Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) Page 23

  He leveled a cold stare at the dark-haired detective. “My family situation has no bearing on the case you’re investigating.”

  “We often find links in the oddest places.”

  “My son knows nothing about your case. Or my business.”

  “So you do still carry out some business.”

  “Gentlemen . . .” Lake glanced at Vincentio. “As I’m sure you realize, that’s a common figure of speech. Let’s focus on the case you came to discuss. Beyond a possible connection that’s thirty-one years old, perhaps you could tell us why you think my client might have any knowledge about Mr. Warren’s death.”

  Lake was forcing their hand. A smart strategy. Vincentio picked up the cappuccino Teresa had delivered to him just before the detectives arrived, balanced the cup and saucer in his hand as he sat back in his chair, and took a sip.

  “I’ll be happy to.” Taylor responded to Lake but kept his focus on Vincentio. “Kelly Warren, John Warren’s daughter, received a gift of tulip bulbs from her father a month ago. The gift had been ordered the day before he died, and the enclosure note talked about planting them together in the fall. Ms. Warren believes this proves her father had no plans to commit suicide, and she asked us to take another look at the case. Not long after she began to go through her father’s things, searching for other clues, she suffered a near-fatal episode of anaphylactic shock. She’s allergic to peanuts, and we have reason to believe that incident was not an accident. That someone wanted her dead too.”

  The liquid sloshed in Vincentio’s cup, and he tightened his grip. Carlson had tried to kill Walsh’s daughter?

  That hadn’t been part of the game plan.

  “If the intent was to keep her from digging deeper, it had the opposite effect.” Taylor eyed the spilled cappuccino in the saucer. “In her search, Ms. Warren discovered a letter we believe was written to Mr. Warren by his brother, as well as a photo of her parents on their wedding day—with their original names on the back. She also found the phone number of a U.S. marshal in her father’s old wallet. All of that led us to make the connection to you, Mr. Rossi. After there was an attempt on his life before your trial, Walsh and his family disappeared. We assume they went into the U.S. Marshals Witness Security program.”

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions, gentlemen.” Lake sat back, forcing the detectives to turn away from the desk to keep him in sight. A ploy that gave Vincentio a chance to regroup. He scooted his saucer back onto the desk and wiped both his lips and his damp palms on the napkin Teresa had left. “But should any of them turn out to have credence, why would you think my client was involved in this death after all these years?”

  “The other three members of his organization who testified at the trial all died within a year of their release from prison.”

  Vincentio was impressed. The detective had done his homework. “Those were accidents.”

  Taylor shifted back toward him. “You knew they’d died?”

  His neck grew warm. “I have friends who kept me informed of significant events while I was in prison.”

  “Three accidents . . . a suicide . . . then someone tries to kill Warren’s daughter when she starts making waves. And the only common denominator is you. A little too coincidental, don’t you think?” Taylor’s expression hardened.

  “Since you’ve obviously done some research on me, you should know I never held family members accountable for mistakes made by my associates. I hold no grudge against Walsh’s daughter.”

  “But you did against Walsh.”

  “There was no love lost between us. That was common knowledge.”

  “So what happened to Kelly Warren?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “That must mean your hired gun slipped up.”

  Lake rose abruptly. “Gentlemen, this interview is over. If and when you have something more substantial to offer than innuendo, speculation, and circumstantial evidence, let us know. I’ll show you out.”

  Without waiting for a response, Lake crossed the room, stopped at the door, and waited.

  Taylor looked at Morgan, and the two men rose.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Rossi.” Taylor didn’t offer his hand.

  Vincentio gave a stiff nod.

  He watched them exit. Listened for the sound of the front door opening, closing. Leaned back in his chair as Lake reentered. The man’s expression was inscrutable as he retook his seat.

  “Well?” Vincentio prodded.

