Dying for the Past (14 page)

thirty-three

Detective Mike Spence sat
at his desk with stacks of yellow legal pads in front of him. He was just hanging up his phone when Bear and I walked in. His face brightened—as much as his ever did—and he did the drumroll and cymbals-thing that grown men should never do in public.

“Bear, Cal's doc was on the phone,” he said. “Cal had some problems
this morning but they've got him stabilized. He'll be laid
up longer than they thought, so it's you and me for a couple months.
”

Bear rolled his eyes. “Terrific.”

“Oh come on, Bear,” I said, “Mikey isn't so bad. He used to be a real jerk but you and he bonded over my case, remember? And he's been doing all right this time. Cut him some slack.”

He grumbled something and found comfort in his office chair.

Spence looked on while he sorted through a stack of folders. “I could
use some help with these witness statements. And the coroner called—she confirmed it's a .22 caliber and the gun we found at the Vincent House was the murder weapon.”

“What about Clemens' shooting?”

“Same .22 caliber, but the slug was mangled too much for a pos
itive ballistics match with the murder weapon. They found a couple spent shells on the second floor, too, where Cal was hit. No prints.”

“Same gun. Has to be.” Bear gave Spence a brief overview of Angel's
stalking and his run-in with Ruth-Ann Marcos. Then he said, “What'd you find out about Bonnie Grecco? Any word on what the Feds are up to?”

“Nope, nothing. Captain Sutter went nuts when I told her. She's been on the phone with the Commonwealth's Attorney since I got back.”

“Great.” He shook his head and looked around his desk like something was missing. “Crime Techs are checking the camera for fingerprints and downloading everything onto a drive for us. We gotta nail this perv. Angela's had enough problems.”

“Yeah, okay, but with Clemens out, I'm buried.” Spence tapped the top of the foot-high stack of yellow legal pads. “I got over two hundred witness statements to go through.”

“Did anyone see anything?”

“Nope.”

“Does anyone know anything?”

“Not so far.”

Bear leaned down on his desk. “Does anyone even know Stephanos Grecco?”

Spence shook his head.

“Then don't waste much time re-reading those statements.” Bear
picked up his phone, dialed, and spoke with someone. Afterward, he retrieved a cup of coffee from a half-full pot by the doorway, and dropped back into his chair. “I'm putting a uniform on Angela's house. Then I'm going back to the scene to find what we missed.”

“Maybe we didn't miss anything.”

“We did or we'd have a lead by now.”

“I get it that it's Angela and all, but listen—”

“You don't get anything.” Bear jabbed a finger at Spence. “We need leads, not talk.”

I said, “Whoa there, Bear. Ease up.”

Spence stood up and grabbed his jacket from behind his chair. “And I get it you are still wound a little tight since Tuck's murder. But get off my ass, okay? I don't like partnering with you either. And if you haven't noticed, Cal was shot last night. So we're sort of in the same frame of mind.”

“No, we're not.” Bear dropped his coffee cup on the desk so hard it spilled. “Cal's not dead, Spence. It's not the same.”

“He almost was.” Spence headed for the door. “When's the last time this county had two cops go down—let alone back-to-back? Cal could have been killed. It could have been you or me, too. Just
—”

“He's right, Bear,” I said sitting on the corner of his desk, “scary as it sounds. Ease up on him.”

Bear stood up and headed for Spence.

“Whoa, partner … easy.”

Just as it looked like Bear was going to knock him on his ass—he'd done it before—he did an incredible thing. He stuck out his hand.

Spence, of course, fearing
deja vu
, ducked and stepped back. When he realized Bear's meaty paw was a peace offering, he stared at it and slinked back to him.

Bear said, “You're right, Spence. I'm sorry. Cal is a good guy. And I know how you feel—I do. I'm just, well—”

“Sorry to interrupt this love-fest, Detectives,” a voice said from the doorway, “but we need to talk, Braddock.”

FBI Agent Jim Dobron stood in the door—he has a thing about making an entrance and standing in doorways. Maybe he was waiting for trumpets or a drumroll. Or maybe he was a vampire and waiting to be invited in so he could suck the life out of us.

Can a vampire hurt a ghost?

“Who are they going to steal from us?” I had the wrong question. It wasn't “who” but “what.”

“I came for the witness statements, evidence, and any guest video you found from last night,” Dobron said. “And anything else you got. And I want—”

“You want?” Bear said, as an angry color washed over his face. “I'm lead on the Grecco case.”

“Not anymore, Detective.” Dobron strode into the room. “I guess
you didn't get it earlier. The FBI is taking this case. You're in support—just support. But we're all on the same side.”

