Lamentation (22 page)

“Slow down,” I said. “Tell me about this disc.”

“Pete kept the original hard drive. It’s why they killed him.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think? Those asshole bikers working for Lombardi.”

“And you know this, how? You saw them?”

“Didn’t have to.”

Hard winds whipped up snowy dust, conspiring little tornadoes to dance across the frozen water.

“Do they know you have this?” I asked him.

“They’re looking for me, aren’t they?” Chris flung the backpack between us, covering his head in his hands.

“They’re looking for you because you broke into people’s private residences and vandalized property. This,
after
you and your friend took possession of something that didn’t belong to you.”

“That’s not true. Someone dropped off the hard drive.”

“Yeah, to have its memory erased, not probed and exploited. It doesn’t matter. Adam wants it back.”

“No shit, he wants it back! Why do you think Pete is dead? And now they want me dead too, because I know what’s on there.”

“What
is
on there?” I asked. “What is this damning piece of evidence you’ve been running around Ashton with? Burglarizing houses, setting off alarms at construction sites, driving everyone crazy. You’ve got cops all the way up from Concord looking for you. I don’t know what you think is going on here, but it’s hard to trust your version of anything these days. So whatever it is, you’d better come clean. I’m about the only friend you have right now.”

Chris stared straight ahead, entranced by the swirling snow ballet.

“Is it information on the proposed ski resort? The construction bid? Campfire Properties, and Michael giving the contract to Adam?”

“Just take a look at the disc,” he said. “Look at it before Adam finds it.”

“Because if it is, I know all about it already. While you’ve been running around playing drugstore cowboy and Indians, I’ve had no choice but to dig into shit. And it might be creepy, and maybe even unethical, but greasing palms to land a construction job and proving someone broke the law takes a lot more—”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Lombardi Construction.”

I stopped cold. “Wait. What?”

“It’s not about Adam’s company.”

“It’s not?”

Chris shook his head.

“Then what’s on the disc?”

“Pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“Of kids.”

“Pictures. Of kids. This is why you’re harassing Adam?”

“You’re not listening, Jay. They’re bad pictures. Little kids. Young boys. You following me yet? There’s a man in the pictures. Doing stuff to them. It’s fucked up.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell for sure. I mean, it’s hard to tell. That’s why I need you to look at them. The guy is obviously trying to keep his face obscured, but he’s old. And fat and disgusting and hunched over and—I wish you’d just look at the disc.”

“Not until you tell me who.”

“I think it’s Gerry Lombardi,” Chris said. “I mean, it
is
Gerry Lombardi, Jay. Open the files. It’s him. Go look at the disc, I’ll meet you somewhere later.”

“Mr. Lombardi?” I paused a second to let it all sink in. “Then this isn’t about the ski resort or condos? Adam? Michael?”

“No! I mean, yes, I guess. Just not directly. The guy who dropped off the computer worked for Adam. He told us they were getting a new computer system at Lombardi. Since he only dropped off the one, I thought there might be others with more photos. When I didn’t find anything at Gerry’s house, I broke into the construction site to search for more files, pics, to download them onto a flash drive, get more evidence, have a better look.”

“So you’re not even sure if—”

“I’m sure! But no one is going believe a fucking thing I say. You know that. You don’t even believe me, and you’re my fucking brother! You think the cops are listening to a lowlife junkie? All I have is a downloaded copy. There’s nothing linking anything to jack. I needed irrefutable, one hundred percent, ironclad proof.”

“Jesus, Chris.” I pulled my hands down my face, digging my fingers into my eyes, pressing so hard I made myself see spots. “Why do you care so much? I mean, it’s horrible that little kids—”

“Why do I care?! How can you ask me that? Those are little boys! Not much older than Aiden. Getting raped! And some sick fuck is taking pictures, keeping them in, like, a digital scrapbook to get off on later—and you’re asking me why I care?”

“Calm down. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean it like, then? It’s not my problem? Then whose problem is it? Who the hell is going to do anything about it? Nobody in this town, that’s for sure. Nobody is going after the Lombardis.
They are fucking legends around here! They named the goddamn high school gym after Gerry Lombardi. He runs that charity so he can pick those kids off, one by one, with impunity. He’s ruining lives! People will line up in Ashton to bend over backwards to cover this up, and you know it. And I’ll tell you something else—if the computer came from the construction site, you can be sure Adam knows about it too. Michael as well. Why do you think they’re pulling out all the stops to reel me in?”

