Jay Giles (34 page)
Tory was in a similar interview room down the hall. When Hennings opened the door to let me in, Tory stood, came over and hugged me. “I was so worried about you,” she said choking back tears.
I held her tightly. “I’m okay. It feels so good to be holding you.”
Hennings closed the door, leaving us alone. As soon as we heard it click shut, our lips met. We kissed, long and hard.
“We’ve got to talk,” I said softly and filled her in on what had happened to me. “What about you? Raines said you’d be with him today. What happened?”
“That was strange. I arrived at his situation room at nine this morning, the time we’d arranged. I expected he’d be there. He wasn’t. No one knew where he was. They spent a lot of time trying to find him; when they couldn’t, this woman took charge.”
“Angelica?”
“Yeah, they called her Angel. She pretty much ran things. Then about one-thirty, right before the wedding, she walked out to get a soda, never came back. After that, the place got weird. I left. Got in my car, started home. Hadn’t gone four blocks when I realized there were a bunch of guys in a van following me. I decided not to take any chances and drove straight here. Been here ever since.”
“Have they been questioning you all that time?”
“Some. At first, they wanted to know what Raines was doing. Then as it got closer to the awards show, they asked me about that. Ellsworth and I watched it on cable. What a gala. Looked like the Oscars. When the show ended, they left me alone. Then you called and all Hell broke loose.” She came over, hugged me. “Thank goodness it’s over now.”
“It’s not. D’Onifrio’s still out there.”
She pulled away from me, her face alarmed. “They’ll arrest him, won’t they? You saw him kill those people.”
“Ellsworth said they had to move cautiously.”
Hennings returned. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to take you to your rooms now. I’m going off duty.”
I don’t know what I expected. Certainly not the Ritz Carlton, but my room was a no-nonsense bed, toilet and sink.
Henning stood at the doorway. “I’m not going to lock you in. You’re secure up here, but I’d suggest you stay in your room. Someone will be by in the morning, bring you breakfast.”
“Thanks.”
The metal door clanked shut. I went over and tried the bed. Not bad. I got comfortable and immediately went to sleep.
Day two in protective custody started early, was slow, tiring. At six a.m. I was awakened, a breakfast tray placed on my bed. When I tried venturing out into the hallway, I was told to return to my room. When I asked for Ellsworth, I was told he wasn’t available. Whatever that meant.
I did call Rosemary and Dan at the hospital, made sure they were okay, apologized for what I’d put them through. Dan, bless his heart, thanked me for all I’d done.
I expected a tray for lunch, too. To my surprise, Hennings reappeared, walked me to the cafeteria. Tory was already there. I learned she’d been in a similar room, hadn’t talked to anyone all morning, either. “What do you think is going on?” she asked when Hennings got up to get more to drink.
We got the answer at four that afternoon. Ellsworth, wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie, met with us. He pulled the knot of his tie down, unbuttoned his collar button, rubbed his neck. “Paid a friendly visit on Mr. D’Onifrio early this morning. Asked him if he could account for his whereabouts yesterday evening. Of course he couldn’t give me an answer right away. Had to ask why I wanted to know, that kind of stuff. Made me work to find out he was at a party thrown by an associate, a VP at Shore. He called this guy in. I spoke with him. Of course, he confirmed D’Onifrio’s story, said twenty-five people were at the party. I got a list of names. We’re checking them now.”
“They’re cartel people. They’ll say whatever he wants.”
“I know,” Ellsworth said disgustedly. “I also met with Steve Shaffer, Raines’ boss. He told me he got a call at home from Raines Thursday night. Said Raines was feeling depressed, burnt out, needed some time off.”
“They made him make that call,” Tory said.
“You know that, I know that. The problem is they have duress words, words that let the other person know you’re being forced to make the call. Raines didn’t use any duress words. Not one.”
“That woman you mentioned—Angel—she’d know those words. She’d keep Raines from using them.”
“Shaffer is adamant there is no traitor in the organization. Told me they were a hand-picked team, impossible for D’Onifrio to crack.”
