He sounded like something from a '30s movie. I tried not to laugh.
"I won't admit to anything."
"We've managed to find Brandt's documents."
"Brandt's... you've found... how could you find anything? He had nothing."
"Guess you didn't look close enough, Quinn." I wanted to hear him say it. "When you were in the house you didn't look everywhere."
He was silent.
"Of course, a thorough guy, a real researcher would have looked and found this. A guy who knows his stuff would have made a real search and found the answers he was looking for. But I guess..."
"I did no such thing." He said.
"Just when I thought you'd get interesting." I leaned back in my chair.
"You think you're clever. But you're just a thug."
"If you say so. Aren't you gonna tell me how you searched Brandt's house? And you came up empty. Even though any fool could have found what we found." He'd probably never have found that key but he wouldn't know that. I wanted to see how much he'd tell me.
"Any fool...?I don't have to put up with your insults." He half rose from his seat.
"Sit down, Quinn. Get it off your chest. I've got a private lab working the place and they'll come up with prints, a stray hair, something."
"Prints." He laughed. "They'll never find a thing."
"Right. I imagine you'd be careful. You may be a dolt when it comes to research but breaking and entering, stealing other people's work, you've got that down. Right?"
"I stole nothing. If you know as much as you say, you know that. Brandt was the thief. He stole my work. Work I'd been doing for decades. He comes along and with his pretty face, takes all my research, and publishes a book of his own."
"By 'steal' do you mean he did his own research and came up with the same set of facts and documents you'd found and done nothing with?"
"I... that information was my property. I have been compiling it for years. Brandt used the same information. He stole my ideas, my work. And twisted it to his own ends."
"Okay, let's call that stealing, if you want. So, you figure it's just fine to break into the guy's house and ransack it to steal his new findings?"
"I did no such thing."
"How'd you know Brandt and Hollister wouldn't be there? Did you know because you murdered Brandt and then ransacked his house?"
"Murder? You have no right to accuse me."
"That's not much of a denial."
"I'm denying it in every possible way. I had nothing to do with that. It was others. Brandt made many enemies. The conspirators, the Church authorities, there are many who wanted to see him dead. I just wanted him to tell the truth about stealing my work."
"So, you only broke into his house?"
"Never." Quinn fumed. "Have you investigated elsewhere, Mr. Fontana? Have you? Am I the only one you are investigating? There are others. People with power, people who can pick up a phone and in the next moment anyone they want will disappear. I fear such people. They haunt my days and nights, Mr. Fontana. I live in fear. And so should you."
"They didn't have someone knock me out to warn me off the case. You did."
"That wasn't me," he said loudly. "I don't need to resort to that."
"You act indignant, invade my office with your bat boy, and that's supposed to make me believe you? You're a liar from top to bottom. You're a thief. You like to bully people. Give me a reason to believe anything you say."
He was silent.
"That's what I thought. You've got nothing. Your so called work is just a pale copy of what Brandt had been doing. That's why you broke into his house and that's why you had him killed. I'll be going to the police with everything."
He glared at me, his eyes bloodshot, his hair tangled and dirty.
"You can't leave well enough alone, can you, Fontana?" Quinn stood, placed a hand in one pocket of his voluminous coat.
A tingle of alert thrilled up my neck.
"Stand up, Fontana," he ordered. The hand in his pocket apparently held a gun, or at least he wanted me to believe that.
"You'll have to do better than that, Quinn. That's one of the oldest tricks in the book."
"Stand up and come around to the front of the desk." He pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at me.
"What? Are you gonna kill me here? And my secretary?" I stayed put.
"Get up," his voice was calm and low.
I stood slowly. I figured it'd be better to play along rather than set him off.
"Now come around to this side."
Slowly moving from behind my desk, I stood within a foot of him and noticed something.
"You got a plan, Quinn?"
"You'll give me the documents or both you and your secretary will suff..."
I put out a hand and snatched the gun. It was a fake which I realized when I got close. I wanted to smack him across the face with it but I tossed it into the trash can instead.
"Sit down, dirt bag." A well-placed shove and he was down.
Letting out a sigh, which, like the rest of him, was laden with the odor of onions and tobacco, he slumped in the chair.
"You broke into Brandt's house, right?"
"No. No, I... did not," he stammered.
"Save it. I've heard enough."
Silence.
I picked up the phone and buzzed Olga.
"Place a call to Lt. Giuliani. When you've got her, switch it to me."
I waited, phone in hand.
"All right, all right... no need to call the police, Fontana."
I didn't budge.
"Enough!" He rose from his seat. "Stop!... Please."
"Cancel the call, carina. But keep the number handy." I placed the receiver in its cradle. "Well...?" I stared at him. He sank back into his chair.
"All right, I... I may have broken into Brandt's home." He sat back, closed his eyes, and sighed. It was as if he were unburdening himself. "I may even have had someone call to warn you off the case. Call, you understand. Not hit you or touch you. Just a phone call. That is the extent of it." He feebly slapped a hand on my desk. "I draw the line at anything worse than that. No violence. And murder... never."
