Bombshell Part 25

"Early enough to see a dead man in her bathtub and get bashed on the head. How in the world did that happen?"

"I was as shocked as you were. Even though Arnie spoke to Delsey a couple of times at the diner, they were never introduced. But he knew where she lived. The only way I can put it together is that they got a couple of gang members to haul him back to his apartment to search it and see what he had on them."

She drew a deep breath, picked up Monk again, and began to stroke him really hard. He reared back and nearly toppled her over as he struggled to get out of her arms. "All right, all right." She set him down. "Arnie knew he couldn't take the thugs to his apartment. There was too much for them to find there. He had to decide fast where to take them. He knew Delsey was at the party. He also knew she lived alone-and that's the biggie-so I'm thinking he directed them to her place instead. They broke in the back door, realized soon enough it wasn't his apartment. I'm betting he made a run for it, but they forced him into the bathroom and killed him there."

"But then Delsey came in unexpectedly."

"Yes. They had to be gang members, violent thugs, and they probably hadn't been told to kill anyone else. I'm thinking one of them hit her on the head before they hauled Arnie away and ended up dumping him beside Breaker's Hill in the thick snow and trees.

"Of course, that's a guess, but one that makes sense. If I've got it right, then Arnie saved my life. But he never thought Delsey would be in danger. And now the gang members who killed him know that Delsey saw Arnie well enough to describe him. They've got to be wonderin' if she saw them, too, and if so, she was a witness against a gang of killers. I didn't know what to do, what to say, or how to protect her until I realized you were worried for her safety as well, and put a guard on her door. We have to continue to protect her."

He looked at Monk, who was washing himself in front of the fireplace, looked back at her, standing stiff and so contained that if she moved, she might break apart. He rose. "We're now in this together. Call me Griffin. And what should I call you?"

"Anna. It's my name."

"Why don't you come back to the B&B with me? You can spend some time with Delsey. Anything's better than being stuck out here alone with a gun pressed against your leg."

"I can't. I've got Monk, and Bud Bailey would have a hissy fit if he saw this big boy come through his front door. I know him well. Trust me. Besides, I've got to start my shift at Maurie's soon. Remember, Griffin, I'm still undercover, still plain Anna Castle." She fidgeted for a moment. "Are you going to tell Delsey who I am?"

"No. When that time comes, you'll tell her. And good luck with that."

He gave her a long look, patted her cheek, and started to leave. "Be careful."

"Okay. You, too."

He looked back to see her standing at the front door, her arms around herself against the cold, that Glock of hers still settled in the back of her waistband, watching him, and Griffin knew he not only admired her greatly, he wanted more from her and wanted it badly.

The Hoover Building

Washington, D.C.

Late Sunday afternoon

Savich looked down at his cell to see another missed call from Bo Horsley. He listened to the message. I know you're up to your neck in alligators, but give a pa.s.sing thought to coming up to New York for the Jewel of the Lion exhibit. I'm heading private security for the exhibit for the Met-quite a job, let me tell you. Call me when you get a chance.

Savich was on the point of returning Bo Horsley's call when he looked up to see Mr. August Biaggini walk into the CAU. He looked so much like Savich's father that for a moment he couldn't speak. Like Buck Savich, August Biaggini was tall and fit, with thick salt-and-pepper hair, comfortably in his mid-fifties. But when Mr. Biaggini spoke, the spell was broken. His voice was quiet and lilting, with a whisper of Italy, not the clipped, edged cadence of Savich's dad.

"Special Agent Savich," he said and stuck out his hand.

"Mr. Biaggini, thank you for coming to us. This is Agent Sherlock."

Biaggini turned his dark eyes on her, and Sherlock found a smile blooming naturally. He reminded her a bit of the photo of Dillon's dad on their mantel. She shook his hand.

"Please sit down, sir."

Biaggini sat. "My son is not here yet, I see."

Savich said, "He's waiting in the interview room down the hall. Before we join him, I wanted to hear your thoughts about Tommy Cronin's murder."

Biaggini's expressive face turned hard, and Savich saw grief etched in the lines beside his mouth. "I have called poor Marian to give her my family's condolences. She is inconsolable, as are Tommy's grandparents and his sisters. I keep thinking it simply cannot be real, but no, it happened, some monster actually did this to Tommy. Neither my wife nor I can begin to understand the callous brutality, much less what s.a.d.i.s.tic message the murderer meant to send. Was there any sort of actual message found, Agent Savich?"

"Not yet, sir."

