Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1)

by M. D. Grayson

  “Mr. Logan,” she said, shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you. When we were told we were going to meet civilian detectives at the police department, I was initially skeptical, so I did a little background checking. I see you spent some time at the FBI Academy?”

  “I did,” I said. “I went through advanced training in Quantico the first part of 2006 while I was with Army CID.”

  “And then later you got your degree while you were still in the army. When you got out, you opened Logan Private Investigations. Sounds like you had it all planned out.”

  I nodded. “Pretty much,” I said.

  “How’s it working out for you?”

  I smiled. “Living the dream,” I said, holding up my Hawaiian shirt.

  She had a beautiful smile when she laughed.

  I never know what to make of women when they do this. Was she just making polite small talk? Probably. Was she flirting with me and providing me the keys to some sort of secret opening that I was supposed to recognize and take advantage of? Possible, I suppose, but probably not. If there was some sort of opening for me, it was too subtle for me to recognize. Was she trying to make her partner annoyed for some reason, maybe make him jealous? Could be. He looked annoyed, but maybe he was just a tightass and was always annoyed. Was she trying to make Toni annoyed or jealous—some sort of female competition thing? Maybe, although Toni wore a quizzical look that made her appear more amused than annoyed.

  My point is, I have this suspicion that women have agendas when they’re making small talk like this, but it’s beyond my ability to figure it out. So I just take it as it comes and try not to overthink it. This may explain why I’m twenty-nine and single. But I digress. We took our seats at the conference table.

  “Would you dim the lights?” Agent Thomas said to Cal. He did. She clicked a mouse on the conference table and a projection screen dropped down from the ceiling. Another click and a picture of a middle-aged man appeared on the screen.

  “The reason for our meeting here this morning is because apparently Lieutenant Brown approached Detective Tompkins about the concern that the Calabria crime family out of Chicago may have some interest or involvement in the disappearance case of Ms. Gina Fiore, who is related to, albeit a cousin removed from, the Calabrias.”

  She flipped open a steno pad with notes and referred to it. “Here’s what we have,” she said. “Detective Tompkins contacted our Seattle Field Office August 17. We contacted our Chicago Field Office the same day and asked them to keep an eye on any unusual comings and goings of the known senior members or the Calabria family. They had nothing to report until yesterday, when they alerted us that this man, Mr. Francesco Rossi, aka Frank Rossi, aka Frankie the Boot, left Chicago on Northwest Airlines Flight 784 bound for Seattle. Mr. Rossi is a first cousin of the Calabrias.”

  I studied the photo. It showed a big guy, probably in his sixties. He was tall, perhaps six two or so judging by the way he filled the doorway in the photo. He had a full head of silver hair. The most noticeable features were the intense dark eyes and bushy eyebrows. The eyes looked like they could bore through granite like a laser.

  Agent Thomas continued. “As soon as Chicago was able to identify his destination, they called us. We were able to get an agent to the airport here, and he took the picture you see in front of you as Mr. Rossi arrived at Sea-Tac at 4:15 yesterday afternoon.”

  “This is pretty interesting,” I said. “Do you have any idea why this guy would suddenly decide to show up in Seattle?”

  “Sorry,” she said. “Not a clue.”

  “Do you know where he went after he landed here? Where he is now?”

  “We didn’t have authorization to commit the necessary assets to conduct a proper surveillance operation, which would have included a tail,” she said. “Our agent at the airport did manage to follow Mr. Rossi long enough to confirm that he rented a car from the Hertz counter. Presumably, he picked it up at the airport lot.”

  Interesting. One of Gina’s Chicago mob relatives suddenly just shows up in Seattle?

  “What’s his background?” I asked. “Frankie the Boot?”