When the FBI stole your case, they always said, “We're all on the same side.” This was true, of course, provided your side was doing all the cop stuff and their side stood in front of microphones taking the credit. Then sure, we're all in it together.

Bear folded his arms and leaned against Spence's desk. “Says
who?”

“The Attorney General's office—Ruth-Ann Marcos. But, I don't need anyone's permission. And you know I don't. She's already spoken with your Commonwealth's Attorney. It's settled.”

“What does she want with this case? I thought we got all this straightened out last night.”

The FBI man cocked his head and removed his round, wire-rimmed glasses. “You thought wrong, Detective. Now, I want a complete inventory of all the evidence you took.”

“Hold on. You didn't answer my question. What's Marcos want with a homicide?”

“That's classified.” Dobron picked up a stack of witness statement pads from Spence's desk. “I'm taking over. That's all you need to know. So—”

“Based on what—exactly? It's a homicide. Last I checked, the FBI didn't investigate local homicides—”

“We don't. But this isn't a simple homicide you'd be able to han
dle.”

“Screw you,” Spence said.

“Why Mikey,” I said, “how apropos.”

Bear smiled but it didn't last long.

Agent Dobron sifted through files on Spence's desk. “This is a federal racketeering case. We're in. You're out.”

“Just like that,” Bear said.

“Just like that. Are these all the statements?” Agent Dobron looked at Spence. “Get them boxed up and sent over to my office. We're at the county courthouse.”

“Bear?” Spence asked. “You want me to—”

“No, you were on your way to the morgue. Go.”

Spence nodded, flashed a big, fake smile at Agent Dobron, and left.

“Detective Braddock, I don't find this amusing,” Agent Dobron said. “I want—”

Bear laughed. “It's your case. Box all this up yourself. And carry them to your office yourself. But sign the evidence releases first or you don't get diddly.”

Dobron ran his long, slender fingers over his face and thought.

He had an expensive—like the price of a luxury car expensive
—gold watch on his wrist. He also had a diamond ring on his pinky finger. Ho
w did FBI government guys afford so much bling?

“So, is this the way it's going to be?” Agent Dobron slipped his cell phone out of his suit pocket.

“Yep,” I said.

Bear repeated me, adding, “Sign the evidence log and it's yours. But, move it yourselves. We're cops, not bellhops.”

“I could have—”

“Yeah, yeah. You could have my badge,” Bear said with a snort. “I've heard it all before.” Then he went and refilled his coffee cup while Agent Dobron watched him from Spence's desk. “Where is Bonnie Grecco? What are you doing with her?”

“It's classified.”

“I saw the movie, too. Try again.”

Dobron stared at Bear for a long time. Twice he started to say something, and twice he stayed silent. He retreated to the doorway and spoke on his cell phone, then returned and stood in front of Bear.

“Okay, have it your way, Detective. My men are on their way over. I expect one-hundred percent cooperation.”

“With what? I have no idea what is going on, Dobron. You stor
m into Grecco's house and whisk Bonnie Grecco away. Now, you're storming in here stealing my case. Look, if you want help, a little less storm-troopin' and some manners would go a long way. Until then, I repeat what my esteemed colleague said, ‘screw you.'”

“Esteemed colleague?” I said. “Wait until Spence hears about
this.”

Dobron held up a hand as his eyes read over the evidence list Bear gave him. “Whoa, there. Not so fast. There's a camera listed here you seized today. I wasn't aware. What's this about?”

“Nothing you need,” Bear said, returning to his desk chair. “A local matter. I'll take it off the list.”

“Answer me, Detective.”

Bear hesitated just long enough to send striations of anger raging over Agent Dobron's face. Then, just when I thought Agent Dobron would explode, Bear gave him a thin summary of the incident at Angel's house. He left out the photographs involving Poor Nic. “See, just a local thing.”

“Right, a local thing.” Agent Dobron eyed him. “All right, Detective, so what are you holding back?”

Bear winked. “Sorry, it's classified.”

thirty-four

I arrived home later
in the afternoon to find Angel slipping on a spring jacket at our front door. She was on her cell phone but hung up as I popped in.

“We going somewhere? I wanted to talk to you about Poor Nic.”

“I have to go over to the Vincent House.” She waved her phone in the air. “I've been trying to reach the caterer and can't. We're supposed to meet to go over the bill from last night. I'm running a little late.”

“Okay, I'll tag along. So, about Nic—”

She frowned. “Tuck, I went there to see what he knew about Stephanos Grecco. He knew nothing. I also wanted some history on the Vincent House. He had it in his library and he'd find it and send it over. We were discussing the estate when you and Bear showed up.”

