Sophie said, “Your uncle’s been asking for you. Cara’s been in here six times.”
“I’m on my way now. I should be back in half an hour or so. Pop on the premises?”
“He took the limo. Tomasso drove. He said he’d swing by Cappi’s house and take him out to dinner.”
Dante made no comment. What did he care what Pop did with Cappi?
It was still light out, but the day was fading, which made the lights in the guesthouse look cozy. He could smell wood smoke and imagined Cara had laid a fire to warm the old man, who was growing more feeble by the day. When she opened the door for him, she kept her voice low. Over her shoulder, he caught sight of his uncle, whose chair was pulled up as close to the hearth as she could place it.
She was looking at him oddly. “Are you going someplace? Your uncle keeps talking about your leaving. He’s been agitated.”
“No plans at the moment. Lola’s gone. She left for Los Angeles this morning, so he might have caught sight of her going down the drive and thought I was in the car.”
“Well, do what you can to calm him. This is as bad as I’ve seen him.”
Dante crossed to the fireplace, where Cara had set out a chair close enough for easy conversation. Alfredo was swaddled in a comforter, his head sunk on his chest. Only the occasional light snore suggested he was still among the living. Dante hated to wake him, so he sat and sipped his drink. Better to wait in companionable silence than to leave and suffer the silence of the main house. He watched the fire and when he next looked at his uncle, the old man’s eyes were open, fixed on him with an intensity Dante hadn’t seen for many years. Dante said, “How’s it going? You still hangin’ in there?”
“I had a dream about you going on a journey. You kept looking back, motioning like I was supposed to come with you.” He paused to smile. “One of those dreams where I worked hard to catch up, but I couldn’t close the distance. Like walking in deep water up to here.” He laid a trembling hand on his chest.
“I feel like that sometimes when I’m awake,” Dante said. “Meantime, I’m not going anyplace, so you can rest easy on that score.”
“Time’s getting short and there’s something I need to get off my chest.”
“You don’t have to do this now . . .”
Alfredo shook his head. “Listen to me. This, I know. Shadows are getting longer and I’m cold. My blood pressure’s dropping. Cara won’t talk about it, but I can feel it in my soul. Those hospice people can tell you to the minute, which is why I didn’t want them hovering over me. Cara’s better-looking and she’s got those big tits.”
Dante smiled. “I thought you’d appreciate her attributes.”
“What I’m saying, you don’t want to know or you’d have figured it out years ago. I don’t tell you this to cause you pain, but in order to set you free. You think you’re not going anywhere, but time’s getting short for you the same as it is for me.”
“I’m here now,” Dante said.
“Thing about you is you’ve always broken my heart. You’ve been burdened by more sorrow than any boy deserves except maybe me so let me say this while I can.”
Dante could feel his face grow tense with his effort to hold back tears.
“This is about your mother.”
Dante held up a hand. “Let’s keep this about us, about our relationship. You’re the one I’m going to miss.”
“Not like you missed her. You remember the day your father drained the swimming pool?”
“Spite on his part. Even at twelve, I knew that much . . .”
“Because her blood was in the water.”
Dante felt his body grow still. The image was as clear in his mind as though he’d been there himself, which he knew he had not. “He killed her?”
“Killing was what he did best. Not like he is now, a wreck of a man. You remember his temper back then. Terrible. Man was a maniac when he was enraged. I don’t even remember now what set him off. Nothing she did. It was all in his head. I was there. I tried to intervene, but he was out of control. You kids were asleep. He made me help him bury her and then he disposed of her clothes and everything else she loved. You were her favorite and that’s why from that time on he beat you bloody every chance he got. He wanted to crush you to get back at her.”
“How’d he do it?”
“He slit her throat.”
“Ah, god.”
“She never would have left you. You should know that about her. How much she loved you kids and how devoted she was. Over the years, I thought you’d ask. I thought you’d realize it was something he did, that it had nothing to do with her. Now I understand with her gone, all you had to hold on to was him. That’s a special hell for a kid. The more you tried to please him, the more you reminded him of what he did.”
