There Was a Crooked Man

by K. J. Larsen

  Chapter Eight

  I drove home with my brain spinning. Something horrible happened seventeen years ago when the partners responded to a hit-and-run. Something bad enough to cause two straight-up cops to cross a line. Bob believed if their actions are exposed, even today, there would be dire consequences.

  This kidnapping business seemed a comedy of errors. Bob had thought he was being blackmailed for crossing that line seventeen years ago. But the kidnappers knew nothing about Bob and Papa’s secret. They had a secret of their own.

  Sammy’s kidnappers believed the first responders to the hit-and-run stole something off Daniel Baumgarten when he was lying on the street. Only they hadn’t. And the trinket the kidnappers believed belonged to them, didn’t. Because if the trinket legitimately belonged to them, they would report it to the police. And it wouldn’t have taken seventeen years to pick up the phone.

  I was spent when I drove home. Sophie is a bundle of ups and downs and her perpetual drama is exhausting, I needed a hot lavender bubble bath and a glass of wine. And I needed a hug.

  I parked in the driveway and Chance met me at the car. He opened the door and pulled me to him and kissed my mouth. When he let me go he kissed the red marks on my wrists where I’d worked the ties. And the lump on my forehead where Sophie smacked me with the aluminum bat.

  “I’m relieved Bob didn’t bag you for breaking into his house. I have plans for you tonight. And they don’t involve a mustached cellmate named Bertha.”

  “He wanted to.”

  Savino smiled. “Bob acts tough. But you’re his best friend’s kid. He went to your baptism. Your confirmation. Your…”

  “High school suspension hearing.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “There was an explosion in my chemistry lab.”

  “You made a bomb?”

  “A regrettable accident.” I smiled wickedly. “I was distracted by this football jock.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He married my BFF, Melanie. He’s enormously happy and pudgy now. He hasn’t had a good run since he won the state championship with a ninety-two-yard touchdown.”

  “My point is you and Bob are practically family.”

  I rested my sore head on his shoulder. “I know. I like to remind him how much he loves me.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you B&E’d the captain’s house?”

  “Over dinner. I’m starving.”

  “And I want the guy who tied you up.”

  “Well, he’s a she. She kidnapped a dog. Stole a diamond necklace. And broke into Bob’s house.”

  “She sounds like a piece of work.”

  I laughed. “I almost liked her.”

  “She whacked you harder in the head than I thought.”

  “That was Sophie. She wants to be a detective.”

  He winced. “Sophie is dangerous enough without any weapons.”

  “She wants Max to train her.”

  “Ha! I’d pay to see that action.”

  “Anyway, I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me who this burglar woman is. She wore gloves, so no prints. But I have hair and a photo. You can impress me with your FBI facial-recognition technology. “

  “I’ll wow you with high-tech tomorrow. I plan to impress you plenty tonight.”

  We walked to the house. I breathed deeply the crisp Chicago air and felt better already. We waved cheerily to the neighborhood snoop and Mrs. Pickins ducked behind her curtain. I suspect Mr. Pickins rarely sees more than her back-side.

  When we stepped inside, Inga barreled from the kitchen and danced around us.

  “Mmm,” I said. “I smell Indian food.”

  “That’s beagle breath. She got the chicken off the counter.”

  I gave her my mean look. “Seriously?”

  Inga’s tail went wild, powered by curry chicken.

  “To be fair, Inga wasn’t expecting you. She overheard our phone conversation and assumed you and Bertha had plans for dinner.”

  “What? Bread and water?”

  “There’s still tandoori grilled vegetables and rice for us.”

  “Perfect. I brought tiramisu.”

  Savino’s eyes rolled back in his head like Inga’s and he made nummy noises. I laughed.

  “And Tino made a dish he calls pozione d’amore di Tino. You’ll love it.”

  “Tino’s love potion?” He put a hand on my cheek and his eyes kept a soft, steady gaze. “What’s in it?”

  I gently bit his ear. “I have no idea. But Tino promised you’ll be late for work in the morning.”