“Good, I'm interested in what Nic knows about the place. It gives me the creeps. Not just because Vincent is still there either.”

“Oh? Ghosts give you the creeps? So, the Vincent House is haunted,
right?”

“Sure is. And haunted houses are creepy.”

“Our house is haunted.”

“Sure, but just by Doc and me. I'm lovable and Doc is well, not so much—but he's quiet and doesn't throw loud parties. Hercule likes him, too.” I looked around. “Speaking of Doc, I want to talk to him before I run into Vincent again.”

Angel was halfway out the door. “Vincent? What about your new friend, Sassy?”

“Sassy? Oh, her. I can handle her.”

“You know, Tuck, it's hard enough understanding
you
being back—but others, too? And some flapper with great legs and boobs—”

“Huh? I never said she was a flapper. But the rest—”

“Watch it. Two can play the same game.”

She was right. And she could play a lot easier than me. “You know, Vincent is a little rough around the edges, but his bourbon is good. As long as I can find Benjamin and some book, I think he'll let me come around now and then for a drink.”

“Wonderful. Maybe we can double date.”

“Hey, I thought the same thing.”

She rolled her eyes as Hercule trotted in carrying his leash in his mouth. “No, sorry, boy. You have to stay here and guard the house.”

Moan.

Doc walked out of my den. “Oliver, a word please.”

When anyone else called me “Oliver” I corrected them—Doc was futile. “I'm heading—”

“To Vincent Calaprese's house. I know. The Vincent House is what I wish to speak with you about.”

“Can't it wait until I get back?”

“If it could, I would not be standing here, would I? Use your head, Oliver.”

Doc was such a kidder.

“Okay.” I turned to Angel. “Go on ahead, I'll catch up.”

She dialed her phone again, nodded, and left.

Doc summoned me into the den. “Oliver, I think it's in everyone's
best interest—in particular yours—if you did not return there. Ever.”

“Ever? Look, if the Vincent House is dangerous, I can't let Angel
go alone. Now can I?”

He thought a moment, adjusting the stethoscope around his neck. “You are correct. Don't let her go. It is a dangerous place. I warned you before and you're not listening—as usual. Too much has happened there. And I'm not talking about last night.”

Oh? “Then, tell me, Doc.”

“I don't wish to.”

“I'll ask Sassy—”

“No, I forbid you.”

“Forbid me? You tried to forbid me once before. How'd it work for you?”

“Oliver, don't cross me on this.” He pointed an aged finger at me and his eyes narrowed like a great-grandfather about to scold me. No, not like—
exactly
. “You listen to me, Oliver. Listen good. Vincent Calaprese is a very dangerous man. He was a thug and a killer back in my day and he is far worse now. Don't let his smiles
and pleasantries fool you. If he contacts you, it isn't to share his
liquor and Sancho Panza's—”

“Those were Cuban cigars? I could get used to those. Although I don't smoke. But—”

“Dear God, focus, Oliver. Focus.” He rolled his eyes. “If he contacts you it's because he wants something. And he won't take ‘no' for an answer. He's dangerous, even to us. Stay away from him.”

Doc never acted like this before and it bothered me. Oh, he'd warned me about things here and there—like not focusing and using my spirit-tricks too much—but he had never been so agitated and ornery. And never, in the months I'd known him, had he ever wanted me to hide from anything.

“Look, Doc, you gotta tell me what you're worried about. Tell me what's going on. What has your stethoscope all twisted?”

“You, Oliver. You're too impetuous and you don't listen.”

“Other than the obvious?”

“You failed the last time I warned you, remember? Think of your
failures when you went about investigating your own murder.”

He was referring to the time I figured out a way to do battle with an assassin trying to kill Angel. I overdid it a little—well, a lot—and disappeared for days. It sucked the energy and spirit right out of me. Almost killed me for good. I didn't know it, of course, but he did. It was just one of those things, like parachuting out of your window with a bed sheet or a teenage drinking game gone bad. Okay, maybe worse.

“Hey, lighten up, Doc. Just tell me the truth.”

Doc thrust his scalpel-finger into my chest and it hurt. “Oliver, I told you. Vincent Calaprese was a dangerous man and is an even more dangerous spirit. We cannot afford to cross him and we can less afford to help him.”

“You've already given me the hokey ‘he's a dangerous man and ghost' speech. You sound afraid of him.”

“Yes, afraid.” Doc's image was losing focus and fading into nothing. “And Oliver, one more thing. It's the most important thing, too.”

I thought everything he said was the most important thing. “What?”

“The book, Oliver.” Doc was just a voice. “We have to protect the book.”