Vengeance Is Personal (A Colton James Novel, Book 2)

by Thomas DePrima

  "What's this?"

  "A Quitclaim Deed for the property in Wyoming. I accessed the computer records on the property and filled in all the required details from the deed on file in Wyoming. All you have to do is sign it."

  "Now?"

  "Yes, right now, before you get the book."

  "Don't you trust me?"

  "Where millions of dollars are concerned, I tread carefully until I know the man and would trust him to hold my wallet. When I first met Saul Fodor, I made him give me a signed letter outlining our deal before I'd give him my report on an art recovery. It's nothing personal."

  Georgie grimaced and looked at the book in my hand, then took the Quitclaim Deed and walked around behind his desk. He read the simple document, then leaned over his desk to pick up a pen so he could sign it. He was surprised by the flash from my cell phone as he penned his signature and looked up quickly. "What's that for?"

  "Just one more bit of documentation in case there's ever a legal challenge."

  "So you don't trust me."

  "Trust has to be earned, Georgie. I've known you for just a very short time."

  He handed me the Quitclaim Deed, and I turned over the book. He immediately began flipping through the pages, stopping here and there, then took a deep breath and smiled.

  "It doesn't appear to have been tampered with," he said.

  "So you have your book, and I have my payment, even though it isn't exactly as you said."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You told me you bought the property years ago and that if I wanted to sell it quickly, I would easily get the seven point five that would have been my payment in cash at the special price I extended. The first part of that was true, but you never mentioned that you took out a loan for seven million dollars using the property as collateral. And naturally you didn't mention that you're well behind on your payments and the creditors are preparing to declare you in default and go to court to get possession of the property."

  Georgie didn't say anything, but he had an angry expression on his face.

  "I spoke to them this morning," I said, "and promised to wire transfer the delinquent payments within ten days, as well as the current payment if you signed the Quitclaim Deed today. They agreed to wait."

  "You know that as soon as you file that deed, you assume responsibility for all outstanding debts on the property."

  "Are there any others? Such as loans for which the paperwork hasn't been filed with the county clerk?"

  "No. No one else would extend a second loan on the property once the first lien was filed."

  "I'll have to take your word on that, even though your word hasn't proven very reliable so far."

  "I was desperate, Colt. I needed my retirement package back."

  "It may be your retirement package, but it's not a financial record of hidden overseas assets. I know what it is."

  With a shocked look, he said, "You couldn't. No one can read this except me."

  "No?" I said as I handed him a copy of the most recent entry from the book.

  When he realized what it was, his shocked look turned to one of horror. He had really thought he had an unbreakable cipher. And perhaps he did have a cipher unbreakable for anyone other than the experts. Without the gizmo, I knew I wouldn't have had an accurate translation."

  "How did you get this?"

  "When I discovered you'd told me a web of lies, I decrypted your journal. If that's your retirement package, I'd have to guess you were intending to do a little blackmailing. Perhaps a lot of blackmailing. I think your son realized that also, and that's probably why he took the book."

  "Jimmy stole the book?"

  "Even though he couldn't read it, he must have known what you were up to. He loves his dad, and I imagine he was only trying to protect you from yourself. Goodbye, Georgie."

  Georgie followed me to the front door. As I opened the door and stepped out onto the portico, he said, "You don't think Jimmy had anything to do with the robbery here, do you?"

  I stopped, turned halfway around, and looked Georgie in the eyes. "No. He had nothing to do with the robbery of your awards and memorabilia." I turned back around, walked several steps, then stopped and turned back again. "But then— you already knew that, didn't you?" I turned again and walked down the stairs and out to my rental car.

  As I drove back to my hotel so I could pack and go home, I thought about Georgie's financial condition. What little I knew appeared to be a bit bleak. Perhaps those shopping trips to Europe by his wife and daughter were the problem. Or perhaps they only exacerbated the losses from a series of bad investments. It wasn't the first time crushing debt had driven someone to commit insurance fraud.

