Dead Wrong (7 page)

“Have you come up with any details for me yet, beautiful?” he asked with dark eyebrows arched.

“Uh, no. You guys haven't given me a minute to consider what happened today. I will put my thinking cap on though, don't worry.” I smiled and stared at the handsome brute.

“What's going on with your brother – have you found out?” he asked.

“Not yet. Why do you ask?” Wondering if this was a prelude to an interrogation about my family, I snapped to attention, exhaustion pushed aside.

“Just curious.” He smiled. “At the funeral home, there were several members of a certain group in attendance. They wore expensive suits and lots of gold. Were they friends of your family?” He leaned back, relaxed, one long leg casually draped over the other at the knee. His hands lay still and idle on the arms of the chair until he noticed the sketch pad.

Leaning forward, he drew the spiral bound pages onto his lap. Idly he flipped the cover over and gazed at the first illustration. His glance flicked to me and then he smiled.

“This is a good likeness of Evergreen. Has he been around?”

“No, to the question over the wise guys at the funeral home. And no, to Evergreen.”

“Hmm, I've heard about your uncle. He was involved in art theft. Were you aware of his particular gift for breaking and entering?” He flipped another page and saw his portrait. Chocolate brown eyes stared at me for a second before he flipped to the next drawing and Marcus's face.

Good interrogation technique, I thought as I nodded my head. “My great uncle was the bad boy of the family. But then, you already knew that. Can you get to the point and stop skirting the real issue?”

“Fine, I will.” He smiled to soften the oncoming question. “There is a rumor your uncle, the cat burglar, used your brother as a fence for stolen goods.”

I leaned forward, my mouth agape, but his hand came up in a stop motion and I settled back. The fingers of my right hand drummed on the chair arm. I realized the sign of agitation was not good. I folded my hands lightly in my lap and relaxed. It took some doing, but I managed it.

“It's just a rumor. I know your brother has lived in Nebraska for quite some time now, but when stolen goods cross state lines or leave the country, it becomes FBI business. Explain to me, if you will, why Giovanni left Rhode Island and now that your great uncle is dead, why your brother has returned.”

“He was in med school at Johns Hopkins University. He met the woman who is now his wife. She attended nursing school at the time, and is from Lincoln, Nebraska. When Gio completed his education he was offered an opportunity to practice medicine in Nebraska. What makes you think he'd do anything dishonest, Aaron?”

“I can't tell you much, just that there's some interest in your brother's business.”

“My brother is a doctor for Chrissake. He doesn't know much about art. I am the one that knows about art, just as Livvy did.” Blood pumped through my system as adrenaline kicked in. Pissed off and put out, I leaned forward.

“Let me tell you something, if you think I'll answer questions without more information, then you are dead wrong. Hear me? Dead wrong. My brother is not involved, and has never has been involved in any crime-related activities. He's not a racketeer, a thief, or a fence – got that?”

“I got it. I'm just doing my job and I'm not supposed to tell you anything. I've offended you, and I apologize.”

“Let me ask you a question, and I expect an honest answer. Why do you live here? Are my family and I food for your FBI office? You know, like ‘Gee Aaron, things are slow at the office today so why don't you look into Vinnie's family. They're all a bunch of crooks anyway, so what the hell.' My voice raised an octave with each word until I realized I was yelling.

“Wow, did I hit a nerve, or what?” he asked, his face serious and eyes darkening.

The handsome features grew hard and I realized he was pissed. That made two of us and I wondered if I'd hit a nerve. Maybe too close to the truth for comfort.

“Well? Answer the question,” I said in as calm a demeanor as I could manage.

A heavy sigh rolled from his chest. He held the sketch pad in a firm grip and stared at me for a long moment.

“I live here because I want to live here. Because you live here, Beautiful,” he said. “There is no way I think you or your immediate family is involved with gangsters. The thing with Giovanni is a mere question based on a rumor. I can't say more than that.”

“I don't buy that Giovanni explanation. If there weren't any evidence that pointed to him as a fence, then you wouldn't have asked me any questions at all. I know the drill Aaron. Don't forget, I teach interrogation techniques to cops nearly every day.”

Silent, he flipped another page over on the pad as it sat in his hands. He glanced down and then at me.

“Who are these people?”

I peered over at the rendering. “The man is Gristle, the dead guy. The woman is Nurse Crisp. I kind of made them as caricatures, but it's still clear who they are.”

