Jamie Hill Triple Threat (A Cop In The Family)

by Jamie Hill

  "Allen Imports," a female voice answered.

  "Richard Allen, please," Brady said pleasantly.

  "I'm sorry. Mr. Allen isn't in yet."

  "Is he usually there by now?" Brady's mind raced.

  "Um, most days." She sounded uncomfortable.

  "No idea when to expect him?"

  "Not really, no. Sorry."

  "Thank you." Brady hung up and looked at Costa. "Allen's not at work. I don't have a great feeling about this."

  "We just talked to him yesterday! You think someone found out already? Or do you think he hightailed it out of town as soon as we set him free?"

  "Not sure." Brady picked up his phone and used the intercom system to call his lieutenant. "Could you get a car over to Richard Allen's place this morning? He's suddenly gone AWOL, and I want to make sure it was of his own volition."

  "We figured that would happen," Forrest snorted. "He's probably halfway to Jamaica by now. I hope you got all the information you needed out of him."

  "I think so. He wasn't thrilled to cooperate, but I just wanted to touch base with him one more time."

  "I'll send the uniforms. If he doesn't answer the door, want them to go in?"

  "Yes, I do." Brady had a sinking feeling about Allen. He hoped he was wrong, but the guy didn't seem the type to pick up and take off overnight.

  He hung up and looked at Costa. "One cruller, and it's time to go visiting." He polished off a roll and half a cup of coffee. When he stood, he patted his pockets for keys and phone. He felt a bulky package of cigarettes and pulled it out, tossing it on his desk.

  Costa raised his brows questioningly.

  Brady shrugged. "Can't explain it. Don't have much of a taste for them anymore." He left the smokes there and headed out.

  Costa chuckled behind him. "What do you have a taste for these days, Marshall?"

  They stepped into the elevator and looked at each other. Brady smiled. "You're a married man. I can't talk about it with you."

  "Make that— you don't have to explain it to me. I've only been married four years, amico. Rose and I have things pretty good. Scratch that—damned good."

  Brady glanced at him skeptically. "You have two kids. You saying things are still hot and heavy between you with two toddlers running around?"

  Costa grinned. "You've seen my wife, right? She's fucking hot." He traced the outline of a shapely hourglass in the air with his hands. "The kids are icing on the cake. I'm thrilled to have two little girls that are going to grow up as pretty as their mama."

  Brady thought about it on the way to the parking lot. Costa's kids are cute. He'd never thought about it much before. And the guy still considered his wife 'fucking hot' after having two babies—that was interesting to hear. Surprising, but very nice.

  He thought briefly about Jack and Crystal. They hadn't been married long, so he could see how their relationship might still be passionate. But they'd adopted the two boys the same day they got married, so they'd never had much time alone. The whole thing had happened quickly. Brady was happy for them at the time, but remembered thinking 'better him than me'. Now, to his utter amazement, he was questioning that concept.

  They reached Costa's SUV and he unlocked the doors. "Where to first?"

  "Let's see if East Asian Imports is still around." Brady caught a glimpse of the kids' car seats in the back and his stomach quivered with excitement. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Climbing in and buckling up, he tried pushing Gina out of his mind.

  He assumed after they'd slept together he'd be less obsessed. Nothing could be further from the truth. All he could think about was her. He gazed out the window as Costa drove. "Your wife is pretty fucking hot, man."

  "Stay away from her," Costa muttered jovially.

  "Don't worry. I've got all I can handle just now." He stared at the people on the sidewalks they drove past. They all looked like Gina. Brady smiled.

  * * * *

  Despite Brady's presumption, East Asian Imports was still in business when they arrived at the tenth floor offices. The place was still sparsely furnished, and the same receptionist sat at the front desk. "Hello, Jenny."

  "Detective." The smile drained from her face. "Mr. Moreno is on an international conference call. He may be a while. If you'd like to make an appointment—"

  "We'll wait." Brady dropped into one of the two chairs in the reception area.

  Costa sat next to him.