  My dilemma now was whether or not to tell Saul Fodor. The insurance company was not out the policy amount. Their only loss was my fee for the recovery. I would have to decide if I should tell Saul about the fraud I'd discovered. If Saul and the insurance company pressed charges, it would end Georgie's career, outside of prison. I really had no proof, and I had named all of the thieves. Perhaps I should just let fate take its course. If the leader of the team was apprehended and turned on Georgie to get a lighter sentence, justice would be served.

  Before I could head home, I had to go to Wyoming and record the Quitclaim Deed for the property, so I stayed one more night in Memphis and grabbed an early flight to Denver. From there I took a flight up to Wyoming in a small commuter plane. Once the deed was recorded, I sent a check to the company holding the only recorded lien on the property.

  I wanted to see the property up close, so I hired the owner of a local flight school to fly me up there in a small four-seater. Before we climbed aboard I showed him where the property was on a map, and he overflew it at a thousand feet so I could get a good look, then dropped lower over the area by the lake. It was as beautiful as Georgie had said. Once Mia's divorce was settled and we returned to the States, we'd have to come out and drive to the property so we could get a good look.

  With that taken care of, I headed back to Denver and a connecting flight to Newark. It would have been nice if I'd had use of the insurance company's jet for the trip, but I settled for a first-class ticket aboard a major carrier.

  It was great to get home. Mia was anxiously awaiting my arrival in Greece and during our daily phone conversations, naturally kept asking when I was coming.

  But I needed a day of rest since I was beat from the hectic pace of the past few days. I called her and said I had concluded my business in Memphis and was at the apartment. I had made reservations for my trip to Greece before calling her and told her I'd be on my way in two days. She wanted me to leave the next day, but I told her how exhausted I was and how much I needed a rest. She was disappointed, but I think she understood, and she was happy I was coming at last.

  I went to bed early and slept in the next day, not getting out of bed until after two in the afternoon. As I drank my first coffee of the day, I couldn't help but think of Delcona. I was amazed that I'd been able to put him so much out of my mind since I'd arrived in Memphis. But I was back in New York now where the specter of Delcona's criminal influence loomed large over the city.

  Still sipping my coffee, I walked into my office, took out the gizmo and activated it. First up was a look-see at the stakeout positions of the government investigators keeping a twenty-four seven watch when I left. The faces were different from the last time I'd looked, but the new group seemed just as vigilant. I knew Delcona hadn't reformed, and trying to link him with crimes that constantly occurred all over the city was a herculean— if not impossible— feat.

  As for Delcona himself, he was sitting at home reading a newspaper and enjoying life. I couldn't bear to replay the events that had occurred in my apartment the night my best friend died, but if I ever needed to refresh my loathing for Delcona, all I had to do was view the scene in the warehouse where Delcona had directed Diz to beat and then murder Morris as he, Delcona, looked on dispassionately. Just thinking about it caused my blood
pressure to spike. I took a deep breath, turned off the gizmo, and tried to calm down as I finished the last of my coffee.

  ~ ~ ~

  I'd rested pretty well with my R and R the day before, so I awoke early the next morning, showered, shaved and dressed, then packed my bags for an extended stay on Thasos Island. I didn't know how long I'd be in Greece, or even if Mia and I would be returning directly or going on to Fiji from there, but I'd booked my nonstop overnight flight as a round trip fare because the round trip ticket was actually less expensive than a one-way. If I didn't need the return trip ticket, I would just toss it away. Although I had a healthy bank account, I still couldn't help being a little frugal at times, especially when the big airlines were playing their silly games with pricing. I was scheduled to leave JFK at 4:46 p.m., arriving at ATH at 9:35 a.m., so I had several hours to kill.

  I was relaxing and reading a book while I enjoyed a cup of freshly brewed coffee when the house phone rang. Only a very few people had that number.

  "Special Agent James?" the caller asked. "This is security officer Williams at the lobby station. There are two other Special Agents requesting to see you. They've identified themselves as Special Agents Osborne and Snow."