The pencil lay on the table and he grasped it, holding it out to me along with the pad.

“Draw Crisp again and no caricature. Just the real thing, okay?” His voice intense, I took the pencil and paper from his hand.

My eyes closed and I brought Crisp's face into focus in my mind. Her sharp nose, pointed chin, and horsey face appeared before me. Opening my eyes, I stared at the paper for a second and started to draw. With a few swift strokes, I had a fairly clear rendition of the woman. Narrowing my eyes, I stared at the picture and then added more marks to the paper. Moments later her features were defined as shaded areas took their place. I held up the sketch pad to stare at it for a second before handing it to Aaron.

“Shit, you're good. That was fast. I can't believe this.” He gazed at the rendering and asked if he could have it.

With a shoulder shrug, I nodded. He tore the sheet of paper from the spiral binder. Watching Aaron's face while he stared at the woman I'd drawn, I wondered what ran through his mind.

“Does she look familiar to you?” I asked after what seemed an eternity.

“Huh?” He looked up. “Uh, no. She might have a mug shot somewhere though. I'll have an office grunt check her out tomorrow.”

The WWF-sized agent rose from the chair and kissed my cheek. Then he bid me goodnight. We walked to the door and he turned with a smile as he closed it behind him. His footsteps shuffled up the stairs and I heard him enter the apartment.

With the pencil and paper in hand I sketched the woman again. I stared at her countenance for a long time before I tossed the book aside, locked the doors, and closed up for the night.

Tomorrow was another day.

Chapter 9

Noisy laughter, sarcasm, and idle chatter raced around the classroom. Everyone waited for me to bring attention to the project at hand. I stepped in front of the lectern and started to speak about crime scene investigation.

It wasn't the subject on the agenda – but I was known to regularly deviate from the syllabus – so nobody showed surprise. Dario watched me pace back and forth and I caught him and Anderson exchange glances. I hesitated for a second and then continued to discuss what should happen at a crime scene.

Questions were traded and an interchange of answers flowed around the room. An open forum started with a few people and then spread into a full-blown discussion. This is how students learn. When things got out of hand, I brought the subject around by asking a single question as an assignment. They were to write a paper on what their idea of a crime scene investigation would include.

Lunchtime rolled around. The students left for the day. I packed up my papers and turned toward the door. Anderson stood outside, waiting for me and I joined him in the corridor. My knee felt decent since I'd taken a couple over-the-counter pain relievers before class. Limping slightly, I moved with minimal hesitation.

“What prompted you to change topics today?” he asked.

“The fact that I found a dead man yesterday may have had something to do with it. What were the looks you and Dario were exchanging?”

“He was the one who found the other body yesterday. The dead man got snagged on something along the edge of the river and Dario notified the authorities. He was in the process of hooking up for a drug deal and couldn't act like a cop, ya know?”

“So that's it? That's the only reason? You two don't think I had anything to do with it do you?” I asked as we headed into the cold wind.

“Nah, not a chance, teach.” He chuckled. “How about that lunch you owe me?”

“Just lunch, right?” I asked with a smile.

“Yeah, Dario is gonna hate this, cause he hates to lose. But a bet is a bet.” His laughter brought a smile to my lips.

“Do you like Chinese food? The Golden Dragon is down the street.”

“Great, lead the way, teach.” He headed toward his car and I swung away from the university ahead of him.

The Golden Dragon parking lot was jammed, and I had to park on the street further on. Porter's vehicle slid into place behind mine. We met on the sidewalk and headed down the street toward the Dragon. Porter held the door open and I went through it with even less limp than before.

“You gave up the crutches, huh?”

“Yeah, the crutches were more nuisance than anything else. I think I was duped into thinking the injury was worse than it actually was. How is the case going?” I asked when we'd been seated.

“There were so many prints, it'll take a month to get through them all—if we can. I will tell you though, the guy had been shot in the head. The weight on top of that was to disguise it. That's why there was so much blood, the bullet went straight through. Close range shot. Small caliber bullet.”

My stomach turned, but I blocked the memory and sipped my glass of water. The waiter took our orders and left us alone. I glanced around at the other diners and then back to Porter.

“Any ideas on the whole thing? I mean, Crisp should have heard the shot, unless a silencer was used. But, why set him up the way I found him?”

