Another Man's Treasure

by Renee Roszel

  He had already pulled off his smock and spun around, his eyes as hard and cutting as steel. “Nothing. Forget it.” He stuffed the page into his suit coat pocket. “I’d better get this…to my boss.”

  Raine didn’t appreciate his mysteriousness. He was taking the letter too personally and withholding information from her. She caught his arm as he headed toward the door. “Ike, I’m going, too. You’ll need corroboration, won’t you? After all, I found the letter.” She wanted to say what she really felt, that there was something about him that didn’t ring true. And she was not about to let him leave without knowing what it was.

  He stopped short at her touch, staring down at her as though he’d never seen her before. “No, uh, no.” He spoke as if in a daze.

  Nordie dashed between them and clutched each of them by an arm. Her eyes were bright with excitement. “Oh, Ike! But Professor Webber uncovered the evidence. Surely they’ll want to talk to her! This is so exciting! Let me go, too. Let’s all go. We’re eyewitnesses.” She beamed. “Imagine. We might even get to testify.” Turning back to Ike, she said, “Ike, we will get to testify, won’t we?”

  His steely gaze narrowed. “I’ll send someone by later to get your statements. Nobody goes with me now.”

  Raine felt a shiver of apprehension at the guarded undertone in his voice. For some reason, she was frightened of him—and for him. It occurred to her that he might be thinking of suppressing the evidence. Maybe a fellow officer had been implicated by the letter. It was obvious that something was very different from what he’d expected. By accompanying him, she could perhaps prevent him from doing something rash—something that would get him in terrible trouble with the department. Pulling off her gloves and smock, she declared, “I’m going with you, of course. I found the letter, and I intend to see this through.”

  A muscle jerked in his cheek, betraying a strong irritation, but Raine stood firm, matching his stare with one of equal determination.

  She was surprised when at last he nodded. “You choose now to become assertive, professor? Your timing could have been better. Let’s go, then. But I wish it could have been otherwise.” Turning to Nordie, he took her hand, uncurling her arm from his. “Good-bye, Miss Hunt. Tell your brother that your professor insisted.”

  He cocked his head toward Raine but his eyes did not quite meet hers. He hurried her from the stables. What did he mean, “Tell your brother that your professor insisted”? What did Cotter have to do with this? Why would he care if she went to the police station? Strange, inconsistent behavior.

  They’d traveled silently for several miles when Raine asked, “Ike? How does the letter figure in with the crime you’re investigating?”

  He was watching the road, his knuckles white in a tight grip on the steering wheel. His frown deepened, and with a swiftness that made her grab for her balance, he turned off into a secluded, wooded lane.

  Dust rose around them as he braked the car and turned to face her, his features hard and sad.

  “What,” she asked, “are you doing?”

  He reached inside his suit coat and drew out a gun, leveling it at her. She stared down at it in disbelief. Her lips fell open, and she could do nothing but watch the weapon as it was moved slowly toward her.

  “I’m sorry, Raine. I don’t want to do this. But because of your determination, I didn’t have a choice.” The metal felt cold as it touched her ribs.

  With a tremendous effort, she managed to pull her eyes from the gun and focus on Ike’s face. There was an ironic look of pity in his eyes. Her mouth worked soundlessly, forming the word “Why?”

  He responded immediately. “Because you read the letter.”

  “The letter?” she breathed. “But it didn’t say anything…”

  He smiled sadly. “To you. But you saw the words. Others would understand.”

  “What?” She winced as the gun began to bruise her flesh. “Please…” Her voice trembled as her mind tried to grasp reality. She couldn’t believe this man actually intended to kill her. Someone would come along—

  She had to keep him talking for a few minutes. Swallowing to ease the fear blocking her throat, she fought for a reprieve with her only weapon, logic. “Please, Ike, tell me what the letter means. If you’re going to kill me, at least let me know why.”

  Cocking his head, he motioned for her to open the door. “Move very slowly and don’t make any rash moves. I want to get my business done and leave all this.”

