Sullivan's Justice (23 page)

“Standing right beside me,” Leo Danforth answered. He was a tall, powerfully built man with long dirty-blond hair tied back in a ponytail. “He wants to talk to you.”

“It’s cold as a bitch, Larry,” Dante complained. “We couldn’t even wait in our fucking cars. Why in the hell did we have to meet in a graveyard on Christmas morning? We had to scale a six-foot stone wall.”

“It’s safe, asshole,” Van Buren said. “You want the cops to show up? We’re in enough trouble as it is. A new lead turned up yesterday. We’ll discuss it as soon as I get there. I’m maybe twenty minutes away.”

Van Buren pressed his foot down on the accelerator. No one had been buried in Shady Oaks Cemetery since 1983. Money for a groundskeeper had run out years ago, and the closest house was a mile away. As additional security, the stone wall prevented visitors from bringing their cars inside. It was a perfect location for what he was about to do.

“They must be having a funeral today,” Dante said, making small talk until Van Buren arrived. He tilted his head toward an open grave a few feet away. “Who’d want to be buried in this dump? They don’t even pull the weeds.”

“I hear you,” Leo said, seeing Van Buren’s headlights on the hill above them. He stepped quickly in front of Dante to block his view. Now forty-seven, Dante Gilbiati had previously been a member of the Gambino crime family. When the Feds went after them, he’d fled to LA, where he’d somehow managed to avoid apprehension. He had bulging muscles and a pockmarked face. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in days, and his thick black hair was disheveled. Dressed in a light blue jogging suit, he took another drag on his cigarette, then dropped it on the ground and snubbed it out with his sneaker.

Slamming on the brakes, Van Buren popped the trunk and got out, walked to the rear of the car and removed a ladder. Placing it against the wall, he climbed it to the top and jumped down, glad he’d made time to go to the gym even in the midst of the present crisis. Seeing the two men, he walked briskly toward them. As soon as he reached them, he coughed, his prearranged signal for Leo to take action. Leo quickly positioned himself behind Van Buren and opened his jacket, removing his gun from his shoulder holster.

Dante was clasping a thermos of coffee in one hand and plucking out another cigarette with his teeth. The steam from the open thermos rose in the frigid morning air. Before Dante figured out what was happening, Van Buren whipped out a nine-millimeter Ruger and trained it on him. Leo stepped forward and did the same.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Leo shouted, peering at him through the sight on his weapon.

“What the hell—” Dante exclaimed, spitting the cigarette out of his mouth as he raised his hands over his head. He narrowed his eyes at Leo. “You set me up, you no-good piece of shit. I should have known when you brought me to this godforsaken cemetery.” Craning his neck, he stared at the open grave behind him. He jerked his head back around, the muscles in his face twisted in fear.

“You like to kill children, do you?” Van Buren shouted, a blast of cold air striking his face. Despite the temperature, he was already perspiring. He hated sweat almost as much as he hated the man standing in front of him. He generally delegated disposing of out-of-control animals like Dante to men like Leo Danforth. In this instance, he wanted to make sure Dante suffered. He didn’t want to kill him instantly or beat him until he became unconscious. Men like Dante Gilbiati didn’t deserve mercy. “Have I ever given you permission to murder babies?”

“That peanut-size cockroach didn’t come out of the house,” he said. “What was I supposed to do, drive off? I thought we’d found it. If it wasn’t there, why didn’t he come out? How was I supposed to know there were people inside?” He threw the thermos with all his might, striking Leo in the face. Then he crouched down, charging toward Van Buren like a linebacker.

Van Buren fired, shooting him in the left forearm. The gunshot was muffled by a silencer, but the scent of gunpowder drifted past his nostrils. Leo’s right cheek was scalded from the hot coffee. He raised his gun to fire when another bullet sailed past him.

“You’re going to pay for this,” Dante yelled, his weapon flying out of his bloody left hand. He pressed his right hand against the wound when another bullet bore its way into his arm. More blood pumped out, soaking his blue jacket. He fell to the ground, groaning in pain.

“Don’t kill me,” Dante pleaded. “God . . . please, Larry, I’ll do anything you tell me to do. Say the word and I’ll take out the president.”

