Full Speed (10 page)

"I could have nicked him," Dave said.

"I was in the truck when the deer ran out in front of you, Dave," Max went on. "You missed him by a mile. We've gone back to look for him twice. If you had hit him he'd be dead by the road."

"Not necessarily. He could have wandered off. He might be lying in a gully in pain at this very moment."

"Try not to think about it," Max said. "We have to worry about Jamie right now. She has a hot date tonight."

Dave looked at Jamie. "Man, you move fast."

Jamie rolled her eyes at Max. "Thanks."

Dave stepped closer to Max. "Are my eyes red?"

"They look perfectly fine to me."

"I can't remember if I took my allergy pill this morning. I should probably count them."

"Dave likes to count his pills," Max told Jamie. "And when he's not counting his pills he counts license tags and telephone poles."

Dave, who'd reached into his pants pocket for his prescription bottle, simply stood there. "It's what I do," he finally said. He glanced at Jamie. "Didn't your new boyfriend notice you were wearing a wedding ring?"

"It doesn't matter. Michael and I are going to have an affair anyway."

Max tried to hide his amusement. "They can't help themselves, Dave. They took one look at each other and their morals flew right out the window."

Dave didn't seem to be listening. "I should probably run down and take another look just to make sure that deer is OK."

Max stood. "I need to check in with Muffin."

Jamie watched him go, then sank onto the sofa. If only she could tell him what she thought she knew.

"That thing is covered with dust mites," Dave said.

Jamie just looked at him.

* * * * *

Max climbed into the truck. "Have you got anything on Santoni yet?" he asked Muffin.

"Your timing is perfect. I just found Santoni's address."

"Damn, that's great news," Max said, grinning. "Just what we've been waiting for."

"His place is about forty-five minutes from here. It would have been a whole lot easier finding him if the man put things in his own name, but like I said before, he has a number of aliases."

"You have my undivided attention."

"The name Juliano has popped up a couple of times in the family tree. It was Nick's mother's maiden name; seems Nick borrows from that tree now and then just to keep people guessing. Nick's sister was named Bethany-Ann Juliano Santoni, if you can believe it."

"I didn't know he had a sister. Nothing we've pulled up mentioned siblings."

"I was playing around with birth records and discovered Santoni's mother, Mary-Bethany Elizabeth Juliano Santoni, gave birth to twins in a hospital in Carlstadt, New Jersey. Michael Nicholas and Bethany-Ann Juliano."

"That's interesting."

"Yeah, but this is where it gets weird. Bethany-Ann died at birth. That didn't stop Nick from borrowing. He's using the name Michael Juliano."

"What else?"

"I discovered Nick Santoni attended Saint Teresa's Holiness School in Carlstadt, New Jersey, but that was before computers, so I can't get anything more. He had a couple of best friends, Rudolf Marconi or Rudy, as they call him, and Thomas Peter Bennetti."

"I'm having trouble keeping up with all these names," Max said.

"Most of these guys are Catholics, and you often find their names contain one of the saints. Go figure. I've found various mortgages in and around Knoxville owned by a Michael Juliano. Marconi owns a couple of bars in Knoxville."

"What about the other guy? Bennetti."

"He sort of dropped out of the picture."

* * * * *

Nick Santoni's home was perched high on a mountain and surrounded by a massive brick wall, the house built of stone and granite that had been dragged up the side of the mountain. Cameras sat atop the gated entrance, aimed in all directions. They were monitored by Santoni's employees, who watched from the office of a nearby building, which also housed a kennel of Doberman pinschers. Each hour, a man leashed two dogs and walked the property.

Nick pulled up to the gate, and in a matter of seconds it slid open. He parked in front of the house, unlocked the door, and went inside. The slate floors and heavy leather furniture had been designed for a man, and although Nick owned several properties in various locations, his mountain home was his favorite.

He strode purposefully toward a wet bar, poured his favorite scotch into a short glass, and drained it. His cell phone rang, but he ignored it. Instead, he poured a second scotch, sank into the nearest chair, and opened his newspaper. The headline stared back at him:
Renowned Evangelist Found Dead in Hotel Room.
Nick reread the article and tossed the paper aside. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

His cell phone rang again. With a sigh, he reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled it out.