Dante felt all the cells in his body rearranging themselves, felt memories shift, felt truth ricochet through his soul. He knew. He did know. What else made sense in his life except his mother . . . beautiful, young, and faithful to him after all.
Alfredo said, “I wish I could help, but I can’t. I have no counsel. No advice. Take it in and do with it as you will. I couldn’t leave you without letting you know. I should have told you years ago, but I’m a coward. Ashamed of myself, but always proud of you. You’re a good man and I love you more than I can say. If you’d been my son, this would have all turned out differently. You need to leave the country while you can. I’ll be fine. I don’t have long anyway and I don’t want you hanging around on my account. This is our good-bye. You go. I’ll cover your back. I’ll be like the guy left in the fort while all the others escape certain death. I’ll rest easier knowing you’re safe, so you do that for me.”
Dante nodded. He reached out and the two men gripped hands tightly as though they might find a way to give immortality to the bond. Dante felt as fierce and as strong and as clean as he’d ever felt in his life. It was Alfredo’s parting gift.
30
Late Wednesday afternoon, a uniformed officer finally stopped by my office to pick up copies of the report I’d passed along to Cheney Phillips. In point of fact, what I’d given him was my one and only copy—except for the carbon, which I confess I used to run off additional pages after I talked to him. I knew he’d feel better if he thought he’d corralled all the paperwork in my possession, so I handed the officer two more copies and we were all satisfied. The carbon I returned to its hiding place. As soon as the officer left, I put through a call to Cheney, hoping to fill him in on Len’s attack, the exchange of gunfire between Cappi and Pinky, and my subsequent conversation with Dante. He didn’t pick up the call and I made a note to myself to try again later.
I arrived home from work to find a message from Henry on my answering machine. He’d tried me at the office, but I must have been out the door by then. He said he was on his way to the nursing home to visit Nell. The doctors expected to release her sometime in the coming week. The purpose of his call was to let me know he was flying home the next day. He gave me his flight number and time of arrival—4:05 P.M. He said if I had prior plans and couldn’t get to the airport, he’d take a cab and not to worry. He also said he’d treat me to dinner at Emile’s-at-the-Beach if I was free. This was cheery news. I knew without even looking my calendar was clear, and I was excited by the prospect of having him home. I popped over to his house to make sure his plants were alive and well. It was also time to clean up the mess Pinky’d left in the hall when he dashed off. The tidying up didn’t take long. I dusted, dry-mopped, and vacuumed, and then opened the back door to air out the place.
I made a run to the supermarket and stocked the few items he’d need so he wouldn’t have to worry about shopping for groceries right away. The rest of Wednesday went by in a blur. I called the hospital twice for updates on Dodie, who seemed to be holding her own. The reports were superficial and didn’t contain much in the way of medical data, but since I wasn’t a family member, I couldn’t push for more. Pinky was impossible to track down.
The floor nurses didn’t have the time or the inclination to roust him out of the waiting room and steer him to a phone. If he managed to get home for a shower and a few hours’ sleep, the last thing I wanted to do was disturb him.
It wasn’t until Thursday morning I had time to make a trip to St. Terry’s. I stopped by my office en route, sitting down at my desk just long enough to try Cheney again. In the wake of Len’s attack, I was losing my fear of him and anger was taking its place. When Cheney finally picked up, he was short with me. I wouldn’t say he was rude, but I knew by his tone he was in no mood to talk. I said I’d catch him later, but the call left me wondering what was going on. I’d no more than returned the handset to the cradle than the phone rang.
I answered, hoping Cheney had repented. Instead, I found Diana Alvarez on the line.
