Dying to Know (22 page)

He flipped open the rear door lock, grabbed the knob, and

pulled. The door didn’t budge. He tried again. Nothing—I held it

tight to keep him from escaping. He double-checked the lock

and tugged it again. Panic spread. He jerked the lock back and

forth, yanked the knob, and tried over and over. The door didn’t

budge. He kicked at it. Drove his shoulder into it. Kicked again.

Nothing worked.

He stepped back and readied another kick. I opened the door

a foot. When he reached for it, I slammed it closed again. I

opened and closed the door twice more.

“
Madre de Dios, fantasmas.”

I could guess what that meant.

The front door crashed open and Bear charged in. “Police!”

Iggi lifted the shotgun and headed down the hal . When he

reached the living room, he flattened himself against the wall and pointed the shotgun toward Bear.

“Get out. I not do nothin’. Get out.”

Bear froze. His automatic was out in front of him but he was

looking away from Iggi. “Okay, Iggi, okay. Put the gun down. No

one needs to get shot—especial y me.”

Iggi slid into the living room just as Angel walked in the front

door. Her eyes locked onto the shotgun and she stopped half in-

side the door. She held Bear’s .380 down at her side.

No one spoke. No one moved.

I said, “Angel, relax. It’s okay.”

Bear broke the standoff. “Easy, Iggi. I want to talk.” He eased

around and faced him, pointing his gun at the ceiling. “Easy, pal.

Go easy. You don’t want to shoot a cop.”

206

“What you want?”

“Just to talk.”

“No, man, no.” Iggi shifted the shotgun back and forth be-

tween Angel and Bear. His eyes darted between them as sweat

glistened on his face. “I did nothin’. Nothin’ man.”

“Okay,” Angel said, trying to appear calm. “I’m Angela. Sarah

told you about me.”

“Sarah?” Iggi aimed the shotgun at Angel. “How you know

that, lady?”

“I …” Angel never finished her sentence.

Bear stepped toward Iggi but the shotgun thrust into his face,

stopping him.

“I shoot you, man. Get back.”

Enough. “Angel, the shotgun is empty. The shel s are in the

pizza box.”

“The gun’s empty, Bear.” Angel’s shoulders slumped. “The

shel s are in the pizza.”

Bear glanced down at the 12-gauge cartridges lying amongst

two cold slices of pepperoni and mushroom. When his eyes rose

and met Iggi’s, I saw it coming before Iggi’s brain registered the extra pizza toppings.

When Iggi glanced down, Bear grabbed the shotgun barrel

and twisted. Iggi flinched, squeezing the trigger. The barely au-

dible “click” sealed his fate. Bear snatched the gun away as his

other powerful, ham-sized fist smashed into Iggi’s face and set

him crashing backwards over the table into a heap on the floor.

Blood spurted from his nose and his eyes shuttered closed.

207

“You son of a bitch.” Bear descended on him like a vulture on

prey. “You have the right to remain silent … but you’re not gonna.”

Iggi’s swelling eyes cracked open and all he could say was, “I

talk, I talk. ¡
Madre de Dios, fantasmas!
I give back everythin’.”

208

thirt y-seven

“Deal first,” Iggi said with a mixture of nerves and defiance. “I

say nuttin’ unless you protect me.”

“Protect you from who?” Bear stood across the living room.

“Help me and I’l help you.”

“No, way, man. Deal first.”

“Let’s see, Iggi. There’s resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer—add attempted murder because I heard you pull the trig-

ger.”

Iggi bit his lip but never looked up. He sat balanced on the

edge of the couch with his hands handcuffed behind him. He

stared at the floor, pale and scared. Sweat stained his shirt and he was trying hard not to look around, perhaps fearful he might see

me.

“Iggi, please help us.” Angel was leaning against the dish-clut-

tered counter in the adjoining kitchen. “You have information

209

about Raymundo. Help find his killer. That’s all we want—Ray-

mundo’s killer.”

“If I talk,” he muttered, “you have to find mine.”

“Yours?” she asked. “What did you and Raymundo do?”

“Deal—and you gotta swear.”

“Deal, huh?” Bear sneered. “Talk or it’s gonna get worse.”

“You not scarin’ me, Braddock. I know ’bout you. You partner

got it and maybe you soon.”

