Irrefutable Evidence (11 page)

There wasn
’
t much to say in response to that, so Sasha just nodded and headed for the stairwell.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Charlotte
maintained her composure through force of will long enough to send Sasha on her way and get her new star witness safely ensconced in a boutique hotel in East Liberty with a
“
Nutcracker
”
ticket in hand and an FBI agent as a shadow. Only then did she allow herself to indulge in the massive wave of fear, excitement, and adrenaline that had begun to build inside her when Laura Yim started telling her story.

She locked herself in her office, then crouched and opened the bottom drawer of the antique secretary she
’
d purchased with her own funds to supplement the standard-issue filing cabinets lining her walls. She removed the bottle of twenty-three-year old reserve bourbon and the heavy, crystal glass she kept there in case of emergencies and celebrations and walked across the office to her private bathroom, where she retrieved from her mini-fridge the frozen stones she used in lieu of ice.

“
Is this a celebration or an emergency?
”
she asked herself aloud. She caught her own eye in the mirror and answered herself.
“
Both.
”

She dropped the stones in the glass and then uncapped the bourbon and inhaled its leathery, caramel scent. She poured two fingers over the stones and contemplated the amber liquid before raising the glass to her lips. She closed her eyes as the spicy heat of the drink made its way down her throat. The warmth spread through her body, and she sat perfectly still, planning her next actions.

The break that Laura Yim just dropped in her lap could make her a star
—
director, senator, congressperson, federal appeals judge, every highly coveted, powerful position filled by a suit with a law degree would be within her grasp. So long as she didn
’
t make any missteps. And the potential for making a career-ending mistake was considerable. Yim had to stay alive. She had to testify. Charlotte had to get an indictment and a conviction. Anything less would be disastrous.

She took a long, centering breath and then rinsed the glass and turned it upside down on the sink to dry. Then, having sufficiently fortified herself, she returned the bourbon to the drawer and picked up the telephone to call Agent Carlucci. She absentmindedly drew a loopy circle on her notepad while she waited for him to answer.

“
What?
”
he snarled the word.

She dropped the pen.
“
We need to talk,
”
she said sharply, She understood better than anyone that Nino was under intense pressure, but he
’
d become increasingly nasty. Time to remind him who was boss.
“
And if you don
’
t get a grip on your attitude, I
’
m going to recommend that we pull you.
”

“
What? Don
’
t do that. I
’
m
…
I apologize for my tone.
”

It sounded as though he
’
d managed the apology through gritted teeth, but she said,
“
Apology accepted. Now, is it safe for you to talk?
”

“
It
’
s never safe for me to talk to you.
”

“
Unfortunately for you, Agent Carlucci, never talking to me isn
’
t an option. Is this a good time or isn
’
t it?
”

“
Yeah, I guess. Go ahead.
”
His voice changed, from gruff and combative to defeated.

She picked up the pen and rolled it along the desk. Agent Carlucci was becoming a concern. She didn
’
t want to have to make good on her threat to pull him from the undercover assignment. It had taken him months to get close to Dominic
“
Peaches
”
Riggo, the underboss of the powerful Manetto crime family. Now Peaches trusted Carlucci and had chosen him as his primary driver. Yanking Carlucci would mean losing access to Riggo at least temporarily, but more likely, for good. She got the feeling that Carlucci knew just how important he was to the task force and had decided to milk his position for all it was worth. Like it or not, she was going to have to put up with his insubordination and rudeness if she wanted to realize her dream of bringing down the Manetto family.

Yim
’
s testimony, however, was going to make that dream a reality. And Charlotte Cashion
’
s first order of business after she celebrated the guilty verdicts with a bigger glass of bourbon would be to fire Nino Carlucci.

She took a moment to savor that fantasy before returning to the reason for her call.
“
Good. Listen. I have a witness who can tie Riggo and the Manettos to at least a dozen fires.
”

“
Fires?
”

“
Yes. Apparently, the Manettos are running an arson-for-profit ring.
”

He coughed violently.
“
Are you sure?
”
Another loud cough.

“
Yes, I
’
m sure. Are you okay?
”

“
Dust in my throat. I
’
ll live. Who are the players?
”
He sounded jazzed up now, probably imagining himself covered in glory after Riggo
’
s arrest.

