Perfect Crime (19 page)

Suspicion had Tessa lifting the weapon, and aiming it at a new target. “Ric, chi ha ordinato il colpo?” repeating the question about who called the hit back in December.

The other man twisted the doorknob, then turned back to see Tessa. “Give me the gun,” he said, one hand still gripped around his weapon, the other stretched out, palm up, while he took a few steps towards her. “We’re here for Crawford. After that, we’ll go talk to your dad and get you home.”

His words were kind but his manner was not. She knew she needed to hold onto the gun. Shaking her head, Tessa stared up at the man who’d sat across from her at several family gatherings, the ends of the opposing weapons near touching. “I’m done,” she said, wearily. “No more talking…no more anything.”

Ric didn’t move. He stared at her; and it appeared he gave strong consideration to her demands. Finally he said, “You know, it doesn’t work that way. The Boss says otherwise and you just don’t try and change his mind.”

“So I’ve learned.”

As big as he was, the younger Morgano was quick; in a flash, Tessa felt his big hand wrap around her frail wrist and give a sharp jerk, pulling her up and off balance. Easily enough, the Bren was yanked from her slender fingers, and with a sharp rap, Ric knocked Tessa against the wall. “Sorry, girl. You didn’t give me much choice.”

Pocketing the confiscated gun, he turned back to the door. A single twist and he nudged open the storage room door wider with his foot. “Crawford!” he called into the empty space.

“Where the hell did you go?” Scott said as he moved forward from the shadows, “You’d think I’d know better than to trust what a Morgano says.” It might have been Tessa’s imagination, but he appeared to hesitate, a small hitch in his step as he walked into the hallway and saw her. He recovered quickly, his face and voice full of concern. “Are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine, just bumped her head,” Ric responded, the offhanded comment explaining the hand his cousin held to the cut on her forehead.

Scott didn’t wait for more of an explanation. Any lingering questions he had were answered as they moved into the hall and stepped over Cy’s body. The lighting in the corridor was dim, but cause of death was obvious. The silencer on the gun Ric held, explanation enough of why the hall wasn’t filled with curious factory workers.

“Been busy,” Scott commented.

“We all have a job to do.” The taller man reached forward, pushing the metal bar that would open the fire door. In response, the alarm rang, filling the halls with a familiar sound. The claxon was shrill and could be heard over the metallic din of the machinery.

Once outside, two other men fell into step beside them as they approached a black town car. Scott hung back a little, moved to throw an arm around Tessa’s shoulders, but she sidestepped.

He frowned and directed a comment to Ric. “I called the police.”

“I don’t hear any sirens.” Yanking the rear door of the limo open, he motioned for Scott to climb inside. “In,” Ric commanded.

The shove to the small of his back propelled Scott forward into the opening between the door and the car. He looked over his shoulder at Ric with a hint of annoyance. After all, up until now, hadn’t he been compliant with all the bruiser’s wishes? With a sigh, Scott pulled himself into the limo and came face to face with Donatello. The Mafia boss remained polished and dressed in evening wear, apparently arriving directly from the restaurant. Scott made note of the woman with him.

“Hello, Marlayna.” Scott said.

Tessa climbed in, taking the seat next to Scott. Her stockings were torn, and in the dim light of the car Scott could see that one elbow was cut. Ric was last to find his place in the back seat, sending everyone to scoot over to make room for the rather large man.

Someone else closed the door, and the limo started to move through the parking lot and towards the main road. At the same time, the flashing lights of a police car could be seen entering the factory complex.

Donatello seemed unmoved by his daughter’s presence and condition. Scott found that odd and vaguely disturbing.

With one hand still carefully minding the sore spot on her head, Tessa gave the once over to everyone crowding the backseat of the limo. “This can’t possibly go well,” she mumbled, then leaned back and closed her eyes.

The roll of the car caused Tessa to slump, her head falling to Scott’s shoulder. He remained steady.

Donatello flipped the intercom switch, and spoke to the driver, “To the airport.”

“Should I say thank you?” Scott asked.

“That would imply that you are indebted to me.”

“Not really.”