“What about her leaving the situation room and never returning?” Tory asked.
“According to Shaffer, she took a call about Raines’ disappearance, went to investigate, was back in the office later that afternoon.”
“That is so trumped up.”
Ellsworth gestured with his hands. “Shaffer’s covering his ass. He’s not going to be any help.”
“What about the blood? What about the bodies?”
“The blood is being analyzed. Bodies? We haven’t found any yet. We checked with the
Colony
Beach
. According to the desk staff, Enrico and the nephews checked out yesterday evening. Airport records show the jet left at ten for
Miami
.”
I sat back in my seat, dazed.
“I met with Pat Armstrong, the D.A., this afternoon. Went over everything with him. He doesn’t feel we have a case.”
“What?” Tory and I said together.
Ellsworth used his hands to tick things off. “No bodies. No cooperation from Shaffer at D.E.A. No chance to break D’Onifrio’s alibi. No winnable case.” He put his hands down. “Armstrong’s a political guy. Without something, he views prosecuting D’Onifrio as a P.R. nightmare.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Exposed.”
“What’s that mean?” Tory wanted to know.
“It means we’ll keep working on this. Keep trying to find ammunition for Armstrong to go after D’Onifrio. But I’ll be honest with you. Unless we get a break, that could take some time. I can’t keep you in protective custody forever. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to be on your own.”
Tory’s expression said she didn’t like what she was hearing. “You think D’Onifrio will come after us.”
“I don’t think he’ll come after you, Ms. Wright.” His gaze left Tory, settled on me. “He’ll come after you, Mr. Seattle. You witnessed him killing Enrico. He won’t leave you standing.”
“You can’t let that happen. You have to protect him,” Tory said vehemently.
Ellsworth’s tone was conciliatory. “We’ll do what we can. Short term, we can keep you here a couple of more days. Long term, you should start thinking about what you want to do.”
Start thinking about leaving
Sarasota
was what he was suggesting. Distance myself from the danger. What bothered me was I’d be distancing myself from it, not eliminating it. I’d always be looking over my shoulder, wondering if they’d traced me to my new location. “If I stay in
Sarasota
, what kind of protection could you provide?”
“I’d like to tell you I can give you good protection. But the reality of the situation is that I don’t have the manpower. For twenty-four hour protection, I have to use a minimum of three officers. That’s to have one person watch your back at all times. One person is not going to be able to stop them if they decide to come after you. I don’t know that ten officers would stop them. See my problem?”
“What do you think your chances are of getting a break in this case? Arresting D’Onifrio?”
“Like I said, not good. Usually, if there’s something to find, you uncover it quick. If you don’t, it means they’ve covered their tracks really well. No telling how long it will take then. Without something, Armstrong won’t do anything, either. He told me three judges and the mayor were at Asolo to see D’Onifrio accept his award. If he goes to one of those judges and says he wants to go after the guy who is so good to deaf children for murder, that judge is going to look at him like he’s crazy.”
I didn’t know what else to say. Tory was quiet, too.
Ellsworth rubbed his neck. “I’m sorry. I know this is rough on you. But I wanted to tell it to you straight.” He stood.
“I appreciate that,” I told him.
“If I hear something, I’ll let you know right away,” he said as he went out the door.
“D’Onifrio can’t get away with this. He can’t kill that many people and not slip up somewhere,” Tory said positively.
If there was a slip, two days of investigation didn’t uncover it. As each day passed, Ellsworth became more somber. Tuesday afternoon, he gathered us for a meeting in his office.
When Tory and I were seated, he leaned forward, elbows on his desk, chin on his hands. “I’ve just met with Armstrong and my boss, Chief Greer. Bottom line, nobody wants to go after D’Onifrio right now. Lot of pressure coming down to make this go away. The mayor just got a donation from D’Onifrio of half a mill for a rec center in a low-income neighborhood.”
Tory started to protest. He waved her off.
“The Chief knows it’s hush money, but the higher ups don’t see it that way.”
He was cutting us loose.
