by Don Travis
“So Aggie was the only one who knew you were switching your position?”
“Dana knew.”
“I suspect there weren’t many secrets between the two of you.”
That comment kicked off the law of unintended consequences. Lando’s jaw dropped as if he’d been slapped. His facial muscles spasmed. Tears sprang to his eyes. He brushed them away with the back of his hand and cursed.
“What is it, Lando?”
He met my eye squarely—except he didn’t. The pupils were directed at me, but there was nothing behind them. Lando’s mind had gone somewhere else. I glanced at Del. He was as perplexed as I was. Maybe I’d been wrong. Perhaps he and Dana had had a falling-out, and Lando killed his lover. I discarded that idea and pressed the issue.
“Lando. What is it? Why did you react when I asked that question?”
He blinked. “What question?”
“It wasn’t really a question. I just said I thought you two were close enough so there weren’t many secrets between you.”
“I’m tired now,” Lando said, his slender shoulders drooping. “Can I go back to my room… my cell?”
“Your attorney needs to talk to you a little longer, but I have to leave now. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Yeah… sure.”
Del leaned forward on the table and prepared to make like a lawyer. As soon as I got out of the center, I took a moment to consider the risk before phoning Gaines. He agreed to see me right away, so I drove over to the FBI building with my head spinning. I spoke before our handshake was finished.
“Agent Gaines, I really hope you’ll cooperate with me on a couple of things. I just left Orlando Alfano, and he seems to be recovering.” That, of course, ignored the fact I’d said something that sent him into orbit again.
“I’m still trying to figure out your role in all of this, Vinson.” He lowered his long frame into a high-backed black executive chair, the one item in the room that did not fit the government-issue appearance of the place. “But I’ll do what I can.”
“I need to see the log of calls to and from Dana Norville’s cell phone.”
“What are you looking for?”
I slid a scrap of paper across the desk to him. “That’s Aggie Alfano’s cell number. I want to see how often it shows up.”
It showed up five times as both sent and received calls. Dana had been in intermittent contact with Lando’s brother from the time they left for New Mexico almost until the day Dana died. There were also calls from an unidentified number, which the FBI confirmed as a cell phone but hadn’t yet traced.
I deflected Gaines’s questions, promising to explain as soon as I filled in a few holes. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t arrest me for impeding an ongoing investigation or for withholding evidence. Nor did he ask what role I’d played in finding Lando and stashing him away on the reservation, but sooner or later, he would get around to it.
I went to the crime lab at FPD to see if they had identified my attacker from fingerprints on the stun gun. It was a little early yet, but maybe we’d get lucky. We did; our man was in the system. Lonzo Joe was out, but since the assault happened within the city limits, the police had jurisdiction. Dix Lee showed me a mug shot of a thug named Joe Kinkaid, minor muscle for the mob who’d gotten his wings clipped in LA a few years back and went home to San Angelo, Texas. South Texas.
The police had located his Farmington motel room at the east edge of town, but he had flown the coop in his rented automobile. There was already a bulletin out on him. At the moment the San Angelo PD was unable to provide a list of known associates. Kinkaid had come back to San Angelo with a little money and lived quietly on a small farm outside of town. Dix had no lead on the second man in my motel room—the one giving the orders.
As I left the bullpen area, I ran into Aggie, who was just entering the building.
“Just the man I want to see.” I stepped in front of him.
“Get out of my way. I’m going to see my brother.”
“Then you’re in the wrong place. He’s down at the San Juan County Adult Detention Center on Andrea Drive.”
“Where’s that?”
“East part of town. I can give you directions or drive you over if you want.”
“No, thanks,” he snapped. “I’ll find my own way.”
“Suit yourself. Have you talked to your father?”
A quick frown crossed his face. “No, I haven’t. He’s still out of the office. Gilda’s trying to run him down for me.”
“You need to climb down off your high horse. Sooner or later, Agent Gaines is going to come after me for the information I have, and you need a heads-up before he does. Besides, Lando’s with his attorney right now.”
“Your attorney, you mean. We’ll retain one of our own.”
Gilda’s comment that Carl Brasser always delivered flashed through my mind. Why wasn’t he already here? It was probably a little too soon, especially since Aggie hadn’t been able to reach his father, but Brasser would be on his way quick enough.
“That’s fine. Del’s just holding down the fort. You know, seeing Lando’s protected and trying to get him a bail hearing. I’m not sure the bail part will fly. Not with two dead bodies lying around.”
“Two? Oh, you mean Santillanes. Lando didn’t kill anyone.”
“That’s your opinion, but then you thought he was going to support your opposition to the De Falco buyout too. Maybe you were wrong both times.”
Aggie blinked and glanced around. “Let’s talk outside.”
We found the shady side of the building and faced off. I threw the first verbal punch.
“You lied to me. You knew Lando was no longer opposing the buyout.”
