Deadly Past

by Kris Rafferty

  “Involved?” He lifted his hands, horrified, shaking his head so hard his blond hair fell in his face. “No no, tell me what you want.”

  “Sit. And don’t move.” Kevin found the nearest chair, sat, and kept his hands up, as if she had a gun pointed at him. Cynthia tilted her head to the incident room’s door. “Bring Teresa back here, Gilroy. Put them both into interrogation room 1.”

  Gilroy shook his head. “Charlie is in interrogation room 1.”

  She stood so quickly her chair rolled back and hit the desk behind hers. “Then interrogation room 2, Gilroy, just get her before she leaves!” Gilroy nodded and hustled out the door. “Vivian, I need you to pull up everything we have on Teresa Johnson and Kevin…Kevin, what’s your last name?”

  “Hilliard,” he said, turning toward Vivian. “That’s H-I-L-L-I-A-R-D.”

  Cynthia blinked, momentarily distracted by Kevin’s compliance. “Do background checks, social media, who they’re related to, who Teresa is dating. Call their landlords.”

  “We own. Me and my wife,” Kevin said, shrugging when she glared at him.

  Cynthia dismissed him with a glance. “Vivian, I want to know what they had for breakfast. We clear?” Vivian nodded and hurried to her desk.

  “Bagel with a schmear,” Kevin said, talking to Vivian.

  Cynthia wanted to trust Kevin, but he worked closely with Teresa. She had no idea if he was a player on the chessboard or a pawn. All she knew was Charlie was in more danger than she’d thought. “Vivian, call Benton and tell him I have information I need to share with him and Modena. Ask them to come here immediately, please.” Vivian nodded and lifted her phone’s receiver from its cradle. She dialed as Cynthia locked the incriminating photo into her desk.

  “You stay!” she said to Kevin.

  Then she ran from the room, down the hall, in the opposite direction than she knew Benton and Modena would be coming from. Interrogation room 1. Once she’d turned the first corner, she did her best to look casual as she waited, peeking, until she saw Modena and Benton leave the room and enter the incident room. Then Cynthia bolted down the hall, uncaring of who might witness her strange behavior. Then she burst into interrogation room 1.

  Cynthia hurried to Charlie, grabbing his cuffs, unlocking them from the table, and then from around his wrists. Unable to help herself, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him into a kiss. Charlie’s mouth opened automatically, and though she felt all kinds of urges to linger, she broke it off.

  “I’m brilliant!” she said.

  He smiled. “I know.”

  “We’ve got a break in the case,” she said. “But you’re not safe in police custody. We have to go.”

  “What is this break?”

  “Teresa and Kevin,” she said. “Your techs. I’ll explain later. It’s just a lead. I have no proof, but I’m not taking any chances with your safety. We were right. This is looking like an inside job, Charlie. Come on.” She hurried to the door and opened it, peeking into the hall. Coast was clear. “Now.” She waved him to hurry up and follow her.

  Charlie shook his head, rubbing his wrists. “I’m not going anywhere. And what’s this about my techs?”

  “Oh yes, you are.” She hurried to his side and grabbed his hand, tugging. “Come on. We’re running out of time.”

  “Talk, Cynthia.” He shook her off and folded his arms over his chest.

  Cynthia glared. “Listen, I can’t prove anything, but I know one of them is guilty. They were in your house. Those charms Socks found? Remember? The purple heart and silver flower? They came from Teresa’s keychain, which Kevin uses a lot, so he could just as likely be the culprit.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Charlie shook his head, frowning. “What keychain is this?”

  “Charlie, just—” She shook her head. “Just trust me on this.”

  “Not when you want me to become a fugitive when things are finally going our way. I need an explanation,” he said.

  Cynthia pressed her palms to her pounding head. “I have no idea how deep in the department this goes. I trust my team, but we’re surrounded by hundreds of people I don’t know from Adam. Your techs work for the BPD. You’re probably being framed by your own forensics department! What if it goes deeper than the techs? What if she’s only following orders? No matter what happens today, you’ll end up in holding, and what if there’s an “accident”? You’ll die as a prime suspect with a shit ton of evidence pointing to you. I won’t allow it, Charlie. I can’t! So…” She grabbed his sleeve, tugging, but he wouldn’t budge.

