Ghosts of Christmas Past (9 page)

“Bummer.”

“I don't know you. I don't trust you.” Rickey opened the door wider. “But I'm talking to you because these two spoke up for you.”

As if magically conjured by his need for her, Noir rushed into his arms.

He hugged her back because he could never resist putting his arms around her. And the hug covered his surprise at her being here when she was supposed to be lying low with Cassandra.

And then she kissed him and he kissed her back, because despite the audience, hey, who wouldn't kiss her back?
I missed you.

“Are you all right?” Dust smeared her face and she had a scrape on her right cheek. He brushed a smudge of dirt off her chin and took a deep breath. Noir was never one to stay out of trouble. “And how did you get here?”

She shook her head and tapped her ear. “Can't hear you. Ears still ringing.”

“Hell.” If she was hurt…

“That's from the damned grenade you pigs tossed at us.”

The woman speaking fit the description of Cassandra. And the man next to her, if his driver's license photo was any indication, was one Salvatore Giamatti, his murder suspect.

“I'm in charge of SWAT now,” Al said to Cassandra.

“I have to get my friends out of here,” Noir said.

Her friends? That obviously included his murder suspect. This would be tricky since he couldn't explain to Noir what was going on.

“You need to get that ear looked at.” He winced, realizing she couldn't hear that. So he nodded in agreement. “Can you get her to a hospital if I clear the way?” he asked Cassandra.

“The ringing should clear up in a few minutes,” Giamatti said.

“How would you know?” Al snapped.

“I dealt with grenades like that in the service.”

Noir looked back and forth, eyes wide. She was scared, Al realized. He slid his arm around her waist. She did the same to him. If he'd lost his hearing, he'd be scared too. This had better be temporary. He decided if Petit gave him any more trouble, he'd kill him.

“Rickey, you must have a back way out of here,” Al said.

Rickey crossed her arms.

“I don't need to know where it is,” Al said. “Just show these three the way and I'll get SWAT off your front door.”

“And who will pay for the damage?” she asked.

“The alternative is for the team to come down here and start searching around. Best I can do is get them off your case, Rickey. Otherwise, I'll go and you can deal with them again.”

“Listen to him,” Noir said.

“You heard that?” He lifted her chin so he could look in her eyes.

“Distant, like through a tunnel but, yeah.” She nodded and that lost look was gone from her eyes. “Still have the ringing.”

He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “Can you take them back to the place? I need to talk to Giamatti.”

She nodded. Yes, she could. Noir never let him down.

“You three really have to get out,” Al said to Cassandra.

“He's right, Rickey. Get us out of here and let him do what he can,” Cassandra said.

After glaring for what seemed like forever, Rickey nodded.

Al hugged Noir again. “You sure you don't need a hospital?”

“Better now.” Her voice sounded so tight.
Damn you, Petit.

She wiped away the rest of the dirt from her chin with the back of her hand. “What did you do out there, Al? Are you in trouble again?”

“I'll sort it.”

She smiled. “You mean ‘fix it'.”

He smiled back but inside, he cursed. What he should do is take Giamatti in for questioning right now. But that might create a riot down here. He would have to trust Noir.

“Yep, fixing stuff is what I do. Go. See you later.” He kissed her cheek and turned away from her. “Rickey, you and the rest of your customers, come with me.”

“Outside? To the cops?” Behind her, the others murmured defiance.

“We're going out there to show them exactly who they just tried to assault,” he said. “We're going to show them what damage they would have done if they'd followed their asinine orders.”

Rickey nodded. “Yes, let's do that.”

She called for someone to lead Noir, Cassandra and Salvatore out. Noir glanced at Al on her way out. He should be going with her. He should have called her and then they could have coordinated this so much better.

She should have called him too. Why hadn't she?

Al picked his shotgun up and led the motley collection of people back through the equally motley storefront and out to the remaining SWAT team members and a stunned Alvarez.

He had the crowd stop a few feet from the SWAT team. Al tucked the shotgun under his arm. Rickey's customers included the elderly and at least three kids who couldn't be more than ten. The people were mostly clean, but their clothes were ripped and definitely had seen better days. Only about half had coats to keep them warm against the winter wind.

“Take off your helmets,” Al ordered the SWAT team.

They did, revealing their faces. All of them stared at the sidewalk.

