“You don’t owe me anything.” Liam turned his attention back to the road. “If we’re keeping tabs, which we’re not, I probably owe you.”
Aedan’s job was to investigate the men and women whose names had been brought to the Kahill sept’s attention. He was particularly good at rooting out serial killers, tracking them, watching them at work. His unusual shape-shifting ability often allowed him to go where other sept members could not, making him extremely useful to them. His good nature was a bonus.
“We could argue about this all day.” Aedan picked up the photo of Corrato Ricci from his lap. “Like I said, this is going to be tricky, between me having to use a photo and you wanting me to add on a few years.”
“Sorry. She couldn’t find a more recent picture. It’s only three years old.” He glanced at the picture Aedan was studying. It was of Mai and Corrato, arm in arm, posing at a wedding reception. He was wearing a suit; she was in a cute pink dress, smiling and gorgeous. “But you can do it, right?”
Reaching Five Points, he got in the turn lane, heading down Savannah Road. The bank was in a new shopping center not far off Route One.
“I can do it. I just have to get the image in here.” He tapped his temple. “I have to take the photograph, then superimpose the older image, as I see it in my head, on top. And you don’t want him in this suit, right?” He pointed at the photo.
“Nope. Think old-man clothes. Old man who’s lost weight and never likes to buy anything new: baggy shirt and pants, a cardigan sweater. All gray or brown.”
“No glasses?”
“He doesn’t wear them all the time, so they’re not necessary.” He pulled into the parking lot. “We’re here.” He cut the engine, glancing at Aedan again. “You ready?”
Liam had seen him do it hundreds of times, but it still surprised him, amazed him, every time Aedan morphed. Instead of Aedan Kane, it was Corrato Ricci who climbed out of the van.
Chapter 25
Liam waited nervously. He drummed the steering wheel with his fingers. He turned the radio on, cruised the stations, turned it off again. Occasionally, he glanced in the direction of the bank’s double glass doors. Things had to be going all right, so far. Aedan hadn’t come tearing out, morphed as a dog or an orangutan, waving for Liam to pull up the getaway van.
Aedan had this sick sense of humor. Whenever he got in a bad spot, like the time in L.A. at a party, when he’d morphed into a drug dealer, only to run into the real one, he’d morph into something or someone who totally didn’t belong there, and take off. That time it had been an orangutan—perhaps not so far-fetched, considering some of the people Liam had met in L.A. over the years. Aedan said he did it to throw people off-guard just long enough to escape, but Liam thought he liked messing with people’s heads. He’d once been caught in a harem in the Middle East romancing some sheik’s third wife, morphed into a rhino, and gotten away before the guards had had the sense to stop him.
Liam went back to drumming the steering wheel. Then he flipped down the visor to see what Mai had tucked up there. He found a hotel brochure, a bank deposit receipt, and an old shopping list. The list was in Mai’s delicate, loopy handwriting. She had needed chickpeas, basil, oranges, and cereal.
He’d miss her.
When this was over. When he went back to work. When she returned to her quiet life and her antiques shop.
If he ever got to go back to work. If she survived.
Suddenly impatient to have this done, over, no matter what the outcome, he slapped the visor up and took his cell phone from the console. He dialed Peigi. She didn’t pick up. When the answering system beeped, he considered hanging up. Instead, he spoke.
“It’s Liam, Peigi. Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but the Council’s dragged their heels long enough on this. I have a right to a speedy hearing. I have a right to tell my side of the story. So . . .” He hesitated. “Can you talk to someone? Can you get the ball rolling, because—” He was surprised by the lump of emotion that rose in his throat and almost kept him from continuing. He’d gotten too involved with these humans. He cared too much. “I need to get back to work.” He took a breath. “Please, Peigi?”
Liam hung up just as he saw Corrato Ricci shuffle out the bank door. A biker in a fringed leather vest held the door open for him. Corrato/Aedan was carrying the small shopping bag he’d taken in with him. There was definitely something in it.
Liam held his breath until Aedan was in the van, the door closed. “Any problem?”