"You've been ignoring my calls," the voice said from the other end. It was the tired, raspy voice of a man who had spent much of his life smoking expensive cigars with his brandy. "Is that any way to treat your favorite uncle?"

"I was tied up most of the morning, Uncle Leo," Nick said. "I couldn't talk."

"I've been listening to the news, Nicholas."

"Yeah?"

"You want to tell me about it?"

"What? You think I killed Rawlins?"

"Not at first. Then I started playing around with it in my mind."

"You got it all wrong. I'm as surprised over his death as you are."

"You mean his murder." The man paused. "I have always been able to tell when you're lying, Nicholas. You lied about hiring Vito Puccini, and you're lying now. I sent you down there to protect you. I'd hoped you would change. You think you can just kill somebody, bury the body, and that's it? You think the cops are idiots? You watch too many gangster movies, Nicky. The family is sick of your tactics. You've become a problem. A big problem."

Nick frowned. "The family is always on my ass, trying to pin something on me. If someone in this town takes a shit, I'm the one who gets blamed for it."

"You've been stepping in shit all your life, kid. Problem is, you track it all over the place so that your family has to walk in it. The police watch our houses. My daughter can't take my grandchildren to the park because men follow her."

"What would I have to gain by killing Rawlins?" Nick asked.

"You're asking the wrong question."

"OK, what's the right question?"

"What would you have to lose if he lived?"

Nick sighed. "I don't have any answers, Uncle Leo. I've got my boys looking into it. That's the best I can do right now."

"Harlan Rawlins was the only thing you had going for you."

"That's not true! I've got money coming in from a number of sources."

"Yeah, but he was your big fish." Leo suddenly went into a fit of coughing. "I'm an old man, Nicky. I don't need this. The family doesn't need this. Losing that TV network was a bad mistake, and we still haven't recovered that loss. I can't help you anymore." He paused. "You need to come home."

Nick was silent for a moment. "What are you saying?" He wiped a hand down his face and found it wet. "Have I been replaced?"

"It's best this way."

"Look, Uncle Leo, I'm in the middle of something down here, and I can't let go. I didn't want to say anything until I took care of it, but I've got Maximillian Holt and his girlfriend in the palm of my hand."

Silence.

"Max Holt has been snooping around, Uncle Leo. He somehow managed to trace Vito Puccini back here, so he found out Harlan hired him. Hell, Harlan even wrote a letter of recommendation."

"Which you forced him to do," the man said knowingly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Harlan Rawlins wouldn't know how to go about hiring a hit man. Do you take me for an old fool?"

"You don't have to believe me, Uncle Leo, but I'm telling you Holt is bad news. Hell, he has more connections than we do. He could have easily taken Harlan out."

"Are you planning to kill again, Nicholas?" The man sounded tired.

"Holt could hurt the family, Uncle Leo. He could expose us all."

"The family has done nothing to Max Holt; you have. And when you kill him you will have to kill his girlfriend, and then there will be someone else. It never stops. You create too many problems."

"Listen to me, old man! Your grandchildren will
never
be able to play in the park as long as Max Holt is alive, because he's going to even the score."

"I think you are very confused," Leo said. "You are no match for a man like Max Holt. You are a coward. Your own father knew this."

Nick started to answer, but the line went dead.

Detective Pete Sills sipped coffee from a chipped mug and waited until the lab technician finished speaking to another detective before he approached him. "Hey, Lance, you got anything for me on the Rawlins case yet?"

"Are you kidding? The chief has us working double-time on it. He obviously wants to look good in front of the media. When is his next press conference?"

Sills smiled. "You know I don't keep up with the politics around this place. I'm just a worker bee."

"You and me both," Lance said. "Anyway, we matched the pills they found on him, as well as those he'd stashed in his desk drawer, and it's obvious he came about them illegally, since the bottles were unmarked. This guy was taking a shitload of stuff. I'm surprised he could even remember what they were, or the dosage.

