Jerome paused, seeming to collect his thoughts before he spoke again. “Leonard did some pretty ruthless things to get back at his father for Camilla’s dying. Partnering with the Mancuso family against him was just the tip of the iceberg. He had loved her, and it broke her heart when she died. He had to raise his son alone, and that child had a lot of special needs. He was in and out of the hospital, then there were some behavioral problems as he got older. It was a lot for one man to have to handle. Until the day he died he held his father responsible for all of it.”
Jerome blew a soft sigh before he concluded his story. “Alexander always knew what kind of man his son was. Even though he was hurt by what happened, he couldn’t blame anyone but Leonard. It’s why we were able to come back from your killing him and still maintain a friendship, of sorts, today.”
Armstrong suddenly felt as if his father had been able to read his mind, sensing the questions that had been on his heart to ask but he couldn’t.
“You said Paul had some behavioral problems?”
“Kid still does. Alexander likes to pretend there’s nothing wrong with him, but he’ll always require someone to help him out for the rest of his life. I imagine he’s well in his late twenties by now, but mentally and emotionally he will forever be twelve years old. Alexander keeps a tight rein on him, though, because he’s easily frustrated and prone to violence. He’s also gullible and easily led. But there’s not much he does that his grandfather doesn’t know about.”
“Does Carlo know Alexander is his father?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I would imagine he probably does. When Leonard died, both boys moved in with Alexander and his mother. He says they’ve become very close. Then again, he might not know anything at all. It’s not my business, so I’ve never asked, and Alexander has never volunteered the information.”
Armstrong sat in silence for a moment as he reflected on everything his father had just told him. Suddenly, the pieces to his puzzle were beginning to make better sense.
The patriarch changed the subject. “So, how are things with you and that young woman your mother likes so much? Danni, isn’t it?”
Armstrong smiled. Before he could answer, his father interjected. “And don’t tell me you two are just working together. I might have been born at night, but I wasn’t born last night.”
The younger man felt his smile spread into a wide grin. “Danni is working hard, and I’m trying to support her to the best of my ability.”
His father nodded. “I need to say this,” he started as he shifted forward in his seat. “If I didn’t, I would be remiss in my responsibilities as your father. And as your superior,” he added. “Close this case and let that young woman go back to Atlanta. This has the potential to elevate your career, and you don’t need any kind of impropriety to derail you. Nothing good can come from this little dalliance between you two.”
“Really? Dalliance? Now you sound like Mom.”
“Your mother is a brilliant woman. It’s why I married her.”
“Why does this feel like it’s coming more from my superior than my father?”
Jerome slowly blew hot air out of his lungs. “Because as your superior and your father, I need to protect your reputation and our family name.”
“Says the man whose relationship with one of Chicago’s most notorious crime lords doesn’t threaten his good name. You act like people don’t think Balducci is still able to do his dirt because he’s garnering favor from his favorite cop on the take.”
Jerome bristled. “I have never allowed my friendship with Alexander to keep me from doing my job, and you know that.”
“I do, but other people aren’t so sure. So what, if I enter into a relationship with the woman who helped me solve a case, that makes the bust less tangible? I don’t think so. I think as long as we get the bad guys, we’ll still be the good guys.”
“It casts doubt on your credibility. And hers. You don’t think Internal Affairs isn’t going to question how much time was invested in doing what you needed to do versus the time you spent playing footsie in your patrol car? You need to think about all these things.”
“And you need to let me just do my job and live my life the way I need to.” Attitude suddenly rose like morning mist between the two men.
Jerome wiped his mouth and hands with the white cloth napkin that rested in his lap. He flung the linen to the table as he stood back on his feet. “I think you need to remember who you’re talking to. I’m your father, and you will never be so grown that I’ll take any kind of disrespect from you.”
“I wasn’t...” Armstrong started.
His father stalled his denial. “Yes, you were. And I want you to remember what you just said to me. It is your life, but every choice you make has consequences. Be ready to deal with yours when they come. I don’t have anything else to say on the subject.”
Armstrong sunk deep into his seat as his father turned and moved through the dining room door and out of the building.
The waitress moved back to the table. “Is there anything I can get for you, Detective Black?”
“Not unless you can rewind time,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, thank you,” he said, and then he followed behind his father and exited the building.