Sherlock said, "Mr. Biaggini, do you believe Tommy's murder had something to do with his grandfather and his role in the banking scandal?"

Mr. Biaggini said, "As you undoubtedly know, revenge against Palmer Cronin seemed to be the consensus among all the talking heads on television both yesterday and today. The single member of the Federal Reserve Board I saw interviewed said he believed it had been a personal matter. All others interviewed implied he was whistling in the wind, trying to deflect any blame from himself and the Board.

"It's a much more t.i.tillating news story, isn't it, to imagine some poor soul stripped of his livelihood and his self-respect in the banking collapse lashing out at Palmer Cronin through his grandson?"

"Yes, but what do you think, sir?" Savich asked him.

Biaggini waved a hand, an artist's hand, Sherlock thought, like Dillon's. "I find myself agreeing with the one lone opinion. Unless the man was insane, I can't understand killing Tommy to exact some sort of belated revenge on his grandfather. Palmer Cronin didn't mean for the banking collapse to happen; he wasn't involved in anything unethical during his watch himself. His guilt lay in holding the wrong economic philosophy, and, I suppose, a stubborn blindness to what was happening. But again, he did not actually dirty his hands. If someone wanted revenge, why not kill the CEO of one of those big banking or investment firms who actually were responsible for leaving their investors dangling in the wind because they cared more about their golden parachutes than about morality, or ethics, or responsibility?

"I have thought about this and am forced to conclude that even though Tommy was only twenty, he must have made a violent enemy. A cla.s.smate, perhaps, though it chills me to think someone that young could have murdered Tommy so brutally."

Sherlock said, "Do you know of anyone capable of doing this?"

"No, I do not. From what I know about Tommy over the years, he never seemed to venture far out of his circle. He had a comfort zone, and he stayed well within it. If he enraged someone, it would seem likely to have been one of his intimate group, but I know that isn't possible. We're talking three young people-Tommy, Stony, and Peter-who've known each other most of their lives. Of course there are other friends as well, but none so close as those three.

"And yes, Peter is one of the three." He gave her a charming smile. "But of course Peter wouldn't be capable of such a thing, and certainly not Stony."

Savich said, "Naturally, Tommy's circle enlarged significantly when he entered Magdalene."

"Yes, of course. I imagine he initially had difficulty adapting, but adapt he did. Tommy was always liked well enough, but even more so at Magdalene, so my son Peter told me." The charming smile bloomed again. "My son Peter will graduate from Magdalene himself in the spring, with a degree in international business. He has already accepted a position with Caruthers and Milton here in Washington. After a year of training and exposure to all the Washington clients, they may transfer him to the New York headquarters." Mr. Biaggini radiated a father's pride, and no wonder, Sherlock thought. Caruthers & Milton certainly was a big deal, one of the large investment banks that had taken its share of the billions of dollars coughed up by American taxpayers so they could stay in business, chastened, at least in the short term. Last she'd heard, C&M was flourishing. She couldn't imagine anyone ever again handing their money over to any of the investment banks, but evidently there were many who hadn't learned their lesson.

Savich said, "Have you spoken to your son about Tommy's murder, Mr. Biaggini?"

"No, I have not seen him since Thursday evening, when he came over to the house for dinner. Spaghetti, always spaghetti. Peter loves his mother's meat sauce. My son is very popular, always in demand. Although he spends much of his time on campus, he also has his own apartment over on Winston Avenue."

"Peter has three residences? One of them an apartment? Why?" Sherlock asked. "I understand you live with the rest of your family-Peter's mom and his two younger brothers, nearby in Hillsborough?"

"His mother and I gave it to him as a gift for his senior year, to give the young man some privacy. We can always let the lease go when he moves to New York for Caruthers and Milton."

Savich already knew about Mr. Biaggini's extravagant gift to his eldest son-not too surprising, perhaps, for a successful owner of a chain of cosmetics stores. But he also knew about Peter's country club membership, and the two troublesome DUIs he'd gotten in Virginia. No consequences for Peter, thanks to his father's intervention.

Savich said, "How is your son doing in his senior cla.s.ses at Magdalene?"

"Why, he's doing very well. He's a brilliant young man. Even though Peter is-was-Tommy's senior by nearly two years, they were still close growing up; our families spent time together."

Sherlock said, "Did you like Tommy, as a person?"

Mr. Biaggini thought about this for a moment. "Tommy was usually well mannered, respectful. But I remember thinking that as a teenager Tommy saw people as they really were and took advantage when he could. The word sly comes to mind, though it pains me to say such a thing now that he's dead."