Down and Dirty

by Liliana Hart

“Doctor Graves,” he said. “I was just thinking about you.” I could hear the smile in his voice, but also a weariness.

  “Just letting you know I’m running late.”

  “Oh, me too. The Department of Defense is becoming a permanent pain in my ass.”

  “You used to tell me that. I’m glad someone else has graduated to that spot.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Thanks, I needed that. Lewis and Martinez are here with me. I don’t know if Jack’s checked his email, but they dug up an interesting bit of information about Julie Connelli.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked. I looked at Jack and noticed he’d zeroed in on the conversation at the change in my voice. “What’s so interesting?”

  “She was a mail order bride. Anthony bought her from auction when she was seventeen years old. Her family needed the money bad because they were into it with the mafia.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Pretty much. Anthony Connelli was thirty-four at the time and already making a name for himself in military circles and with intelligence operations.”

  “Then why would he need to buy a wife?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve seen a picture of Anthony Connelli, but that should explain it all. He was all brains. Not beauty. And word is that he was socially awkward as well. He needed a beautiful wife who could be trained up and make him look good in political circles.

  “Lewis said her background check didn’t expose it at first because when she came to the states Anthony paid off a judge for citizenship and a new identity—name, social security, age, birthday, and background—the works. And then Connelli put her into a finishing school of sorts so she could learn the language and lose her accent, as well as other etiquette type things.”

  “If he paid to have her background erased then how did it come up?” We were stuck in traffic and Jack was on his phone, no doubt reading the update on what Walker was telling me.

  “That’s the million dollar question. Three million dollar question actually. When we started looking through financials we found Julia Connelli had a nice little side account hidden behind the name of a charitable organization she’d founded some years back. The last deposit was made a week before the fire. And can be traced back to the Russian government.”

  I let out a low whistle. “So you think Julia Connelli was being paid as a double agent to gather information her husband was working on? What does the DOD think about that?”

  “The DOD isn’t saying much, but they’re going through every scrap of debris at the scene. Lewis told me the Bruces are waiting at the police station, so at least we don’t have to worry about finding him anymore.

  “The DOD has given me twenty-four hours to turn over all evidence that I collected, along with a lot of threats that end with me in prison if I don’t comply.”

  “They’re a friendly lot,” I said. “What are you going to do?

  “I’m going to get my ass to work on that coffeemaker and see if I can come up with a cause for the start of the fire. And then I’m going to turn everything over about a second before my twenty-four hours is up. I just escaped the DOD’s watch and am headed back to get started.”

  “Julia Connelli is going to be first up. I’ll text you when we’re done at the station.”

  “10-4, Doc. Let me know when you’re close. I’ll meet you there, he said, hanging up the phone.

  Jack’s patience for stand still traffic had come to an end and he flipped on his lights and sirens, moving to the shoulder so he could speed past the traffic.

  “Mail order bride,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I tell you what, this job is never boring.

  “That’s the damned truth. I need to get my hands on Julia Connelli. Sometimes the dead have more information to give than the living.”

  ***

  The station was located just off the Towne Square. It was a long rectangular building with industrial grade red brick and ugly windows. It was attached to the courthouse, which was one of the most beautiful and ornate buildings in the area, so it made the starkness of the Sheriff’s Office stand out even more.

  Jack parked in the spot marked Sheriff, and I got out, stretching after the long ride. I waited as Jack typed in the code to the side door that entered directly into the squad room and then he ushered me back straight to his office through a back door I hadn’t even known was there until a couple of months ago.

  Jack’s office sat to one side of the station—glass on all three sides so people could see in and he could see out. He wanted to be accessible to his men and them be accessible to him. And on the rare occasion he needed privacy, he just lowered the blinds. There was also a small, closet-sized room at the back of his office with a cot and a bathroom in case he needed to crash for whatever reason.

  I could see the Bruces sitting in a secluded area off to the side, and I observed them while Jack used the intercom to speak to his secretary so she could show them back. Senator Bruce was on his phone, and I had to give him props for being involved enough with his kid to show up for something like this.

  He looked like the very definition of a politician, like they’d been all cut from the same Ken doll mold—sculpted good looks, dark hair that was silvered at the temples, a charcoal suit that could be pawned and feed a family of four for an entire year.

  Mrs. Bruce was his match. Her mink colored hair was pulled back in a loose chignon, her makeup subtle, and she was wearing a pale blue pants suit that made me think of this incredible frosting Jack had made to go on the sugar cookies one Christmas. She looked ready to do battle, and after looking at her son I could see why. Mrs. Bruce was in full on protective mode.

  Michael Bruce was a wreck. He was a seventeen-year-old kid who’d lost both of his best friends in a horrific way. He’d probably been one of the last people to see them alive, and that survivor’s guilt would weigh on him for a long time.

  He was the spitting image of his mother, but he had a polish about him you didn’t find in most kids his age. He wore khakis and a striped button down shirt under a gray sweater. But that’s where the polished stopped. He was slumped over in his chair, his body shaking as he wept into his hands. His mother sat with her arm around him, trying to soothe as best she could, but I could see the grief in her eyes too.