  Charlie grabbed her hand and tugged back, until she was firmly wrapped in his embrace. “You’re not thinking clearly. Where are Teresa and Kevin?”

  “Gilroy is bringing them to interrogation room 2.” She hugged him quickly, then reached up, cupping his cheeks. “Listen to me. They’ll come back any moment. I have a plane on standby. Money. A place to stay. We’ll figure this out, but you can’t stay here, Charlie. Please, Charlie. Please.” She could tell from his gaze that he was thinking about it. “They’re blond, right? It could have been either of them in your driveway that night. The charms place one of them, or both in your house at some point. Think of that…maybe it’s both. We don’t have motive, but Vivian is working on that, and Gilroy is interviewing them now. I need you safe.” She buried her face against his chest, holding him tightly. “I can’t lose you.”

  He kissed her temple, and then nudged her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Because you love me. You never would have kissed me months ago if you weren’t in love with me.”

  True. He sounded so sure. “Why’d you let me stay away so long?”

  His gaze grew somber. “I thought you were fighting it, that you didn’t want to love me. And I didn’t want to force myself on you.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to go to you every day, every hour, and demand for you to want me, too. I did. My parents were haranguing me every day to do just that, but call me crazy, I wanted you to want to love me.”

  “You know I do. I love you, Charlie.” She pulled out of their embrace. “Which is why we need to go now. Please, trust me on this.” She tugged his arm again.

  “Fine,” he said, no longer resisting. “But once we’re gone, you need to call Benton and explain what you’re doing.” She opened the door and made sure the coast was clear. “What’s the escape plan?” He held his arms out, looking huge. “I’m a redheaded man in an orange jumpsuit.” He was right. Winging it wouldn’t work, and they had to leave now, before one of the agents came back.

  “We could cuff you again.” She hurried back to the table, grabbing the discarded handcuffs. “We avoid as many people as we can, at least the people with authority to stop me, and then maybe we’ll have a shot at escaping through the garage.” She secured his wrists with cuffs. “Sorry about this, but I don’t see any other choice.”

  Charlie’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “When this is resolved, I want these handcuffs as a souvenir.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Take this more seriously, please.”

  Charlie nodded, donning a frown. “Sorry. Proceed.”

  Cynthia opened the door, peered into the hall, and then grabbed his arm. She led him down the hall, avoiding eye contact with all who passed, and brought him to the back elevators, where the cleaning crew transported their carts from floor to floor. Neither said a word, and since they knew security on every floor was videotaping them, neither spoke as they stepped onto the elevator.

  She patted her pocketbook hanging over her other arm, assuring herself that she had her phone, it was charged, and once she was in the car, she’d call Benton. The elevator binged when it arrived at the garage level. She reached for Charlie’s elbow, needing to continue to pretend he was her prisoner until they reached his car. Then she’d uncuff him and head for the airport.

  “Cynthia, did you dr
ive?” he said.

  “No. My car is at my apartment. I caught a cab.”

  He lifted his brows and tightened his lips. “They have my keys with the rest of my personal items.” Charlie’s tone was conversational. “I’m not even wearing my own underwear.”

  “Damn.” They had no wheels. The elevator door opened, and suddenly their transport problem was no longer their worst problem.

  Angelina Modelli Coppola stood, backlit by the garage’s fluorescent lights, pointing a HK handgun at Charlie’s center mass.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charlie had a wire taped to his chest, and Benton and Modena wore earbuds, allowing them to receive audio of whatever was going on around Charlie. “Angelina Modelli,” Charlie said, hoping the agents were paying attention. “Pointing a gun at me in the garage. And I thought my day couldn’t get worse.”

  When Cynthia had left the interrogation room, the agents told Charlie about an Internal Affairs case they’d initiated after receiving the first “anonymous source” evidence. It quickly turned up Teresa Johnson’s real last name: Pinnella. She was Joseph “Fingers” Pinnella’s daughter. Fingers was a known contract killer for the syndicate.