“He’s been on both sides of the issue. I honestly didn’t think he’d end up changing positions on me. Not after he thought it through. So I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t level with me either. Aggie, I know why a $100,000 deposit was made to Dana’s account. But your timing was lousy. He was already dead.” I cocked my head at him. “Or maybe the timing was perfect. Maybe the money was to throw everyone off track. Who would pay a hundred grand to a man he’d already killed?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Why do you oppose the De Falco Wines buyout?”
He shifted his weight and stood sprung-hipped on his left leg, arms folded across his chest, chin thrust forward. “We’ve already discussed this… at length.”
“And we’re going to keep discussing it until you tell me the truth. All of the truth.”
“I told you. We haven’t digested the last buyout. Besides, we’d be buying an organization half as big as our own—with borrowed money. And their grapes are the wrong kind for us.”
“Money borrowed from a friendly source. That’s not enough. It’s not enough to make you go to such extremes to quash the deal. One hundred thousand isn’t chicken feed—even to the Alfanos.”
His face flushed. Those dark eyes bored into my own. “You want to know why, Vinson? Because I’m tired, that’s why. It’ll all fall on my shoulders one day, and I’m not up to the task. I’m not old school like Papa. I won’t devote my entire life to the business.”
He leaned back against the wall of the police building and closed his eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like. My family still lives in medieval times. The oldest living male is king. Patriarch. Tsar. It’s one-man rule. All that power, all that responsibility rests on Papa’s shoulders, and he loves it, thrives on it. Me, I want to spend time with my wife and kids. I want to go rock climbing, flying. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll run the business, but I won’t let it consume me the way it has him.” He met my eyes. “Lando’s no help. He’s too busy being gay.”
The tone wasn’t vicious, but the sentiment was sincere, making me wonder how Aggie really felt about his brother’s sexual orientation.
“At least he’s got the courage of his convictions,” Aggie went on. “He’ll take his advanced degree and end up te
aching history in a prestigious college somewhere.”
“There’s always your sister. I hear she’s cast in your old man’s mold.”
“She is. And if she’d been born with the right plumbing, it would all be on her back. May still end up that way, but not while Papa’s alive. It’s the old way with him. You know, I’ve often wondered what would have happened if Lando had been the elder son.” He gave a half snort. “There would have been blood on the floor, and I’m not sure all of it would be Lando’s.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of delegation, Aggie?”
“Yeah, and I’ve put some good people in place to move up when the time comes. I can handle what we have now. Make a good life for me and my family and still do right by the company. But not with De Falco added to the mix. I’ll become a slave again when that happens. I went through that ordeal the last time we bought a business.” He gave a deep sigh. “And we haven’t even mentioned the Sabelito money. I’m a trustee on that too. When Mama goes, I’ll be responsible for the whole shooting match. Tell me, BJ, what kind of life is that?”
“The kind men dream about, scheme for, kill to get.”
“Yeah, men who don’t know any better. I’m not a slacker. I’ll run the business, but I won’t sacrifice my wife and kids for it.”
“So when Lando changed his mind and decided to finance the buyout, you saw all your plans going up in flames. Apparently Dana wasn’t doing the job you hired him for.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do. The FBI has his phone records. I know you spoke to him several times, including twice in the last week of his life.”
“Okay, I made a deal with him when Lando called and told me he was going to support the buyout because Papa’s pressure was affecting Mama’s health. Lando was the cork in the genie’s bottle. If he switched sides, I’d have to be the buffer.” He drew a breath.
“Hell, he has Mama’s power of attorney. He can make it happen all by himself. I asked him to think it through a little better, and he agreed. Then I sweet-talked Dana’s cell phone number from Gilda and called him. They were at some service station west of Albuquerque, and Lando was inside paying for the gas, so we had a couple of minutes to talk. I made a deal with him—or thought I had. He was going to make sure Lando stood up to Papa, and I was going to pay him $100,000. I kept riding his back, and he kept stalling. I decided to go ahead and pay the money to pressure him to do what he’d agreed. When I called and told him that, he said he couldn’t go through with it.”
Aggie shook his head. “But it was too late; the wire transfer process had started. Besides, I still hoped the money would convince him.” He leaned against the building again. “There was something going on. I think he and Lando already had a problem—something between them.”
“Jazz Penrod?”
He shook his head. “Maybe, but I think it was deeper than that.”
Remembering Lando’s reaction when I mentioned secrets, I silently agreed with his assessment.
“So now,” I said, “we have given the sheriff the one thing he’s been missing.”
“What’s that?”
“A motive for Dana’s murder.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Think about it. Dana betrayed Lando by taking money to influence him, and that’s on top of getting it on with Jazz. Lando became enraged and strangled him.”
“Bullshit, that didn’t happen.”
“That’s what Lonzo will say as soon as he traces that money back to you.”
“No way. Those funds went through about three different banks before they reached his. That’s why they were late getting there.”
“You’re forgetting one thing. I won’t lie to the law. Not for you or Lando or anybody.”
“You’re privileged.”
“Not legally. Lando’s attorney didn’t hire me to look into this, your father did. So there’s no way to claim privilege. Of course, they might not ask me about it, but that’s not something you can count on.”