* * *
Danni couldn’t run from the coffee shop fast enough. She had felt awkward and uncomfortable from the moment she had stepped inside. Her conversation with Ginger had only aggravated her nerves, and Carlo being so nice served to further add to her anxiety. Jumping on the number fifty-two bus, she settled herself down on a seat in the back, then got off, walked a short distance to the nearest bus stop and waited. An elderly man who reeked of too much cologne and even more bad scotch gave her directions to downtown. He liked to talk, and she listened with half an ear as he told her about his wife and how she had danced her way into his heart. His story was sweet, and she realized that losing love had sent him on a downward spiral that now had him fighting demons to ease the hurt. When the number thirty-five bus pulled up, she wished him well and hopped aboard. She rode past eight stops to the Orange Line Station, transferred to a second bus and sat staring out the window as the city of Chicago floated past her. Homes and places that were totally unfamiliar to her barely captured her attention as she tried to make sense of what was happening and what she needed to do. She wasn’t even sure if she would end up downtown, just that she had to keep moving so that she could figure out her next steps.
Her cell phone vibrated beneath her coat, and she knew without looking that it was Armstrong. “Hello?”
“Why are you on a bus? You okay?” the man questioned. There was no missing the concern in his voice.
“One of the customers told me it would take me downtown. I’m hard up for money, remember? And they all think I’m headed to the mall for a job interview.”
“You didn’t call me,” he snapped, trying to contain his annoyance about that fact.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just needed a minute to myself to think.”
There was an awkward span of quiet that billowed between them. Armstrong broke the silence. “How soon before you get downtown?”
“I don’t think it’ll be too much longer.” She glanced outside the window, taking in the long line of traffic and the quickly changing architecture.
“Meet me at the Art Institute,” he said. “I’ll be waiting for you in the African collection with masks from Burkina Faso.”
“How long will it take you to get there?” she asked.
“I’m already here,” he concluded, and then he disconnected the phone.
Chapter 14
The Art Institute of Chicago was almost one million square feet of space to explore. The museum was a series of multiple buildings, four levels high, that were connected via the first floor on
ly. A grand staircase front and center of the museum led patrons from one art exhibit to another. Armstrong made his way through the South Michigan Avenue entrance. He flashed his badge and waved a hand at guest services, then headed past the South Garden to the Arts of Africa exhibit.
The Art Institute’s African collection was a diverse assemblage of tradition-based arts. It included masks and figural sculpture, beadwork, furniture, regalia and textiles from multiple African countries, its collection of African ceramics the largest in any American art museum. The museum was one of Armstrong’s favorite places to just hang out and chill. One of the many benches that sat room center was situated directly in front of a collection of masks from the West African country of Burkina Faso. Finding it empty, Armstrong took a seat and made himself comfortable.
His conversation with his father had answered a multitude of questions that he hadn’t begun to know where to find the answers. He hated that he and the family patriarch had parted ways angry with each other. He knew he owed his old man an apology for some of the things he’d said, but he also knew that he had needed to calm down and not let his emotions impact whatever else might have been said. He always welcomed his father’s advice, but he hadn’t anticipated his being so negative. And despite his frustrations, he understood that his father had been right and only interested in what was best for him and his career.
He extended his legs out in front of himself and crossed them at the ankle, clasping his hands on top of his head and leaning back slightly, studying the artistic impressions before him. Every piece in the museum’s collection resonated with history. He often wondered who and what had inspired the wealth of creativity in each piece of artwork. Imagining the motivations of other people, in other places, during different time periods often moved him out of his head and allowed him the freedom to see his own issues with a renewed eye.
He was grateful for the quiet and a brief moment to put aside his concern and feelings for Danni so that he could piece together the puzzle of the Balducci clan and how that related to his case. Clearly, everything Carlo had told Danni was a lie. Unless he didn’t know Alexander Balducci was his father. Figuring out if Carlo had been dishonest and why, and how it impacted his case, was going to require further digging. Danni was clearly on the inside and likely the only one who might be able to get those answers, if there were any to be found.
* * *
The hustle and bustle of South Michigan Avenue made Danni smile. As she paused at the entrance to the Art Institute, she took in the two large bronze lions, both bearing a heavy green patina. For a brief moment she felt like a tourist and then just as quickly she remembered she wasn’t. After grabbing a brochure and map at the museum’s front desk, she maneuvered her way through the Asian Art Gallery and the American Gallery, lingering longer than she probably should have.
She made a quick stop in the restroom, where she paused to study her reflection in the mirror. She had forgone her usual ponytail and had let her hair down. The soft waves skirted her face, the look flattering. A hint of blush tinted her cheeks, and she reapplied a coat of lip gloss. Despite knowing better, she found herself hoping that Armstrong would like how she looked and then kicked herself for caring.
When she reached the entrance to the Arts of Africa room, she came to an abrupt halt, spotting Armstrong on the other side of the room. He sat in conversation with a beautiful young woman who was clearly captivated by his attention. Both were laughing heartily, and for a split second jealousy wafted through the pit of Danni’s stomach with a vengeance. She inhaled swiftly and held the air in her lungs to stall the wave of emotion.
