“This is the partner you had last time?”
Dominic still blamed Tip for what happened to me. “Yes, and he’s a damn good cop. Stop worrying.”
“I know he’s a good cop, but getting back to your case. That’s an odd combination of occupations to be connected,” Dominic said.
“The banker and lawyer certainly might run in the same circles, but the trucker throws a wrench into our theories.”
“I can see why,” Dominic said. “But enough talk of murders and police work. If you keep that up, you’ll make me nervous.”
He laughed after that, and I joined him. “I really miss you guys.”
“How about you? I mean yourself. How are you feeling?”
Uncle Dominic was perhaps the worst person in the world to ask about personal feelings. He lived his life with the belief that you handled your own problems and never discussed them with others. I guess that’s why I had such a difficult time with talking about my feelings to anyone. He raised me from the time I was twelve.
“I’m doing better. Thanks for asking.”
“Do you have someone to talk to? A friend?”
“I have a good friend, Uncle Dominic. She works at the station, and she’s great.”
He seemed to perk up at that. “Good. But if you ever need to talk, you know you can call me.”
“You should retire down here. Then we could talk all the time. Besides, the weather’s nice.”
“There is more to life than nice weather. And I have coats for when it isn’t so nice.”
“Uncle Dominic, I have to get ready, but maybe we can talk next week.”
“I would love to. I’ll call again when Zeppe is here. Goodbye, Concetta. Ti voglio bene.”
“Ti voglio bene.”
I hung up, called Hotshot into the house, and put his food down, and then I took a quick shower and headed out. We had to figure something out about these cases, and we had to do it quickly. As I drove to Tip’s, I realized how great I felt. Relaxed. Maybe even relieved. Uncle Dominic and I had a great conversation and I never once felt threatened, or scared. I never worried that I’d have to report something he said, and I didn’t have to watch what I said.
I even discussed a case with him.
A warm feeling rushed through me. This was the first time I had ever talked shop with Uncle Dominic, and it felt good.
Damn good.
***
Dominic stared at the phone, took another shot of grappa, and then put the top on the bottle. If he didn’t put it away now, he might finish it. That much grappa wasn’t good for thinking. And he had a lot to think about.
The problem with the information taken from the hospital was one thing—and it worried him greatly—but what Concetta had told him about her cases worried him even more. He’d recognized the connection as soon as she told him about the murders. It wouldn’t be long before Connie and her partner put the pieces together.
They hadn’t figured it out yet because they were busy trying to connect the people. They should have been connecting the occupations.
A lawyer, a banker, a trucker.
Legal representation, money laundering, drug distribution.
Carlos Cortes was back in Texas, and Concetta was on a collision course with him.
As Dominic saw it, there was only one thing to do. He dialed a number on his disposable phone. It was answered right away.
“Si, signore.”
“Pack your bags. You are going to Houston.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Dominic hung up and started the process of making espresso. He would need it tonight.
If Connie found out that he’d sent someone to watch over her, she would be furious. But Dominic would rather her be furious than dead.
Chapter 32
Connecting the Dots
Tip’s car was in the driveway, parked next to Mollie’s. I pulled onto the grass, got out of the car, and walked in the back door. Sacco was in his spot by the kitchen doorway. His tail barely wagged.
“Hi, Sacco. I see you’re excited about my being here.”
“He’s about as excited as any man gets,” Mollie said. “Unless he wants something besides dinner.”
“I’m with you on that,” I said. “Where’s Tip?”
“He’s taking a shower or doing some other private business in his bedroom. But before he gets out here, how about you tell me what we’re working on.”
“That depends on what we’re eating,” Tip said as he walked into the kitchen.
“Fajitas, corn, and refried beans. And I’m making my homemade guacamole.”
“Sounds delicious,” I said. “I’m hungry as hell.”
“I don’t know how hungry hell is,” Mollie said, “But I’ll take that to mean you want more than a couple of fajitas, so I’ll cook extra.”
“I’ll have five,” Tip said. “One for each murder we have to solve.”
Mollie scooped the guacamole into a small bowl and looked at Tip. “Five? You got five bodies now?”
I grabbed a few beers from the fridge, popped two open for Mollie and me, and handed the other to Tip. “We’ve got five bodies now. And one of them is the prostitute who used to be our prime suspect.”
Tip went to the table in what used to be his living room and started a chart.
Lawyer Banker Trucker Prostitute
Natural Cause? Accident? Murder? Suicide?
“Only four people on that list,” Mollie said.
“We haven’t identified the other body,” Tip said. “He was burned up in the car.”
“The world is full of crazies,” Mollie said.
I took a swig of beer and grabbed a marker. “Here’s what we know so far.”
- Lawyer who runs around with young women, dies of heart attack?
- Banker who owns a pool, falls in hot tub, hits head.
- Trucker who appears faithful to wife is killed while with prostitute.
- Prostitute, who was seen with all three victims, kills self for no apparent reason.
“And all of them were clean—good credit, no arrests. Nothing.” Tip downed his beer and got another one. “Something ain’t right in San Antone.”
“Where’s the connection?” I said. “The only lead we have is the mystery woman. What connects the victims?”
Tip made more notes. “Let’s look at what we have again. The lawyer met the mystery woman at the bar. She got a call, and he ends up at the hotel with Tiffany a few minutes later.”
“And we know that Tiffany expected a high-dollar client that night, because she mentioned it to LaDonna.”
Tip made a new row on the chart. “The hotel room was clean, except for a few partial prints belonging to Tiffany. But she wasn’t in the database, and we didn’t match her prints until the trucker died.”
I thought about what Tip said, and it suddenly hit me. “You know what? We wouldn’t have known anything about Tiffany if it wasn’t for the prints in the hotel. We wouldn’t have matched her to the trucker, which means we would have never connected the trucker’s death to the others.”
Tip scratched out a new chart, and we took a look.
Lawyer Banker Trucker
Met mystery woman at bar
Was with Tiffany at hotel / Met mystery woman at bar
Tiffany was there also / Was killed with Tiffany
Tiffany’s prints at scene / No evidence of Tiffany / Staged like murder-suicide
“Time to eat,” Mollie said, and plopped a few plates onto the table.
I took a seat next to Mollie, and Tip sat on the other side of her.
“Think about it, Tip,” I said. “The mystery woman had this planned from the beginning. I think she left those prints in the hotel on purpose. We know she can clean up a crime scene based on what we didn’t find at Davids’ house.”
Tip nodded. “And she’s never been seen by security cameras, which can’t be a coincidence. The bartender who saw her with
Lipscomb said she had a Mexican accent, but the other bartender said she had an East Texas accent.”
“And the valet attendant said she had no accent,” I said.
“And she always looked different,” Tip said. “Dark-brown hair, light-brown hair, blue eyes, brown eyes.”
“But none of that explains why,” I said. “Even if we assume she’s behind all the killings, unless these are random victims, which I doubt they are, we still have no connection between them and no explanation for why they were targeted.”
“Who would want them dead?” Mollie asked. “If they’re dead, somebody’s got to want it.”
“I agree, Mollie,” I said. “But we can’t figure out who. None of them had records. None of them were in debt. And they didn’t seem to have any enemies. At least no obvious ones.”
I finished my first fajita, and said to Mollie, “These are damn good. I think they’re better than what I’ve had in restaurants.”
Mollie cocked her head and stared. “Of course they’re better. That guacamole recipe’s been in my family for a long time. And those fajitas have been sittin’ in my special marinating sauce since early this morning.” She shook her head as if disgusted. “Ain’t no damn restaurant doin’ that for a meal.”
“Why did she need Tiffany?” Tip asked, returning to the case. “And for someone who seems like a professional, why use a prostitute?”
I thought for a moment. “The obvious answer was to use her as a scapegoat: blame everything on her, and the cases are solved with the death of the trucker and her lying underneath him.”
Tip polished off his third fajita and opened another beer. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything on the woman. We need to figure out the connection between the victims. First thing tomorrow we should visit the lawyer’s office again. After that, we’ll see the banker, and if we have to, we’ll have another talk with Mrs. Ford.”
“Somebody’s got to know something,” I said.
Chapter 33
Where’s the Connection?
Tip picked me up, and we headed into the station to get an early start. Lipscomb’s office was first on our list, but we had an hour or so to kill before the senior partner would be in. I checked my email then headed to the coffee room. Detective Ramirez stood behind Herb and Julie. Charlie was holding up the line.
“Charlie, get your ass moving,” Ramirez said.
“I’m stirring in the creamer,” Charlie said. “It gets lumpy sometimes.”
“Stir it someplace else,” Herb said. “I’d like to get my coffee while it’s hot.”
Charlie looked as if he was about to say something, but then Tip walked in. Charlie grabbed a napkin and hustled out of the way. For some reason, Tip terrified him. I fixed my coffee and took a seat by Julie. Tip sat next to Ramirez. A couple of minutes later, Delgado and Cruz walked in.
“How’s it going, Ribs?” I asked.
He looked over at me. “Guess you haven’t heard,” he said, and pulled up a chair.
“I’ll get coffee,” Cruz said from behind him.
“What happened?” I said.
“Cruz and I were working our case yesterday, when I got a call from Rosalee. She said two guys were following her. At first I thought she might be imagining it, but she convinced me it was real, so I told her to go to the mall. Cruz and I went up there, and sure enough, she was being followed. Two guys. They were carrying, and they had a shitload of ice in their truck.”
“Son of a bitch,” Tip said. “Did you get anything out of them?”
Ribs shook his head. “Nothing. They screamed lawyer as soon as we busted them.”
Cruz set a cup of coffee in front of Ribs and stood behind him. Ribs took a sip and looked at me, then at Tip. “Guess who they called for a lawyer.”
Tip sat up straight. “Don’t tell me it was Lipscomb’s office.”
“None other,” Ribs said. “And they asked for Griffin, one of the partners.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Tip said. “What kind of low-life scum threatens a man’s family?”
As soon as Tip said that, it hit me. Uncle Dominic always said the Mexican drug lords didn’t play fair. That they went after families and friends instead of the person they really wanted.
“Carlos!” I said. “Goddamnit, it’s Carlos.” I pounded my fist on the table, furious at myself for not seeing it earlier. “That’s why all the dead people are clean. The lawyer, the banker, the trucker. It wasn’t them Carlos was after. He killed them to scare someone else.”
“How did you know?” Ribs said.
Tip shot me a look then grabbed Delgado’s arm. “Are you saying Carlos was behind what happened with Rosalee?”
“I can’t swear to it,” Delgado said, “But he’s the one moving the meth, and we’re convinced he had Martin killed.”
I dunked my empty coffee cup in the trash. “He’s behind these killings too. I guarantee you.” I pointed a finger at Ribs. “I’m betting he’s the one who had Rosalee followed. That’s how he plays.”
Delgado looked at me and nodded. “Dios mîo.”
“Hold on,” Tip said. “Let’s not jump the gun—”
“No. I agree with Connie,” Ribs said. “Besides, after the two guys who followed Rosalee called Griffin, we had him checked out. He represented Cortes last year.”
Tip stood and kicked his chair. “Julie, why the hell didn’t we know about this? I told you to check out that law firm.”
Julie’s face turned red. “I’m sorry, Tip. It must have slipped by me.”
“Slipped by you? Shit like that can’t afford to slip by you.”
“It’s my fault.” That came from Charlie. His head was lowered, and he wouldn’t look at Tip.
“What?” Tip yelled.
“I said, it’s my fault.” It sounded like Charlie barely managed to get it out. “Julie asked me to check them out, and I guess I misunderstood. I thought she meant just Lipscomb. I never looked at the rest of the firm.”
The vein on the side of Tip’s head bulged. I tapped his arm, and when he turned to me, I shook my head.
Charlie stood and headed for the door.
Delgado went to get more coffee. “No question. These cases are connected.”
“We need to follow up on a few leads,” I said. “Now that we know what to look for, it puts things in a new light.”
“Ribs,” Tip said, “you and Cruz get your shit together. Connie and I will get with you after we’re done questioning the banker’s people and the trucker’s wife.”
“What about the lawyer?” Ribs asked.
“No point in going there,” Tip said. “We know Griffin’s involved. What we’ve got to figure out is who Carlos was targeting with the banker and the trucker.”
I was at the doorway, one foot in the hall. “Let’s go, partner. We’re wasting time.”
We decided to see Mrs. Ford first, thinking we’d get the most honest answers from her. Depending on what she told us, we might ask different questions at the bank. As we drove west on I-10, I read through the notes from our first interview with her. “We may be able to shortcut this visit.”
“What do you mean?”
“She told us that her husband’s brother was a trucker also. That might be who Carlos was trying to intimidate. A phone call might determine that.”
“Call her,” Tip said.
I had her number in the file. She answered right away. “Mrs. Ford, this is Detective Gianelli.”
“Hello, Detective. Any news?”
“No, ma’am. I’m afraid there isn’t yet, but I did have a question. You said your husband’s brother is also a truck driver. Do you have his number? We’d like to ask him a few questions.”
She gave me his phone number, but then said, “I doubt if you’ll get him until tomorrow or the next day. He’s on a run, and when he’s in Mexico, he usually turns his phone off.”
I looked to Tip and tapped his arm. “You say he’s in Mexico? Do you know where he goes o
n his deliveries?”
“I believe he goes to Monterrey,” she said. “I’m sure he makes other stops, but that’s the main destination.”
“Okay, thank you, ma’am. I appreciate your help. And we’ll call when we have news on your husband.” I made sure the line disconnected before I looked over at Tip. “Joel’s brother makes runs to Monterrey, Mexico.”
“Son of a bitch,” Tip said. “You were right. Sure as shit stinks, it’s Carlos behind this.” Tip moved to the right lane of the freeway. “Where’s the brother live? We need to pay him a visit.”
“She said he’s in Mexico now and won’t answer his phone. We’ll try him later, but for now, let’s talk to a few bankers.”
It didn’t take us long to get to the bank where Davids worked. We talked to a few employees who weren’t in the last time we visited, but we didn’t learn anything new. Davids’ admin was a big help, though. She walked us through his emails—after making sure there was no sensitive client material—and she gave us a few contacts we didn’t have before, ones not on his personal computer.
“You mentioned that he went to the gym, and to that one bar a few nights a week. What else did Mr. Davids do? What did he do on the weekends?”
“Sometimes he played poker on Friday nights, and if the weather was nice, he golfed on Sundays.”
“He wasn’t a church-going man?” Tip asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think Mr. Davids attended church. But he did enjoy golf.”
“Was there a regular group he played with?” I asked.
“Every Sunday the weather permitted,” she said. “Mr. Parker and Mr. Masterson—two of our biggest customers—and Mr. Snider.”
“What do Parker and Masterson do?” I asked.
“Mr. Parker owns a real-estate development company, and Mr. Masterson owns a furniture company.”
“And what about Snider?” Tip asked.
She smiled. “Mr. Snider is president of one of our competitors. First Bank of Texas.”
Bullet From Dominic Page 17