“Hi, Kinsey. This is Diana.” She’d adopted the breezy, good-natured tone of a close friend, and I didn’t have the energy to remind her she was no such thing. “Has Cheney said anything to you about some big deal coming down?”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure. I was talking to one of my sources at the PD and got the impression there was something major in the works. I’d love to get the heads-up so I can file a story.”
“Can’t help you there. He hasn’t taken me into his confidence,” I said.
“Must be hot stuff, whatever it is. You know how cops are when it’s time for fun and games. If you hear anything, would you let me know?”
I said, “Sure.” We even exchanged brief pleasantries before she signed off. I sat and stared at the phone while a cartoon question mark formed above my head. Cheney was preoccupied about something. No doubt about that. I’d postulated the existence of a task force and an investigation that predated and superseded mine. Were they ready to make a move? If so, how had Diana picked up a hint of it when I was still in the dark?
The drive to St. Terry’s was an easy ten minutes. I found parking in the same lot I’d used Tuesday night when Dodie was admitted. I was hoping she’d be out of ICU by now and in a room of her own. At the very least, I hoped to connect with Pinky to see how he was holding up. I looked forward to telling them that Dante’d agreed to cover their bills and living expenses, which I hoped would be a source of relief. I wasn’t sure how much fast-talking I’d have to do to convince Pinky the offer was something other than charity. I regarded it as fair payment for services rendered. He’d provided Dante with valuable confirmation of his brother’s duplicity, which Dante could deal with in any manner that suited him, the more punitive the better as far as I was concerned.
I stopped in the lobby and asked the volunteer at the desk for Dodie’s room number. She checked her roster, which was revised and reprinted daily as patients were admitted, moved, or discharged. She was a woman in her seventies, probably a grandmother and a great-grandmother, though quite the looker for someone her age. She seemed momentarily confused and made a phone call to ICU for Dodie’s status, since her name wasn’t readily available. When she hung up, she said, “Mrs. Ford passed.”
“Passed what?” I said. I thought she was talking about a test. Then my mind skipped to the notion of a blood clot or a kidney stone. This seemed like an odd piece of medical data to be sharing with me. She was clearly uncomfortable at my pressing the point.
“She passed over first thing this morning, but that’s as much as I was told.”
“Passed over,” I repeated. “You mean, she died?”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“She died? But that can’t be true. How could she do that?”
“I wasn’t given an explanation.”
“But I called twice yesterday and I was told she was fine. Now you’re telling me she passed? What kind of word is that anyway, passed. Why don’t you call a spade a spade?”
The woman’s cheeks were suffused with pink, and I noticed that two visitors seated in the lobby had turned to stare at me.
“Would you like to speak to the chaplain?”
“No, I don’t want to speak to the chaplain,” I snapped. “I want to talk to her husband. Is he here?”
“I don’t have information about next of kin. I’d imagine he’s meeting with a funeral director about services. Really, I’m so sorry to upset you. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll have someone bring you a cup of water.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” I said.
I turned and headed for the door. I didn’t doubt her word. I just thought it was ridiculous that Dodie had died when she’d been fine last I checked. Ever quick with the old defense mechanisms, I was using anger as a counterweight to my surprise. I didn’t feel sorrow. I didn’t know Dodie well enough to experience the loss. Pinky would be devastated, and what sprang to mind was his vow of retaliation if anything happened to her. Now that he was faced with the worst-case scenario, he’d go off on a rampage, and Cappi would be his target.
I drove the four blocks to the duplex. I had no idea the state I’d find him in or what I’d say to him. I parked across the street, noticing that Dodie’s gaudy yellow Cadillac was gone. I felt a prick of anxiety, like the tip of a knife touching me between the shoulder blades. I took the porch steps two at a time and knocked on the front door while simultaneously ringing the bell. There was no response, so I did the next best thing, which was to try the knob. The door was unlocked. I opened it and stuck my head in. “Pinky?”