  “What do you think?” Jack asked.

  “They’re hurting. All of them. Even the Senator, though he’s trying to keep himself occupied with work.”

  “The mom’s going to be a pain in the ass.” He sighed and rubbed his hand over the top of his head in a gesture I recognized. “She’s ready for battle.”

  We watched as Jack’s secretary came to get the Bruces and lead them to his office. Betsy Clement had been the secretary for the Sheriff’s Office for more than forty years. Her steel gray hair was curled in sausage rolls across her scalp and her glasses hung from a chain around her neck. She wore flower print dresses and a sweater every day, and one of her knee-hi pantyhose always ended up around her ankle by the end of the day.

  She’d outlasted a lot of Sheriffs, and she knew everything. And by everything, I mean everything. And she’d take those secrets to her grave.

  The problem with Betsy was she might be loyal and very discreet, but other than that she was a pretty awful secretary. Her memory wasn’t as good as it used to be, and she and technology didn’t really work so well together. So sending emails, faxes, or texts wasn’t really an option. Neither was using the copy machine or the complicated phone system that connected people to different departments. And Jack was better off filling out and keeping track of his own calendar. He was counting down the days until she retired at the end of the year. I was mostly sad she wouldn’t be bringing delicious brownies into the squad room once she was gone.

  Jack held open the door for the Bruces to file in and showed them to the sitting area over by the window instead of the hard chairs in front of his desk. I took a seat next to him and waited.

  “I’m Sheriff Lawson and this is Doctor Graves,” he said
, nodding at me. “Let me start off by saying that I’m very glad to see you sitting alive and well in front of me.”

  Michael looked at Jack with tear-drenched eyes and my heart broke for him. Just a kid who was about to grow up much too fast. “But they’re not,” he said, his voice choking on a sob. “Damian and Cass. They’re not alive and well.”

  “No,” Jack said softly. “I’m very sorry for your loss. For all of you.” He looked up to encompass the parents and I could see that Mrs. Bruce had dropped her guard a bit because of what Jack had said.

  “They were like our own children,” Mrs. Bruce said, her own eyes damp, though she was trying hard to blink back the tears. “And Julia—” she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and the Senator put his hand on her shoulder in support. “Julia was one of my closest friends. I can’t even begin to describe what went through our minds when we heard about the fire. We thought Michael—” her face crumpled and she took a tissue out of her purse.

  “This is a very difficult time for us,” the Senator said. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still raspy with emotion. “You understand our position. I don’t live a private life. Cherise and I were at a fundraiser the night it happened, and we knew Michael was fine on his own. He’s seventeen and about to graduate. And he’s responsible. We were out late that night and then we decided to take the next day off. We do that from time to time when life gets crazy, we’ll turn the phones and computers off and just disappear to spend the day with each other. And that whole time Michael could have been dead and we wouldn’t have known.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Michael said, pressing his fingers to his eyes. “I still can’t believe it’s true. They can’t be gone.”

  “I know this is hard for you Michael, but I’d appreciate it if you could clear a couple of things up for us. We’re trying to put a timeline together.” Jack looked at the Senator and Mrs. Bruce and said, “Maybe you can help too.”

  “You know we’ll do whatever we can, but we weren’t there. I don’t know how much we can help you,” the Senator said.

  “Did Anthony ever tell you about the problems he had with Wayne Macerne?” Jack asked.

  The knowledge that this could be something more than an accidental house fire penetrated the Senator’s grief, and his eyes hardened. “I’ve known Anthony for a long time, so I remember when it happened. I’m on the Senate Defense Committee. Anthony and Julia were terrified. For themselves and the children.”

  “He was always there,” Mrs. Bruce broke in. “You could just feel it on the back of your neck. I was out with Julia several times and we’d catch a glimpse of him. Sometimes it wasn’t him, sometimes it was a woman, but we figured she and Macerne knew each other. And then there was that day he ran her off the road. They were lucky to survive.”

  She must have realized her choice of words because her face paled and she closed her eyes. “Stupid, isn’t it. To cheat death once, only to have it come back and find you again.”

  “The police could never prove it was him,” John said. “And believe me, they tried. But they could never catch him in the act. After they were run off the road, Julia was in the hospital for a few days. That was long enough for Anthony to buy the Marcello House. He paid cash so they could move in immediately. I helped him get it put in another name so it would be harder for Macerne to find them if he started looking.”

  “And they never had problems with Macerne again?” Jack asked.

  I saw the answer in Mrs. Bruce’s eyes even as the Senator was shaking his head no.

  “Mrs. Bruce?” I asked.

  She shook her head and licked her lips. “It’s just that—Julia mentioned she thought she’d seen Macerne during parents’ weekend a couple months back. But she assured me that was the only time, and she probably just saw someone who looked similar.”

  “That’s enough to check him out again,” Jack said.

  “So you think someone did this deliberately?” the Senator asked.

