Violet Darger (Book 4): Bad Blood

by Vargus, L. T.

  “No. I mean it was after the shift.”

  “OK, good. Do me a favor and keep a lid on it for now.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The mafia rigs everything in their favor. That’s how they do business. So it got me thinking. That bar wasn’t some state secret. It didn’t take a lot of digging to find. Dan Howard’s brother shared info leading to it readily enough. So why did no one pursue that angle until we got here?”

  The deputy blinked a few times, and then his eyes went wide. When he spoke again, it came out in a shrill whisper.

  “Are you say you think the task force is… compromised? Like, there’s a double agent?”

  “I don’t know. There might be. I’m worried is all. In the meantime, I think we should be selective about who we share information with.”

  Huettemann swiped a hand over his mouth.

  “The thing is… the plate number is on the list already.”

  He held up the notepad.

  “These are all the vehicles we logged last night. I was just about to hand it over to Price.”

  Darger chewed on this for a moment. They didn’t have time to recopy the list, and crossing the plate number out might draw suspicion.

  “Well, as long as we don’t specifically bring attention to it, I think it should be fine.”

  “So I shouldn’t bring it up at the meeting? What I saw, I mean?”

  “Definitely not.”

  Huettemann’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “Huh?”

  “The double agent?”

  “I don’t want to speculate at this point. These others have been working this task force for years, so as far as I’m concerned it could be any of them. You, me, and Loshak just got here, so those are the only people I trust for now.”

  Chapter 25

  People were clustered around the donuts and coffee when Darger and Huettemann joined the rest of the task force in the conference room.

  Price stepped to the front of the room and cleared his throat.

  “Alright, everyone. If you haven’t already, grab yourself a cup of joe and a donut courtesy of Agent Loshak. And then let’s get this meeting underway.”

  Darger watched Huettemann approach Price and hand off the list of license plates he’d recorded during his stint of the stake-out.

  “Thank you, Deputy,” Price said. “Anything promising?”

  Huettemann blinked rapidly, and Darger was sure he was going to throw a guilty glance her way.

  Play it cool, Huettemann, she thought. Don’t blow it.

  The deputy swallowed finally and forced a smile.

  “Just what’s there on the paper.”

  Darger stared straight ahead, trying not to look too relieved.

  As Luck slid into the seat next to her, she realized there was another problem. She’d have to tell Luck about Jaworski at some point. She’d prefer to do it once she knew he was definitely their killer. But how?

  “Agent Loshak and I will be sifting through more of the government contract stuff, seeing if anything shakes loose. I’d like the rest of you to start making your way through these license plates we got back from the stake-out detail from last night.”

  He waved two yellow legal pads filled with writing in the air.

  She raised her hand, suddenly struck by inspiration.

  “Actually, sir, I was hoping it would be OK if we went and talked to Cherie Howard again. I had a few follow-up questions for her.”

  Price nodded approval, pointing a finger at her.

  “Now that’s the kind of initiative and enthusiasm I like to see.” His eyes slid over to Luck. “I hope you’re paying attention, rookie.”

  “Always, sir.”

  Price swiveled in his chair to face Loshak. “Real sharp partner you got there.”

  “So sharp you gotta watch you don’t get stabbed now and then,” Loshak said.

  Darger made a rude gesture and turned to Luck.

  “You ready?”

  They gathered their things and headed for the door. A calm had settled over Darger. The anxiety from earlier in the morning had passed. Her fist tightened around her phone, and the driver’s license photo of Dominik Jaworski she’d left open on it. She had something now, something concrete.

  They’d made it about halfway down the hall when Luck spoke up, shattering the peace.

  “What are you up to?” he asked.

  Damn it. Had she tipped him off somehow? Or was he just that good at reading her?

  “I want to ask the widow Howard what she knows about Constantine’s.”

  “We’re driving all the way back to Auburn Hills to ask that?”

  “I’m just trying to be thorough,” she said.

  “Play innocent all you want, Violet. I’m not buying it.”

  When they reached the door that led to the parking structure, Darger produced the keys for her rental and held them in the air.

  “Let’s take my car.”

  “Whatever,” Luck said, snatching them from her hand. “But I’m driving.”

  * * *

  It was a quiet drive back to Auburn Hills. Darger wasn’t sure if Luck just wasn’t feeling talkative or if he was trying to give her the silent treatment. She didn’t really care. If it was the latter, she was better at that game than he was anyway.

  The weather had changed from clear to overcast since the early morning, and Darger noted some ominous-looking clouds off to the west. By the time they reached the gated drive that led to the Howard estate, the storm had almost caught up with them. The trees shivered in the wind, and Darger could smell rain in the air.

  There were more vehicles parked in front of the house this time, and when Cherie answered the door and let them inside, she had a phone pressed to her ear.

  "Egg salad sandwiches? That's insane! If you're going to put out sandwiches, then make it cold cuts," she was saying into phone. "I have to... what? I don't know! Turkey, ham, salami, whatever! I have to go."

