Follow the Money (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 3)

by Gina LaManna

  “It’s a homicide investigation,” I said. “Is there somewhere more private you’d like to go?”

  Madame Roux swept down the staircase with her head held high. She looked like she’d stepped out of an old black and white movie, crossing an Audrey Hepburn character with Cruella de Vil.

  As she neared, a whiff of expensive-smelling perfume floated over us. She flicked her finger, gesturing for us to follow. Madame Roux led us into a small sitting room off the main entrance.

  A pot of tea and three mugs sat waiting for us. I briefly wondered if the first woman who’d greeted us at the doorway had set everything up in anticipation of our chat.

  “Wow,” I said. “What fantastic service you have here.”

  Madame Roux waited until Russo and I had sat in a primrose-patterned love seat that squeaked under our weight. She took a seat on a pink, velvet chaise lounge.

  “I take pride in hospitality for our guests,” she said. “Service is the name of the game in our industry.”

  “And what industry is that?”

  “The B&B industry, of course.” Madame Roux smiled. “We have all five stars on Yelp.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I said. “And I’ll tell you what—I won’t ask what it is you really do so long as you cooperate with me.”

  “As I said, I’m happy to help. You’ll have to indulge me, however, and explain what exactly it is I’m cooperating on?”

  “A man was killed a few nights ago,” I said. “We’re looking for information on a suspect.”

  “We don’t give out information on our guests,” Madame Roux said. “Not without a warrant. If we did, it wouldn’t reflect well on us. We value privacy here at the Victorian House.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I said. “God forbid you get a low review on Yelp.”

  Russo gave a thin smile, but Madame Roux didn’t seem quite as amused. To bridge the silence, Russo pulled out his badge first, then a photograph of Ray Hammond.

  “Madame Roux,” he said, laying a heavy emphasis on the Madame. “We weren’t entirely truthful. I’m not Detective Rosetti’s partner, per se. I’m Agent Russo, here on official FBI business. We’re working up a countrywide prostitution case at the moment, and I thought you might be interested in hearing about it.”

  “I don’t know how that has anything to do with me.”

  Jack gave her a polite smile. “So, you won’t mind if I come back with a warrant for your ledgers? Set up a few of my guys out front in big, black SUVs around the clock? Maybe a few photographers to snap photos. They won’t even come inside. They’ll just ask your clients a few questions, that sort of thing. Your clients won’t mind, will they?”

  Madame Roux’s mouth went into a thin line. “You have nothing on me.”

  “And frankly, I don’t want anything on you,” Russo said. “But just because I don’t have anything doesn’t mean I can’t get something. And even if we don’t, that doesn’t matter. A few federal vans parked out front will ruin you, and you know it. Your clients expect the utmost discretion and wouldn’t appreciate their identities being publicly leaked.”

  Madame Roux leaned forward, her eyes scanning the image of Hammond. If she recognized him, she didn’t give it away. “And what is it you need from me, exactly?”

  “Have you seen this man here before? Is he a regular?”

  I could see the Madame considering. She pursed her lips, her eyes fixed on the photo. The room was heavy with tension; we could all feel it as she balanced the pros and cons of giving up Ray Hammond.

  “He comes here Thursday nights,” she said finally. “Sometimes more often, but always Thursday nights.”

  “Is there one woman in particular he likes?”

  Madame Roux hesitated again, then nodded. “That’s why he comes here. Amelia is his preference. He enjoys her company.”

  “Does he love her?”

  “I don’t claim to know the feelings of my guests,” Madame Roux said sharply. “That would be presumptuous of me.”

  “If you had to guess.”

  “I wouldn’t guess.”

  I nodded. The room fell into silence. Madame Roux reached for the teapot, poured us each a cup of tea. She was the only one who raised it to her lips, however, and sipped.

  “I imagine he cares for her,” Madame Roux said finally. “One night, Amelia didn’t make it in—bad snowstorm—and he refused the company of other women. I offered him the best we have, and he turned around and left.”

