B009QTK5QA EBOK (10 page)

Despite the sunlight, the air was still chilled and my breath left my body in a puff of icy smoke. My shoes crunched against the snow in the lot and I jammed my hands in the pockets of my jacket in an attempt to keep them warm.

The heat in the building lobby hit me in the face like a wool blanket and I immediately unzipped my jacket. A security guard at the kiosk near the elevators smiled at us. “Help you?”

Isabel glanced at me anxiously.

“We’re looking for Mr. Codaselli’s office,” I said.

“Sixth floor,” he said and motioned to the bank of elevators behind him.

We stepped into the elevator and I pushed the six on the panel of buttons.

“That was easy,” Isabel said as the doors closed.

I shrugged. “Doesn’t mean we’ll see him. And the guard is calling up right now.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what happens.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. We stepped out into a wood-floored lobby fronted with a crescent shaped desk.

The woman behind the desk smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I said. “We’re looking for Mr. Codaselli.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. We were hoping to talk to him about his son, though.”

“So it’s personal?”

“Yes. His son is missing.”

If that statement alarmed her, she didn’t show it. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat right over there, I’ll see if he’s available.”

Isabel and I sat down in two oversized leather chairs.

“Now what?” Isabel asked.

“We wait.”

“For.”

“To see if he’ll see us.”

“Will he?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we’re waiting.”

She frowned at me.

“He’ll see you momentarily,” the woman behind the desk said, still smiling.

“Now we’re waiting to see him,” I said to Isabel.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Just making it clear.”

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.

I scanned the small waiting area. A small table with financial magazines and a plant. Framed art that looked expensive but probably wasn’t. And two small, black orbs attached to the ceiling at either end of the room.

“Smile,” I said.

“What?”

I pointed upwards. “We’re on camera.”

She followed my finger. “So?”

“Just saying.”

She shrugged and went back to looking uncomfortable.

Five minutes later, a tall guy in his early thirties wearing a navy pin-striped suit appeared.

He adjusted the black horn-rimmed glasses on his face. “Mr. Tyler, I’m John Anchor, Mr. Codaselli’s assistant.” He smiled at Isabel. “If you’d both follow me, please.”

We stood and followed him down a long corridor and around a corner. He held open the right side of two large black doors and stepped aside for us to enter. He followed us in and closed the doors behind us.

The office itself was expansive, but nothing extraordinary. A small conference table off to the right near the windows with several chairs. A sitting area to the left with a sofa and matching armchairs around a small glass table. Several bookshelves and cabinets. A large oak desk at the center.

The man behind the desk stood. Maybe sixty years old, he was rail thin with pale skin. Thinning dark hair over a bony face. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his forearms, his suit coat draped over the back of his chair.

He smiled. “Peter Codaselli.” He gestured to the sitting area. “Please.”

Isabel and I made our way to the sofa, while Codaselli moved around the desk toward us. John Anchor drifted back toward the conference table, having a seat on the edge of it.

Codaselli extended his hand to Isabel. “I’m Peter.”

“Isabel.”

He turned to me and offered his hand. “Peter.”

“Joe Tyler,” I said.

He nodded at both of us and sat down in the chair opposite me. “Can I get you something to drink?”

We both declined.

“Alright then,” he said, crossing his legs at the knees. “Melissa said that you were here regarding my son.”

Isabel squirmed next to me. Her anxiousness was visible.

“You’re aware he’s missing?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Is anyone looking for him?”

He thought for a moment. “Yes.”

“But not the authorities,” I said.

Codaselli gave me a tight smile. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t,” I said. “Neither does Isabel.”

“What is your interest in my son?”

I looked at Isabel.

She cleared her throat. “I’ve been working with him for the past few months.”

“Working? How?”

“I run a service for kids who are living on the street,” she explained. “I helped Marc out a while back and he’s been helping me for about the last six months. Kind of anything and everything I needed. Mostly at night.”

“Is he earning money for this?” he asked.

I thought it was an odd question, but didn’t say anything.

“I just started paying him, yes,” she said. “It’s part-time and it’s not much. But he’s earned it.” She paused. “I’m concerned because he’s disappeared.”

“I think we all are,” Codaselli said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“I don’t,” she said. “We were hoping you might know more.”

“I haven’t heard from him,” he said. “I’ve tried to get in touch with him and I haven’t heard from him.”

“Get in touch with him how?” I asked.

He folded his hands in his lap. “The usual channels.”

Codaselli’s answers were evasive and vague. I wasn’t sure why.

He turned to me. “What is your interest in this?”

“I think you can guess.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“You probably learned enough about me in the last fifteen minutes to put some things together,” I said.

He squinted at me, confused. “But we just met.”

“Right,” I said, then nodded at his assistant over at the table. “But he knew my name when he came out to get us. My guess is you ran us through some sort of recognition software tied to the cameras I saw in the waiting area. Hard to believe we would’ve gotten to see you so quickly if you didn’t know who we were.”

Codaselli uncrossed, then recrossed his legs.

“My error, sir,” Anchor said, not sounding too worried about it. “I apologize.”

Codaselli held up a hand. “It’s alright, John.” His eyes zeroed in on me. “Excellent catch, Mr. Tyler.”

