Blind Faith (8 page)

"I don't know, but I have a pretty good idea."

So did he, but he didn't want to believe it. Not Matt. There had to be another explanation, another reason for this money to be in here, hidden. But even as he tried desperately to make excuses for his old friend, he knew he was only kidding himself. Unexplained, unreported cash in a cop's house was never a good sign.

"I couldn't believe it either," Patti said as though reading his thoughts. She reached inside the safe and took out a small spiral notebook. She handed it to him. "Then I found this."

Nick opened the notebook. At the top of the first page, in Matt's

familiar
handwriting, were the names of the two men who had been

arrested
the night of the
Chinatown
shooting, along with their phone

numbers
. There was also a long list of names, presumably all
Chinatown

merchants
. Beside each name was an amount, ranging from fifty to three

hundred
dollars, and a date. In another column marked

"My Cut" was a smaller amount. The last column was entitled "Turned in to Capt. Cross." That would be the money Matt had handed out to his superior every week.

With a small difference.
That amount was only a portion of what he had actually been paid.

The first notation was dated April 2. Two weeks after Matt had been assigned to the racketeering investigation.

"He was on the take. Nick," Patti murmured, wiping a tear from her face.
 
"He wasn't investigating that protection racket as we all thought. He was part of it."

She leaned against the workbench and looked up at the exposed support beams in the ceiling as if seeking an answer from them.
"How could I not have guessed what was going on?
How could I not have seen the signs?
 
They were right there, under my nose."

"You can't see what people don't want you to see."

"I was his wife. Nick. I should have known. He was always upset about not making enough money. He kept saying that if he earned more, we could take vacations, buy a new house,
send
the girls to a private school. I tried to tell him we were fine, that we didn't need money to be happy." She shook her head. "It didn't do any good. Then last spring, everything changed. He began to smile more and he stopped being so obsessed with money, or the lack of it." She let out a small, sad chuckle. "He even started singing in the shower."

"Don't blame yourself, Patti."

"Why not?
If I had paid more attention, Matt might still ..." Unable to continue, she covered her face with her hands and wept softly.

Nick let her cry. Tears were an outlet he had no right to deny her.

When the sobs had subsided, she looked at him through a veil of tears.

"I want you to be the one to tell the captain, Nick."

He nodded, already dreading it. "You realize this will put an unwanted spin on the story."
Matt had died a hero.
Once the money was turned in, his name would forever be a black cloud on his family and the department.

"I can handle it."

"I called my parents earlier. We'll be staying with them in
Dayton
for a few months, until the publicity dies down. Tricia can finish the school year there. After that, I don't know. I can either come back here or stay there."

It was a healthy decision. Nick
thought,
the best she could make under the circumstances.

Without saying another word, Patti took an old battered suitcase from a shelf and started stuffing the money into it. She set the spiral notebook on top,
then
stood up. "I know how angry you were "with Kelly
Robolo
for the part she played in Matt's death. Maybe now you can make peace with her. God knows she's going through enough as it is."

Kelly. Christ. For a moment, he had forgotten all about her. This turn of events didn't make Matt's death any less tragic, but it certainly put a different light on what had taken place that night in
Chinatown
.

"What do you mean, she's going through enough?"

Patti looked surprised. "You don't know?"

He shook his head.

"You didn't hear it from me, but Kelly is being harassed by the department."

"I've heard that a couple of patrol officers have been giving her tickets, and that her house was vandalized a few times. The word bitch was spray painted on her front door, her mailbox was torn out and the tires on her car were slashed."

"No, but one of Kelly's neighbors did. I don't believe anyone bothered to investigate the complaints, though."

Nick's adrenaline began to pump harder. If there was one thing he couldn't stomach, it was police officers abusing their power. "Do you know who's behind this?"

"No. And remember, you didn't hear it from me. I wouldn't have told you

at
all, but I know you and Kelly were friends once and I thought with

Matt gone and me moving to
Ohio
, you could probably use--"

"Mommy, Uncle Nick!" A beaming Ashley burst into the garage and threw herself in Nick's arms. As he scooped up the four-year-old from the floor, he saw Patti kick the safe door shut. "Look what I got!" Ashley waved a brand-new Barbie dressed in a glittering silver gown.

"She's beautiful, pumpkin. Just like you."

"Madeline gave her to me. And Cindy gave me the wardrobe case that goes with it." She looked at Nick. There was a smear of chocolate frosting on her round cheek and Nick wiped it off with his thumb. "But I like your present best of all. Uncle Nick."

"What?
That ugly red bike?"

She laughed. "It's not ugly! It's beautiful. Want to see me ride it?

I don't need training wheels anymore."

"Not in that dress, darling," Patti reminded her. "Later, when your friends leave, you can change and show Uncle Nick how well you can ride."

Ashley nodded but her smile faded quickly. Nick had seen a lot of those shifts of mood lately and knew they were part of the grieving process.
 
"I wish Daddy was here to see me ride my new bike." She looked at Nick with sad, solemn eyes. "But my daddy is in heaven with the angels and he won't be coming back."

"I
know,
pumpkin." Nick's voice was thick with emotion. "But you remember what I told you the other day, right? Your daddy will always be with you."

She nodded vigorously and poked herself in the chest with her fat little finger.
"Because Daddy is in my heart."

"That's right. And he'll always love you and watch over you. Which means," he added, tickling her stomach, "that you'd better eat all your vegetables."

She laughed. "I will, I will!" Then, still giggling, she said, "Stay for dinner. Uncle Nick, please."

He hadn't planned on that, but how could he refuse? "Well now," he said in a teasing tone, "that depends on what's for dinner."

