Dying for the Past (25 page)

“Of course.” He gazed at me but I don't think he saw me. “As Vincent lay dying, he told me about the book. It was the only thing keeping the Soviets and other gangs at bay. He'd received a message at Quixote's Windmill saying he was poisoned and would be given the antidote in exchange for the book. He refused.”

“Of course he did.”

“Nonetheless, Vincent entrusted the book to me with instructions to safeguard it until someone came for it—with a code of sorts so I would know it was safe.”

“I guess he saw a lot of spy movies, too. Who came for the book?”

“Frannie—many years later.” Doc looked down and his voice grew softer. “He made me promise before I completed his last request. He could barely speak, barely breathe. He was writhing in pain and I had to make him tell me again so Sassy could hear, too.” Tears flowed down Doc's face and his voice trembled. “Dear God, I had to. There was no choice.”

Had to what? “What, Doc? What did you have to do? Something from the book?”

He stood and went to the window again—not for any memory but to hide his shame.

“I'm a doctor—a healer—not a killer. He begged me—ordered me. I shot him full of enough morphine that it stopped his heart.” His head dropped. “It was me. I murdered Vincent Calaprese.”

fifty-three

“Come on, Doc.” I
stood there, watching him fade to nothing. “What about Sassy? What happened to her?”

For a second, he remained a translucent shadow—a faint outline caught between worlds. The gravel in his voice choked on the memories. “No, Oliver. I cannot talk about Sassy. I just can't. Perhaps another time. It is too painful.”

“What happened to her? Tell me you two didn't—”

“No—I never saw her again.” Doc was gone—nothing was left but the pain in his voice. “Don't ask me again, Oliver. Never. A man—even his ghost—has things too painful to speak of.”

Hercule sprang off the leather chair, his ball still clamped in his jaws, and charged through what had been Doc. He slammed himself paws-first on the front door. The hair on his back ridged and his teeth bared. His throaty warning brought Angel and Bear from the living room.

“What is it, Hercule?” Angel asked. She flipped on the front porch light and stepped back from the window as soon as she did. “Bear, there are two people outside watching us.”

Angel pulled Hercule back. “Easy, Hercule.”

Bear drew his gun. “Stay here, Angela, and keep Hercule close. Lock this behind me.”

“I'll go see, Bear,” I said, passing him to the front porch.

Outside, Bear kept his handgun at his side but flipped on a penlight from his pocket. He went to the side of the porch and shined the beam on the two figures standing in the side yard behind
some shrubs.

“Sheriff's Department. Don't move,” Bear commanded. “Identify yourselves.”

One of the figures raised a hand to block the light. The voice was familiar. “Detective, put the gun away. It's Ruth-Ann Marcos.”

“Marcos?” Bear didn't holster his weapon. “What are you doing in the bushes? Come to the porch steps—both of you. And slow.”

She led a tall, average-built man in a dark suit toward us. “This is one of my agents. It's all right. I was waiting for you to leave Professor Tucker's. I need to speak with you.”

“In the bushes?” I took note of the dark-suited man and didn't like the vibes he was giving off. “ID this guy, Bear. I don't like him. He's not wearing a tie.”

“Ms. Marcos, step away from him and come over here.” Bear raised his gun but Marcos patted the air again. Bear said, “Now, Ms. Marcos.”

“Fine. But everything is all right.” She came to the bottom step of the porch just below us. “Detective, I assure you, he's with me. Put the gun away.”

“I'll just hold onto it if you don't mind. There have been enough surprises in the past two days.”

“I agree, and that's why I'm here.” She turned to the suited man. “Jack, wait in the car. I'll be fine. And keep your eyes open. You understand.”

Jack must have understood because without a word he turned, left our yard through the front gate, and walked across the street. Jack was an obedient lapdog, albeit a quiet one.

“All right, Ms. Marcos, what do you want?”

The front door opened and Angel stepped out. “Bear, is everything all right?”

“Angela, it's Ruth-Ann Marcos. She was looking for me.”

“In our bushes?”

Great minds think alike. She's got a great mind. I have, well, the other kind.

Bear holstered his gun. “You were about to explain—”

“Yes, Detective, but I'd rather do it confidentially. No offense, Professor Tucker.”