“
Locally, it
’
s Frankie Abruzzi and a fire inspector named Herschman.
”

“
Herschman? That sounds Jewish.
”

She shrugged as if Carlucci could see her.
“
Maybe his mother
’
s Italian. Maybe he
’
s just an enterprising gentleman. It doesn
’
t matter. There are two more persons of interest in New Jersey. But Abruzzi
’
s part of Peaches
’
crew, so I
’
m sure the Manettos are running the show.
”

The Manetto family wouldn
’
t take orders from a New Jersey family. They were too strong. Charlotte was certain Moraine and DiPanni, the two Mid-Atlantic employees who were involved, were either Manetto plants or freelancers. She was about to explain her thinking to Carlucci but he had already moved on.

“
Is your witness dirty?
”

It was a valid question. So many of their cases were built on the shaky foundation of statements made by career criminals, who were not, as a group, particularly wedded to truth-telling.

“
Squeaky clean.
”

Carlucci huffed. It sounded approving.
“
I trust you stashed him someplace safe?
”

“
Her. And, yes. I put her up in that new hotel in Bakery Square for now.
”

“
Where
’
d she come from?
”

“
A lawyer brought her in.
”

“
A lawyer? I thought you said she was clean.
”

“
She is. It wasn
’
t a bid for immunity. The lawyer doesn
’
t even represent her. She
—
Sasha McCandless
—
the lawyer deposed her in an insurance coverage case today. The witness had pieced together her employer
’
s role in the scheme and hung around afterward to talk to McCandless.
”

“
And this McCandless chick, she
’
s a civil attorney? Why
’
d she want to get mixed up in something like this?
”
Carlucci asked. Disbelief oozed through the phone.

Charlotte bristled at characterization of her accomplished classmate as a
chick
, but focused on the question.
“
I
’
ve know her for a long time. One thing I can say about Sasha is she doesn
’
t shy away from danger. She makes it a point to see that justice is done, even if it comes at personal cost to her.
”

“
She does, huh? I thought you said she was a lawyer?
”
Carlucci guffawed at his own joke.

“
Can the comedy routine, agent. I want you to proceed with maximum caution and keep a close eye on Peaches. If the Manettos get wind of this
—
my witness is dead. And you
’
re probably in danger, too. Stay alert. Contact me immediately if it appears the family knows about the witness. I
’
m going to try to get in front of a grand jury early next week.
”

“
That soon?
”

“
Yes. I want these pigs to spend their Christmases in jail. No Feast of the Seven Fishes for them
—
unless sardines and canned tuna count.
”
Her voice was cold and firm.

Carlucci laughed.
“
Understood. Hey, you have someone good covering your witness, I hope?
”

She smiled.
“
I
’
d say the best, but you
’
re otherwise occupied. So I settled for second best.
”

“
Jamie?
”

“
Of course. With you out of commission, the logical choice was your old partner. Agent Brenner
’
s in charge of the security detail and, you know him, he took the first shift for himself
—
mainly to make our witness comfortable.
”

“
Cool.
”

“
Yes, so the point, Agent Carlucci, is you don
’
t need to worry about the witness
’
s safety. Focus on your own.
”

“
I always do, counselor.
”

“
Well do it with particular care going forward, okay?
”
If Carlucci got himself killed, it would be an enormous setback
—
and his blood would be on her hands. Her throat was dry and tight suddenly.

“
I will.
”

He ended the call. Through the open bathroom door, she eyed her empty bourbon glass on the sink. Maybe just one more small pour.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nino shoved the cell phone into the center console of Peaches
’
s car and tried to think clearly. A witness who could bring down the Manetto family was a major development. The adrenaline pumping through his body made steering the car difficult, if not impossible. He found himself driving into opposing traffic and swerved back into his own lane just in time to avoid a head-on collision. As the horn blast faded from earshot, he scanned the shoulder of the road for a safe place to pull over. He had to get himself under control before he got himself killed.

He edged the car off to the side of the road and put it in park, letting the engine idle while he gripped the steering wheel two-handed and waited for his heart rate to return to normal. He focused on the in and out rhythm of his breath and within a minute and a half, he was calm. Calm was good. Calm would enable him to see a way through what looked, at the moment, to be a horrific mess.

