Also by Giacomo Giammatteo:
Fiction:
Friendship & Honor Series:
MURDER TAKES TIME: Friendship & Honor: Book I
MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES: Friendship & Honor: Book II
MURDER TAKES PATIENCE: Friendship & Honor Book III
Blood Flows South Series:
A BULLET FOR CARLOS: Blood Flows South: Book I
FINDING FAMILY: Blood Flows South: the Beginning (A Novella)
A BULLET FROM DOMINIC: Blood Flows South: Book II
Redemption Series:
Necessary Decisions
Old Wounds
Non-Fiction:
No Mistakes Careers
NO MISTAKES RESUMES: Book One of No Mistakes Careers
NO MISTAKES INTERVIEWS: Book Two of No Mistakes Careers
Sanctuary Tales (True Stories From An Animal Sanctuary)
WHISKERS & BEAR (Coming soon)
Old Wounds
A Redemption Novel
Giacomo Giammatteo
INFERNO PUBLISHING COMPANY
OLD WOUNDS
by Giacomo Giammatteo
© Copyright 2014 Giacomo Giammatteo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
INFERNO PUBLISHING COMPANY
For more information about this book, visit
www.giacomogiammatteo.com
ISBN: 978-1-940313-10-8 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-940313-11-5 (print)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
To Mithu, Tran, Faustin, and Chelsea.
Table of Contents
Also by Giacomo Giammatteo:
CHAPTER 1 A SURREPTITIOUS MEETING
CHAPTER 2 DRUGS AND LIES
CHAPTER 3 RICO SHOWS UP
CHAPTER 4 SURPRISE MEETING
CHAPTER 5 TRAPPED
CHAPTER 6 GOOD OLD GIRLS
CHAPTER 7 AN UNSCHEDULED VISIT
CHAPTER 8 NEW DREAMS
CHAPTER 9 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
CHAPTER 10 A ROUND OF GOLF
CHAPTER 11 CALL TO DUTY
CHAPTER 12 NEW PARTNERS
CHAPTER 13 PICTURES IN THE PAPER
CHAPTER 14 RECOGNITION
CHAPTER 15 POLITICIANS AND QUESTIONS
CHAPTER 16 SUBTERFUGE
CHAPTER 17 A LATE NIGHT CALL
CHAPTER 18 WAITING FOR THE PHONE TO RING
CHAPTER 19 TRACE THE CALL
CHAPTER 20 CLOTHES MAKE THE WOMAN
CHAPTER 21 A NEW VICTIM
CHAPTER 22 A RIFT IN THE PARTNERSHIP
CHAPTER 23 WOMEN LOVE SHOES
CHAPTER 24 EVEN THE DEAD CAN TALK
CHAPTER 25 AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW
CHAPTER 26 RECAP
CHAPTER 27 ACCENTS
CHAPTER 28 ANOTHER BODY
CHAPTER 29 CHECKING THE FACTS
CHAPTER 30 A NEW LEAD
CHAPTER 31 A COUPLE OF QUESTIONS
CHAPTER 32 THINGS DON’T ADD UP
CHAPTER 33 RB INGLE
CHAPTER 34 WHERE IS MANO?
CHAPTER 35 WHAT NEXT
CHAPTER 36 REPERCUSSIONS
CHAPTER 37 EAST TEXAS TALES
CHAPTER 38 FOLLOW THE MONEY
CHAPTER 39 BAD NEWS COMES IN THREES
CHAPTER 40 A FEW MORE QUESTIONS
CHAPTER 41 MRS. PERFECT
CHAPTER 42 A PRIVATE TALK
CHAPTER 43 ALIBIS
CHAPTER 44 ALIBIS
CHAPTER 45 A NIGHT TO REMEMBER
CHAPTER 46 A LOST CAUSE
CHAPTER 47 THE PLOT THICKENS
CHAPTER 48 RUNNING SCARED
CHAPTER 49 WHO ARE YOU?
