Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry (16 page)

Trevor Reese entered the Boston
police station within minutes of Carly’s arrival.
 
He removed his gloves as he hurried to the
information desk.
 
“Where is she?” he
asked urgently.

“Where is who, sir?” the desk
sergeant responded.

“Where is the young black woman that
just arrived here?”

“The one with the Feds?” he asked.

“Yes, I imagine so.”
 
Trevor wasn’t sure if the FBI would have escorted
her here, but he knew it was plausible.
 
“Where is she?”

“They just took her in the back,
sir.
 
To process her in.
 
Then they’re going to question her.”

That seemed backwards to Trevor as he
hurried to the security door.
 
“Open it,”
he ordered.
 
“And tell the chief I want
to see him.”

“Yes, sir,” the desk sergeant said as
he pressed the button, the door unlocked, and Trevor hurried inside.

A patrolman walked over to the
sergeant.
 
“Still throwing his weight
around,” he said.
 
“You should have told him
to go fuck himself.”

“And lose my ability to feed my
family?” the sergeant responded.
 
“Not to
mention I just might lose my life when that asshole gets through with me?
 
You go tell him.”

The patrolman looked as if he just
might, but then he walked away.

“Yeah, I thought so,” the sergeant
said as he picked up the phone to notify the chief.

Behind the security door, Trevor made
his way toward Booking.
 
When he saw
Carly standing there, waiting next in line to be booked, his heart
dropped.
 
He wanted to hurry to her, the
way he hurried to Boston when he got the word.
 
But he composed himself.
 
He’d do
what he could to get her out of this jeopardy, and then get out of her life again.
 
He erred by going to her house in the first
place.
 
That was a disaster.
 
He almost showed his hand too much.
 
He wasn’t going to make that same mistake
again.

He walked over to Carly just as she
walked up to the window and lifted her hand for the fingerprint man.
 

He took her hand in his.
 
“Not yet,” he said.

Carly was astounded to see Trevor in
that police station.
 
Didn’t he say he
was on his way to Canada?
 
How did he get
back to Boston?
 
And why was he here, in
this police station?
 
She was as puzzled
as she was confused.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Reese?” a
voice said behind them.

They both turned.
 
It was the chief of the Boston police
department.

“Yes,” Trevor said.
 
“We need to talk.”

“Is this young lady the subject?”

“Yes,” said Trevor.

“The FBI are waiting to have a round
or two with her.”

“I understand.”

“There’s just so much I can do.”

“I understand,” Trevor said
again.
 
“We need to talk.”

The chief didn’t like it, Carly could
tell he didn’t like it one bit.
 
But to
her own astonishment, he caved.
 
And
escorted them out of the Booking room, and down the hall to his own
office.
 

Brent and Makayla entered the police
department certain that the most they could hope for was a meeting with
Carly.
 
But when they weren’t getting
even that much from the desk sergeant, they decided to change their approach.

“I’m her attorney,” Makayla said,
“and I demand to see my client.”

Makayla was an attorney, but as the
district attorney for Jericho County she wasn’t anybody’s private
attorney.
 
But tough times called for
tough measures and she didn’t hesitate.
 
She knew Brent, and she knew her in-laws.
 
They were not going to rest until somebody
eyeballed Carly in that jailhouse.

“Her attorney?” the desk sergeant
asked.

“Yes, sir.
 
And I demand to see my client.”

“What are you doing here with the chief
of police if you’re her attorney?” the officer asked.
 
Then he looked at Brent. “Didn’t you say you
was the police chief up in Maine?”

“I am, but I also said I was Carly
Sinatra’s brother.
 
I’m here in that
capacity.”

“With her lawyer?”

“That’s right,” Brent said.
 
He and Makayla were not the kind of people
who lied easily, and this was uncomfortable as hell for both of them.
 
But he’d do much more, and did already, for
Carly.

 
“You can’t go in,” the sergeant said.
 
“They aren’t letting her see any relatives just yet.
 
