Ghosts of Christmas Past (10 page)

Salvatore shook his head. “Nothing specific.”

“I bet it was something very specific.” Al strode into the room. “That's not the full story.”

Lucy snapped to her feet. “Hey!” She smiled.

“How's your ear?” Al nodded to her but there was no answering smile. He was still in detective mode.

“Ear seems fine. No more ringing.”

“Good.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and glared at Salvatore. “So did you?”

“Did I what?” Salvatore stood, glaring back at Al.

“Did you leave the museum before or after Johns was stuffed into a glass coffin?”

Salvatore's face lost all color. “Johns is dead?” he whispered. He looked at Cassandra. “You didn't tell me.”

“I forgot, like you forgot to call me,” Cassandra said. She focused on Al. “Don't tell me you think Salvatore did it?”

Al shrugged off his overcoat. “He had motive and opportunity, and the method was at hand. I can prove he was there at the time of the murder, he disappeared immediately after Johns was killed, and he just admitted he had reason to fear the dead guy, so that's one helluva motive. Plus, he just lied to you about going into the museum.”

Salvatore appeared to deflate during Al's speech, collapsing again onto the couch. Ah hell, he might be guilty after all.

Cassandra, however, was having none of it.

“You leave him alone,” Cassandra pointed her finger at Al and stepped in front of Salvatore.

“Not a chance,” Al said.

Lucy curled her hand around Al's forearm. “Wait, I know you have to question him, but it can't be as simple as Salvatore killing someone.”

“Killing someone is rarely simple.” Al crossed his arms over his chest, shutting her out. “Salvatore Giamatti, did you kill Johns?”

“No. No, I didn't,” Salvatore said, staring at the floor.

Lucy didn't know what to believe. She suspected Al thought Salvatore was guilty, though. Crap.

Al tossed his overcoat on the kitchen table, took one of the chairs, brought it out to the living area, flipped it around and straddled the chair with his arms hanging loosely on the top of the backrest.

This was Al in pure Fixit mode. This pose would never work on her because she found Fixit sexy, not intimidating.

Salvatore was about to be interrogated. That didn't seem right, Lucy thought. Murderers should
feel
evil. Salvatore didn't.

“You need to tell me the whole story,” Al said.

Salvatore only shook his head again. “Why would you think I did this?”

“You were there and just lied about something.” Al loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He was on a roll now.

“You add in the fact that you met secretly with the victim that day and you're an extremely viable murder suspect,” Al added.

“I didn't kill him!” Salvatore stood, his face flushed.

Al motioned for him to sit back down. “If there are mitigating circumstances surrounding Johns' death, such as you being in fear for your life, I might be able to help, especially if you testify about the theft going on at the museum. But I need the full truth.”

“He already told you he didn't do it. Twice!” Cassandra yelled.

Salvatore stared at the floor again, his hands hanging loosely from his knees. Cassandra sat down next to her guy and rubbed his back, trying to soothe him.

“Al, if you think Salvatore killed Johns in self-defense, you should be on our side,” Lucy said.

“Funny, I thought you were on
my
side,” Al snapped.

Ouch. Al had never been this actively hostile to her.

He looked back at the couple on the couch. “Look, Mr. Giamatti, from what I've learned today, Johns was a thief and a liar who probably got what he deserved. You know more about that than you're telling. Out with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have you on video meeting Johns at the museum. What happened inside?”

Lucy ground her teeth. Al
was
right. Salvatore hadn't told them the full story. Yet that made her feel even more left out. Al could have called her with this news, the same as Salvatore should have called Cassandra instead of getting drunk.

Salvatore shook his head. “I want a lawyer.”

Al sighed, stood and pulled out his handcuffs. “Then you're under arrest.”

“Wait a minute, there has to be another way,” Lucy said.

“I have no choice.” For the first time since walking into the warehouse, Al focused completely on her and without any hint of the affection she'd come to expect from him. “This is his doing, not mine. He's invoking his rights, so my hands are tied.”

“C'mon, Al, you can't just haul him out of here in handcuffs,” she said.

“If he wants a lawyer, then proper procedure has to be followed.” Al's eyes narrowed, challenging her.

“No. You arrest him, they'll find a way to kill him, like they just tried at Rickey's. He'll be in danger in jail.”

Al's hand tightened around his handcuffs. “It is what it is. Stand up, Giamatti.”

“No, you can't do this,” Lucy said. “I'll stop you.”

“Oh, will you?” he growled.

Chapter Nine

Noir was supposed to back him up. She was his partner. His lover. He glared because he couldn't find the right words for the anger that blazed through him.