The sudden appearance of a witness with information about the arson ring was problematic in two major respects. First, once word leaked out that a grand jury indictment was underway
—
and it would leak, because it always did
—
the men who were implicated would begin to view everyone around them with increased suspicion, wondering who would honor the vow of
omert
à
and who would squeal like a stuck pig. Increased scrutiny wasn
’
t really something Nino would enjoy. He already worried that his cover might get blown through a freak accident. That danger would increase exponentially once the investigation got underway. And, second, and more troubling by far was the inconvenient fact that he was one of the men who would be implicated. Since late summer, he
’
d been Peaches
’
s go-to torch. By his count, he
’
d set close to a dozen felony fires in the greater Pittsburgh area in as many weeks. At some point, someone
—
the insurance broker, the fire inspector, some sorry turd trying to save his own hide
—
would offer up the name of the guy responsible for actually setting the fires. And Charlotte would be delighted, giddy even, at getting that name. Until she learned that it was none other than her handpicked, undercover FBI agent, Nino Carlucci. Then the situation would get really ugly.

In fact, Nino wasn
’
t sure which would be worse
—
a run in with Peaches or a tussle with Charlotte Cashion and her pearl choker. He had a suspicion that Charlotte wielded a sharper knife. He knew she
’
d make no effort to understand the position he
’
d found himself in
—
the position he was in every day. He had to prove himself, time and again, to a group of brutal criminals. When Peaches Riggo ordered him to start a fire and make it look like an accident, damn straight, he started a fire. That was the only way to ensure his safety
and
to do the job Cashion had sent him undercover to do
—
to get close to Peaches and gather evidence. But she
’
d close her eyes to that reality and would sputter pretty words like
‘
principles
’
and
‘
duty.
’
He
’
d end up stripped of his badge and gun and, quite possibly, locked up in a federal penitentiary.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. Times like this he missed having a partner, someone to bounce ideas off, someone to tell him things weren
’
t as bleak as they seemed
—
even if it was blatant lie.

The shrill ringing of his cell phone cut through his thoughts and he jumped. He pawed around in the console and dug it back out.

“
Hello?
”

“
Nino? Where you at?
”
Peaches yelled in his ear.

“
Uh, I had to drop off the poinsettias at St. Joe
’
s, remember?
”

“
Get your tail back here. There
’
s a situation.
”

A situation.
There was no way Cashion had put in her request to convene a grand jury already. So if Peaches knew about the investigation, he must have another source in addition to the scheduling clerk in the federal building. Nino
’
s hands tightened on the wheel. What if
he
was the source? He swept Peaches
’
s car for listening devices every thirty-six hours, like clockwork. But what was to say that Peaches didn
’
t go behind him and install his own to keep tabs on
him
and then remove the bug when it was time to sweep? The fevered thought grabbed him and almost took hold, but he caught himself.
Stop freaking out.

He forced himself to speak calmly, as if he were unconcerned.
“
What kind of situation?
”

“
Looks like someone at the insurance company caught on to the epidemic of, uh, Jewish lightning.
”

Leave it to Peaches to denigrate some other ethnic group with his own behavior. Why not refer to arson for profit as Italian lightning? Whatever. He shoved the musings out of his mind and focused on the problem at hand.

“
Don
’
t we have someone inside?
”

“
Two someones. But the chick who
’
s the problem is in the wind. Those amateurs scared her off with a death threat scratched in her car door.
”

“
What kind of morons are they?
”

“
Listen, kid, I
’
m not talking about this on the phone. Give the freaking plants to Father Mike and get your ass back here. Now.
”

“
On it.
”

“
Good. Oh, but stop at the bakery and get me a biscotti, eh?
”

“
Sure thing, Peaches.
”
Nino ended the call. Leave it to Peaches to be worrying about his bedtime cookie in the middle of a
situation
.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nino turned up his jacket collar against the late December chill and ducked his head to avoid the wind as he ran across the Whole Foods Market parking lot, dodging enraged one-percenters jockeying for the handful of spots. He noted the bicycle parking that lined the entrance as he hurried inside, but, then, he guessed the rich and powerful weren
’
t much for bipedal transportation. He
’
d have to remember to ask Charlotte her views on the issue.

The thought of Assistant United States Attorney Charlotte Cashion hiking up her couture skirt and mounting a bicycle amused him so much that he snorted aloud, earning a sideways glance from the team member arranging a fresh display of rosemary holiday trees.