  “Do you have any pictures of Amelia?”

  Madame Roux’s face immediately took on a guarded expression.

  “Just for my personal use,” I said. “I’ll delete the photo from my phone once I’ve gotten the information I need from Hammond. If you don’t mind me saying so, Madame, you’ve come this far. Finish it off.”

  She set her cup of tea down, then stood. Her legs, clad in elegant black tights, carried her across the room to an old writing desk. She opened the top drawer, removed a book, and brought it back to the table.

  “There.” She pointed one manicured fingernail at a beautiful Asian woman dressed in a red silk dress that somewhat matched the other ladies’ gowns we’d seen today. It seemed there was a uniform of sorts at the Victorian House.

  “Pretty,” I said, pulling out my phone and snapping a photo. “Thank you, Madame Roux. That will be all for now. I hope we can call you if we have any more questions.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Madame Roux closed the book firmly and set it back in the drawer. Instead of returning to her seat on the couch, she moved to the doorway and clasped her hands in front of her body.

  “Have a lovely day,” she said. “I imagine you can show yourselves out.”

  Russo and I heaved ourselves off the couch and made our way out through the main entrance. By the time we reached the street, the front door had been firmly closed behind us. The neighborhood resumed its sunny, family-friendly feel.

  I blinked at Russo, feeling as if I’d emerged from a cavern. “Well, that was something.”

  “What do you think?” He raised a hand to his chin, stroked it in thought. “D’you think that was a five star visit on Yelp?”

  Chapter 19

  Russo was kind enough to play chauffeur for me as we headed toward Hammond’s home address.

  “You really don’t have to do this,” I said. “I can take Jimmy’s car for the afternoon.”

  “And lose out on this quality bonding time?” Russo shook his head. “This is the stuff romantic getaways are made of.”

  “If you don’t mind,” I said, “I think I should handle this one alone.”

  “It’s Ray Hammond,” Russo said. “I don’t like the idea of you going into his house by yourself.”

  “We developed a bit of a bond at the café,” I said. “I think bringing you along would only make things more difficult. No offense. I’m not saying Hammond likes me, but...”

  “What’s not to like?” Russo sighed. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to go in there?”

  “He’s not going to risk doing anything on his own turf. He’s much too careful.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  I leaned over, gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Does that?”

  “It’s a start.”

  I winked. “There’s more where that came from.”

  “You’re doing very well at this relationship thing,” Russo said. “You are a quick learner.”

  I skedaddled out of the car before Russo could see me blush. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure where my flirtatious banter had come from. It wasn’t in my DNA to be cute or witty or any such thing. At best, I’d mastered sarcasm.

  As I headed toward Hammond’s place, I wondered if it was me that had changed, or if it was Russo bringing out a whole new side of me. I wasn’t sure I cared.

  Hammond’s main residence was a sprawling estate on the edge of St. Paul. I could see a pool out back, along with a deluxe cabana and bar set-up. He had all th
e fixings of a deluxe party space. His lawn was mowed, his hedges trimmed, his house a proper mansion outfitted with all the bells and whistles money could buy.

  I made my way to the front door feeling watched from all sides. Whether it was the camera eye, human eyes, or some combination of the two, it was difficult to say.

  My theory of being watched was confirmed when the door opened before I stepped foot on the front steps. Ray Hammond himself stood waiting for me.

  “Howdy, pretty cop,” he said. “Couldn’t get your fill of me at the diner?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “Do you have a minute to chat?”

  “Why do I feel like you never give me a choice in this matter?” He grinned again, waved me in. “You shoulda brought your suit. We could’ve gone out back.”

  “Isn’t it a little early to be opening the pool?”

  “Naw. I heat that baby right up until it’s practically boiling. Plus, I’ve got the hot tub cooking already. But with these temps, we could just sunbathe. I bet you hide a pretty nice body under all them cop clothes.”