She was just about to turn an about-face when Armstrong looked up and saw her. A wide grin pulled across his face, and he waved as he stood up. After extending his goodbyes, he left the woman sitting there staring after him as he made his way to her side.
* * *
“I was starting to worry about you,” he said softly. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her against him. The desire was overwhelming, and he stopped short, just running a large hand against her arm and shoulder in a light caress instead.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I got a little sidetracked looking at the artwork. I could spend days here!”
“I sometimes do. It’s one of my favorite spots. I can actually relax here.”
“You’re not worried about someone seeing us together?”
He pondered her question briefly. “Obviously, everything’s a risk, but the criminal element we’re trying to catch are probably all asleep right now. They’re like vampires. They only come out after dark. I think we’ll be good for a moment.”
She nodded her understanding. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said as she gestured with her eyes toward the woman who was still staring.
“You didn’t. She sat down and just wanted to talk about her trip to Africa. Apparently it was quite the experience. I was just being polite.”
Danni smiled. “So how’s your day going?”
“Well, if you don’t count the disagreement I just had with my father, I guess it hasn’t been too bad a day.”
“What did you and your father disagree about?”
“You.”
Confusion washed over Danni’s expression. “Me?”
Armstrong took a deep breath. “It’s a long story.”
Danni stole a quick glance down to her wristwatch. “I’ve got time.”
Armstrong’s smile was slight as he shrugged his shoulders toward the ceiling. “Let’s walk,” he said, “while you tell me how it went this morning.”
“Ginger knows I’m a cop. I didn’t admit it, but she knows.”
Taking the comment in, Armstrong paused in reflection. After a moment he said, “You’re not safe, Danni. I don’t think you can trust that she won’t tell Pius, or his brother. Maybe even the grandfather. I think you’re done.”
* * *
Danni shook her head. “I trust her. I just...” She hesitated, unable to find the words to explain what instinctively felt right. Finally, she said, “I don’t think she is going to say anything. I think if she were, she would have done so already. I need to stay undercover so that I can keep trying to get her to tell me what she knows. I can get through to her. I’m sure of it!”
“I had a meeting with Alexander Balducci earlier. Of course, he says he knows nothing about his plane being used to transport a minor out of the country. He claims it was being rented by a third party, and it was. It was rented by a shell company out of Atlanta. The team is trying now to figure out who owns the parent company. I don’t doubt that it will point back to him at some point.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Not really. I did ask him about his grandson.”
“I’m sure he didn’t say anything at all about Pie.”
“No, I asked him about Carlo.”
Danni shot him a look. “Carlo? What about him?”
“I went by the coffee shop the other day,” Armstrong said, detailing the meeting he’d had with the other man. There was something in his admission that made Danni sense the visit hadn’t been purely about business and much about her. She wasn’t sure how to take that.
Danni listened, suddenly in her feelings and not knowing why. “Do you think Carlo has something to do with all this, too?”
“I don’t think he’s as clean as he seems, Danni.” For a brief moment Armstrong considered telling Danni what he’d learned about Carlo. But only for a moment, and then he remembered he’d sworn to keep the information his father had shared between them. “I think we need to take a closer look at him. And I think you do, too, which is why you agreed to stay at his place.”
Silence filled the space between them. They paused in front of a Kathleen Blackshear oil painting. Standing side by side, both stared, dropping into thought. He was right, and Danni knew she didn’
t need to say so. Despite Carlo’s kindness, she instinctively knew he wasn’t nearly as perfect as he may have seemed. Whether she said so out loud or not, she had questioned if he had warned Pie to move the girls. If he had triggered the alarm about her questions and concerns. Clearly he knew what his brother did or didn’t do, and just as clearly, he was willing to close a blind eye to it all. She wasn’t gullible enough to think that they were becoming fast friends or that Carlo wasn’t as knee-deep in the family business as Pie was.
When Armstrong suddenly reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, it surprised her slightly and then it didn’t. His touch felt as natural as breathing. She squeezed her palm against his, and she held on tightly to him. Hand in hand they resumed their stroll, enjoying the few minutes they were able to have with each other.
Pausing to read the museum map, Danni tugged, pulling him along as she maneuvered her way down to the Thorne Miniature Rooms. There were sixty-plus miniature room designs in one space, and Danni felt like a kid in a candy shop from the excitement of it all. She’d had a love for dollhouses since she’d been a little girl and her parents had gifted her a Barbie playhouse for her sixth birthday. She’d enjoyed hours of shifting toy furniture and playthings from one room to the next.
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