  “I don’t have sufficient evidence to make a ruling yet,” I said. It wouldn’t do us any favors for me to tell them so far things were pointing to an accidental death. But we’d be in a real fix if I found evidence down the road that ruled homicide, because the chances of getting the Senator and his wife back in for questioning was slim to none. “Cases like these take time, but the more information we have from the beginning the better.”

  “What about you, Michael?” Jack asked. “Did you ever hear Damian or Rose mention anything about someone hanging around?”

  “No, I’m not actually sure they even knew about this guy Macerne you’re talking about. I know I never have. I mean, I remember the wreck. I was supposed to go home from school with them that day, but you picked me up from school early because Nana had passed away.”

  “I remember,” Mrs. Bruce said, touching his back softly.

  I looked into Mrs. Bruce’s eyes and realized there were levels to her grief. For her child and for herself, but there was something else I saw there I couldn’t put my finger on.

  “What time did you get to the Connelli’s house that day?” Jack asked.

  “I was already there,” he said. “I slept over since there was no school. We had a lot of work to get done on our project, so we pretty much stayed up all night. Marta made us a late breakfast the next morning.”

  “Marta?” I asked.

  “She’s the housekeeper. She’s worked for them forever.”

  “Has anyone contacted her?” Cherise asked. “She’ll be devastated. She’s the sweetest woman. And very loyal.”

  “Did she live on the premises?” Jack asked.

  “No, she had her own family home. I’m not sure where exactly. But she came in every morning like clockwork and left at five every day, unless there was a party.”

  Jack made a note to find out more about Marta and continued. “What did you do after breakfast?”

  “We went back upstairs to work some more. Then Rose came in later and wanted to get out the dirt bikes, so we took a break and drove the golf cart to the courts on the far side of the property.”

  “Michael, please tell me you didn’t get on one of those dirt bikes,” the Senator said.

  Michael winced, the guilt on his face. “I was careful.”

  “You know how long it takes you to heal if you get hurt,” his mother said. “Look at that paper cut on your thumb. It’s still bleeding through the Band-Aid. You can’t take chances like that, especially with the load of classes you’ll be taking in the fall.”

  “What time did you leave?” Jack asked, getting them back on track.

  “A little before six o’clock. We’d finished everything for the group project, but I still had some work to do on my individual presentation. So I decided to head out.”

  “Was that the only reason you decided to leave early?”

  Michael’s hands gripped the armrest of the chair, but he kept eye contact with Jack. “I guess you already have an idea.” He shrugged a shoulder and tried to smile, but his lips trembled as he thought of his friends. “It’s just that I didn’t like being a third wheel. Damian and Cass were a unit. And sometimes things felt a little awkward if I hung around too long. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Sure,” Jack said. “I can understand it. We tried to find you at your house all day yesterday, but no one was home. We thought for a long time we’d be finding your remains in that house too.”

  Michael’s cheeks flushed red and it look like he wanted to squirm in his chair, but he held himself still.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he finally said. “I, uh—didn’t go straight home.” He looked at his parents apologetically. “I didn’t even know about the fire until I heard mom’s messages on my phone. I’d turned it off.”

  “And I was frantic because of it,” she said. “Where were you?”

  “Mom.” Exasperation tinged his voice and he looked at his dad pleadingly. “Now isn’t the time to get into this.”

  “For hea
ven’s sake, Michael. We told you you were not to see that girl again. Is that where you were?”

  “Mom—”

  “Cherise, this isn’t important right now,” John said.

  “We were very clear about our wishes.”

  Cherise looked at Jack and I as if she might find allies in us, but we sat still and silent. Sometimes you found out the most interesting things when you let people keep talking.

  “She’s a high school drop out and looking for an easy handout. The last thing we need is for her to show up pregnant on our doorstep. And believe me, girls like that will find a way to get what they want.”

  “She had to drop out because she had to go to work full time.” Michael looked at me and I fought the urge to squirm in my seat. The Bruces were taking awkwardness to a whole new level. “Her mom’s in jail, and she’s living with an aunt, but she doesn’t support her and she makes her pay rent. But Kelsey got her GED and she’s taking online college classes. She’s smart.”

  “Michael—” Cherise said again.

  “This is not the time or the place for this argument,” John said, his voice firmer this time. “I for one am grateful to the girl. If it wasn’t for her Michael would have stayed with the Connellis that night and we wouldn’t be sitting here having this stupid argument, preparing to bury our best friends and their children.” His voice broke toward the end of the sentence and he clamped his lips together.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I think we probably need to go home now.”

  “I understand,” Jack said. “We appreciate you coming in to talk to us. I know it was difficult.”

  “We didn’t want you wasting manpower looking for Michael when he was alive and well. I’ve cleared my calendar for the next week. We’re going to spend some time with Lance and Helen. They’re going to need someone during this difficult time. Cassie was their only child.”

  They all stood and Jack and I followed suit. “I’ll show you through the back way,” he said, leading them through the private door that led back to the parking area.

  When he came back in a few minutes later he came over and sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest.