Veiled Threat (3 page)

four

At quarter to five
that afternoon, Giulia stepped off the bus into a mound of slush. She didn’t care. The cold, clean air—emphasis on clean—more than made up for wet boots. After the doors squealed together behind her, she shouted into the sky, “Doesn’t anyone use deodorant in the winter?”

She stomped her boots on the sidewalk. The streetlights turned the grimy slush pus-yellow. Diesel fumes stank up the air as the bus pulled away.

Everyone she passed on the sidewalk was bundled up the same as she was, so she got a little silly behind her scarf.

“O city bus, O city bus,

How filthy are your windows.

O city bus, O city bus,

How cracked and ripped your seats.

You stink in spring, winter, and fall,

Your pick-up times don’t work at all.

O city bus, O city bus,

Soon I’ll be done for good with you!”

She reached her apartment house’s front stoop as she sang the last line. With the skill of the cold and tired, she keyed herself in, stuck a hand in her—empty—mail slot, and quick-stepped the length of the hall to her door.

Giulia’s small apartment had one big advantage: it heated up quickly. Her teeth stopped chattering after only two minutes crouched over the forced-air vent.

New super-bright mini lights (fifty cents at last year’s end-of-season sale) glowed all over the two-foot artificial Christmas tree on the end table, lighting the corner of the living room. The miniature glass ornaments threw pinpricks of colors onto the walls. Starry silver garland, a matching star on top (two dollars), and artificial snow all around it (also fifty cents) made the apartment as festive as she could afford last year, her first year back in the world.

“I can splurge on a bigger tree at the after-Christmas sales this year. The World Market might still have those hand-beaded ornaments I drooled over. I’m not living on ramen and peanut butter anymore. I have to remember that.”

The microwave beeped. She changed into sweats and her fuzzy Godzilla slippers, flipping on the TV as she passed it. The newspaper ad of the used Saturn Ion stuck dead-center on the fridge rippled as she passed it. “Soon you’ll be mine, and my days of riding the bus will be relegated to memory.”

Leftover chicken parmigiana steamed up the microwave, releasing mouthwatering aromas as soon as she opened the small door. Armed with a hot pad so she wouldn’t scorch her hand and drop dinner and her glass of red wine on the carpet, she sat at the coffee table and hit the mute button.

“No news. Not tonight. What about movies?” She’d splurged on basic cable last month but still only used the TV late at night or on Saturday mornings.

Click. “No reality shows, either.” Click. ESPN. Click. Sitcom reruns. Click. More reruns. Click. C-SPAN. Several more clicks. Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed singing “Buffalo Gals.”

She hit the off switch and pushed away the remote. “I don’t care how much I love
It’s a Wonderful Life
. I am not going to end the day crying into the couch cushions.”

Instead, she powered up her antiquated boom box and put in Denver and the Mile High Orchestra’s
Timeless Christmas
. Sunday’s crossword puzzle sat unfinished on the other end of the table. She cut her first piece of chicken and studied the clues while chewing. The energetic, happy music made her smile, finally.

“That’s more like it.” She tapped her foot to “Sleigh Ride” as she filled in another clue.

The meager scattering of gifts under the little tree tried to depress her.
What good is Christmas without family?
it whispered in her ear
. Dozens of your relatives are stuffing presents under their trees and planning the huge Christmas Day dinner and gift frenzy. Too bad those relatives don’t talk to you now that you ditched the convent. Enjoy your second Christmas alone.

She finished the last forkful of chicken. Very good, even if it was bad manners to compliment one’s own cooking. Despite her shrewish conscience, she knew she wasn’t alone. She’d spend Christmas Day at the soup kitchen again, adding homemade jam to the adults’ trays and dollar-store toys to the kids’ trays as she dished up their food. In other words, Giulia Falcone seriously needed to get over herself.

The presents under the tree—no matter how few—proved she had friends, if not family. More homemade jams for Laurel and Anya; chandelier earrings for Mingmei, the barista downstairs from Driscoll Investigations; and her own sauce for Sidney, since the jams used sugar. The sauce was 100 percent natural. She’d already mailed Sister Bart’s gift: the same CD she was listening to right now. Sister Bart needed some fun in her life after surviving Father Ray and Sister Fabian.

Giulia dithered for a moment about giving Frank a gift, like she dithered at least once a day. Employees don’t give gifts to the boss. But they were more than employee and boss. But she shouldn’t initiate gift-giving—it wasn’t proper.

“Lord above, Falcone, what a flake you are. Grow a spine and give him a Christmas present. You know you want to.”

The perfect idea came to her while she washed the dishes: coupons for home-cooked meals. Frank ate at burger joints or chain restaurants and refused to go back to his parents’ even for Sunday dinner. All part of his youngest-child, “I can make it on my own” quest.

She’d have to create the coupons on her work computer since she didn’t own a PC. Frank would laugh at that—another instance of out-of-touch Giulia.
Cosmo
might not approve of her gift. Too domestic. Unless she found a Little French Maid outfit to cook in.

She snorted into the dishwater.
Not likely.

five

At nine fifty Tuesday
morning the Cottonwood Police Station looked more like an empty stage setting than an overworked, understaffed division of town law enforcement. Frank and Giulia hung their coats in the entrance-hall closet as the phone rang at the receptionist’s desk. A Bond Girl wannabe picked it up on the second ring. Her strobe-light smile blinded Giulia as her manicured hand waved both of them back into the central office.

Six desks practically on top of each other. Computer screens all in password-protected lock mode—most obscured by coffee mugs and stacks of file folders. Scuffed linoleum flooring, well-used rolling chairs, and not a human in sight.

They wove between the desks toward the glass-paneled door marked
James Reilly, Captain
, next to the kitchen. Frank turned the handle. As though he’d tripped a switch, three telephones began to ring and officers piled into the room. Two headed for the kitchen.

“Hey, Driscoll.” The taller one paused on the threshold. “Basketball’s canceled this week.”

“I know,” Frank said. “Next week’s still on, right?”

“Yeah. Joe, pour me one, willya?”

“Make your own,” the detective already in the kitchen said. “I’ve got the last of this pot.”

“Asshole,” the tall detective said without heat. “I hope the next old lady runs over your Harley.”

“Up yours,” Joe said with a smile. He made a show of sipping his coffee. “Perfect.”

Frank ushered Giulia into the office and closed the door. “Charming, aren’t they?”

The door opened again. “They just need a woman they can respect to keep them in line. Good morning, Giulia. Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. Emergency meeting.”

“Good morning, former boss,” Frank said.

“Since when do I need to be polite to you, former subordinate?” Jimmy winked at Giulia. “Good morning, Frank. Be grateful you’re no longer a member of this department. We’re getting flak from all sides over all these idiots driving their cars into storefronts.”

“If you’d arrest more of these delinquents, it might deter the others.”

“Do grandparents qualify as delinquents? I never thought the geriatric crowd would give me more grief than teenagers who text while driving. If the state would make yearly eye tests mandatory for drivers over sixty-five, my job would be a helluva lot easier.” He pulled a chair away from his desk. “Coffee, Giulia?”

“Thank you, no.” She sat. “I saw the latest accident on the news. At least this time no one was hurt.”

“Frank, you want coffee?”

“I’ll get it for myself. Behave.”

Giulia smiled up at Jimmy. “This is where you tell me how much better I’ll have it if I come work for you.”

“Well …”

“And this is where I tell you, as politely as possible, that I’m happy where I am.”

Frank’s wide shoulders filled the doorway. “And this is where I’m glad that I don’t mind black coffee when the need arises. Didn’t waste any time, did you?”

Jimmy grinned. “Doggedness. It got me where I am today.”

Giulia seized the opening. “I’m just as persistent. Thank you for letting us come talk to you this morning.”

His grin flattened. “I’m not happy about this, but you both know that. Frank, close the door.”

When the escalating chaos in the outer room dimmed, he sat at his desk. “I don’t have to tell you that in an ordinary situation I’d rip Frank a new one rather than let you in on a police case.” He cleared his throat. “My apologies. But you have to realize, Giulia, that this is our job. The police have a handle on this situation, especially since the parents refuse to contact the FBI.”

Giulia sat as though she was interviewing for the job he was always after her to take. “With respect, Captain, I think there are important ancillary facts that require more emphasis placed on them. The other kidnappings, first of all.”

“The other—wait a minute.” He clicked his mouse several times. “There’s a footnote in the report, but …” He picked up his phone and punched two numbers. “Poole, my office.”

A beardless Abraham Lincoln entered a minute later.

Jimmy looked up from his screen. “Poole, the Drury-Sandov kidnapping. What’s this about copycats?”

Poole shrugged. “The women yammered about dead babies up in Ohio and Erie somewhere. Months ago. Didn’t mean a thing.” His deep voice sounded like a classic Lincoln portrayal, but its scorn belonged to a TV political talking head. “Davis and I are thorough. It’s in the report.”

Giulia dug her fingernails into her palms. “Excuse me. This kidnapping isn’t a copycat. It’s the third in a series.”

His expression dismissed her. “Anything else, Cap?”

Jimmy’s gaze took in all three of them. “Yes. Unless you want six weeks of retraining, work on your definition of ‘thorough.’ I know Davis thinks you’re God’s gift to rookies, but if I catch him copying your attitude, I’ll reassign both of you.”

Poole glared at Giulia and Frank. “You’re telling me that you think those—women know more about investigations than me?”

Frank gave him a cold smile. “Nothing changes around here, does it?”

Poole sneered. “That’s why you’re here, Driscoll? Cap still thinks you got some magic insight spell that’ll solve the case and get your picture in the paper?”

“Enough.” Jimmy slammed his hand on a stack of manila folders. “Poole, I’ll talk to you and Davis later. Close the door behind you.”

Jimmy dropped his head into his hands. “Asshole. So much for the speech I had all planned out for this meeting.” He sat up and turned his monitor toward the end of the desk. “I will now do something officially stupid but morally correct. Come around here, you two.”

Giulia clamped down hard on her own speech.
Unproductive. Katie’s important. Not that idiot. Take it out at the gym tonight.

The small office appeared to shrink further as the three of them crowded into the corner. The monitor was not quite large enough to show two documents side-by-side at a legible size.

“Frank, I was all set to tell you to quit straddling the fence. You’re not a cop anymore and all that. But I didn’t realize Poole was still butthurt over always being in your shadow.”

“What about his partner?” Frank said.

Jimmy shook his head. “I won’t get anything useful from Davis. He thinks Poole’s the Ultimate Cop, no matter what. Rookies.” He eyed Frank. “I remember getting saddled with a wide-eyed rookie once. Giulia, did he ever tell you about the drunk nursing mother who squirted us with breast milk when we tried to give her a sobriety test?”

Giulia choked with laughter. It felt good.

Frank aimed a punch at Jimmy’s shoulder. “Are you through? I’ve got six separate cases waiting for me. Rent’s due next week.”

“Right. I’m going to spend my morning on this report. Poole and Davis can take over the Senior Citizen Weeklong Car Crash Flash Mob.” He opened a blank document. “Giulia, let’s have what you know, and we’ll compare it with what I’ve got here.”

Giulia opened her purse. “I don’t have all the details, but I know Laurel has pages of them. Can she email everything to you?”

“Sure.” He spelled out his email address.

Giulia opened her cell. “This’ll only take a second … Laurel? It’s me. Write down this email address.” She waited while Laurel repeated it. “Yes. Email everything you have on the other two kidnappings to Captain Reilly … I know it’s already ten thirty … I know it’s Tuesday … I’ll call you in a little while, sweetie.”

Jimmy waited till Giulia returned the phone to her purse. “Giulia, briefly. I see that the ransom deadline is Thursday. Does your friend think there is an underlying deadline as well?”

“Yes, based on the other two kidnappings. Neither infant was returned alive.” She clenched her hands together. “I wish you could know how hard it is for me to pretend I’m calm and detached about this.”

Jimmy gave her a brief smile. “Your hand-wringing and non-verbal cues are telling me everything I need to know.”

She didn’t return it. “Are they telling you how much I want to vent my anger on your homophobic detective out there?”

He closed his eyes. “I swear that idiot expects me to screen crime victims so every case he’s assigned to gets him adulation or a raise. I don’t make enough money for this.”

“If his omissions cause harm to the baby, I will show him the other side of polite, inoffensive Giulia Falcone.”

Frank coughed. Giulia started. She’d almost forgotten he was in the room.

Jimmy clicked his mouse. “I’d pay money to see that. The documents just hit my in-box. Frank, I’ll call you. Giulia, if you accidentally spill hot coffee in Poole’s lap, I promise not to see it.”

“You shouldn’t tempt people to be naughty so close to Christmas. Santa may be listening.”

This time they smiled at each other.

“You sound like my kids,” Jimmy said. “You’ll hear from me this afternoon at the latest.”

In the outer room, Poole was saying to the other policemen in a voice pitched to carry, “How many ex-cops does it take to screw in a light bulb?”