Follow the Money (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 3)

by Gina LaManna

  “Ma, nobody’s making you go. You can cancel.”

  “That’s so rude!”

  “It’s internet dating. People do it all the time.”

  “How would you know? You wear weapons on your dates instead of earrings.”

  “That’s not true. Sometimes I wear both.”

  “I want to go.” My mother twisted her hands around. “I mean, I think I want to go. I don’t know if I want to go. Do I want to go? Tell me, Kate.”

  “You’re panicking,” I said. “It’s natural. It’s your first date in years. That I know of.”

  “It’s the first time since your father left us that I’ve felt... ready.” My mother looked into my eyes, searching for something there. “Sure, I went out on one or two dates over the years, but I was never truly ready—and naturally, those dates went nowhere. I was nowhere near as nervous as I am now, and I think it’s because I know that this Greg might be the one.”

  “You can’t possibly know that. You’ve seen his profile picture and a few stats.”

  “But he could be. The possibility is there. Maybe I’ll go on this date, and we’ll fall madly in love, and get married, and that’s the end of it.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself,” I said. “Lots of my friends have done internet dating. The chance of your first date being the one is very slim.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good thing, or if it’s depressing.”

  “It’s a good thing! Your only responsibility is to go out and have a nice evening,” I said. “Enjoy it. Take things easy, don’t put any pressure on yourself or him. If it’s meant to be, it’ll all work out.”

  “Aren’t you full of sage advice this morning.”

  “I guess Jane rubbed off on me.”

  “Jane?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “Can I please have my usual? And Asha’s, too?”

  “You’re making that poor girl work another weekend?”

  “She gets paid,” I said. “And she enjoys her job. I’m not forcing her to come in.”

  My mother gave me a stern look. “You need to buy her a drink.”

  I gestured toward the coffee cups. “I’m trying to do just that.”

  She rolled her eyes but set to work making my coffees while I waited at the other end of the bar. I stared out the window, replaying the conversation I’d had with Jane the previous evening. I wondered if I should mention my father again, maybe implying that there might be shreds of a relationship left to pick up and weave together.

  However, when my mother handed two coffees over to me, I saw a level of uncertainty in her eyes that I’d never seen before. Throughout our youth, my mother had never shown me or my sister her vulnerable side. She’d shown us the tough, strong side that she’d needed to don in order to survive the years she spent as a hard-working, single mom.

  Now, I saw a glimmer of hope. A hint of excitement. A barrel of fear. And I knew Jane was right. My mother had to figure this out for herself.

  I took the cups, gave her my best smile. “It’ll be fine,” I told her. “I promise you. Have a good time and call me if he’s a creep.”

  She laughed. “You always know what to say, hon. I love you.”

  The jaunt to the precinct was a quick one. I found Asha sitting at her desk, her nails white as snow, rushing over the keyboard. She barely looked up when I entered the room.

  “I’ve got brunch with friends,” she said. “So, let’s make this quick.”

  I made a mock expression of horror while I handed her the coffee. “You have friends besides me?”

  “Believe it or not, I need to have more friends than you,” Asha said. “Friends interact with each other. You know, they have social time together outside of work.”

  “Oh, see, I wasn’t clear on that,” I said. “Now that I know, I’ll be better.”

  Asha grabbed her latte and clinked it against mine in a cheer. “That’s what I like to hear. Now, you wanted to know about Ray Hammond?”

  I nodded. Asha had heard all about the previous night’s incident at the Asian restaurant. We’d given her a list of names to look up, and it seemed she’d gotten an early start.

  “Hammond’s a known drug dealer,” she said. “But he’s careful, smart. Been in the business a long time.”

  “I imagine he’s got a record?”

  “They’d like to have a record on him,” she said, her eyebrows inching up. “But they haven’t got him on so much as a parking ticket. Hammond is so engrained in the business that he’s got people doing everything for him. He never touches the actual drugs, doesn’t touch the money until it’s been laundered through any number of clubs, laundromats, restaurants, you name it. Squeaky clean.”