  Her palms sweated and her hands trembled so much that she could barely open the door. She got out of the car and stood up on watery legs. Ike slid across the seat, keeping the gun pressed firmly against her ribs. “You’re gonna ride in the trunk for a while. I can’t have anybody finding your—you until I give cousin Eddy a little present.”

  She swallowed, staring straight ahead and listening intently for the crunch of tires along the road, but the only sound she could hear was the wind rustling the highest branches of the pines. He poked her again in the ribs. “Lie down on your stomach.”

  She got down on the ground, turning her face to the side. He pulled her hands to her back, binding them with his tie. She asked him as calmly as she could, “Who…is this cousin?”

  He took one final tug on her hands, and she cried out in pain. His answer came while he moved to her feet. “Eddy conspired to murder my father, Joseph DeMosso.”

  Raine was stunned and twisted around to try to see him. He had removed his belt and was working it around her knees. “Your…father?”

  He looked up. “I’m Paul DeMosso.”

  “Paulie…” She said the word out loud before she realized she had said anything. Still in an awed murmur, she repeated what she remembered from the letter. “Paulie’s gone to the country…”

  His grin was melancholy. “Yeah. Means I’m in hiding, just in case whoever got Joseph was after me, too. The king is dead. Long live the king. If I’d only known,” he mumbled, yanking the belt tight. “Ed Fusco—the cousin mentioned in the letter—he’s family. Handles drug trafficking from here. Always been a greedy guy, but he’s family. When Joseph got hit, I had a feeling it was Eddy but, being family, I needed proof before I took him out. Today, I got it.”

  She heard the trunk pop open, and stiffened, knowing she was about to be imprisoned in its cramped darkness. Why didn’t a car come? Why didn’t somebody—anybody—come? She felt herself being lifted, and gasped out of sheer desperation. “But—but wait! Who wrote the letter? Who conspired with—”

  “Quiet!” he snapped, carrying her as though she were no weight at all. More carefully than she expected, he laid her down on her side. She watched as he took a linen handkerchief from his pocket and folded it like a gag. “So,” he went on, biting out every word, “like I said, when my father was hit, I had a gut feeling it was Ed’s doing—had his style. Sure enough, that Velasquez they found on the beach is a Florida boy Ed’s used before.” He laughed bitterly as he tied the gag about Raine’s mouth. “Looks like old Ed got his—” he grimaced, spitting out the word “—partner to get rid of Velasquez. Too big a hit to leave witnesses. Like the letter said, their friend went fishing.”

  Her eyes grew wide, but she couldn’t speak because of the gag, and she coughed at the dryness of the cloth against her tongue.

  He sighed, looking past her. “But the real reason you have to die is because of who Ed conspired with.” He put his hands on the trunk lid, and Raine knew that very soon she would be trapped in darkness. She stared at his face, and was shocked to see his eyes cloud with tears. “Doria.” He shook his head. “Ed’s Doria’s cousin, not mine. I knew Doria was ambitious for me to take over. But I never thought my own wife would conspire to kill my father. Damn it! I love that woman. She’s the mother of my kids. Don’t you see? I can’t let anyone live who knows she was in on it.”

  Raine blinked up at him, stunned at what he was saying. He was going to kill this Ed Fusco, but he was going to keep his wife’s part in the murder a secret. He was
going to kill her to protect his wife from sure revenge at the hands of those loyal to Joseph, men who wouldn’t spare her just because she was the wife of Paul DeMosso.

  His low chuckle was dry and bitter. “I see you understand that I’ve got to trade your life for Doria’s.” He reached down and traced her cheek with a finger, and she drew away. He smiled his understanding. “I like you. Your death will haunt me. I’m sorry.”

  The world went black for Raine, but she continued to stare at the place she had last seen Ike’s face—or Paul DeMosso’s face. The anguished determination that had glittered in his eyes made her numb with fear. She was going to die because he loved a woman so much that he was willing to kill and kill again to keep her deadly secret. And she would die, never having known love at all.

  WHEN NORDIE BARGED through the doors of Cotter’s den, he glanced at her with little interest. He had been staring at nothing in particular, his chin on his fists. Their eyes met only for an instant before he looked away, to stare again at nothing. The strains of “Round about Midnight” laced his thoughts with melancholy memories of the last time he’d heard it. With Raine. His eyes slid to the couch, and he could see her there again, so trusting—so caring and vulnerable.