  Chapter Nine

  The phone woke me from delicious dreams before eight. I didn’t have to check the caller ID to know it was Mama. I pulled the pillow over my head until the ringing stopped. Ten seconds later the blare began again.

  I smelled coffee. Glorious coffee.

  “Savino,” I breathed and opened my eyes. Max and Sophie grinned at me.

  I snatched my sheet and yanked it up to my chin.

  The hunky Special Forces guy bore six-pack abs and coffee. He was ripped and the muscles under his painted-on tee and blue jeans flexed. I dragged my eyes to his face.

  My switched-at-birth sister picked up the phone and put it on speaker.

  “I’m in bed, Mama,” I said.

  Max sat on the edge of the bed. “Good morning, Mrs. DeLuca.”

  I slapped him. He grinned.

  “Good morning, Special Agent In Charge Savino. You’re late for work.”

  “This is Max.”

  I slugged him.

  “Max?”

  The temperature of Mama’s voice went from balmy beaches to sinking Titanic in zero seconds.

  “Good morning, Mama,” Sophie gushed. “Sleepyhead Cat is just waking up.”

  Everyone knows Sophie’s fed, dressed, and taught the devil children to read before she left the house this morning. And she probably baked an apple pie for supper.

  “Is that you, Sophie? How are my babies?”

  “Fed and dressed for a zoo date with Daddy.”

  “What?” I said. “No apple pie for supper?”

  She laughed. “An apple spice cake. The kids drew zoo animals on the frosting.”

  “Now she’s just showing off,” I said.

  “So the three of you will be working together,” Mama said with undisguised relief.

  “Cat is leaving,” Sophie said looking at me pointedly. “Max and I will be training here.”

  “Alone?” Mama choked.

  “One on one,” Sophie sang. She gaped at the testosterone practically busting out of Max’s jeans. “I wanna be like Cat. You should’ve seen her last night. Picking locks. Kicking ass…”

  Mama moaned. She must be clutching her chest.

  “Sophie’s joking around,” I said. “Mama, take your Tums.”

  “Tums can’t fix a broken heart.”

  The doctor says Mama’s heart is as strong as a horse.

  Mama made a clicking sound with her mouth. “Caterina, you’re supposed to help your sister. She’s in a fragile state.”

  “Gee, Mama. You might have been more specific when you gave Sophie a job at my agency.”

  “Don’t worry about Sophia, Mrs. DeLuca,” Max said. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  Mama snorted. “Not too good, young man. My daughter is vulnerable and inexperienced and…”

  “She looks like Barbie,” I finished for her.

  Max checked out Barbie’s features appreciatively.

  Sophie giggled a little. Her eyes shone. She was having her adventure.

  “And stay away from my mama’s secret recipe in the fridge,” Mama said. “It’s a highly potent aphrodisiac. I made it for Tino to give to Savino.”

  I groaned. “Et tu
, Tino?”

  Max grinned at me. “I didn’t know Chance has trouble in that department.”

  “He doesn’t. Mama thinks a pozione d’amore will rouse him to propose.”

  Max threw up his hands and took a step back. There was blunt terror on the tough guy’s face. I cracked-up laughing.

  Sophia looked momentarily confused. She’s had one true love since second grade and doesn’t get Max’s marriage phobia.

  “I’ll call you later, Mama,” I said. “I gotta go.”

  Click.

  “Go,” Sophie said scooting closer to Max. “Hungry?”

  “I’m not eating your Mama’s pozione.”

  “No,” I said. “But I know who is.”

  I shooed them away and bounced out of bed. I pulled on sweats and a tee and trotted to the kitchen.

  I wrapped up the rest of Nonna’s secret recipe on a pretty plate and carried it to our neighborhood snoop’s house. Mrs. Pickins answered the door warily.

  “Mama made this lovely dish and suggested I bring a few pieces for you and Mr. Pickins. It’s quite delicious.”

  She eyed the plate suspiciously, sniffing for telltale scents of arsenic.

  “Mama’s the best baker in South Chicago. Enjoy!”