“Look at them.” Al waved his hand at the crowd. “These are the very dangerous people you were tossing grenades at, Officers.”

The kid from the SWAT team stepped forward. “We were following orders,” he said in a low voice.

Rickey put her hands on her hips. “How's that working out for you?”

“Not so good,” he said.

“Officers, disperse and go back to your headquarters,” Al ordered.
“Now.”

They wasted no time in scrambling to follow that order. Al turned back to Rickey. “I'll run some interference, but their leader, when he regains his senses, may be pissed. You should relocate.”

“One of them had a grenade launcher.” Rickey watched the SWAT team pack up. “They'd have destroyed my place and the people in it.”

“I'm hoping they'll think better of something like that next time.”

“You never know, I guess.”

Rickey started shooing her customers away, telling them to go home. A few said they'd stay and help her clean up.

Alvarez stood next to Al and they waited together until SWAT was completely gone.

“Captain James, sir?” Alvarez asked. “Can I say something?”

“Sure.”

“I think I'm having fun now.”

Chapter Eight

Rickey's husband, the pie cook, led Lucy, Cassandra and Salvatore through the maze of concrete tunnels. They finally reached wooden steps that led up to double doors that had likely served as a cellar delivery entrance once upon a time.

By the time the doors swung open to reveal the sky, the ringing in her ears had stopped and Lucy could fully hear again. Squeaking metal never sounded so good.

“Good thing I parked around the corner,” Cassandra said. A clang echoed behind them as Rickey's husband shut the doors.

They looked around for signs of pursuit. No cops. “Let's make a run for it,” Cassandra suggested.

“No, that makes it look like we have a reason to run away. Walk normally so no one has a reason to notice us,” Lucy said.

Cassandra in her jeans and hippie shirt kinda blended, but Salvatore in his suit sure did not, and the couple kept looking around, obviously nervous and out of place. Noir breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Cassandra's car without incident.

Lucy took the passenger seat, leaving the back for Salvatore. He had made noises about wanting to flee the city earlier. She was going to make sure they all went back to the warehouse. She'd promised Al.

He should have called her and told her what was going on, though, then they could have coordinated better. Obviously, he knew something about all this that he hadn't said yet.

“I don't hear sirens or see lights,” Salvatore said. “Looks like SWAT is gone.”

“Al said he'd take care of it,” Lucy said. “He says he's going to do something, he does.”

Cassandra pulled away from the curb and glanced in the rearview mirror at Salvatore. “You need to start explaining all this, babe.”

“No, we need to disappear fast, not talk,” Salvatore said. “I say we go north. To Canada. That's only a half hour away.”

“If you run they'll come after you again. Tell us what's going on, Salvatore. We can help,” Lucy said.

“I had SWAT after me. I won't chance that again. Your Al can't be around all the time.” He looked at Cassandra. “Trust me, babe.”

“Trust you? When you run off and don't call and I have to fight through grenades to get you to talk to me? Screw that. We're going to her place—” Cassandra jerked her head in Noir's direction, “—and you're going to tell me what's going on.”

“What's so special about her place?”

“It's secure,” Lucy said. “Right now, it's the only safe place you have.”

“Not so safe once I get through with him,” Cassandra muttered.

“Fine. Go there.” Salvatore rubbed the back of his neck. “Ouch, my head hurts.”

“Good. Saves me from giving you a smack upside the head.”

Salvatore slumped back in the seat. “Sorry.”

Cassandra looked over at Noir. “You sure about the warehouse being secure?”

Cassandra was wavering, despite her anger. “Yes. Definitely.”

“I sure hope so.” Cassandra pulled onto the highway leading to the other side of town at a high speed.

And I thought Al was a crazy driver.

Especially since they were trying to avoid the police. But at least Cassandra remembered how to get back to the warehouse without asking for repeat directions. The minute they were inside, as the sliding door slammed shut behind them, Cassandra verbally pounced on Salvatore.

“You freaked me out!” Cassandra slammed the car door. “Why didn't you call?”

Salvatore got out of the back and slammed his own door. “You have no idea what I was dealing with.”

“That's because you didn't bother to dial a friggin' phone!”

Now Lucy had a headache too. That was probably left over from the grenade, but she didn't need this adding to it. She left them arguing. Their raised voices faded as she entered the living area and went straight to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

She winced at the sound of a high-pitched “Screw you.” How long was this going to go on? This was as bad as one of her parents' fights.