CHAPTER 50 CATCHING UP
CHAPTER 51 THE CLUES ADD UP
CHAPTER 52 THE PRESSURE IS ON
CHAPTER 53 9-1-1
CHAPTER 54 THE QUESTIONS NEVER STOP
CHAPTER 55 GUNSHOTS
CHAPTER 56 AUTOPSY
CHAPTER 57 BROKEN PUZZLES
CHAPTER 58 THE MAYOR’S WIFE
CHAPTER 59 THE PINEY WOODS
CHAPTER 60 A MISSING CHILD
CHAPTER 61 THINGS DON’T ADD UP
CHAPTER 62 WHERE’S THE EVIDENCE?
CHAPTER 63 WRAPPING IT UP
CHAPTER 64 CLOSING THE CASE
CHAPTER 65 CONFESSIONS AND RESIGNATIONS
CHAPTER 66 GRAVES AND REUNIONS
About the Author
Lines are meant to be crossed. Laws are meant to be broken.
Gino Cataldi
CHAPTER 1
A SURREPTITIOUS MEETING
Houston, Texas
Barbara stared into the mirror and practiced her line. She wanted the recording to be just right—after all, it would be the last time anyone heard her, if things didn’t go well.
She pursed her lips and said, “My name is Barbara Camwyck. If you’re watching this video, I’m dead.”
Barbara rehearsed it a few more times, then thought about how her life was about to change. All the shit she’d been through would finally pay off.
She slipped on a comfortable pair of jeans, turned sideways to admire herself in the mirror, and then stepped into the closet to select a top. Something light, as it promised to be another unusually warm day for January. She decided on a cream-colored wrap top, one of her more expensive casual blouses. Sometimes subtlety worked best, but this top would work better today, especially with the sliver of skin peeking out at her waist.
Barbara reached up and pulled a pair of Giuseppe Zanotti Crystal-Embellished sandals from the shelf in her closet. They would be the perfect complement. She slipped them on, stepped back, and smiled.
She then went to the kitchen. As she brewed tea she thought about her life. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done well for herself, but doing well and 7 million dollars was different; in fact, doing well and 7 million dollars was another stratosphere. And if her blackmail scheme went as planned 7 million was exactly what she’d have.
She poured the tea, and then made a call, careful to use the burner she had purchased for just such an occasion. It had gotten to the point where a disposable phone was almost a necessity—nothing more than another monthly expense—at least in her current line of work.
A woman with a smoky voice answered the phone. “Hello?”
Barbara kicked her open-toe sandals up on the coffee table and said, “It’s Barbara. I’ll be ready in a few minutes. How long will this take?”
“Stop by on your way. It won’t take me more than a few minutes.”
“And you’re sure it will work. I can’t afford to have this fucked up.”
“It’ll work. Don’t worry.”
A half hour later, Barbara exited the 610 Loop and found her way to the dingy barbecue place where she had arranged the meeting. It was not a place she would frequent, but for today it worked perfectly; neither one of them would be recognized.
She leaned forward and adjusted the rearview mirror so she could fix her hair. Afterward, she applied lipstick, looked in the mirror again, cleared her throat, and then started the video.
“My name is Barbara Camwyck,” she said. “If you’re watching this video, I’m dead.”
Barbara finished recording, straightened her blouse, then spoke into her mic and said, “Okay, I’m going in now.”
/> She opened the car door, got out, and walked into the restaurant, thankful it at least had air conditioning. From the looks of the outside she had wondered. Half a dozen people stood in front of her, a sign that maybe the food was good. Or maybe it’s just cheap.
Camwyck craned her neck, scanning the place until she found the person she was searching for, sitting at a table near the back, in the corner. At least they followed directions. Camwyck needed that table so the mic didn’t pick up unnecessary sounds.