  “Coppola,” Modelli said. “My name is Mrs. Dante Coppola.” She wore her signature black suit and white open-collar shirt, the syndicate’s contract killer uniform. It didn’t bode well for him and Cynthia, because Modelli wasn’t looking happy. In fact, she seemed as upset as Cynthia, who’d yet to uncuff him, so Charlie wasn’t feeling all that happy either. “Get in.” Modelli tilted her head to her right, indicating a black van idling with its side door open. Teresa Johnson, aka Pinnella, was in the driver’s seat.

  Cynthia held onto Charlie’s arm as they walked to the van. She released him only when she crawled inside, kneeling, as Charlie followed suit, his handcuffs jangling. Up front, Teresa clutched the wheel, and Charlie could see her tears reflected in the rearview mirror. It was small comfort to know Teresa, too, was unhappy.

  “I’m sorry,” his tech whispered, her gaze still aimed out the front windshield. “She…she says she’ll kill my family if I don’t do what she says.” Modelli climbed in, her gun aimed at Charlie.

  “Shut up, Teresa, and drive.” Modelli slammed the van door, and then knelt between the two bucket seats up front, her back to the windshield, gun steady and trained on him.

  Then the gun drifted toward Cynthia.

  Charlie pushed Cynthia behind him, forcing Modelli’s gun to be trained only on him. Cynthia shoved him back, grabbing his arm so she could kneel beside him. His cuffs made it difficult to force the issue, though he would have if the van didn’t peel out, sending them both to the floor.

  “What is this about, Modelli?” Cynthia said, struggling to regain her balance and sit up. “Where are you bringing us?”

  “Does it matter?” Modelli said, holding onto the back of Teresa’s seat for balance. She waved her gun, indicating something behind them. Charlie glanced back and saw duct tape, zip ties, and brown cotton pieces of material he recognized. His stomach dropped as he realized what she had planned for them. “Put the hood on, Special Agent Deming. Then, Dr. Foulkes, you’re going to duct tape it around her neck and zip tie her hands behind her back. Don’t worry about DNA contamination. When they find your body, I’ll make sure there’s no doubt you’re the killer, just like with the other six.” Charlie’s eyes remained focused on Modelli’s gun as she explained how he and Cynthia would end.

  “No.” He might die today, but not like that. He’d make sure of it.

  Modelli compressed her lips. “I can kill you now or later. Your choice.” Her aim never faltered. “Get the hood. The tape. Now.”

  Cynthia reached for the items, her hands trembling. “Don’t shoot him. I’m doing it. See? Look. I’m doing it.” Grabbing the tape, zip ties, and a hood, she fumbled with them, having a hard time finding the hood’s opening. “But I want something in return.” Modelli shook her head, her eyes narrowing, and then glanced at Teresa.

  “Drive faster,” Modelli said. The van jerked forward as its speed increased, throwing Charlie against the van’s interior wall. Cynthia hit the floor hard, wincing on impact and dropping the tape.

  “Tell me why,” Cynthia said, righting herself and picking up the tape again. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’d heard you got married.” Modelli tilted her chin at Charlie. “I just want what you have.”

  Charlie had no idea what she was talking about. What he had was a gun aimed at his chest and the possibility of two taps to the skull—and his wife executed. “Excuse me?”

  “I want my husband,” Modelli said, and she said it with such emotion a sob cut her last word short. She cleared her throat, glancing at Cynthia. “I want my husband.”

  Cynthia shook her head. “How does killing us get you Coppola?”

  “Not us,” Charlie said. He had no idea what was going on in Modelli’s head, but it was clear, even to him, her goals had little to do with him and Cynthia.

  Modelli nodded, her focus on Cynthia. “One dead syndicate contract killer wouldn’t make the news. I needed a massacre big enough to create a scandal to discredit your husband. Those men were connected to him by the syndicate case, and they were available.” Modelli shrugged. “Simple as that. Nothing personal. I knew where they were, and they were gullible. I told them I had a scheme to fuck with the FBI and that Dante sanctioned it.”

  “Did he?” Charlie said for the benefit of his wire.