She blinked and stepped back as if only just realizing the line she'd crossed with him.

Pain stabbed through his once-broken forearm. He flexed his fingers, reminded of exactly how it had been broken and why his injuries hadn't been worse: Noir.

Think, don't just react.
Think.

But that was hard through the rage.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, as if hoping the others wouldn't hear her.

“I shouldn't have to explain being a cop to you.” Al thought of Alvarez, who'd stuck her neck out for him. He had to get permission to pull her into Major Crimes otherwise she'd be screwed. And he wouldn't have the authority to do that if he didn't solve the museum murder.

“He could be innocent,” Noir said.

“He is innocent,” Cassandra said.

Al held up the cuffs. “It's not for me to say if he's innocent or not, not when he asks for a lawyer and goes down that road.”

He decided to glare at Giamatti instead of Noir, letting the handcuffs dangle from his fingertips. This was the accountant's fault, the damn idiot. “I will spell it out for you. If you ask for a lawyer, the arrest happens, and you go into the system, where no one can protect you.”

Salvatore groaned.

“However, if you talk to me and tell me what really happened, I might be able to protect you. I saved your ass today. You want to keep me on your side, I need the whole story.”

“And if he's guilty, are you still on his side?” Noir asked.

“Now you think he's guilty?” he asked.

“He told the whole story already.” Cassandra held Salvatore's hand.

Al snorted. “Not likely.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Salvatore said.

“No maybes about it,” Al said.

Silence reigned. He tucked his handcuffs away. He might salvage this situation yet if he could tamp down his rage. Their fight had been real but, even so, he and Noir had managed a game of good cop/bad cop that was working.

“I trust Al,” Noir said.

“Could have fooled me,” Al muttered.

If Noir heard that, she didn't show it.

“Tell him everything, Salvatore,” Noir said.

“And what if he wants to arrest him afterward?” Cassandra asked.

Salvatore waved his hand at Noir “Fine. You're right. I left something out.”

“I won't believe for a second you killed someone and stuffed them into a glass box,” Cassandra said.

“He went from the museum to get stone-drunk and didn't call you,” Al said. “He was running or hiding from something that happened.”

“He wanted me to be safe, that's why he didn't call me,” Cassandra insisted.

Salvatore hung his head. Cassandra stared at her guy. Most importantly, Noir came over and stood behind Al. His rage receded, though it didn't disappear.

Salvatore sighed. “I have an idea about who killed Johns.”

“Okay,” Al said.

“I told the truth. I just left some out. When we met near Rickey's, Johns told me he wanted to confess the embezzlement and help the Double C recoup the money. He even claimed to have put aside some of the artwork instead of selling it. He said he wanted to show it to me so I'd know he was telling the truth.”

“And you believed him?” Cassandra asked.

“Let him finish.” Al chopped the air with his hand.

“Nah, I didn't believe him but I had to go to the museum on the off chance it could be true. All I had were numbers I'd collected. It was basically my word against theirs that the dollars were wiped from the system and we know what would happen with that. If Johns backed me up, there was a chance to catch them all.”

“I follow the logic,” Al said. “But he was lying?”

“Yeah. Once in the museum back room, Johns grabs my arm and tells me I had to keep quiet about this or else. He threatened Cassandra.” He put his arm around her waist. “That pissed me off. I told him I'd take him down and he'd be sorry, some shit like that.”

“And?” Al wondered if Salvatore was the killer after all.

“He told me to chill. He offered me money. Asshole. I shoved him onto his ass and headed out the door. But…” He paused for a minute.

Now, the truth comes out. Al nodded, signaling him to continue.

“But on my way out, I caught sight of the kid, Matthews, Johns' assistant. He was skulking near the back door. He stopped me and asked what the argument was about. I blew him off, told him it was none of his business and he should stay out of it.”

“You believe he didn't stay out of it?”

“He wasn't buying what I said. He'd noticed artwork was missing.”

“He was on to his boss,” Al said.

“That's my guess.” Salvatore ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I should've talked to him and told him what kind of trouble he'd be in if he got involved. But I was so angry.” He shook his head. “I should have had the kid come with me and told him what was what.”

“Matthews killed Johns?” That thought had occurred to Al, especially given Matthews was first on scene at his boss's death. And especially because whoever killed Johns had to have some knowledge of the museum to use the glass coffin.

“Johns threatened me,” Salvatore said. “I'm sure he must have threatened the kid.”

“Why would you lie to protect Matthews?” Al asked.