Angel stood beside Bear and glared down at Ruth-Ann like a hawk about to swoop onto its prey. “I do take offense, Ruth-Ann. This is the second time you arrived unannounced and dismissed me in a rude manner. Nicholas is a gentlemen but he should have thrown you out. It was his choice. This is mine. You are trespassing, hiding in my bushes. You were peeking in my windows. I should have you arrested.”

“Yes, you're right. I am very sorry.” Ruth-Ann climbed two steps and extended a hand to her while Bear and I waited for Angel to bitch-slap her out the gate. “I forget myself too often. Forgive me.”

Angel lifted her chin and took her hand. “Anything you wish to say you are welcome to do so in my home. If you require confidentiality, I suggest you stay out of my bushes and return to your office. My front porch is not the place for any conversation.”

Damn, how diplomatic. “Angel, good for you. But, she is on our side. Maybe—”

“I'd love a glass of wine.” Ruth-Ann looked from Bear to Angel and back. “Detective, if you have no objections to my speaking in front of Professor Tucker.”

Bear mumbled something and stepped aside for her to follow Angel into the house.

Hercule waited at the door and wouldn't move to let her through.
I said, “She's okay, Hercule. Don't let her spook you. But look for the townspeople coming with torches.”

Moan. He picked up his ball in the foyer, trotted into the living room, and took a defensive position on the best leather chair in the room. From there, he could guard his ball and keep his eyes on her.

Angel retrieved another glass of wine and handed it to Ruth-Ann on the couch. She left her half-full glass on the coffee table separating them. Bear ignored his bourbon and stood by the fireplace waiting for the opening salvo. He didn't have to wait long.

“Detective, please tell me what Agent Dobron is up to.”

Huh? “Shouldn't she know, Bear?”

He asked the same question.

Ruth-Ann replied, “Yes, I should, but he's­­—let me be blunt here­—playing games with information. I haven't received an update all day and he hasn't returned my calls. You have to understand, under normal conditions the Attorney General's Office has a very close relationship with the FBI. But of late, there have been some, well, issues.”

“Issues?” Angel asked. “Like what?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

Bear said, “And I'm not at liberty to discuss an investigation without my superior approving it. And for the time being, Dobron is my superior.”

“Ah, yes, of course, but—”

“No buts, Ms. Marcos,” Bear said. “If he wants you to know some
thing, he'll tell you. It's not my place to—”

Ruth-Ann snapped up a hand. “His team has been under investigation by my office for months. I'm afraid he's just found out.” She took a long, slow swallow of the cabernet. Then, she leaned back on the couch and crossed her legs as though she'd just joined a book club. “Tell me, what are you working on with Dobron?”

Angel looked over at me. I sat on the arm of the couch opposite Ruth-Ann and shrugged—I hadn't a clue what Ruth-Ann was up to. Angel said, “Agent Dobron is leading this investigation into Stephanos Grecco's murder. Right?”

“Regrettably, yes. I am monitoring the case from arm's length.”

“Arm's length?” Bear narrowed his eyes on her. “What are they under investigation for? The Bureau runs their own professional responsibility cases.”

“Ah, most often, they do. But this is unique. I've been after Anatoly Nikolaevich Konstantinova for years. Last year, I had a case ready to take him out when it began falling apart one piece of evidence at a time. At the center of it all was—”

“Dobron's men.” Bear retrieved his bourbon from the table and sipped it. “And you think this Anatoly character is behind Grecco's murder? And you think it's all connected?”

She nodded. “Yes. I have a missing Federal fugitive, too. And there's
an assassin in the morgue who should be in Federal custody, and a list of problems a mile long. Each one of them is connected to Dobron's team.”

“Why are you telling us all this, Ms. Marcos? It seems to me you're
speaking about very sensitive matters.” Angel locked eyes with her. “And I'm not sure that makes sense to me.”

Ruth-Ann leaned forward. “I need your help, Detective. I'm losing this case faster than I can stop it.”

“My help?”

I said, “Just his help? He's lost without me.”

“Quiet,” Bear said, and when Ruth-Ann looked at him, he added.
“Hercule was about to bark. Go on, Ms. Marcos. I don't understand what you want from me.”

Her eyes watched Bear with a cutting, dark look. “I won't be defeated
, Detective. So, it's simple. You are on his team. I've wanted someone inside his circle for months. There are none of his men trustworthy enough to help. It's an ‘us and them' thing. A boy's club of the worst kind. Now you're there. I need eyes and ears, Detective. And Captain Sutter tells me you're the right man for it.”

“She knows?”