But I might be able to give her lawyer a few
minutes.”

“Fine,” Brent said.
 
It wasn’t, but it was better than not seeing
her at all.

“Have a seat and I’ll look into it,”
the sergeant said.

Brent had a feeling that it was a
stall tactic, but he didn’t argue with the man.
 
Not yet anyway.
 
He and Makayla
took a seat.
 
He crossed his legs, placed
his big hat on his knee, and placed her hand in his.

It would take several minutes, but
the side door eventually opened and a tall, well-dressed white man walked
out.
 
Brent and Makayla both looked at
him.
 
“Good afternoon,” he said.
 
“Are you here for Carly?”

Brent and Makayla stood up.
 
“Yes,” Brent said.

“She’s right behind me,” the
gentleman said.
 
“She’s just been
released.”

Makayla looked at Brent.
 
Was this a joke?
 
“Released?” Brent asked the man.

“Why, yes.”

“And you know this how?”

The side door opened again, and Carly
walked out.
 
“Carly!” Makayla said and
ran to her.
 
They hugged.

But Brent was still looking at this
stranger.
 
“Who are you?” he asked.

“Trevor Reese,” the gentleman said,
extending his hand.
 
“Carly’s former
employer.”

Brent thought something smelled
fishy.
 
Now he knew it.
 
This guy showed up at his father’s house out
of the blue, and then shortly thereafter Carly was arrested.
 
And now he managed to get her released?
 
Brent looked at Carly and Makayla.
 
“Wait here,” he ordered.

But Carly was confused.
 
“They let me go, Brent.
 
Why should I have to wait in this place?”

“Because I said so,” Brent said, and
walked out of the exit doors.

Makayla held Carly closer.
 
“It’ll be okay,” she said.
 
“He just wants to make sure.”

Carly looked at Trevor.
 
He smiled and hunched his shoulder.
 
“Anyway,” he said, “I’ve got a plane to
catch.
 
I leave you in the hands of your
family.”
 
Then his look changed.
 
It was almost an affectionate look, if Carly
had to describe it.
 
But she knew
better.
 
Trevor Reese never showed
affection to anyone.
 
“Take care,” he
said to her, nodded at Makayla, and left.

Makayla looked at Carly.
 
“Were you two guys an item when you lived in
Boston?”

“No,” Carly said, still reeling from
her arrest, from that night in Boston two-and-a-half months ago, and from
Trevor reemergence in her life.
 
“It was
a complete employer-employee relationship.
 
Totally professional.”

“But he’s the one who showed up at
your parents’ home this morning.
 
Isn’t
he?”

Carly nodded.
 
“Yes,” she said.
 
“Out of the blue he showed up.
 
Then he said he was on his way to
Canada.
 
But then he’s here within
minutes of my arrival.
 
He wouldn’t even
let them process me in, or place me in a jail cell.”

Makayla was surprised.
 
“He has that kind of pull?”

Carly nodded.
 
“Apparently so because they wouldn’t do
it.
 
Then he started calling in all kinds
of favors and the next thing I knew, the commissioner showed up and said I was
free to go.
 
There was no evidence to
support that I had anything to do with Ethan Campbell’s death.”

“No evidence?” Makayla asked.
 
“Even though they found his body in the house
you used to rent?”

“Right,” Carly said, and looked at
Makayla.
 
“Weird, hun?”

Makayla nodded.
 
“I’d say,” she said.

Charles and Mick were driving back to
the airstrip.
 
Mick was in deep thought
while Charles drove.
 
Silence reigned
supreme, as talking about what they saw at that burial site would only produce
speculation on top of speculation and none of it would give them any more
information.
 
Until the car phone
rang.
 
When Charles saw that it was
Brent’s cell phone calling, he quickly pressed the speaker button of his car
phone.
 
“Brent, hey.”

“Found anything?” Brent asked.

“Yeah,” Charles responded.
 
“An empty grave.”

Brent closed his eyes.
 
“Don’t tell me that.
 
Geez.”

“How’s Carly?”