“I don't know. Maybe to make someone think he'd had an accident. It doesn't make much sense, but I'll figure it out. How about you? Any residual effects from finding Gristle that way?”

“No, it was a tough day and evening, but I'm all right today. Shit, I thought I'd never be able to eat another meal. God forbid.”

A chuckle met my grin. The waiter brought our meal and we dug in with fervor. Porter didn't have much else to say about the investigation, but before we left the restaurant, I handed him a copy of the sketch I'd done of Crisp.

“I made this copy for you. I sketched her from memory and then ran it through a copier this morning. It should help to find her.

“Great, thanks. We had nothing else to go by, so this is terrific.” He stared at the rendering and then at me. “I didn't know you were an artist. Multi-talented, huh?”

“Mmm, jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none.” I laughed.

“How did Handsome take the fact that you'd found a dead body?”

“About how you'd expect. He wasn't overjoyed and neither was Aaron. I seem to have the worst luck.”

I tried to pay the bill, but Anderson wouldn't allow it. We walked from the building. On the step, I lost my footing and nearly fell. Porter caught me in his arms. I chuckled and apologized just as Marcus strode into view, a female trooper in tow.

Eyes narrowed, he stared for a moment. Then his face became neutral and he introduced me to the woman, Trooper Ima Gozinta.

I introduced him to Porter Anderson, though they'd met before, just not officially. Each man summed up the other. I could smell the testosterone in the air. Dang.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Eating lunch, same as you,” he said.

“Oh, well, I'm off to see Giovanni, so I'll talk to you later.” I nodded to Gozinta and turned away, Porter not far behind.

As we reached the curb, I glanced back and found Marcus staring at me as he held the door for Gozinta. He gave me a nod before they went inside. I smiled and went to Cranston. On the drive, I tried to convince myself that it was only a business lunch and nothing more. Marcus was a chick magnet, uniform or not. Rankled to the bone, I couldn't concentrate on a thing and nearly crashed into the bumper of an elderly man. I slid to a stop at the red light before my mother's street.

Brought to attention by my inattention, I parked in the yard and marched into the house. A rental car sat in the driveway along with my mother's Subaru wagon.

The sound of laughter reached me as I approached the door and I smiled. My mother had truly missed Giovanni, and it meant a lot to her that he was home.

The house sat on a small postage-stamp parcel of land. The Cape Cod–style house had been our one and only family residence. Gio and I had spent our youth hanging out in the neighborhood with our many cousins and other kids. He'd played baseball at the small Cranston Stadium a few blocks away. It would be an outing when Gio had a game and we'd sit on the bleachers with a picnic lunch while Gio played ball.

The door swung wide as I entered the kitchen. Gio rose from the table and smiled the widest grin ever. He looked a lot like me, only way more masculine. His dark eyes and nearly black curly hair were the same as mine. He was taller than me by an inch or so and he was muscular. Wide in the shoulders, he and I resembled one another to a fault.

It is unusual that different-sex twins looked so much alike, but our family genes accounted for it. Both parents are Italian and the families on both sides came from the old country. Our most striking features were dark hair, dark eyes, height, wide shoulder breadth, and offbeat senses of humor.

We embraced and spoke at the same time. Then we both laughed. I motioned for him to speak first – as he did the same to me. My mother chuckled and I had a sense that all was well. That didn't last long, but it was nice while it lasted.

“Is class out for the day?” he asked.

“Yeah, I had a business lunch and then came straight here. Do you have a lecture this afternoon?”

“No, tonight.” His dark eyes said something else.

I couldn't catch what it was. It would come out later, I thought, and nodded at him. We'd had a kind of signal we'd used when we were kids, when one of us needed to talk about important stuff. I was rusty at the game and needed some practice.

“Gee, why don't I join you afterwards for a drink?” I asked.

“Great idea,” he said.

Maybe I wasn't so rusty after all. I limped to the table and he watched my progress. My gait was better than it had been. I credited that to taking drugs and not having any therapy.

“Let me take a look at that knee,” he said.

“Nah, I have jeans on and they won't go up that far.”

My mother piped up and offered to let me change into her robe so Gio could do his doctor thing. This was a losing battle so I agreed.

In my mother's ridiculous frilly pink robe, I entered the kitchen and sat down. Gio chuckled and then kneeled before me, applying pressure to the entire area. I winced only once or twice during the examination. He asked me to stand and walk, so I did. Then he asked about my medical coverage.

