Jamie Hill Triple Threat (39 page)

"Well, um…" Costa shifted from one foot to the other. "We don't come out looking so good in this one. There were evidently three suspects. They split up and got away.
But
, we're tracing the truck rental,
and
there was a tidy little chunk of cocaine tucked away in one of the crates." He glanced at his records. "About ten kilos, twenty-two pounds."

Brady whistled. "Son-of-a-bitch. We need to get the dogs over there to sniff out the rest of that warehouse. If—"

Forrest stepped into the bullpen. "
Marshall
! Costa!"

Costa tapped the paper in his hand.

Brady nodded and approached the lieutenant. "I just heard. Have they got the canine corps over there yet?"

"Should be there now. Get on the scene and pull patrol's heads out of their asses. See what you can figure out."

"On our way." He nodded to Costa. "You have the address?"

"Yep." He headed for the exit, with Brady on his heels.

"I'll drive." Costa pulled keys from his pocket when they reached his vehicle first.

"Works for me." Brady snatched the sheet of paper from his hand and got into the tan SUV. "This is nice, man. A couple years newer than mine, and so clean. A person could never tell you have kids." He glanced at the two child car seats in the back. "Well, almost."

"Don't give me shit," Costa replied affably. "It's a real pain to drag those things in and out, and if Rose needs me to pick the kids up…"

"I know, I didn't say anything bad." Brady thought for one moment what it might be like to have children with Gina and brushed the idea aside. Unless one of them was willing to change diapers, it was probably not a good idea.

His mind drifted back to her.
Also not a good idea, while working a case
. He shook his head and said, "Let me read this sheet real quick and get up to speed."

"Go ahead." Costa drove to their destination.

"It doesn't say who owns this particular warehouse."

"I don't think they had that information initially on the scene. I'm sure they do now, or we can call the office and get it."

"They better fucking have it," Brady muttered.

Costa glanced at him sideways. "You're not really going to ream the patrol officers like Forrest suggested, are you?"

Brady smiled. "Nah. I remember what it was like when I was in their shoes. I try to treat them like I would have wanted the detectives to treat me."

"Good." Costa's relief was visible. "I still got lots of friends over there."

"No worries." He looked around as they approached the warehouse district, and targeted the one with the truck surrounded by a circle of patrol cars. Brady hopped out as soon as the vehicle came to a stop and walked quickly to the crime scene perimeter.

He flashed his badge at the officer next to the orange cones. "Special Investigations."

"Yes, sir." The uniformed man nodded him in.

"Is the owner here yet?"

"I believe so, sir. Over there, talking with the captain."

Brady turned to where the small group of people converged. The owner was apparently a dark-haired, fifty-ish man with thick black glasses and a cheap suit. "Come on," Brady said over his shoulder to Costa, and they headed in that direction.

The captain was someone Brady knew, a competent woman named Reiger. Dark-skinned with hair pulled back into a tight knot, she generally wore a no-nonsense expression. Today was no exception. She watched them approach and nodded. "
Marshall
, good. This is Richard Allen of Allen Imports. He's the owner of this property, where the burglary attempt took place today. He was just getting ready to tell us what he knows about the ten kilos of coke tucked inside."

Allen's pudgy face reddened. "I told you, I don't know anything about the drugs. I run a clean operation here. Those parcels were brought in a few days ago, totally sealed, and were waiting to be processed and shipped out." He raised his hands in a shrug. "What can you do? I have to trust my customers to a certain extent. I can't search through each of the crates that come in here personally."

Brady scanned the scene and then looked at Allen. "For one thing, you can get a better grade of customers. We need detailed records on who owns this shipment, or your ass is on the line for over two million dollars' worth of blow."

"I'm having the records sent over here right now. Look, Detective, two mil might be the street value, but it's not worth that as is—maybe half that. I've done business in this town for over thirty years. You really think I'm going to jeopardize my outfit and my reputation by allowing this kind of shit to happen?"

Brady rolled his eyes. "People have done a lot less for a million dollars. You can't expect us to believe this is the first time drugs have ever been smuggled through your little operation. A million a month, maybe a million a week—who knows what kind of profits you have stashed away for a rainy day?" He took a step closer to the man who'd started to perspire. "But we're going to find out. Starting right now, your business is an open book, Allen. I intend to find out what's passed through here, and what Roy Watts might have known about it."

"
Watts
?" A confused look crossed Allen's face. "You know where that son of a bitch is? He up and disappeared on me a while back. I had to get someone else in here to figure out my computer stuff, change my passwords and all the shit that goes along with that. If I see
Watts
, that little fucker, I'm going to strangle him." He seemed to remember where he was and glanced at the faces of the cops watching him. "In a friendly kind of way, of course."

"Of course," Reiger agreed.

Brady stared at the nervous man. "Save you the trouble, Mr. Allen. Roy Watts is dead. Someone plugged him in the head and left him to die in an alley. I was just reading all about it this morning when we got this call. Unusual coincidence? We'll have to see."

The color drained from Allen's face. "Now wait a minute!
Watts
was a good man. I spout off sometimes, but I would never have done anything like that to him. I trusted the guy. He knew a lot of details about my organization."

"Only confirming my suspicions that this wasn't a coincidence." Brady surveyed the area. The morning sun appeared from behind the clouds and all of a sudden it was bright. He pulled sunglasses from his jacket pocket and slipped them on. He turned to Reiger. "Costa and I will escort Mr. Allen to his office so we can get started going through his files. You'll finish things up here?"