"No violence? That's where you draw the line?"
"Absolutely. Violence is not my way. I'm a researcher, an historian."
"So pulling a gun is not violence?"
"It was a fake as you saw."
"And the kid with the bat was an illusion? I just fantasized a young man wielding a baseball bat." I looked at him. "Quinn, lemme tell you, I have fantasies but that's not one of 'em."
"It was a show of force. He'd never have used the bat. I instructed him to stand there and look tough. He couldn't even accomplish that. You see how he ran when you arrived. He's street scum, not worth the time of day."
"Nice attitude. You're a lying scum bucket yourself. A thief and a liar."
"But not a murderer. Never a murderer. I could never do that. They could. But not me. I'm not like them."
"They?" This guy was losing cards from his deck as we spoke. "Who is this 'they' you're talking about?"
"The ones with all the power. The ones who control everything. They're the ones you need to seek out. Though if you do, you'll be finished."
"Whatever."
"That flippant attitude, Fontana. That is what will get you killed. They murdered the Pope. They murdered Brandt. Because he was getting too close to the truth."
"Which Truth is that?"
"That powerful men murdered the Pope and Brandt may have known their names. That's what I want to find out. That's why I need to see the documents."
"Never gonna happen."
"Your life... and others may depend on it."
"If these powerful men are anything like you, I'm not worried."
"Remember what I've said, Fontana. Something will happen. Keep looking over your shoulder. They'll come after you, I can see to it."
"But you're not a violent man, right?"
"One word t
o them and you're dust."
"Get out, Quinn. And remember, you're not off my list yet."
"You won't go to the police? They'll know if you go to the police..."
"I'm making no promises."
He stood.
"When you find the real killer you'll know I was telling the truth." He ran a hand through his zany hair and it looked no better.
"When I find the real killer he might be you."
He gave me one last wild-eyed look, turned, and stomped out the door.
I sat back and thought about what he might be capable of. I've seen murderers, thieves, rapists. You could never really tell what they might or might not be capable of. Usually, I got a feeling. Listening to them talk, looking into their eyes. I'd get a sense for just how far they'd go. If you knew what to look for, you'd see it. My instinct was good.
Quinn was a loon but his eyes said he wasn't as crazy as he pretended. He was a bully and a bluffer. But a murderer? I got the feeling he wasn't. But I wasn't ready to let him off the hook.
I stepped out to see Olga.
"You all right?"
"Me? I am tough like snails."
"They didn't touch you?"
"I am telling them everything is on camera. Touching me will be on film and they will be stars at police station."
"Clever. Maybe I ought to get that surveillance system I've been thinking about."
"Maybe is good for Olga's health. And for you. You would be mess without secretary."
"I'll do it. Now I've got some calls to make." I went back to my desk.
She was right. I'd be a mess without a secretary and she was the best.
I picked up the phone and dialed the private number Kusek had given me.
"Kusek, here." His voice was as smooth as I'd remembered.
"It's Marco."
"Marco! I had a lovely time last night. I wanted to thank you."
"I enjoyed it, too, Tad. You made quite a hit with the waiter. He gave me a look on the way out as if I'd hit the jackpot. I noticed a lot of other eyes trained on you, too. We should do it again. Soon."
It wasn't empty flattery. For some reason he had stirred something in me. But I also felt guilty. Anton and Luke were more important to me, more integral to my life. And here I was getting dreamy about a priest. A priest! Maybe all I wanted was a quick roll in the hay, then this priest thing would just go away.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Marco."
"How about a guy who keeps his promises, then? Will that earn me points?"
"You bought me the Tuscan villa?" He laughed and I wanted to be there with him. I remembered his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. It made me think of Anton. They were remarkably similar.
"Wow, I must have had more to drink than I remember. Actually, I was thinking about a smaller promise I'd made."
"Okay, hit me. I can't remember."
Always nice to have them remember your conversation and your promises. That helped to dampen the embers a bit.
"About reading some documents? I hoped you'd read them to see if you could help with the case? Remember that?"
"Documents. Documents. Oh! Brandt's documents. Yes! I remember now."
"Well, I've gotten permission and I'd like to email them to you."
"I'm here at the computer. Mail away."
"You'll keep this under your hat, right? Hollister doesn't want anyone else to see this material. But we're hoping that you'll see something we missed."
"If there's one thing a priest knows how to do, it's keep a secret. Remember the seal of the confessional? From when you were still a practicing Catholic? Don't worry. The documents will be my eyes only."
As he talked, I attached the files to the email I composed.
"Sent. Let me know when you get them."
There was a brief pause during which I heard a keyboard clacking.
"They're here. Thanks for trusting me with this, Marco."
"Here's your turn to have some faith in me. How about returning the favor?"
"I knew there'd be a catch. Italians have a quid pro quo mentality. It was that way when I lived in Rome, it's that way with G. You have the same trait."
"Should I feel insulted or flattered?"
"Flattered. I like that quality. What is it you want?"
"You mentioned Galante would be meeting the mayor at the Marriott tomorrow."