  “Sounds like he’s got a pretty good racket going.”

  “He sits back and watches the cash flow in,” she said. “I know there’s this rumor floating around that you’re the best detective we’ve got, but I’m not sure even the famous Kate Rosetti will be able to get anything on him.”

  I made a face, and she grinned.

  “At least not in the time you’ve got,” Asha continued. “He’s slippery. They’ve done big operations and missed him.”

  “What about the people under him?”

  “The ones that flip don’t live long enough to do much good.”

  “Ah.”

  “Lots of accidents for his underlings,” Asha said, squinting at the screen. “I’m finding seven in just the last few years.”

  “Yikes. Tough boss.”

  “Not someone I’d like to work for,” she said. “But there’s no chatter about him on the streets or on the forums. Seems like he’s got some loyal employees, and I’m guessing Hammond treats the good ones well. He pays them enough, so they don’t flip. They know if they do, they’ll lose their comfy lifestyles. Not to mention they’ll end up dead.”

  “Sounds like a raw deal.”

  “Yep.”

  “So, do you know where I can find him?”

  Her eyes widened. “All that, and you still want to talk to the guy?”

  “Just a quick chat.”

  She gave a shake of her head. “You’re a little nuts, detective. No offense.”

  “I’m not sure a truly sane person could do this job,” I said. “Most sane people would have taken their date back to the hotel room along with the slice of cake last night.”

  “There are so many comments I’d like to make about that, but I’ll refrain.” Asha raised her coffee. “It’s too early, and it’s Sunday.”

  “Speaking of Sunday, I’m trying to make up for my botched evening by treating Russo to lunch this afternoon. Can I get that address for Hammond so I can get it over with?”

  “He won’t be at home.” Asha’s eyes were glued on the screen. “Not if his receipts are to be believed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Every day, nine a.m., he’s at a diner on Grand Ave.”

  I blinked. “Are you joking?”

  “He likes his waffles.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head, spun her screen around. “We’ve got receipts for him like clockwork. Most days of the week, that’s where he starts his day.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” I said. “Breakfast it is.”

  THE GRAND CAFÉ WAS a small place tucked onto the corner of one of St. Paul’s main drags. It was next to a pizza place and a used bookstore that had been advertising a going out of business sale for the last three years.

  Parking was an atrocity since there was no attached lot and the city streets were packed. By the time I parked and made my way to the diner, I was ready to turn around and head home.

  Once I finally made it inside, a young hostess informed me that I could wait outside with everyone else. She also told me that the wait time was thirty to forty-five minutes, which didn’t work for my schedule.

  I flashed my
badge, gave her my sweetest smile, and pushed past the crowd of people waiting for buttermilk biscuits and the best pancakes in the city, if the menu was to be believed. The smell of coffee swirled in the air, mixed with the sugary aroma of syrup and flapjacks. I gained ten pounds from a single inhalation.

  The restaurant was packed. Thanks to Asha’s reports, I knew exactly who I was looking for. Ray Hammond took up an entire booth all by himself, making him easy to find. He was partially hidden behind a plate stacked high with waffles. A lump of butter sat on top melting down the syrupy tower beneath. A gigantic glass of chocolate milk perched next to his hand, complete with a straw.

  I made my way over to him. I hesitated for a mere second before sliding into the empty seat across from him. It seemed that, for just a brief moment, the room stilled.

  Servers glanced over at me. Baristas whispered, probably wondering who the idiot was that’d disrupted Ray Hammond’s breakfast. Even the other patrons shifted uneasily and glanced over their shoulders, sensing a disturbance, even if they couldn’t quite place it.

