Dead Is Dead (The Jack Bertolino Series Book 3) (19 page)

“They haven’t gone into a ton of specifics, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“You did good,” Jack said as he picked up his landline and pulled up Eva’s number on the off chance she’d already made bail. The phone rang twice and was picked up on the third ring.

“Hello, who’s this?”

“Who is this?” Jack asked. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Bertolino?”

“Gallina?”

“What the fuck, Bertolino. I want your ass down here posthaste!”

“Tomorrow is as hasty as I’m gonna make it. I’ve been on the run all day.”

“Then explain something, big shot. Why do you have this number?”

“Overlapped with the Sanchez case.”

“Christ, Bertolino. That case is closed.
Finito
.”

“Do you have a murder weapon?”

“We picked up a .22 pistol along with a Colt police issue .45 and a .38 café pistol. They’re with ballistics as we speak.”

“Don’t crow until you get the ballistics report back.”

“Or what?” Smug.

“Or you’ll be scraping egg off your face, Lieutenant.”

“Is that so? We’ve got hate mail sent from Eva Perez’s phone, and death threats sent to the Doc from her computer. They’re with the lab now. We had more than enough to compel the district attorney’s office to issue a search warrant and an arrest order. I’m afraid it’s you who’s going to be served up some crow.”

“Motive?”

“Get your ass down here at first light, and we’ll trade information. If you’re not here by eight sharp, I’m going to send a car and we’ll do it the hard way, smart ass.”

“You gonna charge me?”

“Accessory after the fact, withholding information on a capital murder investigation, obstruction of justice . . .”

“Stuff it, Lieutenant.”

Gallina cackled and disconnected.

Jack could hear the dial tone as he placed the phone back on the receiver.

Cruz sat silently, waiting for Jack to speak.

Jack took another sip of wine, decided to hold off on calling Leslie until he had more information. He grabbed the phone again and pulled out his cell. He scrolled through the directory in his cell phone and tapped a number into the landline. “Erica Perez, Eva’s mother,” he shared with Cruz, who nodded.

The phone rang eight times before going to voice mail. Jack requested a call back from Erica as soon as she received the message. He offered to have his lawyer, Tommy Aronsohn, look into Eva’s case, but he couldn’t proceed without her okay. He promised to do everything in his power to help and hung up.

“You think she’ll respond?”

“She’s a smart woman. I hope so.”

“I tracked down the guy who lives at the cell phone address Kenny Ortega delivered. Frank Bigelow, the one who’s been making the late-night calls? His apartment is only a few blocks away from Susan’s rental. And get this. Frank Bigelow is Susan’s cousin.”

That shocker struck him like a blow. “Really?”

“Maybe that’s why she’s being tight-lipped. You think he’s bleeding her?”

“He looks good for the twenty grand. Might be trying to dip his beak again.” The tumblers in Jack’s mind were revolving, trying to fit this new information into what they knew already. “Great work, Cruz.”

“You gonna call DDA Sager?” Cruz asked, intuiting Jack’s next move.

“I’ve been summoned down to headquarters in the morning. I’ll stop by after my meeting. I generally do better with Ms. Sager face to face.”

“He cut her up like a dog. Like he was spaying a dog.” Toby was prowling the main room of their shop like a man possessed. His generally placid eyes were blazing with dark, ungodly hatred. “Sanctioned sterilization. Like a fucking Nazi. A total hysterectomy on a twenty-one-year-old woman. A perfect fucking woman. My woman.”

“Take it easy,” Terrence said gently as he turned the
OPEN
sign to
CLOSED
, locked the front door, and pulled the blinds. The store phone rang, and Terrence let the call go to voice mail.

Sean was sitting on the leather couch, drink in hand, face set in stone.

“You fucking take it easy. It was my baby. He killed my fucking baby. And Eva’s getting night sweats already. Crying all the time. And there was nothing I could do to help. What the fuck would you have done? The man needed killing.”

“And now she’s in jail, and the trail brings us to light again.”

“The trail ended with Ramirez!” Toby was shouting now. Red-faced fury, his voice a painful growl. “He can’t prove he didn’t shoot the prick from the grave.”

“Bertolino tied you to Eva. He probably shared the information with the police. They’ll be knocking on your door.”