“Hold on. You don’t even know for sure—”

“I do know for sure! It’s Gerry Lombardi! Fuck! Listen to me! Adam and Michael know about it! Pete and I got in that huge fight because Pete was trying to blackmail Adam. I told him it was a stupid idea, that we needed to get more evidence, but he thought we could make some easy money. He contacted Adam and
told
him he had the hard drive. And a couple days later, he’s dead. Figure it out! They know I have that disc—if Pete didn’t ’fess up before they broke his neck, our crew at the shop would’ve sold me out—and they won’t stop until I’m dead too. Why else would Adam care so much about a piece-of-shit old computer he threw away?”

“He says there’s sensitive financial records on there.”

“Bullshit! You think he stores his client’s routing numbers on his computer? That’s not how it works. If you weren’t such a Luddite, Jay, you’d know that. Sensitive financial documents? He’s fucking with you. You know who handles his security—the Commanderoes are no joke! You remember the Donatello Bakery murders? That was them. Three dead. Shot in the back of the head. Execution style. What the hell does Adam Lombardi need a security detail like that for? To keep trespassers from stealing two-by-fours?”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, that resort
is
going to be huge. And Michael’s tough-on-drugs, pro-family horseshit campaign is big too. And both those things come crashing down if it’s revealed their father is a pedophile.” Chris grabbed my arm, making sure he had my rapt attention. “You’re my brother. I know you think I’m a wasteoid fuckup. Maybe I am. But I’m telling you the truth about this, and I need you to trust me. If you’ve
ever believed in me, Jay, please, trust me on this.” He grabbed the backpack and practically shoved it in my gut. “Please. I don’t care what happens to me. Just look at the disc!”

“Okay,” I said, checking the mirror, jerking the Chevy in reverse. “We need to get out of here.”

But it was too late. I hadn’t backed up an inch before the swirling reds and blues filled the cab; high-pitched sirens shattered the still country air, regret stabbing at my heart.

But it was the look my brother gave me when he realized I’d betrayed him that cut the deepest.

With my brother tucked safely in the back of a cruiser, I took in the magnitude of what I’d done: four police vehicles, including the spanking new SUV, parked cockeyed on the rock; Otis, Ramon, and the rest of Ashton’s finest, who’d been called on to bring down the big, bad felon, raising shotguns and hoisting bullhorns, milling about congratulatory following the successful bust. I’d sold out my own brother.

“Was all this really necessary?” I asked Turley.

They’d torn into the reserve like they were ready for a gunfight. But the showdown ended in a whimper.

Once Chris realized I’d turned him in, he lost the fight. He simply opened the door and placed his hands above his head. But he made sure to part with that final, searing gaze. It was the kind of look I’m sure haunted Judas for the rest of his days.

“It’s a big deal,” Turley said. He studied my pained expression. “That was smart having Jenny call us. No telling how ugly this could’ve gotten.” He forced a smile. “Boy, your brother sure fucked up Brody. EMTs had to load him up with morphine just to move him to the ambulance.”

“Chris had nothing to do with Pete Naginis’ murder.”

“Your brother’s going to have a chance to tell his side of the story.” Turley placed a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “I promise. Naginis ran with a rough crowd, everyone knows that. Just gotta follow protocol here.”

“What happens next?”

“We take him down to the station and talk to him until we get to
the bottom of this.” Turley playfully punched my shoulder in a show of brotherhood. Weird thing was, given the events of this past week, it didn’t feel entirely misplaced. “You’ve come this far. Try and keep the faith.”

“And what happens when Brody presses charges for assault?” As if Chris didn’t have enough cards stacked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have a feeling what happened in Jenny’s kitchen was some good ol’ fashioned, big brother protection. Besides, Brody isn’t the most upstanding guy in the community. Folks with pasts like his can usually be persuaded to be reasonable.”

“Thanks, Turley.”