She weaved her way through a mob of sweaty construction workers, careful not to touch them, and not daring to inhale the odors until she passed them. She pulled a chair out and set her purse in the seat next to it. “It’s been a long time,” Camwyck said.
“Not long enough.”
Camwyck smiled. “Not interested in pleasantries? Good. Let’s get right to business.”
“Business? That’s what you call this?”
The comment drew another smile from Camwyck. “I guess in your world they call it leverage, but I see little difference. Blackmail or leverage. It’s all the same in the end.”
“Let’s discuss leverage then.”
Camwyck pushed a thumbnail drive across the table. “You know the terms. I have all the proof I need. After you pay, you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Remind me of the amount.”
“I’m surprised you’ve forgotten. It’s an easy number to remember. Seven million.”
Camwyck ignored the scoffing sound prior to them speaking. “Easy to remember doesn’t mean easy to arrange—especially in cash.”
“I’m certain you’ll think of something,” Camwyck said. “You’ve always been creative.”
“It will take me a while.”
“That’s fine,” Camwyck said, “But if we don’t do this within the next month, I may have to resort to other means.”
A waitress walked by and stopped at their table. “Ya’ll need to place an order at the counter. Then they’ll get you a number.”
“Thank you,” Camwyck said, and stood. She tossed two twenties on the table. “Order what you want. And you can keep the drive to inspect. I have the original.”
“One more thing,” the guest said, scooting the chair closer to the table. “If you try to come back on me, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do.” A pause preceded a glare. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“I understand,” Barbara said, “but you don’t have to worry. Seven million is enough for me. Once we conclude our business, you’ll never hear from me again.”
“If you try—”
“I won’t,” Barbara said, and she exited the restaurant.
As she walked across the parking lot, Barbara punched a number from the recently dialed list on her phone. She’d have to remember to delete that when she was done. “Did you get it?”
“Perfectly. Good sound and good video.”
“Good. I need a copy, but I want the original hidden where it won’t be found.”
“Not a problem. I’ll call when it’s done.”
“No. I can’t know either. If I don’t know, I can’t tell anyone.”
“However you want it,” the man said.
“Good. I’m throwing this phone away now. In the future, if anyone calls you from this number, or from my regular number, ignore it. In fact, run! If I need you I’ll make contact the same way as the first time.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Barbara said. “I’ll need it.”
CHAPTER 2
DRUGS AND LIES
Houston, Texas
I wiped sweat from my brow and moved a cardboard box from the fake homeless shelter, leaving just enough room to see. I checked my gun—safety was off. I didn’t like killing people to start the day, but I would gladly make an exception for Rico.
Two years ago, I collared Rico on a routine drug bust but his high-priced lawyers got him off. Since then, he’d probably been responsible for the death of half a dozen kids.
Should have killed him when I had the chance.
A beige Mazda pulled into the parking lot and nestled beside a light pole. Dave, my partner, got out and walked around, lighting a smoke as he kicked at loose gravel with his brown Lucchese boots. He pretended to stare at the ground but his eyes shifted left and right. He was ready.
Four unmarked cars were positioned within a few hundred yards. I was stationed as close-in back-up, ready to go in at the first sign of trouble.
Halfway through Dave’s second smoke, the dealers pulled up in a black Lexus. Three guys got out. One of them checked Dave’s car, the other two kept their eyes on Dave. A fourth guy stayed in the driver’s seat. I squinted, trying to make them out. I expected Rico to be here, but it looked as if he wasn’t, and if he wasn’t here now, he wouldn’t show at all.
The no-show pissed me off, but busting these guys would hurt Rico, and that would be better than nothing.
I leaned forward so the wind didn’t make noise, and whispered into the mic. “Three outside, one in.”
“Got it,” came the reply.
Dave was talking to one of the dealers. The other two had their hands on guns. I prayed there’d be no trouble. If they started something, it would be tough to contain from here. A dealer frisked Dave, who then opened the trunk and handed a gym bag to him. I knew there was $130 grand in there, but this guy just looked inside then closed it up, didn’t even count it. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I got on the horn.