Cassandra stomped into the living area, Salvatore hard on her heels, and they kept going. After ten minutes of yelling then silent seething, Lucy had had enough.

“We've still got a problem to solve.” She stepped between them and held Salvatore's thumb drive out. “What's on this that's so important?”

That shocked them into silence.

After a few seconds, Salvatore put out his hand. “Where did you get it? And you need to give it back.”

“Uh-uh.” She put it in her pocket. “You tell me what's on it first.”

“It's complicated.”

“Use small words, then, so I can understand,” she said, losing patience. Did Salvatore realize he was a murder suspect?

“It's accounting stuff.”

“Yeah, well, the goons at city hall were willing to grab Cassandra to get to you and this.”

He turned around to look at Cassandra. “What? Grab you? What's she talking about, babe?”

“Oh, so now you're worried about me.” Cassandra flopped on the couch.

Now, Mom and Dad, stop fighting.
Lucy sighed. Would she and Al fight like that someday?

No, she and Al just tiptoed very politely around their issues.

Salvatore sat down next to Cassandra, but both crossed their arms over their chests and stared in opposite directions. Lucy waited until the coffee finished brewing and brought each of them a mug. They both said “thank you”, an improvement over yelling.

Salvatore drank his coffee, seeming to regain calm with each sip. “So the cop who stopped SWAT is your guy?”

“Obviously.”

Cassandra snorted. “You two needed to get a room back there.”

“How'd you guys meet?” Salvatore asked.

Lucy shrugged. She had explained to Cassandra about Al. She had no reason to explain to this guy. “Mutual interests.”

“Whatever they are, I owe both of you. Thank you,” Salvatore said.

“You're welcome.” Silence for a bit. Lucy took a deep breath. “So what's on the thumb drive? Why did you go to Rickey's? Why get so drunk? And why didn't you call Cassandra?” She didn't ask him how he might be involved in murder. Better to start small.

“Yeah, enlighten us. I can't wait to hear this.” Cassandra sat forward and looked over the rim of her mug.

“I didn't call you because I was drunk off my ass and then passed out,” Salvatore said.

“Oh, like that's an excuse,” Cassandra said.

Salvatore set his empty coffee mug down on the table. “I was an idiot, Cassandra. I'm sorry.”

“You should be.” But her voice was soft and Lucy guessed their fight was over for now.

“I never, ever thought they'd find me there or send SWAT.”

“Who's ‘they'?” Lucy asked. “What's so important that they send SWAT?”
How are you involved in murder?

Salvatore walked to the kitchen area and poured a second cup. “That thumb drive has my proof, though fat lot of good that'll do anyone.”

“Proof of what?” Lucy said. This was like trying to get Al to talk about his feelings.

“That my boss, Schneider, and Johns, the museum curator, have been slowly selling off valuable pieces from the museum and pocketing the proceeds.”

Lucy whistled. “No wonder Schneider sounded desperate. How much money are we talking about?”

“Well into seven figures.”

“Holy shit,” Cassandra said. “How did you figure it out?”

“I caught wind of it a couple of weeks ago when the new mayor put me in charge of overseeing an audit of the museum's inventory.”

“Why does the museum need an audit?” Lucy asked. “And is that part of your job, overseeing audits?”

“My job is whatever work needs done that they think I'm remotely qualified for.” Salvatore shrugged. “Since the city filed bankruptcy, the artwork is part of its assets. Everything has to be listed for the creditors.”

“That art belongs to everyone. They can't gut the museum like that,” Cassandra said.

“They can, but I don't know if they will. If there's any left to sell after what Schneider and Johns did, that is.”

“That's why you had a postcard of the museum in your office,” Lucy said.

“Yeah. Some of the postcards had artwork on them that wasn't present in the museum. When no one at the museum could find those pieces in the back room, that's what tipped me off.” Salvatore put his elbows on the counter, leaning on it.

“Why didn't you report it to the police?” Lucy asked.

“The police, even if they weren't on Schneider's payroll, would need proof. And I had no idea of how far up this went or how far they'd go to keep it quiet. There have to be more involved than my boss and Johns.”

“Al would have investigated,” Lucy said.