Brent opened his eyes.
 
The news of the empty grave was only part of
the story.
 
“That’s why I’m calling.
 
They released her, Dad.”

Charles almost slammed on
brakes.
 
Mick was stunned too.
 
“They released her?” Charles asked. “They had
the hearing already?”

“No.
 
No hearing.”

Charles frowned.
 
“Then what are you talking about, Brent?
 
They released her on her own recognizance?”

“They released her,” Brent said.
 
“They never booked her.
 
They will not be filing charges.”

Charles ran his hand through his
thick hair.
 
It should have been great
news, but he and Mick knew it wasn’t.
 
After seeing that burial site, they knew it couldn’t be.

“And Dad,” Brent added, “guess who
was behind her release?”

“Who?” Mick quickly asked.

“Trevor Reese,” Brent said.

Charles couldn’t believe it.
 
“Trevor Reese?
 
But he said he was on his way to Canada.
 
How the hell did he get to Boston?”

“Who is he?” Mick asked.

“Carly’s former boss,” Charles
responded.
 
“The guy who represented
Ethan Campbell.”

Even Mick’s heart began to
hammer.
 
“Where is he now?” he asked.

“He just left the station,” Brent said.
 
“I don’t know where he’s headed.”

Mick pulled out his cell phone.

“What do you want me to do, Dad?”
Brent asked.

Charles looked at Mick.
 
“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Mick nodded.
 
“Hell yeah.”

“Get Carly and Makayla,” Charles ordered
his son, “and get your asses to the airstrip.”

“The airstrip?” Brent asked.

“Get to my plane,” Mick said as he
searched his phone for a particular number.
 
“We need everybody together until we can figure this shit out.”

Brent didn’t even question it, or
what they were going to do about the cars they drove to Boston.
 
His father had called in his Uncle Mick.
 
His father had called in that level of
backup.
 
It was out of his hands now.

While the entire Sinatra clan were
gathered in the family room, Charles, Mick, and Brent were gathered together in
the study.
 
Charles was seated behind the
desk, Mick was seated on the edge of the desk beside Charles, and Brent was
leaned against the window behind the desk watching and listening to them both.

“I don’t know how it can’t be one of
your men, Mick,” Charles was saying.
 
“Who the hell else would know?”

“It is not one of my men.
 
They have been checked and
double-checked.
 
They check out.”

“But who else but some mobster would
do such a thing?” Charles asked, his face flustered.
 
“Move a fucking body?
 
And take it back to Carly’s old house?
 
Whoever did this knows what happened in that
house.”

Mick knew what Charles spoke was the
truth.
 
“They’re coming here,” he said.

“Who?” Brent asked.

Mick exhaled.
 
“My men.
 
The ones from that night in Boston.
 
They’re on their way to Jericho.”

Brent unfolded his arms and looked at
his father.
 
Charles was staring at
Mick.
 
“You suspect something?” Charles
asked.
 
“I thought you said they checked
out.”

“They did.
 
But that’s the problem.
 
You pose the question yourself.
 
Who the hell else would know?”

“Maybe somebody followed you guys to
that burial site,” Brent said.

“Nobody followed us,” Mick said.

“But what if they did?”

“They did not!” Mick blared and
slammed his fist on the desk.
 
“I’ve been
burying bodies my entire adult life, boy!
 
All my life!
 
Not one of those
bodies has ever been discovered.
 
Not
one!”

“Until now,” Charles said firmly,
looking Mick dead in the eye.
 
Mick
looked at him.
 
“And you get control of
that temper around my son,” Charles added.

Mick let out a harsh exhale.
 
No man would have ever had the nerve to tell
Mick to get control of anything and expect to live to tell about it.
 
Except his big brother Charles.
 
A man he respected above any man alive.
 
The man who raised him, after their father
went to prison for murdering their mother, with love and an iron fist.
 
He settled back down.

Brent continued to stare at his
uncle.
 
He knew who he was.
 
He knew he was Mick the Tick.
 
As in an explosive ticking time bomb of a
temper.
 
As in mob boss who handled all
kinds of horrific mob matters.
 
He knew
his uncle was responsible for some seriously fucked-up deeds in his life.
 
And now Brent and his father and mother, not
to mention Carly, were caught up in that life too.
 
But Brent knew this deed wasn’t his uncle’s
fault.
 
They were the ones who called him
in.

The door to the study opened, and
Jenay walked in.
 
Charles looked at
her.
 
He hated that she had to be
involved in any of this.
 
“Hey, babe,” he
said.

“I heard loud voices,” she said as
she walked toward the desk.
 
“Everything
alright?”

Mick stood and began to pace the
floor.
 
Brent shook his head and turned
toward the window, looking out onto the well maintained grounds of his parents’
home.
 
Charles leaned forward.
 
“We’re going in circles,” he said.

“So now you’re a circular firing
squad?” Jenay asked.

Charles managed to smile.
 
Jenay always had a way with words.
  
“Something like that,” he said.
 
“Where’s everybody?”

“In the family room.”

“Carly okay?”

Jenay nodded.
 
“Donnie and Ash are asking her a lot of
questions, but she’s weathering the storm.
 
She’s pleased to be out, that’s for sure.
 
But she’s worried, Charles.”
 
Then Jenay frowned.
 
“As am I.”
 

Charles hurried up from his desk,
walked around, and pulled Jenay into his arms.
 
Mick and Brent watched as Charles held her tightly.
 
“It’s going to be alright,” he said to her.
 
“It’s going to be alright, Jean.”

Brent was particularly
concerned.
 
He knew, whenever his father
used Jenay’s rarely used nickname, it meant he was taking it to heart.
 
He might not have been saying just the
opposite, but he apparently wasn’t at all sure if everything was going to be
alright.

Charles leaned slightly back and
lifted Jenay’s chin.
 
“You know we’re
going to get through this,” he said.
 
“Right?”

Jenay was still anguished.
 
She was not the kind of woman who could
pretend otherwise.
 
“But who moved that
body, Charlie?” she asked.
 
“And what
else do they know?
 
Do they know that
Carly . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
 
Charles pulled her back into his big arms.

When they heard a knock on the study
door, all of them looked in that direction.
 
“Yes?” Charles asked.

The door was opened, and Tony stepped
inside.
 
“Sorry to disturb you guys,” he
said, “but a Ross Falcone is here to see Uncle Mick.”

Charles looked at Mick.
 
Mick nodded.
 
Charles looked back at his son.
 
“Send him in,” he said.

Tony glanced at Jenay’s worried face,
and Brent’s, and felt a twinge of hurt that he was not included in what was
obviously a family crisis.
 
But he was a
patient man.
 
His dad would let him know
when the time was right.
 
He left the
study.

“Who is this Falcone guy, Unc?” Brent
asked.

“One of my men,” Mick said.

“He was there that night?”

Mick began walking toward the desk.
“No.
 
He wasn’t a part of that crew.
 
He’s been looking into our Trevor Reese
problem for me.”

“Good,” Charles said.
 
“I hope he has some intel.”

Mick sat on the edge of the desk as
the door re-opened, and a tall, muscular man in a business suit walked in.
 
“Hey, boss,” he said when he saw Mick’s
familiar face.
 
He remembered Charles’s
face that night too, but dared not say so.
 
Men in his line of work never told.

“What did you find out, Fal?” Mick
asked.

Falcone walked up to the desk and
handed Mick a folder.
 
Mick immediately
handed the folder to Charles.
 
“Tell me,”
he said to Falcone as Charles began reviewing the folder.

“Trevor Reese runs a highly
successful marketing firm.
 
Reese
Marketing.
 
It’s out of Boston.”

“Where Carly worked?” Mick asked
Charles and Jenay.

“That’s where she worked,” Jenay
responded, “yes.”

“It’s successful as hell, boss,”
Falcone said, “with a powerful client list.”

“I see,” Charles said, reviewing the
file.

“But it’s a front,” Falcone said.

Brent unfolded his arms and began to
move toward the others.
 
Even Charles
stopped reviewing the paperwork and looked too.
 
“A front?” he asked.

“It’s a front,” Falcone repeated
while nodding his head.

Mick was surprised too.
 
“A front for what?”

“That’s the thing, boss.
 
We have no idea.
 
We couldn’t find out shit about this guy.”

“Then how do you know his marketing
firm is a front?” Brent asked.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not legit,
Brent,” Mick explained.
 
“I run Sinatra
Industries.
 
An international corporation.
 
That’s legit too.
 
But sometimes legitimate organizations can
help to mask other things.”

“You mean like illegitimate business
interests?” Brent asked.

“Like that, yes,” Mick said.

Charles’s heart began to pound.
 
“Are you telling us,” he asked Falcone, “that
Trevor Reese is a mobster?”

“I can’t say that he is,” Falcone
responded.
 
“I can’t say that he
isn’t.
 
We just don’t know.
 
The only reason we know that marketing firm of
his is a front for other things is because of his activities and his schedules
over the years.
 
This guy is all over the
place.
 
But he has no clients in those
places.
 
None.
 
Like right now.
 
He flew on his private jet to Canada.
 
But we checked his client logs.
 
He has no clients in Canada.”

“But he could have a new client he’s
going to meet,” Jenay said.
 
“I don’t see
where that’s determinative of anything.”

“And I agree with you, ma’am,”
Falcone said, “if that was all we had.
 
But check this out, boss,” he added, turning back to Mick.
 
“When he got there, he didn’t go to some
office or some house to meet with somebody.”

“Where did he go?” Mick asked.

“He went to a warehouse for the
meeting.”

Mick knew what that meant.
 
He had more than his share of meetings in
warehouses too, and none of those meetings were legit.
 
“Was he under heavy security?” he asked
Falcone.

“The heaviest,” Falcone
responded.
 
“Our men couldn’t get close
enough to see who he was meeting with or anything like that.”

“But you’re certain something was
undercover?” Brent asked.

“Warehouse meetings are never legit,”
Mick pointed out.
 
“That shit has mob
written all over it.”

“Or Fed,” Charles said.

Everybody looked at him. “Fed?” Brent
asked.

“Maybe that’s why he knew so quickly
about Carly’s incarceration.
 
Maybe he
has inside information.
 
How else would
he have known?”

“That’s true,” Jenay said.
 
“But maybe he was the one who led the FBI to
Carly in the first place.
 
They knocked
on our front door in less than a half hour after he left.”

“But why would he get her released
with no charges filed,” Brent asked, “if he led them to her?”

“So he could play the hero,” Charles
responded to his son, “and Carly would confide in him.”

“And he would try to get her to
confess to what happened that night,” Jenay added.

Falcone looked at Mick. “It makes sense,
boss,” he said.

Mick was beginning to warm to their
reasoning too.
 
“Yeah, it does.
 
It’s possible,” he said.
 

“But how can we find out?” Brent
asked.
 
“How can we test this
possibility?”

“Only one way,” Mick responded.
 
Then he looked at Charles.
 
“Carly is going to have to bait him out,” he
said.

But Charles was already shaking his
head.
 
“No way.”

“It’s the only way, Charles,” Mick
said.
 
“If I was certain he was mob, then
her services would not be needed.
 
I
would know how to bait him myself.
 
But
if he’s Fed as you suggest, then we can’t do anything until we find out what
level of Fed are we dealing with.
 
Until
we find out just what is he up to concerning Carly’s situation.”

“And how is my daughter expected to
get to the bottom of this?” Charles asked.

“This is her life.
 
This is her future we’re talking about.
 
She’ll wine him, she’ll dine him, she’ll give
him whatever he wants.
 
She’ll fuck him
if she has to.”

“Now just a minute!” Brent started,
but Charles held up his hand.

“Go on,” Charles said to Mick.