“Pity. As for the story you wished to discuss…”

Marlayna opened her purse, then set the red Prada bag on the floor near Tessa’s bare feet. “You mentioned an article you wanted to print tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind; since you are leaving town, I went to your apartment and picked it up.” She waved the black thumb drive that he’d last deposited in his desk. “I do still have a key.”

The sound of an explosion caused Scott to shift his position, trying to look through the rear window. He didn’t need a clear view to know that the glass factory and its occupants had just met with a tragic accident. A fireball illuminated the sky.

“Gas leak.” Marlayna said, “You can read all about it tomorrow.”

Tessa stiffened, her face turning slightly into the crook of Scott’s shoulder. She shivered.

Scott looked at Donatello. “You don’t like glass?”

“I happen to find glass quite useful. I have a friend who will make me any window I want at a moment’s notice.”

“Ever donate one?”

“Impressive.”

Marlayna smiled like a Cheshire Cat. “I told you he was smart.”

“So you did, my dear. Why yes, Mr. Crawford, I gave a gift of a stained glass window to St. Joseph’s earlier this year.”

Scott’s case was fragmented and built on conjectures in part, but the seasoned journalist knew all conclusions had to start with hypotheses, even shaky ones. “Got a problem with the church?”

“Only when they donate their money to unworthy causes.” The yellow toothy grin returned as he explained. “But that’s a whole other story, isn’t it Mr. Crawford? It’s all about family in the end. One shouldn’t forget where you came from.”

Tessa opened her eyes at the veiled cue. Accomplished and well-respected journalist aside, Tessa was also, and maybe foremost, a mobster’s daughter with a reputation to uphold, a family legacy to live up to, and walking away from a slap in the face, or in this instance, a whack on the head, was not even a consideration; justice was expected to be served.

She asked, “Where are we going?” but was ignored.

Scott kept his focus on Donatello. “The bible verse on the window – was that about family?”

“One needs to remind people from time to time of their roots and loyalty. I gave a gift to the church, I felt a need to speak the language.”

“Just like you spoke the language when you killed Pascal DeMarco?”

“Be careful about laying accusations Mr. Crawford. You may not like the answers.”

“Death is about revenge.”

“Death is about order. It’s neat, it’s tidy and it’s used in moderation.”

“But for some reason the killing didn’t end with DeMarco.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you start killing women, people take notice.”

“Ah, that they do. We only had to make our point.”

“You mean Gail Lorence?”

“Yes. A bit of wolf, and all the loose sheep fall into line.”

“But then Darla and Kate disappeared.”

“I know nothing about that.” Donatello cast a look at his daughter. “Tessa, would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” Instinctively, Tessa moved her hand to the bump on her head, grimacing even at the light touch. She growled through clenched teeth, directing her second comment to Ric. “Payback’s going to be a bitch.”

Surprisingly, he chose honesty, “I know,” their eyes locking for a moment.

Her nose followed the smell of cheap perfume. “I’m surprised to see that you allow your ‘goomah’ to tag along with you.” Tessa said to her father, while eyeing Marlayna.

“Manners , young lady,” the elder Morgano reminded, “I would hate for there to be a problem and you miss your flight.”

Tessa heard the woman huff in anger at the disparaging remark and squirm in her seat, but the look on Donatello’s face gave notice to her, as well, to let it go.

They rode on in silence, the soft flicker of street lamp and headlight occasionally illuminating the car. The stereo was soft, playing classical Chopin; the pianist on tape, very talented. It was all very civilized.

Signs for the airport could be seen through the window. At last, the car slowed and then stopped. And yet, he wasn’t sure that what he felt was relief. Scott had a random thought that they might not be given the opportunity to leave gracefully.

Ric got out first, offering a hand to help Tessa onto the sidewalk unloading area. Donatello leaned forward and closed the limo door, cutting off Scott’s exit.

“A word, if I may,” he said.

Scott had little choice. “What do you want?”

“You have a reputation. Connections.” The deliberate pause implied much, and yet the other man’s tone was businesslike. “I want you to come and work for me.”

“Why me? Reporters are a dime a dozen.”