“You’re a swell guy, Dante,” Van Buren said, incredulous. “Why don’t you kill the pope while you’re at it? Too bad Mother Teresa is dead or you could take her out, too. Tell you the truth, you’re too stupid to live.” He pulled out his knife and threw it, knowing he’d hit his target when blood squirted out of Dante’s groin. Dante’s face drained of all color and his eyes closed. Van Buren walked over and kicked him to see if he was conscious. There was so much blood, he appeared to be floating in it. Seeing Dante blink, Van Buren turned to Leo, who was holding a handkerchief over the burn on his cheek. “How long do you think he’ll last?”

“Maybe thirty minutes, an hour max,” Leo said. “If the bullet wounds don’t kill him, he’ll bleed to death. We’d better get out of here, boss.”

Van Buren pulled out a Snickers bar and unwrapped it. “Sorry,” he said, smiling at Dante, “I only brought one. I know how much you like chocolate. Bet those kids had some candy. Ah, but you probably ate it while they lay there dying.”

Dante moaned again. When he tried to push himself up, Van Buren turned to Leo. “Bury him.”

He turned and started walking in the direction of the fence. Leo chased after him. “But he’s not dead yet, Larry. We can’t take a chance that he might survive. Don’t you want me to finish him off ?”

“I didn’t say anything about finishing him off,” his boss said. “Two of those kids were still alive when Dante left the house. One of our contacts at the police department said they died next to the dead bodies of their parents. You’ve got kids, Leo. What would you do if Dante killed them?”

Leo’s eyes glazed over. He spoke without a trace of emotion, “I agree. I’ll bury him.”

“Oh,” Van Buren added, “kick him so he’ll stay conscious. I want him to feel the dirt on his face. Besides, suffocation takes more time. Need a shovel?”

“No,” Leo said, marching back toward the open grave.

 

 

 

 

 

C
arolyn pulled into the driveway of her mother’s house in Camarillo, a small town located off the 101 Freeway just north of Ventura. After she’d visited Brad the day before, she had decided to take a nap before heading out to Camarillo. When she woke up, it was six o’clock at night. She’d assumed Neil would still be at her mother’s. When she had called, though, her mother told her he’d taken off after she went to bed Christmas Eve.

People affiliated with the art world hung out in Brentwood, Melrose, or Santa Barbara. Neil had tons of friends in the LA area, most of them she’d never met. He carried a cell phone, but only turned it on when he made a call. She hoped he wasn’t holed up with Melody Asher, if for no other reason than out of respect for Laurel. If he was, there was nothing she could do about it. She’d babied and covered for him his entire life. This time, the situation was so serious she might not be able to fix it.

After she’d learned that her mother was alone, she’d asked John to go visit her, then promised her she would spend the next day with her. Now it was time to fulfill her promise. Rebecca was at the mall with Lucy. As usual, John was out somewhere with his friends. As long as he came home by ten and maintained a four-point average, Carolyn felt he deserved his independence. Before he’d got his car, he had spent most of his free time taking care of his younger sister. She doubted if he was thrilled the night before when she’d asked him to take her mother out, but he hadn’t complained.

Dressed in a red sweater with rhinestone Christmas trees on it, Marie Sullivan had naturally curly silver hair, fair skin, and was petite like her daughter. “I’m sorry about yesterday, Mother,” she said, embracing her in the entryway. “I meant to come, but this thing with Neil . . . I guess I was exhausted. Did you have a good time with John?”

“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed. “He’s a wonderful boy. He only stayed a few minutes, though. He said he was going to a big party.”

Carolyn had given John money to take her mother out to dinner and a movie. He’d never mentioned anything about a party. When she got home, she’d have to talk to him.

Marie Sullivan lived in a gated retirement community called Leisure Village. The town people jokingly called it “Seizure Village,” since hardly a day passed without someone either dying or being rushed away in an ambulance. Leisure Village had been designed for active seniors. Most of the residents were in their late fifties or early sixties. On the property, they had a swimming pool, several tennis courts, and a nine-hole golf course. The only things the community didn’t provide were meals and transportation. Her mother was about to turn seventy and her hearing was failing. She had hearing aids but refused to wear them.