I explained what the university offered for coverage and he nodded.

“You've been used for insurance fraud, Vin. The muscles and tendons in your leg are only bruised. With a couple weeks of relaxation and minor stress, they will be like new. You didn't need therapy and it has probably set you back a bit in the recuperation process.”

Relieved, I went to change and returned to find my mother had left for the senior center to serve cookies and tea to the residents there.

Gio and I chatted while I looked him over. I realized he was drawn and tired around the eyes.

“Tell me what's wrong. Don't bother to deny it, just tell me,” I said.

“Nothing, really,” he murmured. “It's nothing.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “There's something and if you don't tell me, I'm telling Mom.”

“You were never a rat. Why would you do that?”

“Because she'll get it out of you. She probably knows there's something going on and is trying to give you time to tell her. I'm not that patient, Gio, so spill it. Now.” I leaned back in the chair, drank my coffee, and waited.

“It's Jill. I suspect she's done something that I would never have believed possible. That's why I'm here. I came to check it out and see if it's true. I need you to help me with it.”

The plea sounded age-old-familiar and I remembered how I'd always been the fall guy when the shit hit the ground. I was all grown up now and couldn't afford any implication in police matters.

Leery of his request, I said, “Giovanni, we aren't kids any longer. I have a job that brings me in contact with police officials and such. It's impossible for me to break the law these days.”

“I'm not asking you to do that,” he said. “You know Great Aunt Lena and that end of the family better than I do. I just need you to nose around. That's all I'm asking.”

“What does Lena have to do with Jill?” My suspicions were on the rise as was my ever-present curiosity.

“I'm not sure. I just need you to find out some things for me.”

“What things, Gio?” Uneasy, I stared at him.

“Information concerning Great Uncle Nate's life. What he did for a living and all that jazz.”

“He was a burglar, a second story man. That's what he did for a living. He lifted precious and semi-precious jewels, belongings, and artwork from the rich and sold it for a profit. They've lived handsomely for years and I believe his money sits in offshore accounts in the Grand Caymans, or someplace like that. I think the only thing he didn't steal was cars and that was only because he couldn't drive worth a damn.” I chuckled.

“He really was a thief, huh?” Gio drove a hand through his thick, dark curly hair. “It's not just a family story?”

“No, why?”

“There was a notice in the mail for a storage unit rental in Lincoln. I found some artworks stored there with some other stuff that didn't belong to us. The place was rented under my wife's name. She wouldn't explain it to me at first until I badgered her enough. Then she said she was holding it for someone.” He stood up and paced the room like a caged animal. “Some guys in suits came around about two weeks ago, asking questions about stolen art. I said I didn't know anything about any stolen art.” He shook his weary head and looked at me, his hands spread out, palms up. “I don't know what to think, Vin.”

“Were the suits, FBI off-the-peg-suits or were they Armani?” I asked.

“They weren't Armani, that's for sure. More like J.C. Penney. What does it matter?”

“At Nate's funeral there were FBI agents in those type of suits, the mob wears Armani and then the cops, well, they dress in uniform or khaki's and a shirt, nothing fancy. If the suits were J.C. Penney, then the guys would most likely be FBI. They don't make enough money to buy better clothes.”

“Why don't you come over tomorrow and spend the day with me? We can talk some more and maybe get through some of your fears.” I glanced at my watch. “Mom will be back any time now and I should head home. Besides, if she sees our heads together, it'll raise a red flag. Have you spoken to Dad at all about this?”

“No, he doesn't need to know and neither does Mom.”

“Right. Well, come over tomorrow morning. I have some stuff to do in the garage and need a hand doing it, so it'll give us a chance to talk.” I stood and put my jacket on. “Besides,” I chuckled, “my neighbor is dying to meet you. He's the upstairs tenant and has heard of our escapades as kids. Just don't mention anything about this problem while he's around. I don't wash our dirty laundry in front of others. Okay?”

“Sure, it'll be like old times.” He smiled, hugged me, and kissed my cheek. “Don't meet me for drinks tonight, I'll just see you tomorrow. Take the pressure off that knee for a while, okay?”

I nodded and left the house thinking that old times should stay in the past and not be repeated. I couldn't take the fall for anyone – not even Gio's wife.