"That's true," he said, suddenly wary.
"You also mentioned I might be able to get a little face time with the Cardinal."
"I knew it! As I recall, it was you who mentioned you'd like to have a meeting. I never said I might be able to arrange it."
"Well, maybe my memory isn't clear. After all you remember me promising a villa and I have no recollection of that."
"He's got a tight schedule."
"Nobody's schedule is that tight. Even the president has time to spare when it's something consequential."
"It's that important to you?"
"Important enough, Tad. I need to close this case. Give Hollister a little peace. Maybe Galante can help."
"Well..."
"I'll never know unless I can talk face to face."
"If you upset him, he'll eat me for lunch."
"I've got your life in my hands?" I said.
"My life, my career, my everything. I'm sticking my neck out for you."
"In that case, I'll be extra gentle. I'll leave the brass knuckles and rubber hose at home. You think he'll mind if I grill him under a bright light, though?"
"I'm serious. G is a great guy but he's a stickler and he never forgets a slight or someone who makes him look foolish or worse. If you're not careful I'm as good as assigned to some parish in Idaho."
"But you'll do it?"
"You don't give up, do you?"
"Not when there's something I really want."
"Be at the Marriott at noon. In the main lobby. And remember what I said."
I picked up the phone again, Kusek's voice still in my head, and dialed Detective Giuliani.
"Giuliani."
"It's your favorite P.I." I tried sounding cheerful.
"No such thing. What do you want now, Fontana?"
"Just wondering if you'd managed to ID that kid yet?"
"Who wants to know?"
"It's related to the case I'm working. Remember?"
"I remember a certain arrogant P.I. telling me he couldn't let me in on a case. Private. Hush hush. Bullshit."
"You know how it is, Gina." I tried being friendly.
"It's Detective Giuliani. And I know exactly how it is."
"So how about a break?"
"They haven't identified the vic. If and when they do, you won't be the first to know. In fact, you won't get to know at all."
She left a wave of dialtone in her wake.
Chapter 29
The cool air washed over me as I stood on my balcony but it couldn't wipe out the annoyance I felt at Giulani's refusal to cooperate. I'd have to use up favors doing an end run around her.
I diluted the feeling with some merlot and turned to get ready.
Luke had agreed to tag along at Stella's. Luke never shies away from helping even when it involves the sleazy underbelly of the community. Though he'd never engage that element on his own, he's not cowed by it. I liked his intense curiosity and the more I thought about him, I realized there were a lot of things to like about Luke.
***
Stella's was more crowded on Fridays. We squeezed our way through packs of men and hustlers searching for a compatible match up. From the looks of things, everyone was holding out for something better because not many people were chatting with one another.
They'd lowered the lights to legal blindness level and the music pounded out sounds that vibrated my whole body. Few people responded to the music, most stood locked in search-stare mode, surveying the room for a face they liked, a body that entranced them, a friendly look.
Strategically placed black lights heightened the atmosphe
re. Some of the hustlers, wearing white tank tops or t-shirts, stood out like beacons, as the blacklight intensified their white clothing. I laughed to myself thinking if all the hustlers did the same thing, it would look surreal, like a bunch of buoys floating on a sea of old otters.
Luke went to question the bartender as planned. I'd decided to scope out what passed for a strip show on the lower floor where Scanlan would most likely show up.
I fended off wayward hands and guys asking how much I charged as I moved. Finally pushing my way to the top of the stairs, I sensed a different mood downstairs. The sex-drunk tension floated up the steps.
Before you noticed what they stared at, you saw the audience itself. It was like peering at a congregation in a church. They were mesmerized by something happening in front of them, all together, all in rapt attention. Sexually charged thumping music cascaded over the spellbound men united in concentrated attentiveness.
I knew what gripped the audience. As I moved down the stairs, the small stage came into view and I saw the object of everyone's desire. Average height, the dancer had a naturally muscular body. He had a wholesome kind of beauty that only comes with youth. Muscle definition without work, a bubble butt that looked soft as a pillow and just as inviting, and a g-string with enough heft to enthrall even the casual observer. His best feature by far was his face, a mix of angelic and sleazy. Full pouty lips, a finely sculpted nose, deep dark eyes, and a clear creamy-pink complexion that begged the spectator to taste. All framed by luxurious, dark, curly hair.
Staring at his face, I almost missed a step, on my descent to the bar. He was that enchanting. I considered asking him to join StripGuyz. He'd be a real draw for the group. Problem is this kid was a hustler and hiring a hustler would be bad for business. He'd have the patrons at Bubbles eating out of his hand his first few minutes onstage. Just like he was doing at Stella's. Except here, he was also conducting a silent auction. The highest bidders would have him for their hour of pleasure.
The dancer's routine was pure sex. He'd chosen slow, sexy, music which gave him the opportunity to roam the stage, engaging with customers and drawing them in. He moved his long legs slowly and spread them wide, inviting the men to look and hope. He slid to his knees close to the front row of spectators but when they reached out to touch, he deftly pulled back refusing them even a hint of what his skin felt like.
Murder on Camac Page 30