  “They don’t have a thing that will stand up in court. Or even enough to get it that far. Yet. The circumstantial evidence, however, is formidable.” He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers. “Did you know about the attempt on the daughter’s life?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. But whoever did that made a mistake.” He rose and picked up his briefcase. “I won’t ask any further questions at this point. Let’s wait and see if our friends come up with anything more concrete. If they don’t, I doubt we’ll hear from them again. If they do, we’ll talk.”

  “They won’t find a thing that will link any of this to me.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right. I’ll let myself out.”

  Lake exited, and once again Vincentio heard the front door open and close. A few moments later, Teresa appeared on the threshold. “May I get you anything, sir? A refill on your cappuccino?”

  He looked at the cup on his desk. The liquid that had sloshed out had stained the side of the cup and pooled in the saucer. What remained in the cup had grown cold.

  Like a dead body lying in a pool of blood.

  Funny. For all the violence in his world, he’d never witnessed a hit. His dirty work had been delegated to others, allowing him to keep his hands clean while rivals or disloyal men died.

  But he’d never ordered a hit on a woman. The very thought sickened him.

  A coil of rage snaked through his stomach. Carlson had blown this job. Leaving for an ill-timed vacation had been bad enough, but targeting a woman was—

  “Mr. Rossi?”

  At Teresa’s prompt, he blinked. Stifled his anger as best he could. Nodded. “Yes. Another cappuccino would be nice.”

  With a dip of her head, she entered the room, picked up the cup and saucer, and disappeared.

  Left alone once more, Vincentio pushed himself to his feet. The simple move taxed him, and he rested both palms on the desk, trying to shake off a weariness fueled by worry and a pulsing anger that had started with the call from the police and ratcheted up in the past fifteen minutes after he’d learned about the murder attempt on Walsh’s daughter.

  He couldn’t do anything to contain the worry, though it wasn’t prompted by the investigation into Walsh’s death. The police would find no evidence linking him to that. The worry that kept him awake at night had far more to do with whether this glitch could somehow affect his chances of getting to know his grandson.

  As for the anger—that would be assuaged. Carlson would pay for his mistakes.

  That was one outcome Vincentio could control.

  “So what’s your take?” As Cole guided the car toward the nearest fast-food restaurant, he spared Mitch a quick look.

  “He’s guilty as sin. But we’re never going to be able to prove it unless we track down the go-between—or go-betweens—who set up the job. There’s a strong chance the perpetrator doesn’t even know who hired him. Or didn’t at the time. So I don’t think we’ll find any incriminating evidence there.”

  “Yeah.” Cole drummed his fingers on the wheel. “I think he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t know about the attempt on Kelly’s life.”

  “I do too.”

  “But he didn’t like my questions about his son. They seemed to unsettle him. I wonder why, if they’ve been estranged for years?”

  “Interesting question.”

  Cole braked behind an SUV as he approached a red light. “You want to pay the son a visit? We have a couple of hou
rs to kill before we have to head back to the airport.”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “I need some food first, though.” He motioned out the window. “I see some golden arches up ahead.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a breakfast sandwich and some more coffee. We can plan our strategy while we eat. In the meantime, I think I’ll call Alison.”

  Cole rolled his eyes. “I’ll be glad when you guys get married. Maybe some of the infatuation will wear off.”

  “Not a chance, buddy.” Mitch grinned at him as he pulled out his phone. “You’re just jealous. But look on the bright side. Kelly will be waiting in the wings once this is over.”

  As Mitch shifted away and tapped in Alison’s number, Cole swung into the parking lot and joined the line at the drive-up window to wait his turn. Just as he’d been waiting his turn to find the right woman. His experience with Sara had been a detour on that journey, but now he was back on track. Thanks to Kelly.

  And if his instincts were correct, one day in the not-too-distant future a beautiful redhead would be coming out of the wings to play a starring role in his life. Just as Mitch had predicted.

  Giving him a huge incentive to wrap this case up as quickly as possible.