“No problem.” Aedan spoke with an old man’s voice, though not Corrato’s. He could only mimic voices he’d heard.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, Liam glanced at Aedan. He was himself again. “What’d you get?”
“Weird.”
“Weird?” Liam looked at him, then the road.
“A jumbo crossword book.” He pulled it out of the bag, reading it as if he was selling them.
“A crossword puzzle book?” Liam checked his rearview mirror and moved over into the turn lane to merge north onto Route One.
“An old one. Look, the pages are faded.” Aedan fanned the book, creating a slight breeze on Liam’s face.
“Open it up.”
“It’s crossword puzzles,” Aedan announced, opening to the first page.
“Keep going.” Liam knew very well Corrato hadn’t gone to the trouble of getting a lockbox at a bank to store an old crossword puzzle book.
Aedan flipped the pages. “Crossword puzzle, crossword puzzle, crossword puzzle.”
“They filled in?”
“Some. Not all. Some of the ink is pretty faded. It looks like it was filled out at different times.”
Liam motioned with his hand. “Keep going.” He looked at the book in Aedan’s lap. That was Corrato’s handwriting, all right. Black pen, always a black pen.
“Hmm,” Aedan said.
“ ‘Hmm’ what?”
“Hmm, as in, ‘hmm, this is peculiar.’ This puzzle is filled with numbers, not words.” He studied a page for a second. “Letters and numbers.”
“Letters and numbers,” Liam repeated. “What the hell? Random numbers?”
“Don’t think so. Series of numbers.”
“How many in a series?”
“Let’s see. It looks like he wrote them left to right, leaving a space between each series. It’s definitely alphanumeric, and there’s, let’s see”—he counted out loud—“twenty-one characters in each group.” He looked to Liam. “The topic of this crossword puzzle is household items. Mean anything to you?”
“Twenty-one characters,” Liam repeated. He passed a VW Bug going 45. “Does each one start with the same number or letter?”
“Nope.”
Twenty-one characters, numbers and letters, Liam thought. It couldn’t be land coordinates, then. What other numbers did people record? Important phone numbers, dates, account numbers . . . Of course, it was a bank. Account numbers!
“The combinations don’t start the same way?” Liam asked.
“Nope. But they end the same way. HC.”
“H, C, H, C,” Liam said. “What the hell is HC?”
“It’s not HC,” Aedan announced after a second. He was obviously pleased with himself. “The numbers are recorded backward. It’s CH.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know. Because I’m a smart guy?”
“CH?”
“It’s the country code for Switzerland. I’ve seen them before. Got one or two myself.” He grinned at Liam. “Looks like your old guy does, too. Swiss bank account numbers. Look.” He folded back a page, lifting the book so Liam could look at it for a second. “CH states that it’s a Swiss account. The 10 is some kind of IBAN control digit.”
“IBAN?”
“International bank account number,” Aedan explained. “Not important. 00230, that’s the bank clearing number for all Swiss accounts, and the last numbers and letters are his actual bank account numbers.”
“I�
��ll be damned.” Liam gripped the wheel, gazing out at the barren fields on both sides of the highway. It was bitterly cold today. “I wonder if the Sunshine Boys sold the diamonds.”
“Not likely, from what you’ve been telling me. Your girl would have had to have known something was going on. There would have been contact with outsiders: Internet, mail, phone calls, something.” Aedan hesitated. “Think your girl’s lying to you?”
Liam shook his head. “No way.”
“You’re sure? Gut sure or just sure?” Aedan asked.
“Gut sure.”
“Gotta go with the gut,” Aedan agreed. “Okay, so there’s cash banked internationally. The brother went to jail for tax evasion. Anything he made after he got out of the joint, he certainly would have been more careful with.”
Liam looked at the book again. “Is there just the one page of account numbers, or more?”
“Let’s see.” Aedan flipped the pages. “Things at the Zoo, blank. In the Office, blank. Birds of a Feather, completed. He had a little trouble with ‘Grackle, one that mocks but is not mocking.’ Used Wite-Out.” Aedan pointed with his finger.