“You want to expose the Xenex Corporation. I can do that for you. Marlayna will send along the relevant files in the morning, so that you can begin to write the first article. “

“And if I say no?”

“Someone is getting on that plane to Chicago, Mr. Crawford.” The man pulled two airline tickets from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. He extended them towards Scott. “I’m assuming you don’t want Ric to escort Tessa home. He’s a bit of a loose cannon, I don’t really trust him.”

Scott could hear the other two opening the trunk, unloading the luggage. Marlayna laughed a little, but offered no other information. Irritated, Scott refused to look at her. He felt foolish for trusting her. His gut should have known that a broken nose was too easy, the sense of security, a lie.

“You don’t need me,” Scott said, eyes narrowed, wondering what else was going on. How deeply had he already been played?

Donatello smiled. “That’s true,” pausing for effect, he tilted his head towards the sidewalk, “but do you need Contessa?”

Taking the tickets, Scott opened the car door, stepping out with the others.

Ric handed him his suitcase. “Somebody must have gone back to your hotel and gotten your things.”

Scott lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, guessing that not all of his things had been packed.

Ric climbed in to take his place and the limo left them at the curb. Tessa stood with her bag in her hand and another over her shoulder. Scott recognized both, pointing to the red designer bag that clashed with her outfit. “I knew there was a reason that I liked you. Not afraid to make a bold fashion statement.”

Tessa didn’t laugh. Scott could almost feel the cold shoulder as she turned and marched into the terminal, at the same time trying to put on the last shoe of a pair she’d pulled from her bag. Surprisingly, the two journalists were not followed into the airport. Donatello had obviously made his point and wasted enough of his evening. Marlayna apparently did not miss her handbag. The move was subtle enough that even Scott hadn’t noticed Tessa’s light fingers.

Scott asked, “Why?”

“Self-preservation,” was all his companion said.

The two zipped through security with only a few minutes to spare and walked to the gate for one of the last flights of the evening. Only then did reaction start to set it. They’d both nearly been killed and the ride wasn’t over. Scott’s stomach rolled, and he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Scott stopped at a drinking fountain, took a moment to gulp some water thinking…I need another profession.

In the background, he could hear their flight being called. Scott looked up and saw Tessa standing by the gate, holding the purse protectively, her weight shifting from foot to foot.

He wanted to reach up and touch the bruise on her forehead, ask her how she was, but instead he smiled a little and asked, “So, ready to go home?”

She said nothing.

Scott took the silence as a “yes” and presented their boarding passes.

After finding their first-class seats, Scott stowed his luggage, helped Tessa with hers, and took the designated aisle seat. “You’re going to have to talk to me sometime,” he said, unsure where her anger was coming from.

“Make an appointment.”

“Fine,” Scott grumbled, snatching a pillow and shoving it behind his head. “Tuesday, lunch. You buy.”

Twisting in her seat, she glared at him. “I will seriously hurt you if I find you’ve been playing me.”

“W-what?” He could barely get the word out.

“How long were you and Marlayna an item?” she questioned out of the blue.

“I told you; I don’t get involved with women I work with.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, we all know how well you stick to that rule.”

The deliberate pause made him think, and glance down at her mouth. But he didn’t rise to the bait.

Tessa raged on, “You can’t play both sides of the fence.”

“Why not? You do.”

“Oh don’t you dare. This isn’t about me.” A finger was pointed at him. “Marlayna, Ric, my father—it was like homecoming back there. What did he say to you?”

“You don’t want to know.”

She blinked. The hurt showed as she slid an inch or two closer to the window. “And that’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to do, Tessa? Confess some grand plot? That your father sent me there to hunt you down, string you along, and bring you to New York so that you wouldn’t have dinner with him?” He deliberately chose his words to show how ridiculous the idea was.

But the thought caught hold and bloomed. She couldn’t shake all the coincidences. Where he chose to work, Darla, and he knew Dante.

Her voice was soft as she asked, “Ma tu sapevi chi ero prima che tu arrivasti a Chicago?”

“Don’t try and read something into it if I say I understood what you said. I’ve lived in thirteen countries. I can speak Italian.” Scott looked away.