"Yes. We'll let you know if anything else turns up."

"Thanks, Captain." He faced Allen. "Shall we go? With this new development, I think we'll have a lot more people to talk to today. Might as well get started."

Chapter Three

Gina stood under the shower until she was fully awake. She dried off and dressed in jeans and a light sweater. It was spring, but the early morning air was crisp and cool. After her conversation with Brady the night before, there was something she needed to do. She set out with determination, driving the twenty minutes it took to get to the big house sitting high on a hill.

She pulled around to the circular drive in back, where she'd always parked as a teenager. The grass was turning green after a long winter, and the two large flower beds lining the back of the house were neatly trimmed. She wondered if her father or his hired hand had done the work.

Rapping sharply on the back door, she waited a moment then stepped inside. "Fran? It's Gina." She glanced around, expecting to see the housekeeper in the kitchen at this time of day.

"Fran went to the grocery store. Will I do?" Her father came into the room, looking at her. Growing up, she thought he was a formidable man, tall and broad. Now he'd lost weight, and his slight frame made him look older and anything less than intimidating.

She smiled at him. "Of course you'll do. I came to see you,
Saputo
.
" She crossed to the older man and kissed his cheek.

"The language." He shook his head. "I would never have called my
papa
a smart ass like that."

"You call
me
that every chance you get." She fastened a loose button flapping open on his shirt pocket and patted his chest.

"That's because you are one." He shuffled to the sink. "Want some juice and toast? Fran got it all ready for me before she left."

"Yes. You sit down, I'll get it."

He shuffled to the table slowly, and she noticed how stooped over he'd become. He was only seventy, but his health had deteriorated the past few years. A surge of guilt nagged at her, realizing she didn't visit as often as she probably should.

She prepared the toast and juice, carrying it to the table on a tray. "How have you been?" She set his food in front of him.

"Still alive and kicking." His hand shook as he lifted his glass.

Gina studied him for a moment. His thinning gray hair was combed neatly across his head. He looked scrawnier than she remembered. Another wave of guilt washed through her. "Feeling good?"

"I never feel good anymore. Every day I just hope to feel a little better than yesterday."

Sighing, she nibbled her toast. The head of steam she'd worked up on the drive over was gone. It was probably her brother she needed to confront, anyway. "So Papa, do you go into the office at all anymore?"

He shook his head. "I haven't been there in ages. Your brother handles everything for me now."

"I figured," she murmured thoughtfully, wondering if she should mention her concerns.

His eyes locked on hers. "Tell me what brings you here so early today? I'd like to think it was a social call, purely to say hello to your old
pappy
. Unfortunately, knowing you, I won't believe it if you tell me it was."

She watched him over her glass of orange juice. "Nope, not really. I worked last night, and there was a police detective there. He had a list of warehouse owners in a neighborhood he's investigating. Seems there's been a bunch of burglaries lately, and the cops are checking it out."

"And?"

"Your name was on the list. You're one of two people he's particularly interested in."

"Is that so?
Affascinante.
Fascinating. But I can't help wondering, since when is owning property a crime?" He ate his toast slowly.

"Come off it,
Papa,
" Gina snapped. "You know damn good and well, he's not concerned about you owning it. It's what you're
doing with it
that's in question, just like it always has been."

He pointed a shaky finger at her as he raised his voice. "Don't talk to your father that way!"

"I'm not a child any more. I've been wise to the ways of the world for a few years, now. I didn't want to change my name, but you said it was for my safety and in my best interest. That pretty much told me you were involved in something shady,
Papa.
We've never talked about it because I didn't want to know. Now I do."

"There's nothing to talk about. Had you chosen to join your brother in the family business, things would be different." He stopped talking and a smile flitted across his face. "Perhaps you can be useful in another way. That cop. Does he frequent your place?"

"No." She stood up, feeling the need for space. She'd never been able to lie to her father effectively. "I barely know him."

"Why was he discussing his case with you? Sounds unprofessional to me."

"We were just talking. I don't even know who he is. When I saw your name on his list I decided it was time to find out exactly what your import/export business does."

He smiled. "We import and export, exactly like we've always done. I welcome your police officer friend's scrutiny. He'll find nothing amiss at our offices."

"He's not my friend! I told you, I don't even know his name."

Her father shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. If he shows up at your place again, perhaps you can find out. I'm sure your brother would be interested in any other information you can get out of the detective, as well."

"There's no way that's going to happen." She backed up to the door. "I won't spy on anybody for you."

"Not for me,
cara
,
for the family. You just said you wanted to get involved—"

"I changed my mind," she announced decisively. She'd never discussed business with her father before, and she didn't like the ruthless look in his eyes as they talked now. She'd had suspicions of illegal activities in her younger days. Danny paid much more attention than she did, and he bragged to her several times when he overheard snatches of their father's conversations. As she got older and more involved in her own life, she hadn't given the family business a second thought.

The name change threw her. At her father's request, both she and her brother assumed new, separate identities. She pulled the name 'Morris' out of the air, and used a shortened variation of her real first name. At first, it was strange, and then she discovered it was like a clean slate. Gina Morris didn't have a history. The new beginning was the chance of a lifetime. As the days passed, she settled into her new identity without giving much thought to her father or his business.