  “Mr. Rossi was—perhaps still is—an enforcer for the Calabria family. We’re not certain. Plainly speaking, he’s a hit man. He earned his nickname as a young man in the organization when one of his early victims suddenly came back to life after being shot by Mr. Rossi. A group of Calabria made men were standing around the victim, apparently about to celebrate his demise, when the victim decided that he no longer wanted to be the center of attention. Gunshot wound and all, he tried to get up. Mr. Rossi apparently became first embarrased, then enraged so he proceeded to kick the victim back down. Then he stomped the poor man in the head with his boots until he literally crushed the guy’s skull. In the twisted world of the Chicago mob, this apparently made Mr. Rossi quite popular. He was labeled ‘Frankie the Boot’ and his ruthless actions here and later in his career paved the way for his eventual rise to a very high, very trusted position in the organization. We haven’t had him on our radar for a while, but who knows? Maybe Frankie the Boot’s back in business.”

  “This just keeps getting curiouser and curiouser,” Gus said.

  “Got that right,” I agreed.

  Chapter 17

  AT A QUARTER to one, I was in the copy room of our office printing agendas for the staff meeting. I’d already prepared an agenda for what was to have been the meeting this morning. Now, four hours later, much of the information used to create that agenda was obsolete. So I restarted from scratch. I’d just finished typing a new one, and I absentmindedly fed the sheets through the copy machine.

  Kenny and Doc were in Kenny’s office next door to the copy room talking about girls—Kenny’s favorite subject. Kenny’s proud of the fact that he is a bona fide geek. He’s twenty-five years old, and he looks like he’s going on seventeen. He probably never got laid once in high school, and he’s working hard to make up for it now. The guy has amazing luck with some surprisingly good-looking women, although most of them are quite young. He’s bold, fearless, and obviously armed with an amazing intellect. He’s also armed with a pretty good-sized wallet, more a result of his side jobs for the IT giants than for the relatively small amount I’m able to pay him. I’m sure this doesn’t hurt the dating situation.

  Doc’s the complete opposite. He is the epitome of the strong silent type. And he’s completely monogamous. In fact, I’ve only seen him with one woman, ever. While we were both at Fort Lewis, he introduced me to a dark-haired PFC he called Dot. He was completely ape-shit over her. Dot—her real name was Dahteste Belacho, was a very pretty young army private who was born on the Mescalero Reservation in New Mexico—the same reservation where Doc was born. I suppose it was natural for the two of them to hook up. I knew Doc reasonably well then. I saw them often, in fact, I never saw the two of them apart for the next few months. Dot and Doc—he was as happy and content as any man I’d ever seen, as happy as a man could wish to be. Until one morning he called my apartment early, nearly incoherent.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, alarmed.

  “She’s gone,” he said, weeping.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s gone. The MPs just came by. She went out running this morning like she always does, and she got hit by a car. She’s gone, Danny.”

  I rushed over and took Doc to the hospital. The doctor met us and told us Dot had died almost instantly at the scene of the accident.

  Doc transformed almost instantly right before my eyes—I never saw anything like it. He changed from nearly inconsolably grief-stricken one instant to completely blank—emotionless—the next. One moment, he was crying, barely able to walk. The next, there were no tears, was no waver in his voice, and he had ramrod-straight posture. It was like his mind flipped a switch, and he completely sucked in his external grief. I knew him by then, and I knew the grief wasn’t gone, it was just hidden away from the public. But it was still there.

  I was able to arr
ange it, so I went with Doc back to New Mexico. We buried his woman on the sacred ground of his people. I think a part of Doc died with her, and I’ve never seen him with another woman since.

  Four years later, I think Doc’s kind of recovered. He still doesn’t date, but I think he’s happy. He seems to enjoy talking to Mr. Swordsman—Kenny. It seems to amuse him and, I imagine, it’s somehow good for him.

  “Did you see that black leather shit she wore yesterday?” I overheard Kenny ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “I couldn’t get up from my desk, if you know what I mean.”

  Doc chuckled.

  “All I got to say is that it’s too fucking bad she plays for the other team.”

  “What do you mean?” Doc asked.

  “You know, she swings from the other side of the plate. She likes the ladies.”

  “Bullshit,” Doc answered.

  “It’s true,” Kenny said, “I swear it.”

  “You’re full of shit. How do you know?”

  “You ever see her with a guy?”

  “That’s bullshit,” Doc said. “You ever see me with a girl?”

  “No,” Kenny answered. “I’ve never seen you with anybody.”