  They looked around the small room, shifted in their seats, crossed and uncrossed their feet. After thirty minutes Brady spoke to the receptionist who'd been ignoring them. "Tell Mr. Moreno we're going on over to Mr. Moretti's house. If he finishes his call, he's free to meet us there, if he chooses." He stood.

  "Just a moment." She raised one hand and got up from her chair, one eye on her large phone console. "It looks like he's just finished up."

  "Imagine that." Brady muttered.

  Scowling, she entered the CEO's office.

  Costa stood and stretched his legs. "Why didn't you think of that a half hour ago? Might have saved us some time."

  Brady bent his neck from side to side and straightened his tie. "They needed us to wait it out a little bit. We'll let them think they have the upper hand."

  Costa shook his head. "How am I ever going to figure out all the shit you just seem to know?"

  With a slight grin, Brady shrugged. "Give yourself time, Junior. It'll come."

  Jenny reappeared in the hall. "You gentlemen can come back now."

  They headed toward her and Costa mumbled, "I bet I can change diapers more efficiently than you."

  Brady chuckled. "No doubt. I might get some pointers from you some time." He nodded at the woman as they entered Moreno's office. "Mr. Moreno."

  The dark-haired man sat behind his desk, jacket off and shirt sleeves rolled up. "Come in, detectives. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was on a scheduled conference call. If you'd made an appointment—"

  "We like doing it this way." Brady smiled and sat.

  Costa took the seat next to him. "We're still interested in speaking with Mr. Moretti."

  Moreno flexed his fingers against each other. "Gentlemen, I believe I told you before. I run East Asian Imports now. Mr. Moretti is retired, and frankly, his health is not great. We don't advertise that fact because many of our associates deal with us based on Mr. Moretti's reputation. If they found out he wasn't well, it could hurt business."

  "We won't tell a soul," Brady assured him with a touch of sarcasm. "We'd just like a word with the man."

  Moreno' forced smile dried up. "I don't see how I can make this much clearer. Mr. Moretti is not well, nor has he been a decision-making partner of EAI for several months. If you tried to talk with him he'd be confused and no help whatsoever. I'm afraid he can barely remember his own family these days."

  Brady raised his eyebrows. "Alzheimer's?"

  Moreno shrugged. "They can't say for sure. His family refuses to put him through a rigorous battery of tests when there's not much that can be done. He's on the latest experimental protocols, but they don't seem to help." He inhaled deeply and expressed the breath. "I have signed documents giving me full control over EAI, and a legal power of attorney. So whatever you wanted to discuss with him, I'm your man."

  "Good. So, in that case…" Brady drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. "The drug running, burglaries and murders that have been attributed to Mr. Moretti are actually your responsibility, then."

  Moreno's face flashed an angry shade of red. "Excuse me? Are you fucking kidding? I know there have been some thefts of shipments and believe me, I've checked out my own staff probably more thoroughly than you have. We run a good outfit, here, and associating us with drugs and murder is akin to libel, in my book. Perhaps we should see what my lawyer has to say about it."

  Brady smiled. "I don't think that's necessary, yet. Someone is attributing the crimes to Moretti which is why we're forced to come and check it out. You understand. Of course, we don't have an
ything firm, yet. Gianni Macchio's name has also been bandied around. And then there's Richard Allen."

  Moreno waved his hand as if swatting a fly. "Allen is a gnat. He got busted with an illegal shipment so I'm sure he's trying to spread the blame all over Riverside. I don't think you need to look much further than his office. I hear his numbers man, Watts, talks out both ends of his ass."

  "Not anymore," Costa said dryly.

  Moreno looked surprised. "Watts is dead? Is he one of the murders you mentioned?"

  "Yes, indeed." Brady gauged the man's expression. He was shocked to hear the news, or he was a very good actor. "And then there was the security guard at East End Imports."

  Moreno laughed. "Aw, fuck. That poor sap was probably killed by friendly fire. I heard another of their guys shot some cop in the arm last week."

  Brady frowned.

  Moreno stopped smirking. "Shit. One of you?"