His cell went off at that moment, startling both of us. His expression deteriorated when he answered. “Papa’s here,” he announced as he closed the call.
“Here? In Farmington?”
Aggie nodded. “At the Marriott. I’ve got to go see him.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Uh-uh. He wants to talk to me first. He’ll catch you later.”
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Chapter 33
I PICKED up a replacement cell phone, an expensive device with all the bells and whistles, including a built-in recorder, and went through the hassle of changing to my original number before heading back to the motel room where I found an exasperated message from Jazz. I didn’t blame him; I’d forgotten to touch base with him again last night.
I got him on his cell phone and explained the problem I’d had with mine. “Anything happen last night?”
“Yeah. Not an hour after we talked, this car pulled up to the plane and two men got out. We were too far away to hear what they said, but they did some big-time cussing when they saw the wheels were flat. They argued a minute… well, that’s not right. Wasn’t much of an argument. Seemed like one guy was in charge, and the other one was taking all the guff. Anyway, they got back in the car and tore out of there. Sorry, but we couldn’t see the plates on the car. All I can tell you is it was a sedan of some kind. You know, the four-door kind.”
“Would you be able to identify the men if you saw them again?”
“Nah. They were just black shadows. One of them walked in front of the headlights, and I got a glimpse of him, but like I said, we were too far away. Besides, you know how it is; all you white dudes look alike.” When his little joke fell flat, he went on, “Beefy guy, had a hat on, so don’t know about the hair. Big nose. That’s all I can tell you. Course, if we’d followed them….”
“Thank God you didn’t. Tell Henry you guys did a good job. Where are you now?”
“Right where you put us, and we’re hungry as hell. Also my cell battery’s about gone. Henry’s too. We used it to find somebody to haul my Wrangler back and fix it up.”
“Okay, you guys go home now.”
“Will do. How’s Lando holding up?”
“Seems to be doing better. Remembering a few things. Thanks for sticking it out on the mesa last night.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
Then I called Charlie, who said the plane stranded out on the rim of Black Hole Canyon was a restored Piper J-3 Cub, a tandem two-seater craft primarily used by the Civilian Pilot Training Program in World War II. FAA records showed the N-Number was registered to a Los Angeles company called the Pied Pipers, apparently one of the many Cub associations around the country. He hadn’t had time to root out the owners, but personnel at the home field had given him a couple of names and told him the craft was regularly rented out to qualified pilots in the area.
I told him I needed to know who had it under lease, when it had departed LA, and where the flight plan indicated it was heading. Then I really dumped on him, asking him to trace Anthony Alfano’s movements for the last few days. Aggie had said his father was in Los Angeles when he left the message advising that Lando was in FBI custody. Today he showed up in Farmington. That was possible, given the company had an executive jet, but I wanted to ascertain the location of the players—or potential players—in this little drama. Charlie’s head must have been spinning by the time I finished listing everyone: Victoria and her husband, William Vitrillo, Bruno Wills, and the company’s principal officers. This included Frank Baratta, Ariel Gonda, and Tom Scavo, who might have had “feelings” for Lando.
“BJ,” he objected, “that could take months and stir up a whole lot of trouble.”
“Understood. Find what you can, as quickly as you can. I have the feeling we’re about to be fired from this job.”
After that I stole a few minutes to dial Paul’s cel
l and caught him walking between classes at the U. He couldn’t resist tweaking my nose.
“Vinson… Vinson. I used to know a guy by that name. Don’t know what happened to him. He headed north one day, and I never saw him again.”
“This is the same fellow. Doing his best to wrap up this assignment and get back to you as fast as possible.”
“God, I miss you, Vince.”
“You don’t know how good that makes me feel. But I don’t think it will be long before I’m back. This case is going to break—one way or the other.”
“What does that mean?”
“My client’s son is in the pokey, and I think the old man is about to fire me.”
“Man, I hope so. You’ve been gone so long, some of these guys on campus are beginning to look good to me. Hell, some of the girls look good to me.”
“I’ll catch the next flight out. Seriously, it shouldn’t be long now.”
There was a missed call from Aggie on my cell when I hung up. A summons, no doubt. Well, he could wait. So could his father, for that matter.
A quick run by the airport confirmed that the Alfano corporate jet was not at the field, nor had it been there recently. Dix Lee was in the station and reported there was nothing new on Kinkaid except she had located his car rental agency—agencies, in fact. Kinkaid had rented a gray Toyota Corolla and a green Ford Taurus from different agencies. Neither had been returned.
Del raised me on my cell as I left the station to tell me the court had agreed to a bail hearing. We both knew that didn’t mean much; Gaines was merely dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s, to make sure the family couldn’t find fault with Lando’s treatment. It was set for four o’clock this afternoon. That gave me a little over four hours to see what additional information I could develop.
“Have you met Alfano Sr. yet? He was waiting at the detention center when I came in,” Del went on without waiting for an answer. “Nobody would let him see his son, and he was raising hell. He’s used to throwing his weight around.”