Gumshoe Ghost Mystery: Dying for the Past Part 14

"Forget the coffee, Bartalotta." She dropped her hands onto the back of a chair and leaned forward, glaring at him. "Where's Katalina?"

A wide, silly smile broke across Nicholas' face. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap. "Ah, I see why you have come to visit. You have misplaced a federal witness."

"No, a fugitive. How did you know?"

"You would not be here if she were not missing. She is not part of my staff. Is she not part of Anatoly's?"

Ruth-Ann eyed him. "Do you know where she is or not?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"You have evidence of this?"

"I can get a warrant with a phone call."

"Oh, a phone call?" He laughed again. "Then you did not bring one. If you could get one with a phone call, it would be in your possession, Ms. Marcos. So let's not play this game. You are missing an important Russian crime witness. For some reason, you feel she is here or I have somehow inserted myself into Anatoly's business. But, you have no proof or your men would be ravishing my home already."

"Don't push me, Bartalotta."

I said, "Nic, what's she talking about? Who's Katalina?"

He looked over at the agents watching him. Then he stood and wiped his mouth with his linen napkin and extended a hand to Ruth-Ann. "Good morning to you, Ms. Marcos. I'll have my men show you out."

"I'm not through yet." She jabbed a finger at him. "If I find out-"

"If you find something you do not already know, then you'll have enough probable cause to obtain your warrant. And even over your phone, no? Until such time, you may call for an appointment with my attorney-any of the four. Two of them are on K Street in Washington not far from your office. So, it will be convenient."

Ruth-Ann's mouth snapped tight again and she turned to go.

"Oh, and Ms. Marcos," Poor Nic said in a light voice, "I wanted to ask you. Your name, 'Marcos,' it is Cuban, is it not?"

She stopped and turned around. "What of it? My family escaped Castro before I was born."

"Nothing, I'm very interested in ancestry, in particular the history of my friends." He didn't smile but looked at her with hard, penetrating eyes. "And I understand you're forming a campaign for a senate run in the coming election. You can count on my support. I'll have my accountant send over a donation. Please include me on your mailings. But, no need to leave your card on the way out. I have everything I need."

She didn't thank him and almost ran into the gla.s.s patio door-and would have if one of her agents hadn't yanked it open at the last second.

Me, I watched her leave and was conflicted. Nic might be a retired mob boss and a ruthless man, but he had helped stop my killer and had saved Angel's life. In the process, he took a bullet that might have been meant for her. Ruth-Ann, on the other hand, made a great target for flying houses and trick-or-treaters. Watching him kick her a.s.s-with a smile-caused a collision between my twenty years as a cop and the satisfaction I felt.

So, while he was a retired gangster, he was my pal-the-gangster now.

What did that say about me?

twenty-eight.

Jorge-the-waiter parked his motorcycle on the side street and walked toward Old Town Winchester, keeping an eye open for any curious pa.s.sersby or a Winchester police cruiser. Neither made their appearance. At the corner, he crossed the street and headed toward the center of town, slipping into a narrow alley a half-block from the Old Town walking mall. There, he ambled another half-block to an old stone building under renovation and went inside.

"h.e.l.lo?" he called out, looking around the old antique shop. "Anyone here?"

The ground floor was barren of anything but dust and grit. Its walls had been stripped revealing only brick, mortar, and framing. The ceiling was exposed; rough-cut wood beams and a few telltale electric wires remained. There were no lights affixed anywhere and the room was dark except for ambient light filtering through the building's dusty gla.s.s picture window. Outside the window, a few bags of mortar mix and an a.s.sortment of tools and wood were piled on the sidewalk. There was no one around.

He was alone.

He slipped the thick, manila envelope out of his leather jacket and tucked it behind the ancient radiator on the rear wall. A moment before he retraced his steps back into the rear alley, faint footfalls came from the second floor-at least he thought there were. He turned to go back inside, but thought better of it.

His instructions had been unequivocal. He was to secure the envelope behind the radiator and leave. He was not to speak with anyone. He was not to return to the old antique shop. He was to go to his office and await instructions. Any variance, any lapse whatsoever, and payment would be withheld. More important and more ominous, his name would be provided to the Frederick County Sheriff's Department with a mixture of facts and false allegations which might take weeks to sort out.

Money talked and handcuffs hurt.

He never made it to his motorcycle before one of his two cell phones rang. When he realized it was his burner-phone-an over-the-counter, untraceable convenience store phone-it could be only one person.

"Yeah? What?"

The voice was low and the words spa.r.s.e. "Where are the drives?"

"Hey man, don't you read the papers? I can't get everything yet. It'll be later today or tomorrow before I can go back."

"Unacceptable. Must I make the call?"

He snorted. "Go ahead, man. Call the cops. You're in this same as me."

"Perhaps. But they will not know me. And you do not know me."

He reached his motorcycle and surveyed the street. "What makes you so sure, man? Huh? How do you know I didn't check you out?"

Silence.

"I thought so."

The voice was cold, stark ... menacing. "Based on what? Phone calls and cash? The real question, Victorio Miguel Chevez, is how do you know I have not checked you out? Jorge is not a fitting name for you, is it Victorio?"

Chevez, who preferred the nickname "Chevy" since his younger days at Parris Island, felt a knot in his stomach. "What do you want, man?"

"My disc drives. No more. No less-for now. Soon enough, you can provide me with the recordings, too."

"And I said you'd get it all. It's gonna take time. Just time, man."