  Without replying, Brady asked, "What do you know about Macchio and East End Imports? Their offices aren't as fancy as yours, but they've been around a while. What's your take on their reputation?"

  "Macchio is an old fart well past his prime. He and Moretti did business ages ago, but there's no love lost between them these days. Gianni with a 'G' is as big a thief as they come, and he raised his son to follow in his footsteps."

  "That would be Mr. Morrow?" Costa suggested.

  "D. Yeah, he's an asshole."

  Brady smiled. "I believe he had similar observations about you."

  "Fuck him." Moreno snarled.

  Costa tried a different tactic. "Any idea why Morrow and Macchio have different last names if they're father and son?"

  "If Gianni Macchio was your father and you wanted to go into business, you'd change your name, too. The old man has a mobster reputation."

  "Then why follow in his footsteps?" Brady asked. "If Morrow wanted to make a break, he could have started his own business or moved away. He didn't have to take over the family company."

  "Why, indeed?" Moreno sneered. "Perhaps because things aren't always what they seem, Detective. Morrow might profess to disapprove of his father's interests, but he's profited from them greatly over the years. His whole family has. Money talks, and bullshit walks."

  "Right." Brady scratched his head, processing. "So, you're suggesting that Victor Moretti is as clean as a newborn baby's ass, and we should be looking at Gianni Macchio as the culprit here."

  "Pretty much," Moreno agreed.

  Brady nodded. "Okay, then. We appreciate your input. We'll be in touch."

  Moreno showed them out. "Really looking forward to it."

  Brady walked out, past the empty reception desk, straight to the elevator.

  Costa stopped beside him and murmured, "You've never seen a newborn baby's ass, have you? They really aren't all that clean."

  "Shut up." Brady closed his eyes and groaned. Babies, again. All threads of conversation led his mind back to Gina. A comfortable, yet strangely uncomfortable place to be. He shifted from one foot to the other and willed his erection away.

  * * * *

  Brady instructed Costa to drive to the offices of East End Imports. He wanted one more chat with D. Morrow to see if he could get a better read on the man. As they pulled into the parking lot, Morrow was walking towards a shiny black Lexus sedan.

  "There's our man." Brady climbed out as soon as Costa came to a stop. He didn't want Morrow to drive off. "Mr. Morrow." He removed his sunglasses and caught the man's eye.

  "Detective," Morrow acknowledged. "I meant to call and see how you were doing. I was shocked when I heard about the accident last week."

  "Yeah, it was a surprise to me, too. I assume your man has been reprimanded? Besides spending the night in jail, that is."

  "He no longer works for EEI. Whether you choose to believe it or not, we run an above-board operation here. Acts of ignorance and idiocy don't get rewarded."

  Brady felt a twinge of satisfaction and nodded. "Glad to hear it. We just had a couple more questions for you. Your father's name has come up several times in our recent investigation. Any chance we can speak with him?"

  Morrow shook his head. "Sorry. Pop isn't doing so well these days. He gets confused easily. I'd question the authenticity of anything he has to tell you."

  "Really?" Brady feigned surprise. "Is it Alzheimer's?"

  "Early stages, but yeah. His short-term memory is shot. He can talk about his life growing up in the inner city, but try to remember what he had for breakfast? Forget about it."

  "I'm sorry to hear it." Brady wondered if he was listening to a broken record. The CEO's of EAI and EEI did not want the police talking to their elder counterparts about the businesses.

  "So you have complete authority over the company, is that right?"

  "Absolutely."

  Costa spoke up. "There've been some questionable activity in Riverside lately, and we're trying to get to the bottom of it. See exactly who's behind it."

  Morrow's eyes narrowed and he glared at Costa. "I hope you're not suggesting EEI had anything to do with the drugs you uncovered last week. And that idiot Watts—he was playing his boss for a fool. You don't have to look any farther than Richard Allen to solve that homicide."

  "Really?" Brady raised his eyebrows. Last week Morrow hadn't recognized Watts' name. Now, all of a sudden, he was solving the mystery of the man's murder. "Allen points his finger in other directions. Says if he was going to smuggle drugs, he wouldn't risk his own company. He'd find someone on the inside of another import/export shop and push it through them."