  “You go around telling people I swing from the other side?”

  “Course not.”

  “Good thing. I’ll cut your huevos off and feed them to the buzzards if you do.”

  “You don’t dress up in black leather.”

  “What the hell does that mean? She looks good in black leather, you idiot. She’s making an impression.”

  “I know. That’s what I’m saying, you know.”

  “You don’t know shit, numbnuts. You should be so lucky to end up with a woman like that. All those fucking teenaged chiquitas you hang with.”

  “Look, I know I’ll never be so lucky as to end up with someone like her.”

  “Damn right. You stop talkin’ shit.”

  “I wasn’t talking shit,” Kenny objected. “I was just talking to you. My friend. Private conversation.”

  “Just remember, pipucho,” Doc said. “I like her more than I like you.”

  Just then, I heard Toni walk past Kenny’s door. “My office is right next door,” she said. “I can hear every word you’re saying, you little fucker. I heard you talking shit about me. Get your ass in the conference room. It’s time for the meeting.”

  “I wasn’t,” Kenny said quickly. “I was saying how nice you looked in black leather.”

  “Bullshit, I heard you. You’re busted. You better hope you bleed out fast when Doc cuts your nuts off because when he’s done, then it’s my turn.”

  She walked toward the conference room and without slowing down, turned and looked at me, smiled, and winked as she passed by.

  ~~~~

  “So am I to understand that we’re now officially focusing solely on a voluntary disappearance scenario?” Richard asked. We were in the conference room, and I’d just brought everyone up to speed on the events of the last week or so.

  “That’s right,” I answered. “By now, Gina’s either dead or she’s choosing not to come out of hiding for some reason. Otherwise, she probably would have showed up already. If she’s dead, we can’t help her. If she’s hiding, our job now is to figure out where and why she’s hiding. We need to figure out her motive.”

  “Indeed,” Richard said. “Why would a twenty-seven-year-old woman, daughter of a successful businessman, holder of a very nice job, suddenly up and disappear?”

  “Good question,” I said. “Let’s throw some ideas out and brainstorm a little. So that we don’t fixate, I think it’s important that we consider scenarios related to Eddie Salazar, and also scenarios unrelated to him. Let’s recap the facts first.”

  I got up and moved to the whiteboard.

  “Fact one,” I said, “she’s been missing for two weeks—since the twelfth.”

  “Fact two,” I continued, “She comes from a good family and had a good job.”

  “Objection,” Toni said. “We think she came from a good family, we don’t know the inner dynamics. And even though her job looks good from where we sit, we don’t really have any idea how she felt about it.”

  “Good point,” I admitted. “I’ll use green for facts, and I’ll write the questionable stuff in red. We’ll call this category ‘observations’ instead of facts. Observations, by nature, are subject to interpretation and, as such, we can get them wrong. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Toni answered, nodding.

  “Fact,” Doc said. “She hung out with Eddie Salazar.” I wrote it in green.

  “Fact,” Kenny said. “She hung out at Ramon’s Cantina, a nasty little place.” I wrote this down as well.

  “Fact,” Doc said. “Eddie Salazar’s toast.” Couldn’t argue with this—wrote it in green.

  “Fact,” Kenny said. “Her family is connected to the Chicago mob. And another fact, a senior member of the mob is in Seattle.” I wrote these down in green.

  “I got one,” Toni said. “Fact. Her personality is domineering, controlling, and manipulative. She’s extremely intelligent and a very clear thinker.” She looked at me as I considered what she’d said. “Use whatever color you like,” she added.

  “Several people have said those things about her,” I acknowledged. “My own experience seems to back that up, at least somewhat. I’ll use green.” Toni smiled.

  “I’ve got a couple, too, then,” I said. “Fact. She’s very attractive, she’s got a magnetic personality, she’s very easy to talk to, and she has a great body. Green, right?”

  “Sounds like you’re writing a personal ad for Craigslist,” Toni said. “Chicks wanted.”

  “Write it in green,” Richard agreed. “It’s factual and helps round out the picture.” I smiled. Toni stuck her tongue out at me.

  “Okay,” I said, after I wrote it all out on the whiteboard.