  I ignored the stares, glances, and whispers, and waited patiently for Ray to look up. He was a big man, probably a few years older than me. He had broad shoulders and wore his weight well. Ray’s hair was cut short, and he wore an unassuming outfit of track pants and a white, oversized tee. One earring glinted beneath the sunlight streaming through the window.

  Ray didn’t look up. Aside from a twitch in his jaw, he didn’t acknowledge my presence. He shifted the napkin in his lap, picked up his fork and knife. Carefully, as if performing surgery, he smeared the butter ball so that little globs of yellow slid into each and every square divot. Then he dumped more syrup on, waited for it to soak through. Finally, he sliced off a piece, took a bite.

  His eyes closed, and he chewed so slowly I wondered how the waffle didn’t disintegrate before he swallowed. Eventually, the waffle must have dissipated from his tongue because he leaned forward and took a huge slurp of milk.

  Suddenly, he glanced up at me and gave me the widest, sunniest smile I’d ever seen. “Damn, those are some good waffles. You want to try a bite?”

  If he was trying to catch me off guard, he’d done a bang-up job of it. I opened my mouth, shook my head no.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said. “I was just...”

  Ray shrugged, turned back to his waffles and left me to drift off and watch as he repeated the process. Two bites later, I was too impatient to wait any longer. I ordered a coffee from a passing waiter who was clearly curious as to what I was doing. When it arrived, I stirred in some cream and rested my elbows on the table.

  “Ray Hammond?” I said. “I’m Detective Kate Rosetti.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Ray sat back. He held his glass of chocolate milk against his chest, took a sip through the straw. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a few questions to ask you.”

  “I don’t really like my breakfast being interrupted.”

  “I’m truly sorry about that,” I said. “But I didn’t want to interrupt you at your home, either. I’ll try to make this quick.”

  “I’ll make an exception for a pretty cop like you.” Ray grinned again. “You got guts coming in here, I’ll give you that.”

  I was more confused than ever. Ray looked like a kid in a candy shop, not a man potentially responsible for seven deaths and counting. It didn’t seem like he could run rackets on pixie sticks, let alone cocaine.

  “I’m looking for information about a cop,” I said. “A retired detective. Kevin Cox.”

  “Don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “It doesn’t seem to me like you’re making a great effort at lying,” I said. “You didn’t even stop to think about it.”

  “You’re interrupting my breakfast, lady. I’m just here, wanting to eat my waffles in peace. Is that too much for a guy to ask? This is why I’m not married. You ladies always want to talk during breakfast. Let a poor dude enjoy his food.”

  Ray took another sip through his straw, and unfortunately, his glass ran empty. He slurped once, and by the time he pulled his head back, a server was there to give him a refill. I was forced to wait again, this time as the server poured in white milk, then chocolate syrup, then stirred it for Hammond.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “I’m re-fueled. What did you want to talk about while my waffles get cold?”

  “Cox. I know you’re familiar with the name.”

  He gave a thin smile. “I know the word, not the name.”

  “I’m working a homicide case,” I said. “You don’t want your name involved. One way to stay completely uninvolved is to help me out.”

  “Ask me for my alibi.”

  I took a sip of my coffee.

  “When was your guy killed?” Hammond pressed. “I’ll give you my alibi.”

  “I’m not looking for your alibi. I don’t think you had anything to do with this case, but I think you might be able to help me find out who did.”

  “What if I don’t feel like it?”

  “Then I will come after you.”

  “Am I supposed to be scared?” Hammond stirred his milk with the straw and took a sip. “You’re cute if you think that worries me.”

  I sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t make this difficult. I’ll be back, Ray. You could make this a lot easier by giving me a little information.”

  “You want information? Get an order of the waffles—to go. I’m done talking now. My food is getting soggy, and nobody likes a soggy waffle.”

  I took another sip of my coffee, then slid out from the booth and threw down a five to cover my beverage.

  “Enjoy your breakfast,” I said. “They don’t serve waffles in prison. Not like this, they don’t. And I doubt they make your chocolate milk on the spot either.”