  The security system monitor usually showed a quad image from the two cameras in the hallway in front of my front door and the two cameras inside the elevator used to access the floor, but I could change the picture to see the front lobby or the parking garage if I pushed the right buttons. I verified that it really was Osborne and Snow before speaking to the security officer again.

  "Yes, they're legit. You can send them up. Thanks."

  "Yes, sir."

  I watched as Snow and Osborne walked out of the camera's view on their way to the elevator before switching the monitor to show the usual quad view. I saw them enter the elevator and wait until the security officer instructed the computer to close the doors and send the car up. There was a slight lurch as the elevator began to rise. When it reached my floor, the doors opened and the two men got out and got their bearings by looking at the sign that directed people towards the co-op unit they were seeking.

  Snow and Osborne walked down the hall and stopped in front of my door. Snow pushed the doorbell, but it hadn't been necessary. I had watched them every foot of the way since they left the lobby security desk. I pressed the button that would unlock both doors at once, then pulled open the inside vestibule door as they entered through the hallway door.

  "Come in, gents," I said. "Welcome to my new digs."

  They entered the co-op without saying anything, then stopped and took a good look around as I closed the inner door. The outer door had already closed and locked.

  "Wow. You've sure come up in the world since that dump over on the West side," Osborne said.

  "The Amsterdam art recovery made the down payment possible. Then all I had to do was put myself in hock for sixteen million."

  "Jeez," Snow said. "Sixteen million? After a major down payment?"

  "Yeah, the co-op wasn't cheap. But after what happened at my third-floor walk-up on the West Side, I wanted an apartment as secure as Fort Knox."

  "You certainly got it," Osborne said. "This building seems almost as secure as the downtown office. And your apartment looks like a real home. That last place you had looked like a man cave."

  "I owe the homey appearance to my girlfriend's talents, aided by professional interior decorators."

  "Nice," Snow said.

  "Is this a social visit or business?" I asked.

  "Business," Osborne said. "A guy in the Bronx had your name and this address on a piece of paper in his pocket."

  "Really? My name and address? Was it someone I tagged when I was mainly doing skip recovery?"

  "Not this guy. He had no criminal record in the U.S. He was here on an Italian passport."

  "Someone from the Amsterdam case then? Looking for revenge over losing the haul of a lifetime?"

  "We don't know yet. We were just sent to ask if you knew him, or of him."

  "Why you and not NYPD?"

  "When they ran the name, they ID'd you as a Special Agent. You know how the Bureau is. Anytime a Special Agent is involved with any crime, or supposed crime, they want in right away."

  "So what was the crime?"

  "Murder. And someone tried to make it look like an accident. The interesting thing about the guy is that he has a genuine connection to you."

  I waited for Osborne to let the shoe drop. Snow hadn't taken his eyes off me as he tried to gauge my reaction to everything Osborne was saying.

  "And that connection is what?"

  "He was the husband of your mistress."

  "Marcus?" I said in genuine surprise.

  "Yeah. Marcus Antonio Fabrizzi. Does Mrs. Fabrizzi happen to be here?"

  "No, she's out of the country."

  "We've learned that you two have been quite the topic of conversation among the hoity-toity in the city," Snow said. "The society types are saying they expect you to announce your marriage plans any day. I imagine her current marriage to Fabrizzi would create a bit of a problem though. His death seems to pave the way. How long has Mrs. Fabrizzi been out of the country?"

  "A week and a half. She believed her divorce from Marcus had been finalized two years ago. They had gone to a lawyer in Athens and signed the no-contest paperwork back then. She also gave Marcus a sizable settlement, even though she had a pre-nup which guaranteed him nothing. We only learned two weeks ago that the divorce papers had never been filed. Marcus came here looking for more money."

  "How big a settlement did he get?" Osborne asked.

  "A million Euros."

  Snow whistled, then said, "Nice. Now that's a settlement."

  "And he came here looking for more."