  ***

  I showered and dressed in a soft lavender pullover and jeans and then I called the smartest person I know. I keep his number in my phone.

  “Roger King,” a familiar voice said.

  Roger is a computer nerd. He and his brother own a successful software company. And unless he takes me to one of Bill and Melinda’s backyard barbecues, he’s probably the richest guy I’ll ever know.

  “Hey, Roger,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”

  The clipped voice suddenly oozed warmth. “Cat! How’s my favorite cuz?”

  I felt a big grin take over my face. Roger has that effect on people. He’s genuine and kind and he’s not my cousin. At least not yet. Last year Roger was a client when I introduced him to my computer-geek cousin, Ginny. They’re getting married in August and their feet have yet to hit the ground.

  “I’m hoping for a favor,” I said.

  “It’s yours. Name it.”

  I don’t usually plot a jailable felony offense over the airwaves. But I feel safe talking to Roger. He’s a mega-security freak and his offices are well protected from hackers and corporate spies. He swears his phone lines are more secure than the President’s.

  “I’m looking for some computer magic. I need to hack into computer A, bounce a live feed from Computer B to mine, identify B’s identity and hack into B’s personal and financial records, as well as e-mails and contacts.”

  “That should be simple enough. I’m meeting with shareholders in a few minutes but I can send my number one man over.”

  “Is there a time you could do it? This may turn out to be nothing. But if we’re opening Pandora’s box, we’ll have to pretend Bridgeport’s sky isn’t falling.”

  “Hmmm…” He was looking at his calendar, maybe shifting some things around. I can meet you at Pleasant House after my meeting. Is eleven too early for lunch?”

  “It’s perfect. Thanks, Roger.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t want Ginny to meet us.”

  “I think she’d rather not know. I tell you what. Let’s you and I take Ginny and Chance to The Duck Inn next week. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday. I’ll wear the emerald necklace you gave me for my thirtieth birthday and we’ll talk about the wedding and drink too many Manhattans and have to take a cab home.”

  “Not Thursday. Uh…” he remembered Ginny’s instructions too late. “I guess I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

  I groaned. “The cat’s already out of the bag. Our mothers are orchestrating a lake cruise with a priest and flowers and likely a wedding cake. It’s the grand sabotage.”

  “Don’t be mad at your mama. She just wants you to be happy.”

  “Why are you taking her side? She scares the crap out of you, doesn’t she?”

  “Down to my socks.” He chuckled and I could envision his round tummy shaking at this desk.

  “If I’m late to the restaurant, order for me,” he said. “You know what I like. And bring your computer along. The deed will be done before dessert.”

  Roger is not one to pass on dessert. I’ve seen him eat it before the entree. Especially during a thunderstorm. If Roger’s struck by lightning, he’s going out with a smile.

  “Let there be cake,” I said.

  When I emerged from the bedroom, Sophie had Max in a figure four. She was sitting on him and had no intention of letting him go.

  His eyes were pleading and he mouthed Help!

  I laughed and called Inga. I blew him a kiss on my way out the door.

  ***

  “Is there anything I can say to make you go away?”

  Captain Bob puffed up his chest and growled. He likes to think he looks scary behind his big captain’s desk. I thought the powdered sugar around his mouth had a softening effect.

  “I’m not talking about the hit-and-run,” he said.

  “That’s cool.”

  “It is?”

  “I came by to drop off your lemon crème donuts.” I stood. “Good-bye, Captain.”

  “Sit.”

  I sat.

  “Did you see a doctor about that hit to your head last night? Cuz you’re not acting like yourself.”

  “Really? How does ‘myself’ act?”

  “Pushy. Obnoxious. You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  I shrugged. “You don’t want to tell me about nine-nineteen. I trust your judgment.”

  “For God’s sake, child. See a doctor.”

  I rose again to leave as running footsteps pounded the hallway. Tommy, the rookie, burst through the office door.

  “Captain! Rocco’s having a seizure in the break room. It looks bad. He’s foaming at the mouth.”