  I glanced down at my attire, thinking I looked just fine in my cop clothes. Russo didn’t seem to mind them either, but then again, he really hadn’t minded the dress from last night. Maybe I would need to get Lassie’s help on a slightly upgraded wardrobe in the coming weeks if I was planning on spending an increasing amount of time around Russo.

  “What can I do for ya?” Hammond asked. “You want something to drink? Beer? Wine? Chocolate milk?”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  “Don’t mind me then.” Hammond opened his fridge, pulled out a huge glass and a carton of chocolate milk. He poured himself a serving, then got out one of the childish, tall curly straws that I hadn’t seen since middle school.

  “What is it with you and straws?” I asked.

  “You got a problem with straws?” he asked. “As a matter of fact, I like these curly-cue ones. Plus, they’re reusable. I’m saving the world. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to use plastic straws anymore?”

  “Ray Hammond, saving the world one plastic straw at a time.”

  “That’s about right,” he said. “Now, I hate to rush you out of here, but I’ve got friends coming over, and you don’t look like you’ve got your party pants on.”

  “Nope, I left those at home,” I said. “And I’m guessing your sort of friends aren’t the type who like to see cops at their parties.”

  “Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We both know what that means,” I said. “I’ll let you have your little party, but I would appreciate a few words on one certain cop. Kevin Cox.”

  “I told you, you’ve got the wrong guy,” he said. “I don’t know anyone named Kevin Cox.”

  “No, but you do know her, don’t you?” I pulled out my phone. “Amelia is quite pretty.”

  Hammond straightened at the image I’d snapped at the Victorian House. “Where’d you get that?”

  “You’ve got your ways. I’ve got mine.”

  “Are you threatening her?”

  “Not at all,” I said coolly. “Nor am I threatening you. I’m just saying, I know you’ve got your fingers in lots of honey jars, Hammond. I’ll leave you alone—for now—if you can toss us some dirt on Cox.”

  Hammond frowned. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

  “And here, I thought you were just starting to like me.”

  “I can like you and still think you’re a major pain in my ass.”

  “Touché,” I said. “Unfortunately, I’m more annoyance than friend today. I need some info on Cox. It wouldn’t hurt if you could throw in something about Tony Colombo, too.”

  “Oh, Peg Leg. How’s his bird?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting his parrot,” I said. “But I’m sure he’s sad about his owner’s death. And you could really help a bird out by giving us a tip as to who might’ve offed Tony.”

  “You’re not here thinking it might be me, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t be in here alone with you, letting you sip milk out of a curly straw if I thought you were guilty.”

  “Fair enough. So, what do I get out of this?”

  “You get to go on with your day, have your party, and evade the detection of law enforcement for now.”

  “Aw, shucks. Sounds like I can do all that on my own.”

  “You’ll also earn a pat on the back from the precinct, and the fact that we’ll overlook any charges we might’ve considered following up on for your little visits to the Victorian House. Along with your friend there.”

  “Leave Amelia out of this.”

  “I plan on it, so long as you cooperate.”

  “If I talk, nobody can find out where your information came from. If anyone finds out I’m friends with a cop, even a pretty one, I’m dead.”

  “I’ll keep my mouth shut,” I said. “It’s one of the few things I’m good at.”

  Hammond looked down and shook his head at his kitchen countertop. “Cox was on our payroll back in the day.”

  “How old are you?” I asked. “Cox retired a few years back.”

  “I worked my way up into the business. I was an entrepreneur starting from the age of sixteen.”

  “That’s early.”

  “A kid’s gotta do what a kid’s gotta do in order to survive. It’s sort of live or die, you know? I chose to live. Nah, I chose to thrive.”

  “Cox was on your payroll,” I said, steering back to the investigation. “For what?”

  “Your basics. Covering up minor things for us, steering a few of his buddy cops away from specific investigations, smoothing things over if we hit a rough patch in the business.”