“Fuck ’em!” Toby went to the minifridge and grabbed a long neck, twisted off the cap, and drank half a bottle in one angry inhale.

Sean spoke for the first time. Quietly. The brothers had to stop all movement to hear him. “We got a call from Rob, up north. He fielded a call from someone in L.A. asking about the phantom furniture pickup. Young voice, he said. Wanted to know if Rob had actually seen us. Promised he covered for us, but you know Rob, he’s the nervous type. The man won’t go down with the ship.”

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Toby said with conviction.

Terrence walked over to the three-way mirror and hand-combed his long red hair. Blue eyes unblinking. Analytical. “It might make sense to put you on a plane. Get you out of town for a few weeks, maybe a few months, depending on how this all plays out.”

“Eva and I were planning a trip to Costa Rica.”

“That could work. But I want you to take the emotion out of the equation. You have to go alone. If she makes bail . . .”

“When she makes bail! She didn’t kill the man. They won’t be able to keep her inside for making death threats. And my guess is, she wasn’t the only one. He butchered eighteen women over a two-year period. The guy was a fuckin’ monster.” Toby drained the rest of the Dos Equis and went for another.

“We’ve got to slow Bertolino down.”

“Permanently?” Toby asked, hopeful.

Sean waited for the energy in the room to dissipate before he spoke. “No more bodies. No recriminations for what’s already been done. There’s blood on all of our hands. But I want you to hear this, Toby, we have to stay smart. And that means no more bodies. We’re done. Out of the killing business. And I have to know that you’re not going to choose Eva over family. I’ve got to know that. It’s important, Toby. Make me believe you.”

The room went still. All eyes were trained on Toby, looking for a reaction. Horns blared on Main Street and shadowed figures moved past the storefront.

Toby’s face drained of color; his ears rang as he felt the heat of his brother’s gaze. He fought to keep the bile from surging from his stomach into his mouth. His mind raced through all of the possible endgames if he didn’t choose his words carefully.

“Or what?” he finally said, as quietly as Sean. Almost mocking. No one was smiling. It was the four-million-dollar question.

“Don’t answer a question with a question, Toby. This is serious,” Terrence said, trying to diffuse some of the testosterone spiking in the room. He walked over and poured himself a scotch. Drained it, and poured another.

Toby now knew that his two brothers were like-minded. They had a plan in place in the event he went rogue. They couldn’t turn him in or they’d all go down. There was only one move left on the game board. Toby knew he couldn’t sleep on the answer, or he might not wake up. He took some deep breaths to slow his heart rate and went Zen on the situation.

Toby slowly crossed the room and poured Sean a scotch, refilled Terrence’s glass, and grabbed another beer. He made direct eye contact with both brothers and held their gaze.

“Nothing . . .” he said and took a long beat for dramatic effect. “Nothing will ever come before family. I’ll work it out with Eva when the smoke clears. I will not be the reason the Dirk Brothers fall.”

Toby clinked his bottle against Sean’s glass, eyes clear of doubt, studied innocence, and waited until Terrence walked over, huddled with his brothers, and joined the toast.

Susan walked out of her en suite bathroom wearing nothing but red cheeks from overzealous sex and Jack’s five o’clock shadow. She slid perfectly under her Egyptian cotton sheets and rolled Jack on top of her. He nuzzled her lips, her neck, and her breast, before kissing the side of her ear, eliciting a moan.

“All that, and he cooks, too.”

“The house smells like my loft the first time we made love.”

“Sex, garlic, onions, and San Marzano tomatoes. I went to your deli and told Dominic I wanted to buy Jack Bertolino’s normal supplies. Dominic packed an Italian care package and I took a selfie with him as a thank-you.”

“I’m impressed. And I’m hungry. I’ll get the water boiling and meet you downstairs.” Jack jumped out of bed, shrugged into his black T-shirt, stepped into his jeans and running shoes, and headed for the kitchen. He had planned on getting the truth out of Susan before dinner, but Susan meeting him at the door wearing nothing but a smile altered Jack’s plans.

Susan stepped behind Jack as he was dropping two nests of egg pappardelle into salted boiling water. She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the pot of simmering sauce. Then she scooped some out, blew to cool it some, and slurped the entire spoonful.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Bertolino.”