  "So when you learned that your mistress and Fabrizzi were still married, you decided to make the divorce final by yourself?" Osborne asked. "You send her out of the country so she can't be implicated and then you do the deed?"

  "Come on, Osborne. She's in Greece to have the divorce filed and finalized. She doesn't need his participation because it seems the lawyer Fabrizzi took her to wasn't really a lawyer. The guy has admitted in court, under oath, that Fabrizzi blackmailed him to pose as one and that Fabrizzi had agreed to a no-contest divorce in his presence at that time. The guy was only a law clerk in the office of a lawyer who was on vacation.

  "The court over there has issued an arrest warrant for Fabrizzi if he ever returns to Greece, and the divorce is as good as finalized. Things just usually move slowly in Greece justice courts. I'm amazed that Mrs. Fabrizzi's case was heard so quickly, but a sizable donation to the right— causes— can do wonders."

  "So it was simple revenge for the extra grief he put you through?" Snow asked.

  "Guys, it's been fun, but I'm getting ready to join Mia in Greece, and then we're going on vacation. So if you have anything reasonable to say, say it now, or I'll see you when I get back."

  "Where were you three days ago?" Osborne asked.

  "Let's see," I said, pointing to each of my fingers as I ticked off the travel I'd done over the past three days. "I was in Memphis on the morning of the third day, then out to Denver in the afternoon, then back to Memphis in the evening. The next day, two days ago, I flew back to Denver again from Memphis, then up to Wyoming, then back to Denver, and then here. I slept in yesterday because I was beat from all the traveling. And today I'm heading for Greece."

  Osborne looked at Snow and shrugged.

  "Okay, Sherlock," Osborne said, "I'm sure you can prove all that travel. Right?"

  "That's up to you to do, and you'll probably need official paperwork because, while the airlines will probably all verify in a simple phone call that someone with my name was on all those flights, you'll have to go examine the video surveillance records at all the airports to verify it was actually me. So knock yourselves out, guys, if you don't believe me. Of course you could simply send someone to view the video records at the hotel where
I was staying in Memphis. They'll show I was there in the morning and again in the evening three days ago. Is that when Marcus was killed?"

  "Yeah," Osborne said. "Around ten p.m."

  "I arrived back at the hotel about nine p.m. Central time, which is ten p.m. Eastern time. That will be easy to verify from the lobby video records at the hotel. I can't be in two places at the same time, so I couldn't have done the deed. How was he killed?"

  "His head was crushed in by something like a hammer," Snow said, "Then he was run over by a car."

  "Yuck," I said. "Messy."

  "Yeah," Osborne said, "And it makes it difficult to find the murder weapon."

  "What was he doing in the Bronx?"

  "Who knows?" Snow said. "Maybe looking to score some drugs for resale to the rich and famous he knew. His wallet was empty, so whoever clocked him probably helped themselves to whatever coin he had."

  "Yeah," I said. "Well, whatever. He's one less headache for the people who had to share this planet with him. I doubt anyone will mourn his passing. One less scumbag in the world is always a good thing." Changing my tone to a more jovial one, I said, "Well, guys, it's been fun, but I have some packing to do, and then I have to go catch my flight."

  "Where to after Greece?" Osborne asked.

  "Fiji."

  "Nice," Snow said.

  "I hope so. I've never been there— but Mia has. She picked the destination."

  "We'll see you when you get back," Osborne said as he turned towards the door. "Take it easy on the Mai Tai's."

  As soon as they were gone, I hurried to my safe room and took out the gizmo. I had plenty of time before I had to leave to catch my flight. Going back to the time in the restaurant where I spoke to Marcus, I tagged him, then moved ahead to three days ago at ten p.m. Marcus was already dead on the pavement with a crowd around him.

  I backed up an hour and saw him riding in a car with someone I didn't recognize. I watched, jumping ahead five minutes at a time, to see what happened. When the car stopped in front of a low-income housing unit, Marcus and the other man got out and walked towards the building. They never actually entered; they just walked towards the shadows at the entrance where another man was standing.