  "He would suggest that, wouldn't he? What else can he say when over two million dollars' worth of powder slipped through his hands? If he'd been smart, he'd have saved the money he was making on the side for a time like this, so he could take off to Brazil or somewhere. Stupid putz."

  "Is that what you'd do?" Brady glared at Morrow.

  "I'm a family man, Detective. I've done nothing wrong. Allen and Watts were scum-sucking low-life. They deserved everything they got. Don't believe everything you hear from the lips of a drowning man. People have been known to say lots of shit when it's their ass on the line."

  "And you'd never throw anybody under the bus that way." Costa stared at Morrow.

  Morrow stared back. "Not unless they deserved it. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'm meeting my wife for lunch. I've already kept her waiting."

  Brady stepped back so the man could get into his car. He watched Morrow drive off, then pulled out his cell phone and pressed a button in the memory. "Come on," he nodded his head at Costa, motioning toward their car. They both got in, and Costa drove.

  "Back to the station," Brady muttered to him, then spoke into the phone when his boss answered. "Lieutenant, did the uniforms find Allen at his place?"

  "He wasn't there. Patrol found no signs of a struggle, the place was neat and clean. They said it looked like his clothes were still there. Drawers were full and all that. There was an empty suitcase in the closet, and prescription medicines in the bathroom."

  "So odds are, he didn't pick up and leave. He would have taken something."

  "You concerned about him?"

  "Yes, I am. D. Morrow just told us Watts and Allen deserved everything they got. Watts got a bullet in the head. To the best of my knowledge, Allen didn't get anything."

  "That we know about. Yet."

  "Exactly." Brady sighed.

  "I'll send patrol over to his office. If he's not there, we should put out an all points."

  "Sounds good. We'll be back shortly." He disconnected the call.

  "Anything?" Costa asked.

  "Forrest is putting out an APB on Allen."

  Costa stared straight ahead. "The fucker is in trouble, isn't he?"

  Brady nodded. "I think so."

  * * * *

  He spent the afternoon researching leads, but Brady found no clues to the whereabouts of Richard Allen. By five-thirty he'd done all he could. The man would either turn up, or he wouldn't.
It was out of Brady's hands.

  Gina was working so he went straight home, ate a light snack and changed clothes before he hit the weight machines. He'd barely finished a couple of reps when his phone rang. Winded, he hopped up quickly and answered it. "Marshall."

  "You're out of breath. Please don't tell me I caught you in the middle of something. I mean, if you stopped to answer the phone…" Jack whistled.

  "Shut up. I'm lifting weights. I thought this call might be important but I guess I was wrong."

  "Big case?"

  "It didn't start out so big. Stuff being ripped off from warehouses in Riverside. Now we've got a dead security guard, a dead CI, and a missing witness."

  "Definitely getting bigger. I heard something about the drugs you uncovered in an import company shipment. You never could trust those fuckers, even back in the day. Crooked as my dick, every one of them."

  "Thanks for the mental imagery. Yeah, I haven't quite figured these guys out, yet. The two biggest companies are owned by guys named Victor Moretti and Gianni Macchio."

  "Those two old bastards still around? They were cagey way back when."

  "Still are, even though both of them purportedly have Alzheimer's and no controlling interest in their companies anymore. I'll tell you one thing; the boys they left behind are pretty good at pointing fingers at each other, that's for fucking sure."

  His doorbell rang, and Brady jumped. "Fuck. Someone's at the door. Grand Central Station here all of a sudden."

  "I'll let you go. Crystal wanted me to invite you and your lady friend to dinner this weekend. Whatever night works for you two. Let me know."

  "Oh, okay. Thanks." Brady thought about that. Might not be a bad idea. He'd love to introduce Gina to his friends. "I'll check with Gina and get back to you."

  "Good. Ciao."

  "Whatever, fuckwad." He pressed his phones off button and grinned as he went to the front door. Pulling it open, he was surprised to see Gina standing there. "Hey!"