  “Before we try to figure out scenarios that help us with Gina’s motives, who killed Eddie Salazar and why?”

  “One. Drug rip-off,” Doc suggested. “Happens all the time.”

  “Two. Beef with his employer,” Kenny said. “No severance packages in his line of work.”

  “Three,” Richard said. “The girl, Rita, was married and her husband discovered them. He killed them both.”

  “Four. Gina killed him,” Toni said.

  I turned and looked at her. “No offense, but that’s bullshit,” I answered. “She’s no killer.”

  “Write it down,” she insisted. “It’s a possibility.”

  “I’ve known her for more than ten years. I don’t believe she has that in her. Besides, she went missing more than a week before he was killed. Why would she come out and whack the guy?”

  “Because he was pressing her?” Toni said.

  “You should write it down,” Richard said. “You haven’t seen Gina in five years. You don’t know her all that well or what she may have become, or especially why she might be doing what she’s doing. She could have hired anyone to kill him in order to get him off her back. Ironic that it could be he thought he was the bad guy and she was the weak one, when in reality it was reversed.” Reluctantly, I wrote it down.

  “Short of a completely random murder, which would be at odds with the crime scene, any other obvious scenarios that lead to Eddie getting killed?”

  There were none. “Okay,” I said. “We’ve recapped the facts, and we’ve worked through three possibilities where Eddie could have gotten himself killed—and nothing to do with Gina at all.”

  “And one in which she was very much involved,” Toni added.

  “True,” I admitted. “Next topic. Why is Frankie the Boot here?”

  “Vacation,” Kenny said. “But I don’t really believe that,” he added quickly.

  “Family called him in,” Toni said.

  “They said they’d let us know if they were going to do that in order to keep us in the loop. They haven’t. If they did call him, they’re holding
out on us,” I said. “It’s definitely possible. Could also be that they plan on telling us later.”

  “Or they just hoped we wouldn’t find out,” Toni said. “How about Gina called him in for help with Eddie?”

  I wrote down an abbreviated version of both of these then said, “Okay, now let’s talk about Gina leaving. Let’s dream up some scenarios that fit all these facts and can help us develop a motive.”

  “Scenario number one,” Toni said. “She’s stressed out from her job, her life, etc. She’s throwing in the towel and she just wants to disappear. She’ll come back when she pleases. Eddie Salazar had nothing to do with her disappearance, and the fact that he’s dead is just a coincidence and doesn’t motivate her to come home. The family’s hired Frankie the Boot to come and help locate her.”

  “Good,” I said. “But why was Eddie Salazar pissed then? Why did he want to find her and kill her?”

  “Who knows,” Toni said. “Maybe she embarrassed him in public. I get the impression with a little peacock like Eddie Salazar, there wouldn’t have been a much bigger sin in his eyes than being publicly humiliated by an attractive woman.”

  “Okay,” I said. “She disappeared because she’s fed up with the world and she wants out. I’ll go with that. It fits all the facts.”

  “Okay, then. Here’s scenario number two,” Toni continued. “The obvious one. She starts teasing Eddie Salazar and then something goes wrong. She holds out, and he gets pissed. Or they get into a lover’s spat, and he gets pissed. Maybe he’s no good in the sack, and she tells him to his face and, you guessed it, he gets pissed. It doesn’t seem like it would’ve been too hard to piss off Eddie Salazar. She knows he wants her dead, so she hides out. Eddie gets popped, unrelated. Family brings Frankie the Boot out to bring her in. Now that he’s dead, she’ll come back soon.”

  “That fits them all,” I said.

  “Scenario number three,” Kenny said. “Like Toni said, Gina strikes up a relationship with Eddie Salazar, who considers himself a world-class ladies’ man—God’s gift. At some point, she puts him in his place and tells him to fuck off. He takes offense. He threatens to kill her. Before he can make good, though, Gina calls in her cousins, and they whack Eddie first. Frankie the Boot, retired mob executive that he is, is simply coming in to oversee the mop-up. When the coast is clear, legally speaking, he’ll give the word, and Gina comes home.”