Blind Faith (19 page)
Joe shrugged.
"Fine.
In a hurry, but that's the way he is, always running to get somewhere." The older man gazed at Nick for another second. "I'm sorry, kid. I know I'm not helping, but I don't see the connection there.
Not at all."
Nick focused on the photograph of the two best friends. They had been close, throughout their years on the force and afterward, when both had worked at the
Chenonceau
.
"Me and my buddy, we come as a package," Patrick had told
Syd
on the day of his interview. He had said it half-jokingly but
Syd
had liked them both and hired them on the spot, Patrick as chief of security and Joe as his assistant. Joe, who had needed the job more than Patrick, had never forgotten how his friend had gone to bat for him. If he could help Nick
catch
his killer it would be done in a heartbeat.
"I know you and I went over what happened that morning many times, but would you mind telling me what you know one more time?"
Joe nodded. "Sure." He collected his thoughts before speaking again.
"Patrick was ending a double shift, as you
know,
filling in for one of his men whose wife had just had a baby. I was coming in. As he was leaving I teased him and told him to go get some sleep because we had a bowling tournament that night and I didn't want a zombie for a partner.
He looked at me, mumbled something and walked out."
"Didn't it strike you as odd, that my father would act that way, instead of coming back at you with a snappy reply?"
"Well, maybe, now that you mention it. But when you've been working sixteen hours straight the way he had, you're not exactly Jerry Seinfeld. Know what I mean?"
"I went to my office, which was next to his." He waved toward a closed door. "Minutes later, one of the bellboys ran in yelling that someone had been stabbed out in the parking lot and to call 911. I made the call, without knowing who the victim was, and then I ran out with the others."
He clamped his lips together and looked down at the gray tiled floor.
"When I saw that it was Patrick, my heart stopped. He just lay there in a pool of blood. I ran to him and he opened his eyes, but I don't think he knew who I was. I told him to hang on, that help was on the way, but it was too late. He died in my arms."
Nick was silent, the image of his dying father vivid in his mind. "I know you said you didn't see anyone." His voice was tight with renewed grief. "But you're an ex-cop, Joe. You're trained to see what no one else sees."
"I know. And I probably would have seen something, or someone, if it hadn't been Patrick lying there. I guess it was too much for me. By the time I did look up, the parking lot was so mobbed I couldn't have seen the killer if my own life had depended on it." He shrugged.
"Whoever did it was long gone, Nick."
"And my father didn't confide in you about anything? He didn't mention finding some sort of incriminating evidence against
Syd
Webber?"
Joe just shook his head. He had been through the drill before and no matter how many times Nick had asked the question, the answer was always the same.
Joe walked over to the coffeepot and half filled a mug with the thick, dark brew. "That killing should have never happened. Your father was one of the best cops the Philadelphia PD ever had. He was tough, he was quick and he was smart."
He turned, mug in hand. "But he wasn't quick that morning. Nick. He was just tired and cranky. That's why he chose to put up a fight instead of giving that bum the damn wallet like he should have."
Nick had said those exact words to himself a thousand times. They hadn't eased his suspicions. "Tell me about
Syd
and his reaction when he found out my dad had been killed."
Joe repeated the same story he had a year earlier. "They called him at his home in
The feeling had been mutual. But then something had changed, and unless Nick found out what that was, his investigation would go nowhere. "One more question," Nick said. "Have you ever heard of a woman by the name of Magdalena Montoya?"
Joe's eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Montoya.
No, I can't say that I have. Nice name, though. Who is she?"
"Just someone I thought I'd check on. What about Enrique Vasquez?
That name ring
a bell?"
"Nope.
Sorry, kid."
Nick was disappointed, but tried not to show it. "Thanks, Joe. I've been a pain in the ass and you've been very patient."
"Anytime, kid. I just wish I had been more helpful." The two men shook hands. Then, with that same old smile that reduced his eyes to slits, Joe added, "How's your sister?"
"Kathleen is fine. She and her husband are in
"He had planned on getting out next year, but now with a baby on the way, he's decided to stay in."
"Good for him. Tell Kathleen I said hi next time you talk to her."
"I'll do that, Joe. Take care."
The old neighborhood on
Nick stopped his car in front of a little yellow
Patrick had been a widower when he had moved to Brigantine. Though Nick was a grown man with a place of his own, he had come down every Sunday, rain or shine, winter and summer, to spend the day with his father.
Together they had taken long walks along the beach, fished off the pier or sat at the kitchen table playing cards. Joe, who lived three houses down, would sometimes join them and the three of them would watch football or baseball together, depending on the season.
Nick looked down the street at the
Massinos
' house, a white rancher with blue shutters and a blue awning over the front porch. Debris from last week's storm littered the front yard and some of the siding near the chimney had come off. Nick was surprised at the neglect. Joe had always been proud of his house and worked on it constantly, even after his wife. Dottie, died.
Across the street, old Josh
Cobum
stood in the middle of his driveway, squinting in Nick's direction. Josh was a retired fireman who had lived in Brigantine all his life. He, too, had been a good friend of Patrick's.
Not wanting to appear rude. Nick got out of the car and walked over to him. "How are
you.
Josh?"
The old man's face brightened instantly. "I knew that was you, boy." He tucked a stack of mail under his arm and offered a bony hand. "What in the world brings you down here? Taking a little trip down memory lane, are you?"
"I was in the area," Nick said with a shrug.
The old man looked around him.
"The neighborhood's changing.
Nick.