  “Was he ever involved in more?”

  “You mean, running drugs or girls?”

  “I don’t know what I mean. That’s why I’m asking you.”

  “I think the dude pocketed some cash,” Hammond said. “He’s sitting on a pile of it now—rich old schmuck. He didn’t get all that from us. I think he was getting about five grand a month—same as Tony—from us.”

  “That’s not too bad in addition to his salary as a cop.”

  “No, but it ain’t enough to be buying up second or third properties along with big-ass boats. He got a little money from somewhere else. I’m sure he did a few drug busts, pocketed a few stacks of cash before turning the rest over to evidence. I don’t know it for a real fact, but I know it for a fact.”

  I paused to consider Hammond’s tongue-twister. “So... you have no evidence that Cox was actually involved with anything.”

  “Follow the money,” he said. “We’re not all that sophisticated over here. That five grand a month has got to be showing up somewhere, on some unexplained deposit.”

  “Who’s in charge of paying out from your end?”

  Hammond raised a finger and shook it at me. “Now, now, Miz Detective, that’s no way to treat old Ray. Keep these questions focused where they belong. You turn it to Ray Hammond and team, I stop talking. I don’t care what you say about Amelia, I’m not snitching on my own people.”

  I raised a hand in surrender and waved him off. “We’ll follow the money on our own then. You said Tony was getting a payout too? For what?”

  “He was sorta dumb, to be honest. No offense to him or his family, but he did the stuff nobody else wanted to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “He’d pick up drugs from the supplier, move them to the drop spot for the buyers. Messy business. Lots of risk for a little reward.”

  “Five grand a month isn’t all that little of a reward. Tax free, cold hard cash—I’d say that’s a decent reward.”

  Hammond just shook his head. “See what I got here?” He opened his arms, displayed the sprawling mansion and pool area that could’ve been plucked straight out of the pages of a magazine. “This didn’t come from doing the dirty work.”

  “What sort of work did it c
ome from doing?”

  He laughed. “You’re funny, Miz Detective.”

  “Who was Tony’s contact?” I asked. “You don’t have to say your own people. I’m just trying to understand why Tony was at Bellini’s in the refrigerator.”

  “Drop spots change all the time. It wouldn’t be good to be going to the same place over and over again, or else the pretty detectives like yourself start to get suspicious.”

  “So, Bellini’s was the drop spot for the day?”

  “I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no,” Hammond said. “I’m not involved with that aspect of the business, but I have to say, it could’ve been possible. They use some random rotations. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Bellini’s was on there.”

  “Why there?”

  “Lots of guys hang out around there. It’s not weird for Tony to walk in and make himself at home. Those dudes choose places comfortable to them. And I’m gonna shut up before I go and talk myself into a corner now.”

  I gave him a thin smile. “You’re doing good, Hammond. Amelia would be proud. Now, who knew that Tony would be there on that night, at that time?”

  “Plenty of people knew,” Hammond said. “But I’m not getting into specifics because I don’t know ’em. And anyway, it’s sort of a silly question.”

  “Silly how?”

  “It doesn’t matter who knew,” he said. “It matters who knew and wanted him dead. There’s gotta be that overlap, see. Because even I knew he’d be there, but it didn’t matter because I don’t care about Tony all that much. Though I did like his bird. I think the bird was smarter than Tony.”

  “I see.”

  “I thought this stuff was Detective 101,” he said. “Motive. Who had motive?”

  “I’m working on that piece of the puzzle,” I said through gritted teeth. “But there’s one more strange fact. If he was running drugs, shouldn’t we have found evidence of the drop in Bellini’s refrigerator?”

  Hammond looked directly at me. “Now you’re thinking.”

  “But there was nothing. The CSI team came up empty handed. No drugs, no money.”

  Hammond shrugged. “Maybe the shooter took it. Simple armed robbery. Did you ever think of that?”