  The cramps in her arms had long passed the mere painful stage. Her mouth felt as parched as the Arizona desert she and her mom and dad had visited once on a family vacation. And she had to go to the bathroom. Urgently.

  Those were the only reasons Kelly was glad to hear the sudden beeping of her father’s security system, announcing Carlson’s return. She had no idea how much time had passed since he’d left, but faint glimmers of sun had been peeking through the shutters on the basement windows for what seemed like hours. The storm must have moved on.

  A few minutes ticked by. Then the basement door opened, admitting a shaft of light into the dingy cellar. Feet appeared, followed by legs, a torso, and a head.

  For a fleeting instant, Kelly thought she’d been rescued. The geeky-looking guy with the sideburns, glasses, and salt-and-pepper hair wore a beige shirt, blue jeans, and a white hard hat like the ones the phone company service people used.

  But when he approached and dropped down on one knee in front of her, she saw the latex gloves. It was Carlson. In another disguise.

  She tried to say “bathroom,” but the word came out garbled.

  She made another attempt.

  He must have picked up her desperation. Reaching behind her, he loosened the gag and tugged it out of her mouth.

  “Bathroom.” The words didn’t sound a whole lot clearer, with her dehydrated tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth and her puffy jaw, but he got the idea.

  He pulled out a pocketknife, flipped it open, and cut through the rope around her ankles and wrists. After closing the knife, he stood and pulled a pistol from a concealed holster on his belt.

  Kelly froze.

  “Get up.”

  She tried to follow his instruction, never taking her gaze off the pistol. But her legs and arms were numb, and it was a struggle to rise. Once she made it to her feet, she clung to the edge of the shelving.

  “Move.” He gestured toward the steps.

  She hobbled toward them, praying she wouldn’t fall, trying to get a handle on his mood. When he’d left, he’d been confident, cool, in control. Now he seemed on edge.

  Perhaps the magnitude—and risk—of whatever he was planning to do with her was finally hitting home.

  Maybe that would work to her advantage.

  She half walked, half crawled up the steps. After she reached the top, she hurried as quickly as she could toward the hall bathroom. But he grabbed her arm and jerked her back as she rushed inside.

  “Not so fast.”

  Carlson edged past her, the gun inches away from her face. “Stand against the wall. Over there.” He gestured a few feet down the hall.

  She complied.

  He did a rapid survey of the bathroom and motioned her in. “You have three minutes.”

  Sidling past him, she started to shut the door, but he stuck his foot inside the frame. “Forget it. I don’t want to have to break down a locked door to get you out.”

  She eyed the toilet. It wasn’t visible from the crack in the door. Besides, there was no time to argue.

  When she finished, she braced herself on the sink. A quick check in the mirror confirmed her jaw had turned purple. But at the moment, her parched mouth was a bigger concern. She twisted the tap and leaned down, slurping thirstily.

  “Time’s up.” He pushed the door open. The edge of it hit her in the hip, but she kept drinking until he pulled her away from the sink and shut off the water.

  Taking hold of her arm, he propelled her back to the kitchen. Back toward the basement door.

  Now was the time to put the plan she’d developed into action.

  “Wait.” She pulled back.

  “What’s wrong?” He frowned at her over his shoulder.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall beside the stove. Eleven-thirty. She went with the lunch plan instead of the coffee plan. “A friend of mine is supposed to swing by and pick me up for lunch at one. She has a key, and if I don’t answer, she’ll come in. I—I don’t want to put her in danger.”

  The furrows on his brow deepened. “What friend?”

  “Lauren. The woman I had coffee with the day you spiked my drink with peanuts.”

  As Carlson studied her, she prayed he’d buy her story . . . and take steps to protect his own hide.

  Without speaking, he suddenly changed direction. After dragging her into the living room, he indicated her purse on the couch. “Get out your cell. And while you’re at it, give me the keys to your house.”