“I had to keep this quiet. I knew the minute Johns realized I'd figured it out, I'd be in trouble. Sure enough, he threatened me.” He put his arm around Cassandra. “He threatened you too. That's why I went to Rickey's. To think about the next step.”

“How did SWAT find you?” Lucy asked. Interesting. Salvatore talked about Johns in the present tense.

“Schneider must have known I met Johns in that neighborhood and guessed I was hiding around there.”

That all made sense, Lucy thought, but Salvatore could still be a murderer, especially since he'd just said Johns threatened him.

“Why are you sure that more people are involved besides Schneider and Johns? I mean, maybe SWAT is on the take, but they might not necessarily know about the theft,” Lucy said.

“You'd have to have a team to pull this off.” Salvatore poured a third mug of coffee and moved back to the couch, more animated than he had been all day. “For one, they'd need someone to cook the books and make the proceeds ‘vanish' along with ‘disappearing' the artwork from the actual inventory.”

“What do you mean?” Lucy asked.

“Look, first you put in a budget line item that records the sale of the painting. Money comes into the city. All good so far. The person bought a painting, the city got the money. But after that, someone comes in and wipes the painting and the payment from the city records. But there's still money in the city account from the sale, right? So then you create a bogus budget line item, like paying for 1,000 imaginary widgets, and the money is paid to the fake company that made them. Money goes out of the system to pay for it, the same amount as the sale. And no one would ever check for the thousand widgets, given the mess the city's finances are in. Meantime, the fake company vanishes, so even if someone catches on to the imaginary widgets, there's still no connection to the missing paintings.”

“Damn. That's some magic trick,” Lucy said.

“Exactly. That's why the postcard tipped me off. The items on it weren't listed anywhere in the city's inventory. That made no sense.”

“So how did they fool the buyers?” And Lucy had thought accounting was boring.

“If I were doing this, I'd tell the buyers the purchases had been approved by the city and show real paperwork to that effect, only tell the buyers this was controversial so keep it quiet. That's a guess.”

“And the rest?” Lucy asked.

“The fake company that ended up with the money was probably owned by Schneider or Johns. The art vanishes and the money's clean.”

“Damn,” Cassandra said. “So you've been tracking this?”

“I've been poring over all the expenditures and revenue to see where they buried the funds. They'd need at least two people in city hall besides the ones I know about to be involved. And maybe more on the museum side.”

“And the proof is on the thumb drive?” Noir asked.

“Yes, I have all the original numbers, before the revenues and expenditures were added by them, and the full list of original inventory. They've made
millions
.” Salvatore slammed his mug down on the coffee table. The sound echoed in the cavernous warehouse. “For all I know, everyone at Schneider's level got a taste.”

“If millions are at stake, I can see why they sent SWAT after you and didn't care about Rickey's place,” Lucy said.

They'd been very lucky Al had been there.

Salvatore nodded. “It was dumb to get so drunk. I should have known they could trace me. It's just, I got to Rickey's last night and realized how far over my head I was. Whiskey seemed a good idea at the time.” He put his arm around Cassandra. “How did you two find that other thumb drive anyway?”

“I found it in your office. That was a dumb place to hide it.”

“It's a duplicate.” Salvatore pulled another drive from his pocket. “And it's in code. I wanted a backup.”

“Why didn't you tell me all this when you suspected it?” Cassandra asked.

“I wanted to be sure.”

She punched his shoulder. “Next time, tell me.”

“So what happened at your meeting with Johns? What did he say?” Lucy asked, trying to sound casual—Al had told her that worked better in interrogations than threats.

She liked Salvatore. He was sneaky smart. She didn't want to believe he was involved in the murder.

“Johns demanded the meeting. He'd caught me poking around the museum inventory and guessed I'd found him out.”

“You still agreed to meet with him?” Dumb. Maybe Salvatore wasn't sneaky smart, after all.

“I thought I could get some more information from him if I pretended to want in on the scam. After we met near Rickey's, Johns told me to follow him over to the museum. He said he'd iron out how much money I'd be paid. Something felt hinky, off, and it was too easy. So I turned right back around and left.”

Salvatore stared off into space, abruptly silent.

He was hiding something, something he didn't want to tell about what went down at the museum. There had to be a reason why Al thought Salvatore could be a murderer. “What happened at the museum to scare you off?”