“Something might be up,” I said. “The guy didn’t even count the money. Be ready.”
The lead dealer turned, or at least I presumed he was the honcho from the fine leather jacket and the shades he wore. He said something to one of his men—the one wearing a dark blue hoodie over a T-shirt—then headed toward the Lexus. The guy wearing the hoodie drew his gun and fired, one shot into Dave’s head.
“Officer down! Goddamnit, Dave’s down!”
I raced from my hiding place, gun in hand, dodging bullets. When I got close enough to matter, meaning fire a shot, I opened up, taking down the hoodie on the second shot. At least the prick that shot Dave got his. Another one fell after two or three more shots. The lead dealer and another one—I think the one who drove—were in the car taking off. I knelt, fired until I was empty.
Two of the backup vehicles cut them off, and a third one pulled next to their car. The backup team opened fire, taking out the driver with the first volley. The leader got out of the passenger side, firing. I ducked behind the Lexus, popped in another clip, then crouched and made my way to the driver’s side. I took a couple of deep breaths, and wondered for the first time in years if I should say a prayer; instead, I took two more breaths to calm my nerves, then peeked from behind the bumper. The leader had gotten out and was facing the back of the car. He fired once. I pulled the trigger twice, hitting him in the chest. When he fell, I emptied my gun.
I ran back to check Dave. Blood pooled on the asphalt parking lot under him, and there was a gaping hole under his left eye, where his left cheek used to be. The back side of his head was almost missing.
“Goddamn.” I kicked the car, then kicked it again. “Goddamnit.”
I knelt next to Dave, holding him. Inside I was crying but I managed to keep it there; I wasn’t much the crying type. The last time I cried in public was when my wife died.
“Anybody call a bus?” one of the other officers yelled.
“No need to rush,” I said.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Bobby Lynch, an old timer from the department.
“Gino, I’m sorry, man. I know what it’s like to lose a partner.”
“I can’t believe those fuckers killed him like that,” I said, but what I thought was—I should have been there for him. I was supposed to protect him.
Bobby helped me up and held onto me afterward. “It’s the drugs. They turn everybody into an animal.”
All I could do was nod. We waited around until they finished proce
ssing the scene, then Bobby said, “You got a ride?”
“I rode with Dave.”
He grabbed my arm and started toward his car. “C’mon, I’ll drive you back to the station.”
As I followed Bobby to his car, the smell of fajitas from a restaurant drifted across the parking lot. Dave loved fajitas. Wherever he went, I hoped they had an endless supply.
Bobby dropped me off at the door, and I went inside. Captain Gladys Cooper had left orders at the desk for me to see her as soon as I arrived. Why she hadn’t called me I’ll never know, but that was how Gladys worked.
She also hated it when I called her Gladys. Most of the guys called her Coop. She had taken a liking to that and wore it like a badge of honor, like she was really one of the guys. Rumor had it that she played for the other side as far as sexual preferences go. The fact that she arm-wrestled the guys and won about half her matches didn’t provide much of a defense—if she wanted it. Either way, it didn’t matter to me. I had a lot more to worry about than who my captain might be sharing her bed with.
Cindy met me in the hall with a cup of black coffee. “I heard about Dave. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
After an awkward moment of silence, Cindy walked toward Coop’s office. “She’s waiting for you.”
I went into the office wearing a frown, a little agitated that I had to be here. But things had to be done when an officer was shot, things had to be done, and preparing for the press was of paramount importance. “Hey, Gladys. Nasty stuff, huh?”
She got up from a reading chair and gave me a big hug. “More than nasty. It plain sucks. These drugs will kill us all if we don’t watch out.”
She offered me a seat and punched a button on the intercom. “Cindy, will you please get me more tea? And bring your recorder.”
Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery Page 1