  Modelli glanced at him, but then turned her glare back on Cynthia. It made him think maybe some of this was personal. Maybe Modelli hated Cynthia enough to make it personal. “They came without question, because they love my husband. The rest was easy.” She became thoughtful. “I did wonder if dying for love would be different, but it looked the same to me on this side of the gun. They just died, like everyone else. Am I right, Special Agent Deming? You were there.” Again, Modelli’s eyes narrowed, as if she wanted to hurt Cynthia.

  “This was about discrediting me,” Charlie said. The crime lord could file suit, request a mistrial, and maybe have the evidence Charlie touched turned inadmissible.

  Cynthia crawled to Charlie’s side, holding his forearm, as if she feared Charlie might jump Modelli. With a gun pointed at them? Not likely.

  “You’re beyond discredited, Foulkes,” Modelli said, smiling. “You’re screwed.” She glanced at Teresa. “I had help, of course.” Charlie met Teresa’s gaze in the rearview mirror and felt his anger flare. Modelli saw and shook her head. “Don’t be angry at Teresa. Your wife would be dead without her. When she’d arrived, gun drawn, looking to ruin all my carefully laid out plans, I was about to take the shot, but Teresa knocked her over the head first. She went down like a stone.” Modelli chuckled. “And when I was about to put one in her temple, Teresa stopped me. Told me to use her. Isn’t that right, Teresa? She said ‘Use the Fed. Frame the Fed.’” Modelli’s smile widened. “She didn’t know the plan, of course. It had to be you. Dr. Charlie Foulkes. But it did get me thinking: Implicating Special Agent Deming in the murders would create a nice distraction. It distracted you,” she said, her gazed locked with Charlie’s.

  “You used my gun,” Cynthia said, “but not on the vics.”

  Modelli’s smirk was derisive. “You won’t find my prints on the gun, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

  “Was this Dante’s idea?” Cynthia said. “You’re going to kill us. Why not admit it? Why keep that a secret?”

  “No,” Modelli said, her smile fading. “Dante doesn’t know.”

  It was on tape, Charlie realized. The pertinent facts, anyway. This was all Modelli. No matter what happened from here on, live or die, Modelli’s crimes would be provable. This case would close. Charlie found it little consolation as he stared at the wrong end of Modelli’s gun. She gripped the driver’s seat, steadying herself as Teresa seemed
to hit every bump in the road, and then aimed her gun at Cynthia. They were fish in a barrel. Handcuffed, five feet from a cold-blooded killer, any attempt to wrestle the gun from Modelli would land Charlie shot, maybe dead, and then who would save Cynthia?

  “When Dante’s free, I’ll tell him what I did for him, and then he’ll realize—” Modelli bit her lower lip. “My lawyer assures me when you’re implicated in the murders, all your cases will be up for review. They’ll be thrown out by a judge. They’ll have to release Dante on bail, at the least, and then we’ll run. We’ll run so far no one will ever find us.”

  “I get it.” Cynthia climbed to her knees, the hood still gripped in her hands. “You love him, but doesn’t it bother you that he doesn’t love you?” Cynthia’s tone dripped with sympathy.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters!” Cynthia snapped. “Dante Coppola doesn’t love anyone but himself.”

  “I know,” Modelli said, acting as if Cynthia was being difficult. “I’m not like you. I don’t need that. I need Dante.” Charlie couldn’t help noticing that Cynthia seemed to be taking this conversation personally, too, and couldn’t understand why. Sure, her profiler voodoo was important, but they had a gun trained on them. He thought that a more pressing concern.

  “There’s a reason why I never suspected you,” Cynthia said. She seemed poised, but for what? Charlie grabbed her hand, in case she decided to lunge at the woman.

  “Yeah?” Modelli smiled.

  “I was convinced that you knew once Coppola gained his freedom, he’d leave you, or kill you. Either way, you had to know you wouldn’t have him. You need him incarcerated, Modelli, to keep him.”

  Modelli narrowed her eyes. “You’re wrong. He needs me.” She glanced out the van’s windshield, as did Charlie. Teresa had driven them to the original crime scene, where the Chinatown Massacre occurred.

  “Why are we at the crime scene?” Charlie said, for the benefit of any special agents listening in.