  “Rocco?” My hand fluttered to my throat and the word came out as a sob.

  “Stay here with her,” the captain barked and barreled down the hall. The door slammed behind him.

  We moved swiftly. Tommy fumbled through the desk drawers. I lunged for the captain’s brown leather briefcase behind his desk. The case had a three-number combination lock. Not exactly rocket science for this hotshot detective.

  I pulled a Pants On Fire Detective Agency business card from my pocket and kissed it for luck. Then I put the corner between the digits and turned one digit until I felt it catch. I did the same for the other two digits. And wha-la!

  The hit-and-run file was conveniently placed on top of the pile.

  “Gotcha,” I said and whipped out my pocket scanner.

  Tommy spread the pages on the desk and restacked them after they were scanned. It was a fat file. Photographs. Detective notes. Physical evidence. Newspaper clippings. Witness statements. Tire track analysis. It took longer than I’d thought. I could only hope Rocco was still foaming at the mouth.

  We almost made it clean. I shoved the briefcase toward the floor and made a nosedive for my seat when the door shot open. The captain’s beady eyes shot to the white bag on his desk. His lemon crèmes were safe.

  Then they hit the brown leather briefcase. He crossed the room, firing his bad-ass look. It’s a lot more convincing without powdered sugar lips.

  I blurted a little sob. “How’s my brother? Is he—?”

  Tommy whipped a tissue from the box on Bob’s desk and pressed it into my hand. I blew hard and tossed it back to him. Tommy glared at me.

  Frowning, Captain Bob examined the contents of his briefcase and closed it again. This time he double-locked it with a key.

  A little late, Bobbo.

  He jerked his head toward the door and Tommy beat it, clutching a small, dry corner of the tissue
with his fingertips.

  Bob moved behind the desk and dropped in his chair. He dragged out a bottle of the finest whiskey that ever fell off the back of a truck.

  He took a good swig. Everybody loves Uncle Joey.

  “Your brother is fine,” he announced with unmistakable relief.

  “What happened?”

  “Rocco choked on a piece of jerky. He was foaming at the mouth. My men stood around like pussies. I jerked Rocco off the floor and gave him a Heimlich maneuver.”

  I crossed to Captain Bob, threw my arms around him and kissed his cheek.

  “No kisses,” he growled like an eight-year-old boy. But he was busting his buttons.

  “Rocco didn’t want me to leave him. He was shaken up. I told him to go home, take the day off. And stay away from that beef jerky.”

  “That’s why you eat donuts. They’re better for you.”

  “Exactly.”

  I blinked back a tear. “You saved Rocco’s life, Captain. You knew exactly what to do.”

  “That’s why I’m the captain. And you’re a hootchie stalker.”

  “Gee. I could never pull one over on you.”

  He chuckled. “No one does, Caterina. You know, that last clonk on your head maybe did you some good. Could’ve knocked some sense in you, at last.”

  “Wow, Bob. Just wow.”

  Chapter Ten

  I zoomed home with the pocket scanner hot in my pocket. I wanted to make hard copies of the 1999 hit-and-run investigation and pore through them with Rocco. With a little luck we’d find a thread that would lead us to the monsters who took Sammy.

  When I pulled up to the house, I could hear Max training Sophie in the backyard. My switched-at-birth sister was in Special Forces hell. Or maybe Nazi boot camp. She gasped for breath and practically begged for mercy. Max was taking no prisoners.

  I felt bad for her but short of waterboarding, I wouldn’t try to save her. I’d make my copies and quietly escape. Involving Sophie in Papa’s hit-and-run drama was the last thing I wanted to do.

  Inga and I slipped into the house and inside my office. I made two copies of the fat file and tucked them into manila envelopes. One for Rocco and one for myself. Then we tiptoed to the car.

  I felt a little guilty dissing Papa this way. Maybe he and Bob had a skeleton in their closet. But then, who doesn’t? Papa said this was none of our business and he was right. It wasn’t. But some jerk changed the rules when he kidnapped Sam I Am. And we needed that file to find him.