Maybe I could help get Iggi talking. I whispered to Angel and

a smile etched across her face. “Do you believe in ghosts? ‘
Madre
de Dios, fantasmas.’
Isn’t that what you said when Tuck wouldn’t let you out the back door?”

He froze and the muscles in his arms flexed. “No.”

Angel continued, “Tuck came back, Iggi—he’s sitting right be-

side you. He wouldn’t let you out the back door, would he?”

“
Madre.
” Iggi’s eyes flashed wide. “You don’t scare me.”

I touched the lamp for a re-charge and leaned into Iggi, blow-

ing a long, hot breath into his ear. “Start talking, you shit-bird, or I’ll ram that shotgun up your ass.”

“Ah.” Iggi slapped his ear and bolted upright. “
No, Dios.”

Bear grabbed his arm. “Talk, smart guy.”

“Iggi, didn’t you load your shotgun last night?” Angel asked.

“Wasn’t it on the coffee table?”

“
Si, Madre de Dios, fantasmas.”

Iggi’s eyes darted around the room and he trembled, strug-

gling against Bear’s grasp. He looked down where I’d been sitting.

I was on the other side from him now.

I blew into his other ear. “
Fantasmas.
Talk shithead.”

210

“
Madre. Si, si.
The Diggin’ Man pay me and Raymundo do

diggin’. Raymundo and me took stuff. We want more money. We

had to get away from this place. If the Diggin’ Man knew what we

done, we be dead. Raymundo—maybe me soon. Please, take me

out.”

“The Diggin’ Man?” Bear shoved Iggi down onto the couch.

“Sit. Now, what are you talking about?”

Iggi crawled onto the couch armrest. Sweat pooled beneath

his eyes. “Raymundo and me dig up stuff the Diggin’ Man didn’t

know was there. We sold it.”

I said, “Angel, it’s my vision of the two men. They found those

coins and sold them. That’s where Ernie’s and Sarah’s came

from—I’d bet on it. Iggi was there.”

Angel asked, “From Kel y’s Dig? The gold coins?”

“
Madre, you know.
The Diggin’ Man find out, ’cause Ray-

mundo got killed. All we was to do was get the bones out. Just

bones.”

“Get the bones out?” Angel sat down and gently grasped his

shoulder. “Iggi, calm down. Tuck won’t hurt you unless I tell him

to. Tell us about the Digging Man. Who is he?”

I patted Iggi’s cheek. He recoiled and almost cried. I said,

“Yeah, pal. I’ll be good. Tell Angel everything.”

Iggi closed his eyes and muttered a prayer.

“Was it Lucca?” Bear asked, and the name sent Iggi rigid.

“Lucca?” He met Bear’s eyes and his face said he was more

afraid of Lucca than of me. “You know ‘bout Lucca?”

Bear nodded, and lying, said, “Yeah, we do. You better decide

if you want to talk to me or him.”

211

“
Muy bien.
” Iggi’s voice was slow and broken, articulating the words as if they were poison. “Okay,
Señor
Braddock. I never met the Diggin’ Man. Raymundo do that.”

“Go on, Iggi,” Angel said. “Bear will help you.”

“Lucca …” Iggi took a long breath. “They say he from New

York. He kill for money. He kill me for money.”

Tears escaped Angel’s eyes. “Did Lucca kill Tuck?”

“I dunno.” Iggi’s voice was unsteady, apologetic. “Maybe—I

dunno.”

Bear said, “Cut the bul shit. Start with what you
do
know.”

His answer made me shiver.

“
Si, si.
It start when me and Raymundo was workin’ for
Señor
Byrd.”

212

thirt y-eig ht

“Lucca Tuscani,” Bear said, peering at Iggi through the obser-

vation room’s one-way glass. “He’s our killer—has to be.”

“Can Iggi identify him?” Captain Sutter asked.

“No. Iggi only had the name. He never met Tuscani. I’m head-

ing to the FBI to see what they have.”

“Best guess?”

My best guess was that “Homicidal Maniac” was on Lucca

Tuscani’s business cards.

Bear tapped the glass when Iggi tried to open the interroga-

tion room door. Iggi retreated into his chair. “A New York

shooter—Mob’ed up.”

“Smel s like Nic Bartalotta. He’s the only one I know with that

kind of juice around here. But why?”