“
Sorry,
”
he mumbled as he let the tide of patchouli-scented humans sweep him up and carry him to the bakery station.

“
Hi,
”
chirped a tall, pretty brunette with a colorful neck tattoo.
“
Can I help you?
”

He glanced at the shoppers surrounding him.
“
Am I next?
”

“
Cop perk. You get to go first.
”
She winked.

His heart skipped.
“
Uh, I
’
m not a cop. You must have me confused with someone else,
”
he said, way too loudly. He cleared his throat and jammed his hands in his pockets.

“
Oh, weird. Sorry, you just give off that cop vibe, you know? But, hey, I
’
ll take your order now, anyway
—
to make it up to you.
”
Another broad smile and a wink.

She
’
s just flirting with you,
he told himself.
Keep it together. Your cover
’
s not blown.

“
Cool, thanks. I just need one of those vegan chocolate cupcakes and, um, a regular biscotti.
”

“
You a vegan?
”

“
Nah, my wife,
”
he lied.

Her face fell and she packaged up his order without further personal chitchat. He took the white bakery bag with a nod of his head and hustled to the front of the store and queued up in the far left express lane. He kept his head down, eyes glued to the floor to avoid conversation while he waited for the interminable line to move. As he waited, the bakery girl
’
s words echoed in his mind.
You just give off that cop vibe.
He couldn
’
t shake them. If she was right, it would get him killed. He
’
d been working for Peaches for seventeen weeks now. Surely if he gave off even a whiff of law enforcement, he
’
d already be dead, his corpse twisted and bent to fit in an oil drum before rigor mortis set in, and left to decompose at the abandoned oil refinery that Peaches favored as a final resting place for his former friends and enemies. That line of thinking wasn
’
t helping him relax.

“
Sir?
”

He glanced up. The cashier was waiting for him to hand over the bag. He
’
d shuffled all the way to the front of the line while imagining the various unpleasant ways Peaches would have him killed.

“
Here you go. Sorry, man. Daydreaming.
”
He passed the kid the bag and dug out some bills.

He pocketed his change and hurried back outside, second guessing his plan. Maybe it was too dangerous to risk being seen with Jamie. But, what the hell else was he going to do with a vegan cupcake? He almost smiled to himself and started to jog, cutting a diagonal path across the lot and the dark street, aiming for the insanely confusing traffic circle and East Liberty
’
s burgeoning gentrification district.

As he neared the hotel, his troubles started to fade and his spirits lifted. He hadn
’
t talked to Jamie in months. Being cut off from his partner had turned out to be the most disconcerting part of going deep undercover. He and Jamie had met as cadets at the academy in Quantico and had bonded instantly over their steadfast support for the Pirates, despite the baseball team
’
s abysmal record at the time. After graduation, they
’
d been assigned to different posts but stayed in touch. Two years ago, both of their longstanding transfer requests had come through and they landed back in the
‘
Burgh within months of each other.

They made an excellent team. Not like one of those dumb, oversimplified, cop movies where one partner was brash and reckless and the other one was careful, smart, and risk averse. Nino liked to think they shared a lot of the same important traits
—
commitment, grit, street smarts, and the ability to pick up cute girls at bars with ease. Jamie Brenner was almost as skilled a wingman as he was a marksman.

Nino slipped through a gap in a construction fence that ringed the lot next to the hotel and skulked across the frozen ground. Despite the darkness and the uneven earth, his footing was sure. He
’
d have made an excellent cat burglar if his career path had taken a different turn. He neared the back of the hotel and slowed his pace.

Where would Jamie set up?

Lots of guys would position themselves right outside the witness
’
s door, camp out in the hallway. Not Jamie. For one thing, that would be about as subtle as hanging a sign around the chick
’
s neck. For another, if bad guys came crashing out of the elevator, guns blazing, what are you going to do slouching against the wall reading the sports section? You
’
d be caught with your pants down. No, Jamie would be outside. Moving between the front and rear entrances, trying to stay alert and warm on a crap night like this.

Nino vaulted the low fence one-handed and circled around to the hotel
’
s service entrance. Charlotte loved putting people up at this joint. As a result, the FBI agents assigned to the Organized Crime Task Force knew the hotel, inside and out, intimately.