The house had that empty air of lingering food scents and humming appliances. I called his name again, though I was silly to do so when I knew he wasn’t on the premises. I moved into the living room. One of the couch cushions had been tossed on the floor and Pinky’s gun was gone. I sat down abruptly and put my head in my hands. There was no doubt in my mind he’d gone after Cappi. It was exactly the sort of rash move he’d make. What chance would I have of reaching Cappi before he did? More important, how would I find him? Rapidly, I ran through my options. My first impulse was to dial 9-1-1. And say what? I could describe Dodie’s car. I could describe the man driving it, but that was that. I could call Dante and warn him Pinky was on the loose. He was the man most likely to know where his brother was. Maybe he could put out a companywide alert and let him know what was going on. My third option was to warn Cappi myself if I could figure out where he was.
I tried to clear my mind of chatter. I remembered Pinky mentioning something in the course of his morbid ramblings the night Dodie was shot. What had he said? That Cappi couldn’t find a job so he’d been reduced to working in his brother’s warehouse, which was how he was able to leak Dante’s business to the cops. I’d been to a warehouse in Colgate that I surmised was associated with the retail-theft ring. I roused myself and returned to my car.
I merged with traffic on the 101. Time must have skipped six beats, because I couldn’t remember traveling on surface streets to reach the access ramp. My impulse was to jam the gas pedal to the floor, which with a Mustang is the equivalent of being shot out of a cannon. However, as I pressed down with my foot, I caught sight of a black-and-white passing on my left. I eased off, marveling at my good luck. Nothing worse than peeling out when you’ve got a cop car next to yours, equipped with radar. I stuck to the middle lane, so bound by good behavior that I almost missed the appearance of a second black-and-white sailing by on my right. Neither patrol car was traveling at great speed, but the driver closest to me was intent. There was something purposeful in his posture, as though he didn’t want to be late for festivities I hadn’t been told about. A party, parade, some coplike activity requiring him to be punctual.
The two patrol units left the highway at the Fairdale exit, with me bringing up the rear. What was the deal here? When I spotted a third patrol car coming up on my tail, I pulled into the right-hand lane and let them catch up with one another. I reached the intersection, where the red traffic light inspired a stop on my part while the police cars slowed briefly and slid through. By the time I turned right, the three patrol cars seemed to have vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. I c
ontinued half a mile until I passed the oversize screen of the now-defunct drive-in theater, popular when I was a kid. I turned right onto the adjacent side road. The orchard of speakers on stands had been removed. I glanced at the empty acres of cracked asphalt and nearly ran off the road. The entire lot was being used as a staging area for patrol cars and unmarked vehicles. Two dozen uniformed officers were milling around, law-enforcement personnel in an assortment of jackets reading FBI, POLICE, and SHERIFF. I was guessing all wore Kevlar vests under their shirts. I jerked my gaze back to the road, but I knew the significance of what I’d seen. Diana had heard something big was going down and this had to be it. No wonder Cheney had been short with me. The only location of significance in the area was the Allied Distributors warehouse. The joint police agencies had to be gearing up for a raid. Whatever intelligence gathering they’d done over the previous months and years had now culminated in an armed response. My heart was thunking and a rush of adrenaline coursed through my frame, making me feel electric. Pinky, the gunslinger, if he managed to catch up with Cappi here, would find himself in the midst of a cadre of officers and FBI agents more hyped up than he was.
A quarter of a mile farther down the road, the warehouse appeared at the end of the cul-de-sac. Crisscrossing lines of railroad tracks ran behind the building. It was possible in times past, goods were moved from the warehouse by train, a miniterminal devoted to the business of commercial transport. Now the tracks were the sole domain of the Amtrak freight and passenger trains that went through town three and four times a day. Abruptly, I put my foot on the brake. To my right, Dodie’s yellow Cadillac sat at an angle, wheels off the side of the road and slightly sunk in the grass. Pinky hadn’t bothered to park carefully. Then again, he was on his way to shoot a man, so perhaps the finer points of roadside etiquette had escaped him.