  “Why?”

  He shoved her toward the sofa. “Just do it.”

  Her fingers closed over the phone and she dug deeper for the keys. When she withdrew them, he held out his hand.

  “Toss them to me.”

  She complied.

  “Now call your friend—and put it on speaker so I can listen in.”

  Uh-oh.

  If Lauren answered, she was sunk. Her friend would immediately question Kelly’s weird message. Better to call her home number instead of her cell. Lauren would check it by the end of the day; her type A personality compelled her to keep on top of things.

  Trouble was, that was hours away.

  And Kelly didn’t know if she had that much time.

  “Tell your friend you took a hike to do some research, and you’ve been delayed.”

  The man had done some serious surveillance if he knew about her hiking. That creeped her out even more. But he’d missed one very important detail.

  She never hiked in cold weather.

  Lauren knew that.

  So did Cole.

  Thank you, God!

  As she started to enter the number, he took her arm. Pressed the cold barrel of the pistol against her neck. “Make it sound convincing.”

  Finger shaking, she continued to tap in the digits. The answering machine kicked in, and her pulse accelerated as she listened to the greeting. This might be her one shot, and she didn’t want to blow it. She’d already planned to raise as many red flags as she could, and Carlson had given her another one. All she could do was pray Lauren got suspicious enough to call the police.

  At the sound of the tone, she tightened her grip on the phone. “Hi, Lauren. I’m going to have to cancel lunch. I decided to take one of my research hikes this morning, and I got delayed. Maybe we can catch up at Hacienda for some Mexican food next week. In the meantime, don’t overindulge on turkey tomorrow, no matter how tasty it is.” He pressed the gun harder against her neck. “Gotta run. If you want to try for coffee Friday instead of lunch next week, give me a call.” She pushed the end button.

  “Okay.” Carlson backed away and waved the gun toward the basement door. “Downstairs.”

  “Are you leaving again?”

  “Shut up and move.”

  She fo
llowed his instruction slowly, her mind racing. She had no idea when Lauren would get her message, and right now, her hands and legs were free. There might not be many more opportunities like this. Was there any chance she could knock Carlson over somehow? Make him drop the gun? Grab it herself? He’d said he didn’t want to leave any marks on her body that would indicate foul play. So he wouldn’t shoot her. Or strangle her. Or smother her.

  But there was no question in her mind that he was planning to kill her. Most likely in a violent way, since the bruise on her jaw didn’t seem to concern him. And she couldn’t count on Lauren getting her message in time.

  As she approached the top of the stairs, an idea came to her. Maybe she could turn suddenly halfway down and lunge at his legs. He might topple forward. Drop the gun. She could dodge him, scramble up the stairs, and lock the door. She didn’t doubt he could kick it down, but she’d have a head start. If she ran outside screaming at the top of her lungs, someone would hear her. Sheila Waters, next door. Or a passing car. Or another neighbor. It was her best shot.

  She started to descend. Three steps down, she looked over her shoulder. He was just two steps behind her.

  This was her chance.

  Whirling around, she ducked and lunged for his legs.

  She heard his muttered oath. Even better, she heard his gun hit the concrete floor of the basement below. When she felt him totter and grab for the railing, she slipped past him and scrambled to the top. Once in the kitchen, she turned to slam the door and slide the lock in place.

  But he’d recovered faster than she’d expected. As she pushed the door closed, it slammed back against her, sending her sprawling on the floor.

  He was on her before she could catch her breath, sitting on her legs, pinning her wrists to the floor, his face inches from hers. The fury in his eyes sent a cold chill straight to her core.

  “That wasn’t very smart.”

  Chest heaving, she licked her dehydrated lips and watched him. Wondering if he’d change his mind about where to kill her. If this would be where she died after all, just as her father had.

  For what felt like an eternity he stared at her, a pulse beating in his temple. But at last he rose, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to her feet. “Let’s try this again.”