“I can’t talk to you unless you put in your hearing aids, Mother!” she shouted. “I’m going out to the car to get your Christmas presents. One of them is a box of See’s Candies. If you don’t have your hearing aids on by the time I come back, I’ll let the kids eat it.”

Mrs. Sullivan frowned. “I don’t like noise. It makes it difficult for me to think. And the awful things hurt my ears.”

“Then I’ll have to leave,” Carolyn said loudly. “I’ll lose my voice, Mother. I love you, but I can’t scream all day.”

Carolyn returned with a large box wrapped in foil paper. Inside was a peach-colored lightweight coat. Her mother’s passion for chocolate was greater than her dislike for her hearing aids. She placed the box of See’s on the coffee table.

“This is lovely,” she said, putting on the coat and going to the other room to look in the mirror. When she returned, she smiled at her daughter. “It fits perfectly, honey. I bought you a present, too, but I forgot where I put it. Would you check the hall closet for me? It may have fallen behind the box where I keep my Christmas decorations.”

Carolyn saw her mother’s hand already moving toward her left ear. Now that she had the candy, she was going to trick her and take the hearing aids out. Carolyn stood her ground. “We’ll find it another day.”

“I think I know where it is,” Mrs. Sullivan said, knowing her daughter was onto her. “Wait here and I’ll go and get it.” She returned a few minutes later carrying a Nordstrom shopping bag. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t get around to wrapping it.”

Carolyn pulled out a red silk scarf with tiny roses embroidered on it. Chanel N° 5, her mother’s signature fragrance, drifted past her nostrils. Every year, Marie gave John and Rebecca a thousand dollars to put into their college fund. Her daughter always received a scarf. She was lucky to get anything. Neil was the contemporary Michelangelo, according to her mother, but she hadn’t given him a Christmas present since childhood, probably because she didn’t have any male clothes or accessories in her closet. Carolyn actually didn’t mind. When she wore one of her mother’s scarfs, she didn’t have to add any perfume.

They went to lunch at Coco’s restaurant, then returned. Her mother seemed tired. “I should probably go home,” Carolyn told her, running her hands through her hair. “I haven’t been spending enough time with Rebecca and John.”

“Don’t leave,” Mrs. Sullivan pleaded, her voice trembling. She perched on the edge of the blue velour sofa. “I have something to tell you.”

Carolyn sat next to her and took her hand. “What is it, Mom?”

Marie cleared her throat. “I should have told you years ago. I thought . . . well, you know . . . it was painful for me to talk about it. Neil decided to clean out the chest of drawers in the guest room last night. He was going to stay with me until this mess with the police was cleared up. He found something I’d forgotten was in there. Since he knows, I think you should know, too. I tried to explain things to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He became upset and ran out of the house. I’m scared he might hurt himself. He’s too much like your father.”

She got up and disappeared into the spare bedroom. When she returned, she was carrying a plastic storage container, the kind she stored her sweaters in during the summer. She took a deep breath and sat back down on the couch, composing herself. “Your father didn’t die of a heart attack,” she said. “He killed himself.”

Carolyn’s face froze in astonishment. How could her mother have failed to tell her something this serious? “Are you making this up?”

“No,” she said, clasping the box against her chest. “After he retired from his teaching position, your father worked day and night on his math. The man next door had a Doberman that barked all the time. It drove your father crazy. Normally, things like that didn’t bother him. He was suffering from sleep deprivation, though, and he hadn’t been eating properly.”

She walked over and handed her the box. “I’m going in the other room to rest. When you’re ready to talk, come and get me.”

Carolyn took the lid off, seeing several documents. One was a death certificate, listing her father’s death as a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. The other was the Camarillo PD report. She began weeping. After an altercation with his neighbor, he had turned the gun on himself and blown his brains out.

She checked the date. It was six years ago to the day. Her mother had told her that her father had died of a heart attack. The funeral had been closed casket, so they couldn’t see the wound. At the time of their father’s death, Neil had been away in Europe, and Carolyn was in the midst of her divorce from Frank. Everything had been a blur. Her emotional state was wrecked by the divorce and then crushed by her father’s sudden death. Her mother had never told them he had a heart condition until after he died. Now she knew why.