this for a minute?”

  A moment later Jean stood in the carpeted hallway, digging a knuckle into her old scar. She couldn’t believe she had just told her boss there was a vast criminal enterprise behind the Adelfi case. What must Juanita be thinking? It was Jean’s first murder case, so there was a good chance that Juanita thought she was cracking up. Grasping at straws because she drew a shit case for her first murder. She walked back to her office and had just kicked off her shoes when her phone rang.

  Will Jackson’s voice greeted her. “Hey, Jean. You mind coming around when you get a chance?”

  “Sure. Is later this afternoon okay? I just got here. Got pulled in to see Juanita. I’ve got a few things to look over this morning.”

  “Why not stop by now? It’ll be quick.”

  Jean hung up. She didn’t like the sound of that.

  Will’s door was open and he was listening to someone speak. “The coffee is good. You know, they make you order a mondo or a tall. Can’t just be a small coffee anymore, it’s got to be a tall or bene or some bullshit. But I guess it’s the only place you can legally pay for a tall blonde, am I right?” The guy laughed, a low, growling thing, and Jean knew who it was. Eason Kandisky’s shirt was a mass of wrinkles and the knot of his tie was settling just above his navel. Will was shrugging out of a coat, revealing a baby blue shirt that was a little too tight. He waved when he saw Jean approaching.

  “Join the party.”

  Jean stopped at the door. For some reason, going any further made her think of venturing into enemy territory. “Looks like you two are having fun.”

  Will leaned against his desk and crossed one leg over the other. He looked at her with narrow brown eyes. Sizing her up? “Got big plans this weekend?” He asked.

  “Same as every other weekend. I’m going to play catch up.” She let her eyes bounce around the room, taking in files. Looking for casework that would give her an idea of what these two were really up to. She said, ”You still going over the Circle K thing?”

  Eason waved a big hand, wiggling his fingers. “Nah, we got that wrapped up.” He turned to Will expectantly.

  Will picked up on it. “Yeah. Eason’s got a bit more time now.”

  Jean willed herself to unclench her teeth. “Is that right?”

  “Juanita and I spoke just a minute ago,” Will said. “And Eason’s been asking about it. So we think it’s a good idea for Eason to take the ball from here. On the Adelfi murder. You’ve already brought it to the ten-yard line, we’re just asking Eason to take it home.”

  “We haven’t even entered a plea yet,” Jean said.

  “Yet,” Eason said. “I can get Sofia to take a deal. Enter a guilty plea.” Eason shrugged. “It’s the best thing for her.”

  “You think she’ll do that?” Jean said, shocked.

  “I think she will.”

  “Even though she won’t for me? This whole time, she says she’s drunk. She doesn’t remember anything about the gun. Vaguely remembers the police taking her in. But you think you can get her to remember shooting her husband?” She couldn’t keep the venom from her voice. What was all the more frustrating was Eason’s easy slouch. The way he seemed to grow calmer the more upset she became.

  “Maybe I can get her to plea out. That’s all I’m saying.” He shrugged.

  Will gave him a look like he was chastising the big man, but it was all show. It was done. Jean was being removed. He turned back to Jean. He was putting on his Chief of Trials face. “Juanita told me you had a theory.”

  Shit. Jean thought it, she had the presence of mind not to say that out loud.

  Will was still talking. “There’s just no corroborating evidence. I can’t make that story work, Jean. You know that.”

  “And you’ve had time,” Eason put in.

  “Why are you edging me out?” Jean said sharply. Her hands found their way to her hips. She dropped them and watched the men look between one another.

  Will held a hand out to each of them. “Alright, same team, guys. Right? The call has been made. Juanita is good with it. I’m good with it. Jean, I’m taking you off the Adelfi case, and I’m installing Eason as the lead as of this morning.”

  Jean pursed her lips. The whole thing was probably out of her hands before she even stepped into the office. Will raised his hands in a helpless shrug, but Jean wouldn’t let him finish. She said, “Alright,” and turned from the door.

  Eason. She sho
uld have known. He had been there the longest, and he was just the type of person that Juanita would send in to end a case quickly. Maybe not correctly, but quickly. Eason, who looked like he slept in his clothes. Eason who made stupid off-color jokes just to see the expression on Jean’s face change. Like that dumb coffee joke. Buying a blonde or whatever.

  Wait. Jean stood in the hall and resisted the urge to look back at Will Jackson’s office. That dumb coffee joke. She had heard that before, hadn’t she? Recently. Only it wasn’t Eason or anybody else from the office. It was a lawyer, though.

  DiAngelo. The little guy with the bowling-ball run whole had interrupted her slushy time. The guy who tried to poach her. What was Eason doing stealing that man’s jokes? That was something, now wasn’t it? Jean scratched her old scar. Something wasn’t right. She just wasn’t sure what.

  Her phone dinged. There was a message from Tom. Just checking in. She certainly didn’t have time to think about that.

  Jean circled back to the private investigator cubicle farm and looked in on Patton’s desk, but he wasn’t there. He didn’t answer his phone, either. Jean hung up on his voice asking her to leave a message and scanned the room. She saw her mark, then formed her plan. First, she went to her office and wrote up a brief memo. Then she went down to the coffee shop on the first floor and procured a massive strawberry smoothie. It was called a smoothie, but it wasn’t exactly on the healthy side of things.

  Nadine Ortega was maybe the best investigator on staff, partly because she looked like your favorite aunt and had the tenacity of a pitbull. Jean set the smoothie on her desk and Nadine’s silver-streaked hair didn’t even look up from her computer.

  “Uh-oh,” she said in a little sing-song voice.

  “Uh-oh is right,” Jean said. “Do you have some time for me?”

  “I don’t know.” Nadine took a sip of the drink and thought about it. “You went for the strawberry. Good choice.”

  Jean slid the memo next to the plastic cup of swirling pink. “I just need to check something. I want to know if any of these names were represented by this firm.”