Liam smiled to himself. He loved Aedan for his childish innocence, for his ability to see delight in every little thing, despite the fact that, like Liam, he had seen the worst of what God’s world had to offer. “Any more bank accounts?”
“No. No. No.” He turned the pages. “Hmm.”
“Not the ‘hmm’ again, Aedan. Do I need to pull over?”
“Looks like dates, names, places. Was your old guy a drug dealer?”
Liam exhaled. “I don’t think so, but at this point, I don’t know.”
“Well, nine kilos of something arrived from CO in January of 2003 and I’m thinking that’s Colombia, not the Centennial State.”
“Cocaine? Corrato was dealing in cocaine?” Liam mused aloud. “No way.”
“A few weeks ago, you didn’t think he knew anything about his brother’s occupation.”
“Yeah, but in 2003, Corrato was living here, running an antiques shop. He might have known about it, maybe after the fact, but he didn’t participate.”
“Lots of reasons to write this kind of crap down, but a guy who’s doing this kind of crap, he doesn’t write it down. Take my word for it. He keeps it in his head.”
“So who writes down stuff like that?”
“No one.” Aedan closed the book.
“Unless,” Liam said, “you’re starting to lose your memory and you don’t want to forget the details.”
“To what purpose?”
“I don’t know.” Liam exhaled. “To blackmail someone? But that still doesn’t sound like Corrato.”
Aedan cut his eyes at him. “Maybe to turn state’s evidence.”
Mai was watching the window when Liam came down the street and pulled into the alley beside the antiques shop. “He’s here!” She darted for the door.
“Mai, we should wait here for him,” Kaleigh called.
But Mai couldn’t wait. She unlocked the apartment door and ran down the steps. Kaleigh followed behind her, ordering Prince to stay put in the upstairs hall.
Mai met Liam at the bottom of the landing, just inside the door. A cold wind blew in from the outside. He was holding a crossword puzzle book. “Where did you get that?” she demanded, reaching for it. “Is that my dad’s? I thought you went to the bank. Did you get into the lockbox?”
Liam held the crossword puzzle book just out of Mai’s reach. He was quiet for a second and then Kaleigh turned and stomped up the steps. “Fine!” she declared, obviously annoyed with Liam. The weird thing was, he hadn’t spoken to her.
“I’ll wait upstairs,” Kaleigh said. “You think I won’t find out? I know everything, Liam. Eventually.”
Liam waited until Kaleigh had gone into the apartment and closed the door before he looked at Mai. “Have you seen this before?” He held up the book.
“I don’t know. Is it my dad’s? Maybe. Do you know how many crossword puzzle books he owns? You saw the house. There’s probably a hundred.” She hugged herself, feeling like she was on the verge of a breakdown. She didn’t cry, because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop. “Enough with the drama. Just tell me what’s going on, Liam.”
“This was all that was in the box.” He held up the book, which she could now tell was old. The cover was slightly dog-eared.
She stared at the book in his hand. “My father and Uncle Donato got a lockbox at a bank to store a crossword puzzle book?”
“Only your dad’s name was on the box. It was leased three years ago. Corrato’s been in it several times. He had to sign in each time he asked to use his key. Aedan saw the signature card.”
“How did this Aedan guy see the signature card? Why would my dad put a crossword puzzle in a bank vault?” Suddenly Mai felt slightly sick to her stomach and she sank down on the bottom step. The stairway was cold and drafty, but she wasn’t going anywhere until she found out what was going on.
Liam sat down beside her, set the book on his knees, and opened it. He flipped through the first few pages.
Mai recognized her father’s handwriting and tears welled in her eyes. “I honestly don’t remember this book, but that certainly is his writing. Look.” She touched her finger to a note written in the margin. “We must have been out of milk and he jotted it down. Three years ago he was still driving. He would have gone to the grocery store for us. He could have gone to the bank and rented a lockbox.”
“See these?” Liam turned to the page filled in with numbers. “This mean anything to you?”
It just seemed like a jumble of numbers, with an occasional letter. She shook her head.