I stared at the back of my brother’s bad haircut through the rear window. He wouldn’t turn around. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was it: the final rotting of a relationship left to die on the vine long ago. I hadn’t felt this empty inside since my parents died.

Pat Sumner tapped the roof of the squad car, and the lights switched on. The rest of the cops stopped backslapping and climbed into their vehicles, patrol units reversing and K-turning, as Pat ambled between spinning tires, making his way toward us.

“You did the right thing,” Pat said, approaching with hand outstretched.

If I had really done the right thing, then why did it feel so lousy?

Through the glut of exiting taillights, I saw Lombardi’s 4x4 work truck bumping over the rocky terrain, swerving from the access road for a quicker route.

“What’s he doing here?” I asked.

“Adam was worried about your brother, and asked us to call when we caught him. Seemed the least we could do after all the trouble Chris has caused the Lombardi family.”

At the sight of Adam and Bowman stepping out of the truck, I felt myself tense up.

Pat slapped me on the back and headed to greet them.

“Relax, Jay,” Turley said. “The worst is over.”

“You have to do me a favor. You don’t let Adam Lombardi or that security goon of his anywhere near my brother.”

Turley squinched his face. “What’s up?”

“You promise me. I kept my end. I called you and gave you my brother. We can talk about this later, but when you get to the station, you have to give me your word that
that
guy,” as I stabbed a finger at Bowman, “goes nowhere near him!”

“No one but the police will talk to your brother. You have my word.”

Adam and Bowman marched over with Sheriff Sumner yipping at their heels like a puppy.

Adam Lombardi watched the police cars tool down the mountain with his prize, but Bowman kept his eyes peeled on me.

“Adam wanted to thank you personally, Jay,” Pat said. “He knows how hard this must’ve been for you. Don’t you, Adam?”

“Absolutely,” said Adam, joining Bowman in a fierce gaze.

“It’s for the best,” continued Pat. “We can’t have folks breaking into houses and job sites.”

“No, we can’t,” I said.

Adam dropped the eyeballing, reversing tack, and slipping back into his man-of-the-people persona. “You eat yet, Jay? How about you let me take you to lunch? Carter’s Steakhouse in Longmont is pretty good. Helluva rib eye. On me. We can even go to that diner you like so much, if you’d rather.”

“That’s all right, Adam. I’m not hungry.”

“Come on,” he urged. “We can catch up on what we were talking about yesterday.”

“Chris didn’t give me any hard drive,” I said, point-blank.

Adam laughed uneasily.

“Hard drive?” repeated Pat.

“Turns out Chris did take something from Adam,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Adam?”

Adam was too slick to get thrown off his game with any curveball tossed by me. Instead, he dropped his head, humbly feigning a mea culpa. “Sorry, Pat. I should’ve told you the other day. I didn’t want to say anything and get the guy in more trouble. But, yes, Chris came to be in possession of a hard drive of mine. Has a lot of private information on there.”

“Wait a second,” said Pat, slow on the uptake. “I thought you said Chris couldn’t get in the trailer?”

Adam repeated the same story he’d told me, in the same contrite tone, with the same genial appeal to help him retrieve his missing property. Except, today, it rang phonier than that politico smile of his. And I wasn’t buying a minute of it.

“—client finances, spreadsheets,” Adam droned on, “numbers and figures that Chris, in his drug-addled state, might’ve misconstrued. As I was telling Jay, I had hoped we could resolve this discreetly.” He made sure to catch my eye. “But I guess that’s not possible anymore. Doesn’t matter. As long as I get my property back.”

“Do you know where this hard drive is now?” Pat asked me.

“Last I heard, Pete Naginis had it. We could ask him. Except he’s dead.”

Another halfhearted chuckle from Adam as Pat looked on confused, and Turley weighed the gravitas of the comment. Bowman looked like all he wanted was five minutes alone with me in a locked room.

“Either way,” I said. “I don’t have it. So don’t send your motorcycle gang thugs into my apartment in the middle of the night to look for it again, okay?”

“Motorcycle gang?” Adam sneered. “You sound as delusional as your brother, Jay. You should catch some sleep.” He cast a sidelong glance at Bowman. “Erik, was there a box you forgot to check on your application? Are you in a motorcycle gang?”