“Yes, of course. Call her.”

I said, “Bear, she wants you to snitch on the FBI. Not a good idea, pal. It's sort of like auditing the IRS. It can't end well.”

Bear glanced at Angel and slipped his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. A speed dial number later, he was saying, “Cap, it's Bear. I'm here with Ruth-Ann Marcos and … yeah, I know … what? You gotta be kidding me. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, Cap. Okay.” He hung up and emptied his bourbon. “I'm listening.”

“Then we have an understanding. Good.” Ruth-Ann sat back. “Bonnie Grecco was my last hope. I believe it's possible the killer meant to kill her at the gala, not Stephanos. And now, she's missing. Although I'm quite sure I know where she is.”

“You do?” Angel asked. “Where?”

“Come now, Professor Tucker. We both know, don't we?”

“Do we?” Angel cocked her head. “If you know where she is, why not bring her in?”

“Because, well … because she might be safer where she is. I'm not sure how far I can trust Dobron's men. There's someone on his team tipping off the Russian mob with every move I make. If I bring her in, I'm afraid she may not be safe.”

Something tickled me. “Angel, do you know where Bonnie is?”

She nodded but said to Ruth-Ann, “Then she should stay away.”

“I agree.”

“Now hold on,” Bear said to Angel. “What's this about Bonnie?”

I was confused, too. “Angel, what do you have to do with this? Are you aiding and abetting a fugitive?”

“Angela,” Bear said, turning to her. “Do you know where Bonnie is?”

She looked at him with defiant eyes and a you-can't-make-me- tell grin.

“Oh, no.” Bear shook his head. “You're an accessory. The FBI
is—”

“Not to be trusted,” Angel said, taking a long sip of her wine. “Ruth-Ann, how can we help?”

Bear rolled his eyes. “Sure, okay, Ms. Marcos, Captain Sutter said do it. So I'm doing it. What do you want?”

“Nothing difficult. Just watch and listen. Report what you can find out to me. I need to know what he's about to do before he does
it and I need to know what he does about Bonnie Grecco and Ste
phanos's murder case. The moment he learns where she is, I need to know so I can get her out of the way myself.”

Bear shifted his gaze from Angel to me and his bourbon glass several times. “All right, Ms. Marcos. In two and a half hours, I'm going to apprehend Victorio Chevez and his client—the one who paid him to stalk Angela. Either of them may be Grecco's killer.” He went on to explain everything that had transpired, including Chevy's escape from the Vincent House and the planned rendezvous with his client later tonight.

“And tonight?” Ruth-Ann asked. “How will you handle him?”

“Dobron knows about it but told me to handle it. I have no idea what he's doing. Last I knew, he was investigating the two bodies found at the Vincent House and searching for Bonnie.”

“Good.” Ruth-Ann sipped her wine and looked pleased. “Keep me informed on Chevez, Detective. His role in this isn't clear. I agree his stalking Angela is no coincidence. This client of his is very interesting—if there is one. Soon as you can, contact Dobron and find out if he has anything new. Here is my private cell phone.” She handed Bear a card. “It is not for anyone else's eyes.”

I said, “Bear, ask her about the book.”

He did.

She didn't disappoint. “It's the center of it all, isn't it? Decades ago, the Calaprese families were both targets of our government and informants for us. They were instrumental in helping flush out Nazi rings and infiltrating Soviet Intelligence cells. Yet, at the same time, we were after Calaprese's organization, too. My, what I would give to have lived then.”

“I'll say,” Angel said. “And it somehow got Stephanos Grecco killed.”

“Yes. It's possible he found the book—or learned where it was. I believe the book has been kept up-to-date over the years by the
Calaprese family. I also believe there are mob ties and enemy agents
identified in the book as recently as ten to fifteen years ago. And
money—let me tell you—there may be millions the book could help
us locate.”

I said, “Bear, do you think Dobron or his men are after the book, too? You've been around him, what do you think?”

“Dobron is clean, Ms. Marcos,” he said. “I'd bet on it.”

“You would?” Her eyebrows rose. “Captain Sutter told me you were her best detective and I could rely on your judgment. Perhaps she is wrong.”

“No,” Angel said. “What makes you so sure he's wrong about Agent Dobron?”

“Heredity.” Ruth-Ann emptied her wine glass in one long, deep swallow. “Agent James Dobron's real name—before his parents changed it—was Dmitry Alexandrovich Dobronranov.”