“Swiss bank account numbers. And see, the pen is darker than some of the other pages. This was filled in more recently.”
“My father has Swiss bank accounts?” She gazed into Liam’s dark eyes, finding the idea almost beyond belief. Who was this man she had known all her life as her gentle father? Was he really a member of the mafia like Donato? It seemed beyond belief, yet not any more beyond belief than anything else that had happened in the last couple of weeks.
“I’ll have to see what I can find out about these accounts. I know a guy who might be able to help me out, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. Banking hours are already over for today.”
“You know a guy who can get you into a bank vault? A guy who can check federal records? A guy who has access to Swiss bank account information? Who are the hell are you, Liam?”
His face was so close to hers that she could have kissed him.
“Actually, I know a girl who can check federal records.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. In any other situation, she might have smiled. “What does it mean? The Swiss bank accounts?”
“It means that he has money that he didn’t want anyone to know about, or that Donato did.” He turned the pages until he found one with the notes. “And this means that he was either involved with criminal activity . . . or he knew someone well who was.”
She stared at her father’s handwriting. He had put letters and numbers into the crossword puzzles so that if you hadn’t looked closely, you might have thought he’d just done the puzzle, but after a second, it was obvious to her that he wasn’t doing the puzzle. It all looked like such a mess. Dates, names. She looked up at Liam again, confused. “What is it?”
“It’s Corrato’s handwriting, right?”
She wanted to say no. She wanted to tell Liam it was all a mistake, or that it was Donato’s writing. But this, in her heart of hearts, was what she had feared was true ever since the night her uncle was killed. Now she really couldn’t go to the cops. “It’s his writing,” she said softly.
“These are details of criminal activity: names, places, dates. A lot of criminal activity.”
“But this doesn’t make sense. My father couldn’t have been involved in crimes. I’ve lived with him for years. I knew where he was almost every second of the day.”
“But only, what, five years? You said you moved in after his heart attack.”
“Right, but I talked to him every day before that. I saw him three or four times a week. I always knew where he was and what he was doing.”
“Did you know he was investigated by the FBI and met with agents in Philadelphia?”
Anger bubbled up inside Mai. She wanted to scream at Liam, call him a liar. But he wasn’t lying. She could see it in his eyes. In the tightness around his mouth.
“Did my father sell drugs?” she asked in a whisper.
“I don’t think so. The dates follow a pattern fitting what we know about Donato. There’s nothing recorded for the years he was in prison. I don’t know for sure, but I’m pretty sure your father was aware of many of his brother’s activities and was keeping the information in case he ever needed it. A lot of it appears to have been written recently.”
“Why would he ever need anything like this?” She stared at the book, hating it. Wishing Liam had never found it. “Tell me,” she said when he didn’t answer. “Please. I have to know.”
His dark, sad eyes met hers. “Maybe it was insurance to keep you safe.”
Chapter 26
In the early hours of Tuesday morning, when it was still black outside, Liam put a call in to a guy who worked at UBS and owed him a favor. Olli Burgin was out for the day, so Liam left a message. Olli was a good guy; Liam liked Swiss vampires. At least for the most part. Once Liam had a chance to talk to him, Olli would look into the origins of the accounts without calling any attention to them.
Liam didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Instead, he lay in his bed with Mai in his arms and the rat terrier curled up at the end of the bed. He listened to the howl of the wind. He remembered lying in another bed, in another time and another place, a woman asleep in his arms, just the way Mai was now.
Roxanne had been the last woman, human or otherwise, whom he loved and she had died because she loved him. It had been the Roaring Twenties: Prohibition, legal opiate drugs, a serial killer stalking the streets of New York City. Roxanne had been a jazz singer on the Upper West Side; they’d met one night when he was stalking the stalker. She’d had the smokiest voice, and a laugh that he could hear even now, when he closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to let her get tangled up with his investigation. He hadn’t meant to love her. He hadn’t meant to make that tiny misstep that night. He hadn’t meant to hold her lifeless, battered body in his arms.
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