Nick laughed. "In that case you've got yourself a deal." He put her down and watched her run out of the garage to rejoin her little friends.

"You're so good with children," Patti said softly. "You'll make a wonderful father someday."

He had thought so, too, but his wife, Nina-ex-wife now--had been dead set against the idea.

"Snotty noses and dirty diapers aren't my idea of fun," she had told him during one of their many discussions about starting a family. "When you make enough money to hire a full-time nanny, we'll talk." He had never brought up the subject again. Pushing his thoughts aside, he took the suitcase by the handle. "I'll be back in an hour or so. Is that all right?"

Patti nodded. "Take your time.
Nick--and thank you."

Ten.

-Nick sat in his parked Ford Taurus, the suitcase on the passenger seat.

Directly in front of him was the Roundhouse, a circular, six-story concrete structure that was home to the Philadelphia Police Department.

After telling himself over an
dover
that the right thing to do--the only thing to do--was to turn the money in to his captain. Nick was still trying to figure out a way to spare Matt's family from needless embarrassment.

His first impulse had been to burn the damn thing and just forget about it. That way Patti and the girls wouldn't have to run away and leave behind the friends who loved them, the friends they so desperately needed right now.

He might have done it, too, if it hadn't been for Jake
Matias
and Miguel Santos, the two thugs who were awaiting trial. They hadn't ratted on Matt and Nick knew why. Soon the operation would need another cop on the inside. That would be possible only if the chosen man felt he could trust them.
Matias
and
Santos
knew that once Patti found the money, the first person she'd go to would be Matt's best friend. If the money wasn't turned in, the mob would know Nick had disposed of it, and that would give them a huge advantage. They would expect favors in exchange for their silence, which was something Nick couldn't allow. He had joined the force for one reason--to help rid this city of scum like
Matias
and
Santos
.

So far he hadn't done too badly. The police academy, from which he had graduated at the top of his class, had given him the solid foundation a cop needed to do his job. The rest he had learned from a master--his father.

For a while.
Nick had toyed with the idea of becoming a professional boxer. After winning a string of titles in the middle-weight division and being approached by several high-level scouts, the thought of turning pro and making the kind of money a nineteen year-old could only dream of had been almost overwhelming.
But when Patrick
Mcbride
had been shot in the line of duty during a bank robbery.
Nick's priorities had suddenly changed.

As he sat beside his father's hospital bed, waiting for him to regain consciousness.
Nick realized that his values had been all wrong. Money wasn't what mattered, or boxing. What mattered was coming home at night with a sense of pride and accomplishment, the belief that what you had done that day had made a difference.

The risks for a man on the force were high, the monetary reward low and the glory nonexistent. But Nick had known at that very moment that being a cop was his destiny. When his father had opened his eyes and heard of Nick's decision, the look in the old man's eyes was all Nick had needed to know he'd made the right choice.

A knock on his window brought an end to his reverie. A rookie he knew waved to him. Nick waved back and watched him head toward the Roundhouse.
The young man's jaunty walk and sharp uniform reminded Nick of himself when he had first joined the force nineteen years ago.
He had been full of youthful spunk in those days. And he'd been impulsive. He still was. The captain called him a hothead, and only let him get away with it because Nick got the job done.

He threw one last look at the suitcase. "Sorry, Matt," he murmured.

"Got to do it by the book."

Grabbing the handle, he opened the car door and got out.

"Aw, shit." Captain David Cross was a tall, muscular African-American with three commendations to his name and a reputation for being tough and demanding. He was also the kind of cop whose emotions ran deep, especially where his men were concerned.

He took one look at the contents of the suitcase Nick had placed on his desk, along with the notebook, and looked close to tears. "Not Matt.

Christ, not Matt."

Fists on his hips, he walked around his office like a caged lion. "How in hell did that happen?" He looked at Nick as though expecting him to know the answer, but Nick felt as helpless as his boss.

Cross stopped his pacing and came to stand in front of the open suitcase. "I was reluctant to put him on a sting operation at first, did you know that?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I thought he was too much like you, impulsive and a little crazy." Cross barked a laugh and shook his head. "He told me crazy was good, that it kept the bad guys on their toes. He was the last person I expected to give in to the temptation.

"The day before the shooting," Cross continued, "I asked him how the case was coming along. He said he was making progress, gaining the confidence of
Matias
and
Santos
and that it wouldn't be long until he found out who the head honcho was." He picked up one of the bundles.

"No, but I'd say there's about twenty-five thousand dollars in there."

"Corruption in the department.
The press is going to have a field day with that one." He glared at the money as if willing it to disappear.

"Better now that the money is out of her house. She'll be moving to
Ohio
for a while, so the girls won't be affected by the publicity. She's thinking of staying there permanently."

Cross nodded. "Good idea. I'll hold off making a public statement as long as I can. That'll give Patti a little time."

"She'll appreciate that." Nick started to leave. He couldn't stand looking at that money for another second.

"Nick, wait."
From the mountain of paper work on his desk.
Cross took a fax. "A Detective Quinn from the
Miami
police called me earlier. You know Jonathan Bowman?"

Nick nodded. The news had spread fast. "I know he's Cecily Sanders's nephew by marriage."

"Detective Quinn says Bowman flew to
Miami
on Monday morning and now there seems to be evidence that he's either missing or dead."

Nick listened to the details of Bowman's disappearance for the second time today without letting on that he already knew about the incident.

"I normally wouldn't get involved," Cross continued, "but Cecily Sanders, as you know, has done a lot for
Philadelphia
and for our police force. We owe her."