  Ray gave another winning grin. “I like you, sugar. See you around.”

  I left, frustrated at myself for the wasted trip to the diner. I’d parked a mile away, learned nothing, and had been so upset I’d left without food. My stomach growled.

  When I got to my car, I fumbled for a granola bar. As I chomped it down in angry bites, I texted Gem to see if he was available. His reply was prompt.

  Gem: I’m at the office. I’ll let Ms. Karp know to send you up.

  I rescued my car from the meter and took off down Grand. I hopped onto the highway, heading for Gem Industries. On the way, I dialed Asha.

  “I know you’ve got brunch plans,” I told her. “But I’ll buy you a huge stack of the best waffles you’ve ever eaten if you can find me something on Hammond. Anything. A lead, a thread, a fray. I’ll do the rest.”

  Chapter 16

  Gem Industries loomed on the Minneapolis skyline. Topped by a glittering diamond, it stood out among the darker, sleeker, more severe buildings in shades of gray and black and silver. There was an element of humor to it, much like Gem himself.

  I parked out front, flashed my badge at the valet, then headed inside to find the receptionist. Ms. Karp was a trim, dark-haired woman who was stunningly gorgeous. Then again, Alastair Gem wouldn’t have the face of his building looking any other way. Everything about this place was gorgeous, from the cars out front to the intricate atrium enclosed at the end of the hall.

  The receptionist gave me a thin smile when I stopped in front of her desk. We weren’t exactly friends, but we also weren’t enemies. Today, she smiled and handed me a keycard. Today was a good day, apparently.

  “Mr. Gem will see you immediately,” she said. “Please, head on up to his private quarters. I’m sure you know the way by now.”

  I took the card and thanked her before heading to the elevator. She was right; I had been this way a few times, and the ride up was becoming familiar, though no less stunning. I spun to watch the city pass through the clear-walled elevator, studying the skeleton of the cities. The skyline was just beginning to bloom with color.

  Then, my ride ended abruptly, and a muted ding signaled the doors behind me had si
lently opened. Gem’s personal assistant looked up from her desk when I stepped onto the main floor.

  “Can I get you coffee or tea?” she asked. “A sparkling water?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Is Gem available?”

  “He’s waiting for you in his office. I’ll walk you up.”

  “That’s not necessary, I know the way...”

  His assistant didn’t seem to care whether I knew the way or not. She rose, smiled as my mumblings trailed into nothing, and click-clicked her high-heeled way across the room. We twisted up a spiral staircase which came to an end outside of Gem’s office door. His assistant gave two light taps of her knuckle against the wood, and then let herself inside, gesturing for me to follow.

  Gem sat behind his desk. He looked up as we entered, his gaze first landing on his receptionist before flicking to mine.

  “Good morning, detective,” he said evenly. To his assistant, he nodded. “That’ll be all. Thank you.”

  “Tea? Coffee?” she pressed.

  Gem looked to me, but I shook my head. He waved a hand at her. “I think this visit will be quick.”

  Once Gem’s assistant had excused herself, I stepped deeper into the room. The billionaire looked pleasant enough, but something—a hint of the normal playfulness—was missing from his expression.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked Gem. “You seem upset.”

  I hadn’t intended to make this visit personal, but the words flowed out of me and felt natural.

  “Everything is quite alright.”

  A glimmer of the old Gem reappeared as he studied me. His eyes skimmed over my figure, probably noting the awkward way I stood in the doorway, hesitant to come inside, not willing to leave.

  “You can come in, have a seat,” Gem said. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells.”

  I entered more fully into his office, crossing the room and easing into a chair opposite him at the sleek desk that headlined the room. There were no cords anywhere to connect the mouse and monitors. There were no wires, nothing except a thin mouse and keypad, and a huge screen.

  Gem flipped the huge screen around so that both of us could view it. “I’ve pulled the files you’ve asked for.”