  “Well!” Nordie thrust her chin high. “I heard the music, or I’d never have guessed you’d slithered back home.”

  He shifted an unbrothered gaze back to her. “Good afternoon to you, too.”

  She marched over and took the needle off the record. “I’m not speaking to you, remember. But I think you should hear this.”

  He sat back, asking, “Do I have a vote?”

  “Oh, be quiet! This is important.” She couldn’t stifle her smile completely in her enthusiasm to tell him the good news. “We’ve solved the crime!” With a laugh and a thumbs-up, she walked to his desk, leaning toward him. “Professor Webber and Ike Noonan left a good twenty minutes ago to take our evidence to headquarters. Isn’t that exciting?”

  He was surprised. “Oh?” Crossing his arms before him, he inquired calmly, “What did they find?”

  She shrugged, stepping back. “Don’t know.”

  He mocked her, “We’ve solved the crime, and we don’t know what our evidence was? Congratulations, Charlie Chan.”

  She tossed her head. “You’ll be laughing on the other side of that face when we get our names in the paper and you don’t!” Without waiting for a response, she went on, her excitement animating her face, “But listen, Cotter, whatever the evidence was, it made Ike real excited, almost—” she frowned, tapping a finger on her nose in thought “—almost angry.” She waved that thought away. “No, not angry, really. More like…crazed. Crazed and wired. I’m dying to know what they found.”

  Cotter became lost in thought. “That’s an odd way for a cop to react to finding evidence he’s been after for two weeks. You must have misinterpreted.”

  “Me?” She sniffed derisively. “Once again, you underestimate my powers of observation. But I won’t argue the point now. Ike wanted me to give you a message. I admit that I didn’t get it. But I quote: ‘Tell your brother—’” she cocked her head toward him “ ‘—that your professor insisted.’ ”

  He lifted a puzzled brow. “Insisted? On what?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Going with him, I guess. He didn’t want her to. He didn’t want anybody to go.”

  Cotter frowned, feeling uneasy but acutely interested. “I don’t understand. You’d think—”

  A soft rapping at the door drew their attention. Cotter called out, “Come in.”

  “Sir?” Hanna pushed the door ajar and slipped inside. “There’s a Detective Hefflet here to see you.” Dropping her voice, she added, “From the police.”

  Cotter exchanged curious glances with his sister before he said, “Please have him come in, Hanna.”

  She slipped out as quietly as she had entered, and after a brief moment, a balding, rather bony man about Cotter’s age entered, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in a black suit that give him a somber look. With a smile that was all business, he stepped forward to take Cotter’s hand. “How do you do, Mr. Hunt? I’m Detective Ray Hefflet.” After a perfunctory handshake, he produced his identification. “I was hoping you and your people could help me.”

  Nordie clasped her hands together delightedly. “Oh, good. You want us to testify! I just knew it!”

  Detective Hefflet turned toward her, his expression registering slight curiosity. Cotter lifted a hand in his sister’s direction. “Ray, this is my sister, Nordie. And I’m Cotter. How may we help?”

  Detective Hefflet explained, “We are aware that a group of university students have been doing a study of garbage at some Portland residences with the help of your service.”

  Cotter nodded, but his frown returned. Why was this man reiterating something that was news as old to both him and the police department as last month’s garbage? He said nothing, letting the detective continue.

  As he spoke, the police officer reached into an inside coat pocket and produced a photograph. “We have just received a reliable tip that this man, an underworld figure, is very likely in the Portland area.” He held out the photo to Cotter. “This is Paul DeMosso, son of Joseph DeMosso, a gangland boss who was recently murdered in California. We think DeMosso’s son may be here on some sort of reprisal mission directed at Edward Fusco.

  “For a long time, we’ve been trying to connect Fusco to the DeMosso crew because of his relationship with Paul DeMosso’s wife. But we haven’t come up with any solid evidence. Now it looks as if Fusco may have been at odds with the family and is somehow involved in Joseph DeMosso’s murder. It could be Paul DeMosso believes Fusco was behind the hit and is trying to prove it.”

  “Hit?” Nordie questioned. Both men turned to look at her. She had a distinct look of disbelief on her face. “That can’t mean what I think it means. Not in Portland!”

  Detective Hefflet nodded. He turned back to Cotter. “I don’t want any gangland activity in my precinct. And I’m sure you don’t, either. We’ve already shown this picture to your men who handle the Fusco route, but I want your students to see it, too. We’d like to know where DeMosso is, and what he’s doing. Maybe they’ve seen him—or will.”

  Cotter had been watching the man’s face. “My route men will do what they can, Ray. But I’m afraid the students will be heading back to Orono day after tomorrow. Their study is almost over.” He looked down at the picture for the first time. “It’s probably just as well that they’re leaving. With this new development, I’d rather not have them involved in something so dangerous…” The words died away, and he squinted at the grainy black-and-white picture, unable to believe his eyes. The man had a mustache, but otherwise he looked familiar. “Ike Noonan,” Cotter mumbled incredulously. His eyes shot to Detective Hefflet’s. Slapping the picture with his other hand, he commanded in a low growl, “What the hell is going on? This man has been staying here for two weeks. Said he was a police detective. Called himself Noonan. Ike Noonan.”

  Ray bristled with surprise. “Living here?”

  “Yes. We had an attempted break-in after his first visit. He suggested it might be an attempt to thwart some sort of investigation he was working on—something about embezzlement and prostitution—oh, what the hell difference does that make now.” He ran a rough hand through his hair, frowning in thought. “Damn it! That was probably him—the bastard—faking a break-in just to have an excuse to hide out here.”

  “Could be. DeMosso is reputed to be ruthless and resourceful. And this is the place he’d want to be to find something incriminating against Fusco. Although what it might be, I can’t guess.”

  Cotter berated himself harshly. “Damn it. Noonan—or DeMosso—showed me his police identification. It looked genuine.”

  “Probably was. Police get robbed, too.” Detective Hefflet shrugged helplessly. “As I said, he’s resourceful—”

  “And ruthless?” Nordie stifled a cry, snatchi
ng the picture from Cotter’s hand. “I don’t believe it. Not Ike! He was so nice to Professor Webber. He liked her!”

  Fear gripped Cotter like a vise as he remembered what Nordie had said earlier. Whirling toward his sister, he grabbed her shoulders. “Didn’t you say he and Raine left together?”

  Nordie’s eyes were wide with terror, and her fingers trembled so badly the photo fell to the rug. A strangled cry escaped her throat. “She—she insisted…”

  Cotter uttered an angry oath and turned to Ray Hefflet. “He’s gone, and he took Professor Raine Webber with him—some kind of evidence. We thought they were going to headquarters.”

  Detective Hefflet’s expression darkened to one of deep concern. “What did he find?”

  Cotter’s eyes cut back to Nordie. She was shaking her head. “I—I don’t know. All I know is, as soon as Professor Webber found it, he was anxious to leave.”

  Hefflet shook his head. “If they found some link between Fusco and his father’s murder, he’s on his way to kill the man.” He motioned toward the phone on Cotter’s desk. “I’ll need to notify headquarters.”

  Nordie put her hands to her temples, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her expression was desolate and frightened. “Oh, Cotter! It’s all my fault!”

  Cotter put a consoling arm around his sister’s shoulders and turned to Detective Hefflet as he phoned. “This DeMosso. He won’t hurt Raine?” It wasn’t a question; it was a whispered prayer.

  Detective Hefflet pursed his lips, shaking his head sadly, avoiding his host’s eyes as he lifted the receiver. “DeMosso can’t leave witnesses. I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt, but she could already be dead.”

  The thought hit Cotter like a physical blow. He sat back against his desk, running an unsteady hand through his hair. Raine? Dead? Raine Webber, custodian of the world’s underdogs, heroically plucky, gentle-hearted Raine? He shook his head negating the idea, unable to picture the world deprived of such a giving woman. He realized, too, that he couldn’t envision his own life going on, deprived of her quiet honesty.