“I have my gifts,” he said, checking the time on his watch for al dente, the only way he served or ate his pasta.

“I heard something out front as I was coming down the stairs. You?”

“No, I’ve been banging away in here,” but he walked out of the kitchen through the living room and opened the front door to check.

A manila envelope had been wedged under the welcome mat. Jack pulled it out and carried it into the house, thinking it might be a call sheet from the studio, although the envelope was mighty thin. He noticed the flap hadn’t been secured and his cop radar got the best of him. He opened the envelope and the contents: a single Polaroid, drifted to the hardwood floor.

“What was it?” Susan yelled from the kitchen.

Jack picked up the Polaroid and his stomach lurched. The photograph had turned sepia-brown with age, but the image was still powerful. A boy who couldn’t have been more than nine was getting oral sex from a young girl with brown pixie-cut hair. Her bare back faced the camera, but with a sinking heart, Jack knew it was Susan. Seven? Eight? Gut wrenching.

Susan read Jack’s expression as he entered the kitchen and stormed over to the kitchen table, still holding a wooden spoon.

“What is it, Jack?” she asked, her voice threatening. It was clear that she had some idea.

It was time to drop the bomb. “I think your cousin Frank Bigelow left his calling card,” Jack said calmly.

“I don’t have a fucking cousin, Jack!” When he didn’t respond, she went on, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I don’t like your tone or the inference. Give me my mail and get the fuck out of my house! I don’t know where you get off, looking at my private correspondence—”

Jack handed her the envelope. Susan savagely grabbed for it, ripping it wide open. The Polaroid fell face up on the table and Susan froze. She placed both of her hands on the table for support, eyed the photo with a shattered expression. She tried to rise up, but didn’t have the strength. Instead she melted onto the chair beside her.

Jack walked over to the stove, shut off the burners, and brought two glasses of red back to table. He placed one in front of Susan, who was staring off into the distance. “Tell me,” he said softly.

She finally turned her haunted gaze toward Jack.

“I grew up in New York City on Forty-fifth and Tenth. A shotgun apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. My brother, Teddy, who was two years older than me, and my dad. Mom abandoned the family when we were kids. The old man was a stage father who pushed us into the business. He was a frustrated actor himself and managed our careers.

Susan took a sip of wine, steeled herself, and continued. “At age five, the molestation began. Both me and my brother. Dad was an equal-opportunity purve. And not just us, my cousin Frankie and anyone else he could get his hooks into with the promise of turning them into stars.”

By now her face had turned ashen. “Frankie became part of the sex play. Dad would set the scene, we were the actors, and Frankie was in charge of shooting the Polaroids. Sometimes Frankie would join in, and Dad would be the director and the cameraman. Girl and boy, boy and boy, and sometimes a threesome. My father had quite the imagination.”

Jack was so angry, he had to force himself to breathe. “And that’s what Bigelow’s been using as a weapon to extort money?”

Susan nodded despairingly. “He has pictures of me at eight, nine, ten having vaginal and oral sex with my brother and himself. He showed me a few of them, and they’re damning.” She reached out for Jack’s hand and grabbed it tightly.

“I’m finally an overnight success after fifteen years of small parts and hard knocks. Frankie threatens to sell the pictures and destroy me if I cut off the money.”

“Where’s your family now?”

“Teddy killed himself with smack when he was sixteen, and Dad died of a massive coronary. Not young enough to satisfy me. I’d kill him myself if he was still alive,” she said without any rancor, and Jack believed her.

“As soon as my career took off, my cousin was there with his hand out. It started with loans that were never repaid, and when I tried to blow him off, he threw down the gauntlet and got real. You found the twenty grand I paid him last year. That would’ve been enough for some people. Not my Frankie. He’s demanding a big payday. A hundred fifty thousand, or the pictures go public.”

“Will you help me, Jack?” Susan let go of his hand, and took another sip of wine, sucked in a breath, and nailed him with her killer eyes. “Will you help me out here? Help me stop him?”

Jack didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. He had nothing but sympathy for the abuse Susan had suffered, and understood her desperation, but his unease grew with every tick of the clock.

“Jail won’t cut it, Jack. There’s only one way to make sure he can’t sell the pictures. They’ll destroy me. Do you understand what I’m saying here?”