  She hung up and rolled her eyes dramatically at the agents.

  "Sorry about that. I’ve been on the phone all morning. So many arrangements to be made for the viewing and the service. And then we’re having a luncheon after, and the catering service is a joke.”

  “We should be the ones apologizing. This is obviously a busy and stressful time for you, and we didn’t give you much notice,” Darger said.

  Cherie waved one of her finely manicured hands in the air. Today she was wearing a flowing silk blouse that looked like one giant ruffle hanging off her shoulders.

  “No, no. Whatever you need.”

  She pointed to a sitting room off the foyer.

  “Why don’t we talk in here? My family came in last night, and last I checked, the living room was occupied by my sister’s husband. Loafing around in his boxer shorts, of all things.”

  Her heels clicked over the marble floor, leading the way.

  “That’s fine,” Darger said. “This shouldn’t take too much time. Just a few follow-up questions.”

  She and Luck settled into a pair of wingback chairs while Cherie took the small sofa. There was a fireplace against one wall and an upholstered ottoman topped with an artful display of books and a pitcher filled with artificial tulips. The room had a sterile and unused feel to it. Something that was more for show than purpose.

  “What can you tell us about Constantine’s?” Darger asked.

  The woman sneered.

  “That dump of a bar my husband owned? I can tell you it was disgusting. I was there once, just after he bought it. We found rats in the kitchen. Little black-eyed things squirming under the sink. I never went back.”

  She’d actually gone a little pale talking about it. After a moment, she seemed to recover. Her head quirked to one side, and her eyes narrowed.

  “Why?”

  “Just curious,” Darger said. “It didn’t come up yesterday, and I wanted to make sure we’d covered everything.”


  Cherie shook her head.

  “Honestly, I don’t know why he bought that place. I told him it was a money pit, and I was right. At first, anyway. A year or three ago, things suddenly took off, and the place actually started to turn a profit.”

  Nails the color of a coral reef tapped against the top of an end table, and then Cherie’s lips quirked into a little smile.

  “I guess that’s another lucky break for me. I can sell it for way more now that it’s a thriving business. Believe me, I have no interest in holding on to that dive.”

  Darger went in for the kill, bringing up the photo of Jaworski on her phone and showing it to the woman.

  “Have you ever seen this man?”

  The woman’s eyes went wide.

  “Oh my God. That’s the creepy guy from the anniversary banquet.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “That’s definitely him. Who is he?”

  Luck was staring daggers into the side of Darger’s head now. She ignored him. He was surely wondering what the hell was going on, but it wasn’t the place to explain things.

  “I can’t really say at the moment other than that he’s a person of interest,” Darger said, getting to her feet. “But you’ve been very helpful. Not to mention gracious about the interruption.”

  Luck was still glaring at her. Cherie unfolded herself from the couch.

  “Please! As I said before, I’m happy to assist in any way I can.” She stood and walked them back to the foyer. As they stepped outside, Cherie added, “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”

  “We’ll do that. Thank you again,” Darger said.

  The door shut behind them. It had started to rain while they were inside, and water dribbled down in streams from the portico overhead. Darger took a step toward the car, but Luck snagged her by the elbow.

  “Hold on. I didn’t make a scene in there out of respect for a grieving widow. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to get back in that car with you without knowing what the hell is going on. Who is that guy? Dominik Jaworski?”

  Raindrops splatted down onto Darger’s arms and the top of her head. She could feel the droplets splash onto the part of her hair and then roll down her scalp. It felt like bugs crawling under her hair.

  “If you get in the car, I’ll tell you.”

  “Is this a game with you or something? To see how far you can push people?”

  “Not everything is a pissing contest, Casey. Just get in the car. We’re getting soaked, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  For some reason, using his first name seemed to do the trick. He unlocked the car and got in.

  Darger followed suit. Safely inside with the door closed, she brushed rain from her sleeves and pulled her seatbelt over her lap.

  “I’m not starting this car until—“

  “Chill out, for Christ’s sake.”

  He put the key in the ignition but did not turn it. He sat back against his seat and folded his arms over his chest. His little hipster mustache quivered.

  “Didn’t you learn your lesson with Clegg?”

  “My lesson?” she repeated. She didn’t particularly care for his tone.

  “The one where you tried to solve the whole case by yourself and almost got yourself killed?”

  “That’s funny,” Darger said. “What I remember is you being too much of an arrogant prick to listen when I told you we had the wrong guy.”

  He seemed to wince at that, and she realized she’d hurt his feelings.

  That made her take a step back from the anger. She sighed.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. Or nice.”

  “Screw fair and nice. Just be straight with me.”

  “I hate your mustache.”

  Luck’s brow furrowed in bewilderment.

  “That was me being straight with you,” she explained.

  There was a pause, and then he surprised her by laughing.

  “Good God, Violet. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Her shoulders twitched into a shrug.

  “No one knows.”