Bear recapped Iggi’s entire story for her, spending most of his

time on the mysterious Diggin’ Man who hired Salazar and Iggi

213

to move the bones from Kel y’s Dig and their treasure hunting

exploits that ensued.

He ended with, “And all this started when Iggi and Salazar

found those coins and antiques.”

“So, I’m thinking Tyler Byrd gains most by getting those

bones out of his construction project. How he knew about them,

I don’t know.” Captain Sutter thought a moment before going on.

“He sends Iggi and Salazar to move them, but they find some

loot and go into business for themselves. And shortly after, Sala-

zar’s murdered.”

Bear was nodding. “He needs muscle to clean up and maybe

gets Poor Nic to bring Tuscani in to clean up.”

“We just don’t have a connection between Nic and Byrd.”

Captain Sutter watched Iggi. “Not yet. What’s your next move?”

“First, I gotta get what I can on Tuscani. Then, I’m headed to

see Liam McCorkle, an antique dealer down south. McCorkle

might know who the Diggin’ Man is. It’s worth a shot.”

“Take it.” Sutter was thoughtful. “Spence and Clemens have

been running phone and financial records on everyone sur-

rounding Tuck. They said they’re onto something.”

“Cap, I’ve been all through those records. There’s nothing

there.”

“Wel , for now, I’m giving them some extra rope on this.”

Bear grunted. “Great, Cap. I wonder who they’re gonna hang

with it?”

214

thirt y-nine

Bear sat at his desk, focused on Lucca Tuscani. He was shuf-

fling paper and banging on his computer. I was bored watching,

so I decided to stroll down to see what my two favorite comedic

detectives, Spence and Clemens, were doing. Instead of playing

crossword puzzles or video games as I thought, they were rush-

ing out the door like real-life detectives often do.

“You drive,” Spence barked. “He’ll be leaving soon.”

I took the back seat of their unmarked cruiser and expected

them to head out chasing some leads. I was wrong. We parked in

the visitor’s lot where they sat watching the rear entrance of the Sheriff’s Office.

Clemens was looking around, uneasy. “Are you sure about

this, Mikey?”

“Hell yes.”

“Real y sure?”

215

“There he goes. Wait for him to clear the corner.” Spence

tapped the dashboard and signaled Clemens to start their car.

“The Captain says he’s heading to the FBI so he’ll be gone a

while.”

A hundred yards away, Bear pulled out of the parking lot and

turned right.

I said, “What are you doing, Spence?” They were apparently

immune to my ghost-speak. “You’re going to tail Bear?”

No, they weren’t. I was wrong.

Instead of falling in a safe distance behind Bear, Clemens made

a hard U-turn and sped away in the opposite direction. He

watched his rearview mirror for several blocks, not relaxing until Spence said, “Clear. Bear’s nowhere in sight.”

“Ah, boys, what are you up to?” No one answered me.

Fifteen minutes later, I got my answer and I wasn’t happy

when I did. It would have been better if we’d tailed Bear to the

FBI. Anything would have been better.

Clemens rol ed up to the curb a half-block from the Hunter’s

Ridge Garden Apartments. The complex was a cluster of two-story

buildings that resembled rows of English Manor houses. Each

building housed several condominiums and garden apartments

owned predominantly by professionals and academics—many of

whom were Angel’s university col eagues. Some were close friends;

especial y one such ground floor, courtyard entrance unit. That

was number Three-A West, belonging to one rather unacademic,

Theodore Braddock.

216

I leaned forward in the seat and flicked Spence’s ear—he re-

coiled and threw an accusatory glance at Clemens. I said, “You

two better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”

“Okay,” Spence said, jumping out his door. “I’ll go in. If you

see him coming, call fast. That’ll give me a good two minutes to

get out. Then, meet me around the other side of the courtyard.

And Christ, don’t let him see you.”

“No kidding. Jeez, Mikey. I don’t like this. We don’t have a

warrant. If the Captain …”

“Quit whining.”

“But …”

It was too late. Spence and I were already jogging down the

sidewalk toward Bear’s backyard. I followed him to the rear patio

door where it took him three minutes to pick the lock—about an

hour less than I bet. I could have saved him the time and shown

him the hide-a-key beneath the patio table, but it was fun watch-