“Here’s my question,” I asked. “Do you actually want to find your son?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not from Minneapolis,” I said. “But my understanding is you have influence here. My guess is that if you really wanted to locate Marc, you could have people swarming the streets at a moment’s notice. Maybe you do. I don’t know. But that’s not the vibe I’m getting. So my question is do you really want to find him? Because if you don’t, then I think Isabel and I are wasting our time.”

I glanced at Isabel. Her jaw was locked tight, her hands clasped together.

Codaselli tapped an index finger to his lips, staring at me. Then he pointed the finger at me. “I did hear that you were direct.”

I nodded.

“I can appreciate that,” he said, nodding. “Yes, I would like to find my son. Perhaps we can work together.”

“Working together means answering questions,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, tilting his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Yes, it does.”

“So, the first question I’d ask is why did your son leave home?”

His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. “That’s actually not the first question.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. The first question is why do I want to find my son.”

“I’m not following.”

“Just ask me.”

I glanced at Isabel. She shrugged. I looked back at Codaselli. “Alright. Why do you want to find your son?”

He lowered his eyes and fixed them on me. “Because I’m dying.”

TWENTY-FIVE

“The cancer is in my liver,” Peter Codaselli said. “Stage Four.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Me, too,” he said with a tight grin. “I did not plan on going out this way.” He paused. “Marc doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know you have cancer or that it’s so advanced?”

“Neither,” he said. “When I was first diagnosed, I kept it from everyone. Not sure why, but I did. Then Marc left home. It actually worked out in the sense that I was able to receive treatment without his knowing. I saw him not too long ago.” He paused. “It didn’t go well. He left again. Next day, I received the news from my doctors that the cancer had essentially won. We explored some other treatment options, but none offered the odds I was looking for. And they would’ve significantly diminished the quality of my life. I’ve opted out.”

He was saying all of this in a matter-of-fact way, without much emotion. Maybe he’d worked through it already or maybe he was the type of person who could throw up an emotional wall when necessary. Either way, he did not reveal much about how he felt about his impending death.

“So, I would like to find Marc before I die,” he continued. “And yes, I probably could have teams of people out there looking for him, but I’m not ready to do that. Yet. Doing so will draw attention and bring questions.”

I thought for a moment. “Bring attention and questions from people who might benefit from your death.”

He nodded. “Precisely. If we get to the point where I need to do that, I will. But right now, it wouldn’t be prudent for myself or Marc.”

“You said that your last visit with Marc did not go well,” I said. “Why not?”

He fiddled with the crease in his pants, then looked at Isabel. “I’m curious. How does my son speak of me?”

Isabel looked like a deer in the headlights.

“It’s alright,” he said, smiling. “I can take it.”

“Uh
…
not well,” she stammered. “He doesn’t say a lot. All I really know is that you two don’t get along.”

“He ever say why?”

“No. And I didn’t pry.”

Codaselli brushed at his knee, sweeping away some imaginary dust. “Marc is not a fan of my choice of business. He never has been. He’s embarrassed and doesn’t want any part of it. It’s why he left home to begin with.”

“Did he just find out?” I asked.

“No, he’s known for awhile,” he said. “He finally reached an age where he had a lot of questions and I felt he deserved honest answers. Perhaps a mistake on my part.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But I thought he deserved to know. And let’s face it. It’s not like I’m a professional athlete or actor or someone he can brag to his friends about.” He smiled. “I know that my place has made his life harder.”

I wondered if Codaselli had ever wanted out. I couldn’t read him. I didn’t know much about organized crime but I knew you didn’t just turn in your resignation.

“So he took off,” Codaselli said. “And I let him. I felt that if he didn’t want to be at home, was ashamed of our name, then he should be able to do what he wanted. I let him go. I had people to keep an eye on him, not closely, but I knew he was alright. Then he came to me not too long ago. For money.”

He shifted in the chair and for the first time, he looked uncomfortable. “I tried to leverage him.”

“How?” I asked.

“I knew the cancer had spread, but as I said, I wasn’t aware of the severity. Mortality was becoming more real, though. I knew that my days were numbered.” He tilted his head to the side, rubbed his jaw. “My business is vast. And complicated. And lucrative. There needs to be a plan in place for my passing.”

I nodded.

“I’ve always wanted Marc to succeed me,” he said. “He’s my only child. I wanted it to stay in the family.”

“Even after he made it clear he wasn’t happy with what you do?” I asked.

“Yes, even after. Call me stubborn.” He smiled a painful smile. “So, when Marc came to me, I saw an opportunity. He needed something and I offered to help. In exchange for his coming to work for me and take over the business.”

“What did he need?” I asked.

“A thousand bucks,” he said. “He needed a thousand dollars.”

“Did he say what for?”

“Not at first, but I pressed him,” Codaselli said. “He tried to be vague, but I knew he wasn’t telling me the truth. It was for a girl.”

I looked at Isabel. She shrugged.

“I don’t know who she is or why,” he explained. “He wouldn’t budge on those things. But he needed the money for her and I think he was being truthful.”

“Did you give him the money?” I asked.

“I did,” he said. “And he agreed to take over my business.”