Silence. Then, "I want the drives by tomorrow morning. Your first report on the recordings is due in two days. I'll send you the drop information. Oh, and Chevy,"

The mysterious client knew too much. "Yeah, what?"

"Silence is golden. You'll have a lot of money by the end of the month-don't blow it by getting scared."

Chevy laughed. "Yeah, well, you don't blow it by being cheap either."

The call went dead.

twenty-nine.

"This is the way we found it, Bear." Spence waved his hand toward the piles of debris in Bonnie Grecco's living room. "The rest of the house looks the same. Somebody was looking for something last night."

"What time did you get here?" Bear asked.

"About seven a.m. Mrs. Grecco didn't want to come here from the Vincent House last night. We put her up at a hotel down by the highway. But this morning, Cap wanted us to look for the letters and for anything else we could tie to his murder."

"Got it." Bear walked around, surveying the mess. "Someone else had the same idea."

There was nothing in the house that wasn't open, torn apart, dumped on the floor, or pulled from shelves and cabinets. The only thing not destroyed was a corner bar made of oak and decorative bra.s.s. The three tiers of liquor bottles were largely untouched-two or three were broken and dripping expensive booze-but most of the other bottles and the wine and champagne gla.s.ses hanging from a rack and on the rear counter were unscathed.

Whoever had been here either had a pa.s.sion for good whiskey or was exhausted from the rampage before they reached the bar.

This was no routine breaking-and-entering either. The house sat in rural farm country all by itself south of town off County Route 11. It was a big house, aged, and well kept. There were more luxurious homes all around-newer, with expensive trappings and "look at me" nuances that the Grecco home didn't have.

Someone knew who and what they were looking for.

I said, "Bear, they must have been looking for the threatening letters she received."

"Spence, did you find the letters?" Bear picked up a stack of books and fanned through them. "Anything else left behind? Are we sure it wasn't trashed before last night?"

"Mrs. Grecco said it was fine," Spence said. "Why?"

"Just thinking out loud. But you have to wonder if she had anything to do with all this, right?"

"What are you saying, Detective?" Bonnie Grecco stood beneath the archway leading into the kitchen. She held a tray of coffee and cups and her face was washed with exhaustion and grief. "You think I wrecked my own place? You think-"

"I don't think anything, ma'am-not for sure." Bear stepped forward and took the tray. "I'm trying to look at this from all angles. I'm sorry, but I have to consider every possibility."

"Including me killing Steph?"

"I'm afraid so, yes."

"I shot him through the back while I stood in front of him on the dance floor? In front of all those people?"

I said, "She's got you there. Ask about the letters. Then ask her about Andre again."

He did.

Bonnie handed out cups of coffee to Bear and Spence and sent two more with a deputy standing by the stairs for the others searching the house. "I have no idea where they are. I told you I gave them to Steph. And if they were here, I guess they're gone."

Spence held a pen over his notepad. "a.s.suming, of course, the letters are what they were looking for."

"What else would they be here for, Detective Spence?" Bonnie's voice was edgy. "Maybe you think we're drug dealers or something? I'm a murderer and a drug dealer?"

"No, ma'am, I meant-"

Bear held up a hand. "Mrs. Grecco, tell me about your relationship with Andre Cartier."

"Andre?" She took a long swallow of coffee and looked around for somewhere to sit. "Dear G.o.d, do you think he killed Steph?"

"We are holding him as a suspect." Bear lifted his chin at Spence to keep notes. "What do you think?"

Bonnie resettled a cushion from the floor into a chair across the large great room and sat down. "I don't know. He seems so nice."

"So you do know him?" Bear asked. "How well?"

Bonnie blinked several times and set her coffee on the arm of the chair, balancing it with her hand. Tears welled in her eyes and she fought them back with little success. "No, we met last night. I only know what he told me-something about the Washington museums and his work in, history, right? He's on the charity circuit; he told me as much. And he came with a nasty, rude woman named Amelda Marco."

"Ruth-Ann Marcos," Bear said, smiling a little. "She's with the US Attorney General's office in DC."

I watched Bonnie as hot, sizzling fingers gripped my spine. "Bear, don't let go here. She's not telling us everything."

He pressed her. "Mrs. Grecco-Bonnie-there is something you're not telling me. I need to know it all. Hiding something will only-"

"Enough, Detective." Bonnie's eyes flared and she stood up, sending the coffee cup crashing to the floor among several books and papers littered there. Her right hand flew to her left wrist and gripped her watch-a beautiful European piece. When her fingers caressed it, I knew.

"Hold on a second, Bear. I got something."

I went to her and took hold of her fingers and the watch together. When I did, Bonnie gasped in air and her eyes grew wide with the surprise of a scary movie. She stepped back and faltered, falling back down into the chair with me still clutching her wrist.

It was too late.

The lightning exploded around me and the tornado of light descended. The room swirled and breathed in and out-light, darkness, light ... darkness.

And then, from nowhere, my breath caught as the rush of pa.s.sion seized me-sweat, the sweet taste of wine-moistened lips, and the warm fire of bare skin.

Oh my, how was I going to explain this to Angel?

_____.

Bonnie Grecco writhed above me, pressing herself deeper and deeper onto me while my hands explored ... my hands? She leaned down and kissed my mouth, whispering, "Please ... a little more ... please-"

Well, I stayed this long.

Her body shuddered and released a moment before the one I now shared-she gripped my fingers and let out a low, intense breath just before collapsing beside me.