"I also ran a test on the powder they found beside the wine bottle, and the ingredients are consistent with those found in most laxatives."

"There was evidence he'd gotten sick shortly before his death," Sills said. "I wonder if maybe it was all that crap in his system."

Lance shrugged. "We won't know the facts until the autopsy, of course."

"I've talked to the wife," Sills said. "Rawlins's beatings sent her to the emergency room more than once."

"You think she killed him?"

"She had motive. Problem is, she can't weigh more than a hundred pounds, and she's a timid little thing. I just can't picture her killing her husband with a knife."

"Maybe she has a boyfriend."

Sills met his gaze. "It wouldn't have been easy. Harlan kept her in her bedroom most of the time."

"Sounds like he was one mean sonofabitch."

* * * * *

Dave waited until Max climbed into the bucket that was attached to the hydraulic lift to Bennett Electric's truck. "You got everything you need?" he asked.

"Yea. Once I attach the recording transmitter, I'll hook into the telephone line and run a test."

"Look, Max, I'd go up in the bucket if it weren't for my vertigo."

"Naw, I personally want to get a look at Santoni's place."

Physically finding Santoni's house had been no easier than Muffin getting the information that the property wasn't listed to Nick Santoni. Tom Bennett of Bennett Electric had been able to locate property belonging to a Michael Juliano in his computer. He'd given Max a county map and marked the area in red, but many of the dirt roads leading to the residence were unmarked. Max and Dave had combed the mountain until they found the massive brick wall that enclosed what appeared to be a compound of sorts.

"Don't forget to take pictures," Dave said. "Oh God, I hope we didn't forget the camera."

"I've already told you I've got it. Five times I've told you."

"Just want to make sure."

"Take me up."

Dave pressed a button, and the bucket rose slowly upward. Once Max was in position, he went to work. Soon it would be possible to access incoming and outgoing calls on Santoni's line.

* * * * *

Jamie had spent the day cleaning the cabin and working on her story, filling the pages of her notebook with her impressions of Rawlins and the town of Sweet Pea, as well as the faces she'd seen in the congregation. The bottom line: People needed hope, and Harlan Rawlins had given them that. Because so much money had come into his ministry he was able to make a difference in some ways, but he'd been more interested in lining his pockets and paying off those who were extorting money from him. Had he not been so greedy, had he not owed the mob hush money, Harlan Rawlins would have been able to make staggering changes with his ministry.

Jamie found herself wondering about the man. Had he always been a phony? she mused. Or had he started out with good motives, only to be seduced by money? And what about rumors of affairs and possible spousal abuse? What did the mob have on Harlan that he'd been willing to pay so much money to keep quiet?

* * * * *

It was after 6:00 p.m. by the time Max and Dave arrived back at the cabin. Jamie had bathed and dressed in a white denim skirt and navy knit top, minus the push-up bra. Her blonde hair hung free, falling to her shoulders.

Max took one look at her and arched one brow. "Wow. Your new friend is going to take one look at you in that outfit and forget about all his problems. Maybe I should go as a chaperon."

"I'm too old for a chaperon, Max, but thanks just the same. Where have you guys been all day?"

"Maybe you should sit down first," Dave said, "because you're not going to believe it."

Jamie looked at Max. "Oh, yeah?" she said.

"We found Santoni's place," he told her.

Her jaw dropped. "For real?" She couldn't hide the excitement in her voice. "What's it like?"

"Nice hideout," he said, "surrounded by what looks like the Great Wall of China."

Dave nodded. "Max attached a recording transmitter to his telephone line so we could monitor his calls."

"Wow, we're finally getting somewhere," she said. "Did you happen to get a look at Santoni?"

Max shook his head. He looked disappointed. "I wish. The place is under heavy guard. We had to do the job and get out so we wouldn't attract attention." He didn't look happy as he walked over to his laptop and sat down.

"We have pictures of his place," Dave said. "Or should I say his fortress." He handed Jamie several photos.

"Looks like a prison," she said.

"It's secure," Max told her as he checked his E-mail. "He's got almost as much security on his place as I do on mine. Of course, what I use is more sophisticated."