“Because it's partially my fault. I had a chance to get the kid out of there and didn't. The least I could do was cover for him. It's not like Johns didn't deserve it. He threatened Cassandra.”

“If Matthews killed in self-defense, he's not guilty of anything,” Al said. “All you accomplished by covering for him was pissing me off and making my day longer.” And he'd caused an argument with Noir. Al wanted to arrest Salvatore just for that alone.

“Do you think it was self-defense?” Noir asked.

“Johns was carrying. He probably fired the weapon too.” Al explained the circumstances of the murder and how Tiny Tim's crutch had done enough damage to kill Johns. “That's a weapon of opportunity, not planning. Of course, most people who kill in self-defense don't shove their victims into glass coffins for display.”

“What happens now?” Salvatore asked. “Do you believe me?”

“I'll talk to Matthews and see what he says,” Al asked. “Then I'll decide.”

“But you'll arrest him if he confesses.”

“Probably.” Al nodded. “If I get him to confess, I'll have to take his statement and then see what the district attorney says about the charges.”

“If Matthews is in custody, even temporarily, they'll try to kill him to shut him up. They sure as hell won't want a trial that exposes the museum theft,” Salvatore said.

“Yeah, I don't like it either. But it's not up to me to be judge, jury and executioner.”

“Other cops would let it slide,” Cassandra said.

“Other cops letting crimes slide are why the department is in such fucking bad shape.” Al put away his handcuffs. “If I just let Matthews off, I'm no better than they are. If the kid really did stuff his boss into a coffin, he needs to answer for it.”

“What about Schneider and the rest who benefitted from stealing the artwork and laundering the money?” Noir asked. “They should answer for that.”

“Yeah, they should.” Al cocked his head at her, studying her expression. He guessed she didn't realize how close he'd come to completely losing his temper earlier.

“It would have helped if Salvatore had brought his evidence to me before the murder. Now? The evidence is tainted because he's a murder suspect.”

“I didn't know you yesterday,” Salvatore said. “And, like you said, a lot of the Double C cops are dirty. How the hell did I know who'd do the right thing with my evidence?”

“You could have told me the truth right away instead of making me drag it out of you.” Dammit. Al wasn't even sure the police commissioner would use Salvatore's evidence to go after the corrupt officials. It would all be so much easier for officials to charge Salvatore with the murder and sweep the rest under the rug.

Fuck the Double C.

“Our system is broken. It'll never take down the right people,” Noir said. “I wish you could find some way to go around it.”

Al frowned, thinking. Go around? Maybe. “That might be an excellent idea.”

“How can that be a good idea? You just said you wouldn't go around the system,” Noir said.

“I won't. But I just realized we could bring in other people who aren't in the system. Salvatore, were any of those artwork sales out of state?”

Salvatore nodded. “Most of them.”

“Good. Then we can bring in the FBI.”

Salvatore's eyes widened. “I hadn't thought of that. Would they even be interested?”

“My father is retired FBI. He'll have the right contacts in the office that specializes in this,” Al said.

“Your father is retired FBI?” Noir asked.

“Didn't I mention that before?”

She shook her head. “No. You don't say much about him.”

“And now's not the time.” When he was drinking, Al had put his father through hell. He was lucky the old man still talked to him. “You good with going to the FBI, Giamatti?”

“It beats running. Would they protect me and Cassandra?”

“If your evidence is solid, yes.”

Now that he had the beginnings of a plan, Al walked over to the kitchen and poured a mug of coffee. He sipped, grimaced because it was the last bit in the pot and slightly burned. Still, singed coffee was better than the black tar at the precinct.

“But here's our big problem, people: I have Salvatore's car on tape coming to the museum, I have Salvatore entering and then leaving the museum at the time of the murder. I have nothing on Matthews except Salvatore's testimony.”

“None of that looks good for me,” Salvatore said through gritted teeth.

“Exactly. What matters is what I can prove and by that standard, you're guilty. The FBI won't find you credible if you're a valid murder suspect.”

“Shit,” Salvatore said.

“Yeah,” Al agreed.

“You need a confession from Matthews,” Noir said.

“Exactly. We get that, the FBI would be more than willing to protect Salvatore and Cassandra once he gives them the evidence about the corruption. If he's under a cloud of suspicion for murder, not a chance.”

“How do we get Matthews to confess?” Noir asked.

Ah, so it was “we” again. “Matthews was puking all over the crime scene. He's not made for this. He only needs a push.”

“And then what?” Noir asked.

“Once Matthews flips, we go after the rest by working with the FBI.” He set his cup down hard on the counter. “I want them
all
.”