  “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Yes. But I need you to keep an open mind. When I lay out my theory, you’re not going to like it. In fact, you’re probably going to want to deny it at first.”

  “Because I’m an arrogant prick?”

  “I said I was sorry about that.”

  “Then get on with it already.”

  Darger took a deep breath. There was no going back after this. She’d just have to trust that Luck would go along with keeping it all secret for the time being.

  “How long have you been here?

  He wiped a bead of rainwater from his brow.

  “Almost six months.”

  “And how much of that has been on the Battaglia task force?”

  “Pretty much all of it.”

  “OK. How long had the investigation been going before you got here?”

  Pursing his lips, he thought on it.

  “I mean, the FBI is always watching this stuff. So I could say, forever. But the task force in its current form? At least five years, I think. Maybe closer to ten.”

  “Yet despite that fact, we just found out about Constantine’s yesterday?”

  “Well, yeah, but… It’s easy to say that now. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. It’s not like we can know everywhere they hang out.”

  She wasn’t letting him off that easy.

  “You saw that lot when we drove by. All those Jaguars and Mercedes,” Darger said. “It wasn’t one guy. It was half the crew.”

  “But we never really…”

  “Never really what?”

  “Never really followed them that closely.”

  Darger raised her eyebrows, wanting him to put the pieces together for himself. Maybe if he came to the conclusion on his own, he’d dig in his heels less.

  “You know what it’s like,” he explained. “We don’t have the resources to keep tabs on everyone all the time.”

  “Still. With everything the task force must have at this point. Informants and so forth. No one had ever heard that these guys had a favorite hangout spot?”

  “So you think there’s — what? — a leak on the task force?”

  When he saw that was exactly what she thought, he shook his head.

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Is it? Why?”

  “Because you’re saying that someone I work with side-by-side every day is a liar. Worse than that. A traitor.”

  Darger pulled up Jaworski’s driver’s license photo again.

  “This is the photo I just showed Cherie Howard. His name is Dominik Jaworski, and he was outside Constantine’s last night. Deputy Huettemann saw him and took down his plate. Look at him. He’s the fucking Striga.”

  “Huettemann didn’t mention any of this at the meeting this morning.”

  “That’s because I told him not to.”

  “You told him to withhold information from the task force?”

  “Yes, because if there is a mole, then he’ll go blab everything to the Battaglias, and we’ll have lost the one lead we have.”

  She watched the muscles in Luck’s jaw tighten and loosen as he clenched his teeth.

  “I don’t like this, Violet. Not at all.”

  “Does that mean you won’t drive me by this Jaworski guy’s house? I want to see where he lives.”

  Luck sighed.

  “What’s the address?”

  Chapter 26

  Jaworski’s neighborhood seemed less affected by the blight than most. They passed only a few structures with boarded windows, and very few of the lots had been demolished.

  The houses were small and looked like they’d been built in the 50s or 60s. Each one was a single-story, square box with a postage stamp lawn and just enough space between houses to pull your car up beside it. There were small garages and carports here and there, but mostly there wasn’t room.

  744 Salignac Avenue was
one such single-story box. The aluminum siding was a strange peach color that reminded Darger orange sherbet.

  A pair of white plastic lawn chairs kept watch over a few scraggly potted plants. Judging by the cages protruding from the pots, Darger thought they were tomatoes.

  The SUV registered to Dominik Jaworski was in the driveway, snugged up against the side of the house.

  Darger pointed down the street, where a cluster of vehicles lined the sidewalk.

  “Pull up and park alongside that little brick house.”

  “I thought you said you only wanted to drive by.”

  “Don’t puss out on me now, Special Agent Luck.”

  He shot her a miffed look but did as she said, easing the car up behind a pick-up truck so covered in rust it was hard to tell what color it had been originally. She wondered if the registration listed the color as “iron oxide.”

  Luck put the car in park and slouched against the door in such a way that couldn’t be ignored. She leaned past him to adjust the side mirror on her side of the car to give her a better view of Jaworski’s house.

  “Are you pouting?”

  “No. I just forgot what a lovely vocabulary you have.”

  She had to mentally rewind to determine what particular word might have offended him.

  “Puss out?” she guessed.

  “Well, it’s not the most lady-like language.”

  Darger blew a dismissive puff of air out her nose and let her eyes fall back on the mirror.

  “Who the fuck ever said I was a lady?”

  Darger was glad they were in her rental instead of Luck’s car. Most of the cars on the street were older models, so she worried a little that the newer Hyundai Elantra would still stick out, but it was infinitely less suspicious than Luck’s car. Or so she hoped.

  “I knew this was going to be trouble. As soon as Price stuck us together, I knew.”

  Luck seemed to be talking more to himself to her.

  “Are you still whining over there?” she asked.

  He ignored her.

  “Should have asked him to put me with Loshak. Because I can tell you right now, you wouldn’t be pulling any of this rogue crap if you were paired up with Price.”

  She turned to face him, studied his pinstripe suit.

  “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but the ‘I’ in FBI stands for Investigation.”