Kids are growing up, people are leaving. I hardly know anyone on this
street
anymore. My daughter just bought a house in
me
to move in with her. I'm
thinkin
' about it. Now that Joe moved, the
block's
turning shabby--"
Massino
moved?"
"You didn't know?" Josh pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "He bought one of '
em
big houses on
Those were pricey homes--too pricey for Joe. "When did that happen?" And why hadn't Joe told him? Nick wondered.
"A year or so ago.
Right about the time your father died, as a matter of fact." Josh shook his head. "The neighborhood lost two good people that year, but I guess Joe was due for a bigger place, what with three growing boys and all."
Nick thought back to the day Joe's wife, Dottie, had died and the concern in his father's voice after the funeral.
"I don't know how he's going to manage now that Dot's gone," Patrick had told him. "The two oldest boys can pretty much look after themselves but the young one can't. Someone's got to take care of him full-time.
How's Joe going to afford that kind of help? Dot's illness bled him dry."
Josh bent to pick up a twig from the driveway. "I don't see Joe much anymore," he continued, sounding a little miffed. "He calls me once in a while and he keeps saying we'll get together, but we never do."
That.
too
, was strange. Nick thought. Joe wasn't the type to snub his old friends. "How are his kids?" he asked.
"The
Massino
boys are fine. The oldest, Danny, started college this year at
Maybe, Nick thought, but the difference in salary still wasn't enough to
pay
for a new house on Harbor
a college
tuition and a full-time babysitter.
So where had the money come from? Only one person could answer that question--Joe himself.
Twenty-Two.
This time when Nick walked into Joe's office unannounced, the ex-cop's smile was guarded. "Forgot something, kid?"
"I just came back from the old neighborhood," Nick said flatly. "Josh was there."
Joe's features tensed. "Then I guess he told you I don't live there anymore."
is,
why didn't you?"
Joe shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I didn't think of it." He raised a bushy black eyebrow. "Is that why you came back?
Because I moved?"
"You know me. Always on the lookout for those little pieces that don't quite fit. And this one doesn't fit, Joe. A year ago you were flat broke."
"
Dammit
, Nick, I don't know what you're implying, but I resent your attitude."
"You know it's true, Joe. If it wasn't for my father spotting you a twenty every couple of weeks, you would have never made it from one payday to the next. Now you have a house on
Quite a leap, don't you think, for a man who could never make ends meet."
"The new job pays well."
"I know what the job pays, Joe. That's why I can't figure out how you've managed to do so well."
Joe pulled his shoulders back, his face pale and the expression in his eyes angry. "What the hell are you accusing me of?" he demanded.
"I don't know." Nick spread his arms wide. "Why don't you help me out and tell me."
"There's nothing to tell." Joe rose from behind his desk, his fists
resting
on the worn surface. "I don't know what's got into you, but
you're
way out of line here. I didn't do anything wrong and I don't
appreciate
you barging into my office with wild accusations--"
At the sound of the voice he knew so well. Nick turned around and found
himself
face-to-face with his old enemy. As always,
Syd
Webber looked as if he had just finished a fashion shoot for Gentleman's Quarterly.
Everything about him, from the open neck of his crisp white shirt to the tip of his tasseled Italian loafers, spelled out success.
"It's okay, boss." Joe waved his hand. "We were just shooting the breeze, weren't
we.
Nick?"
"The hell you were." Webber closed the door and glowered at Nick. "What are you accusing my chief of security
of.
Detective?"
"That's none of your business."
"Wrong. This is my casino and when you come in here, disrupting work and upsetting my employees, it becomes very much my business. I gave you free rein of this establishment when you were investigating your father's death, even though you had no jurisdiction in
"I have jurisdiction now, Webber." He hadn't planned on talking to him so soon, but the man was forcing his hand. "I'm investigating the disappearance of Jonathan Bowman." He didn't have to tell him the investigation was strictly unofficial.
"That doesn't give you the right to harass my people."
"He wasn't harassing me, boss, honest."
"Are you finished here?" Webber asked Nick.
Nick jammed his hands into his pants pockets. "I'm finished with Joe, but I'm only starting with you." He gave him a thin smile. "You got a place where we can talk?"
Webber turned around and walked out. Nick followed close behind him.
Nick questioned Webber for a solid hour, more to irritate the bastard than to learn anything new. The man was too smart to change the story he had told Kelly or to be caught in a lie. And though he admitted that Enrique Vasquez had performed at his
Now, as Nick sped along the Atlantic City Expressway, he kept thinking about his conversation with Joe. Maybe he was reading too much into it.
Maybe Joe had gotten one hell of a deal on the new house and a cheap loan for his son's tuition. The problem was, Nick just didn't believe it--any more than he had believed the
The one thing he did believe was his hunch about Enrique and
The next background report, the one Quinn had requested from the Las Vegas PD, would shed additional light on the mysterious brother. With any luck, the new information might even establish a definite connection between Enrique and Webber. The thought brought a smile to his face.
He couldn't wait to nail that slick bastard.
"
Mcbride
!
In my office.
Now."
At Captain Cross's thunderous command, all six detectives in the room, including Nick, looked up.
"Uh-oh."
Mariani
chuckled as he walked back to his desk. "What have you done
now.
Nick?"
Nick pushed away from his computer, where he had been typing a report, and stood up. "I guess I'll soon find out."
Cross was standing in his office, waiting for him. "Did you tell the chief of security at the
Chenonceau
that you were reopening the investigation of your father's murder?"