“I can’t keep you in protective custody any longer. If I do, it’s going to start causing problems. We talked earlier about your going away. Have you thought any more about that?”
We both shook our heads.
“I think it’s time,” he said softly. “At this point, the best I can do is give you an escort to the airport and get you on a plane.”
“When?” I asked.
“This evening if possible. Tomorrow at the latest.”
I looked at Tory. Our gazes met.
“I don’t see we have any choice,” she said.
She was right. But agreeing to leave was the same as admitting D’Onifrio had won. I had trouble with that.
“Can you give us a minute?” I asked Ellsworth.
“Sure.” He stood, walked around his desk to the door. “I’m going to make a Starbuck’s run. What’ll you have? I’m buying.”
He was trying to be nice. “A decaf would be great, thanks.”
“None for me, thanks,” Tory said.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“Why don’t you want to leave?” Tory asked, the concern showing on her face.
I got up, paced around Ellsworth’s tiny office, tried to make sense of the way I felt. “Lot’s of reasons. I don’t like leaving my friends, everything I’ve worked for here. I don’t—”
“You don’t like D’Onifrio winning, do you?”
I stopped pacing, looked at her. “No. I don’t.”
She stood, came over, put her arms around me. “I know it’s hard to accept, but let’s go while we’ve still got each other. He almost killed you on Friday; I don’t want to give him another chance.”
I hugged her, let go of my head trash about winning and losing. “I don’t want to lose you, either. You’re much more important than all the other stuff. Where do you want to go?”
She pulled away so she could look at me. “Have you ever been to Charleston, South Carolina? It’s a beautiful, historic town. Warm all year round. On the water. Great restaurants. I think you’ll like it.”
“
Charleston
it is. Ellsworth’s trying to get rid of us tonight, but I’d like to make some calls, go tomorrow.”
When Ellsworth came back with the coffees, I told him what we’d decided. He nodded his head. “I think that’s smart.”
“Would it be possible to have somebody run us back to our places so we can pack up a few things?”
He hesitated, probably debating the risks. Finally, he said, “Yeah, we should be able to do that. Best time would be the middle of the night. They might not be watching.”
That evening, I made my calls. There weren’t many. Rosemary. Julian. My banker. The manager at the Watergate. The Saab dealer about my car, the loaner. I told them all that this was only temporary, that I’d be back shortly. I didn’t want to admit I was leaving for good.
At two in the morning, three officers in an unmarked car drove me to the Watergate to gather my belongings. Another crew took Tory to her place.
I packed as quickly as I could. Clothes. Family photos. Laptop, Blackberry. Financial information. Cleaned out the food in the kitchen. Put it all in garbage bags, dropped them down the chute. Tidied the place as best I could. The manager would watch over it until I decided if I wanted to put it up for sale or do rentals. When I’d finished everything, I walked around the condo one last time. Looking. Remembering.
“Are you ready, sir?” the one officer asked.
I nodded. We rode down in the elevator, carried everything to the van.
As they loaded the suitcases in the trunk, I said, “One more thing I need to do. Just take me a minute.”
I walked to the spot where Eddie was buried, bent down, placed one of his favorite chewy strips on the ground. “I won’t forget you, Eddie.”
I didn’t sleep well after we returned to the station. Picked at my breakfast tray. Was annoyed that they made me stay in my room.
At ten, two officers knocked on the door, said they’d like to clarify a couple of areas on my statement. They asked question after question. Stupid stuff that we’d already been over again and again. It was a huge waste of time that contributed to my being out of sorts.
At eleven-thirty, Ellsworth arrived, sent them away. He suggested we have a bite to eat together before our flight at two. On our way to the cafeteria, we stopped by Tory’s room and she joined us.
Over lunch, Ellsworth gave us the latest news—or more accurately, non-news—on the investigation. “It’s not looking good,” he said wearily. “No bodies have been discovered. Shaffer admits Raines has disappeared but isn’t ready to say he’s dead or that there were problems with his staff. D’Onifrio won’t talk to us. Says talk to his lawyers. When we do, they start crying harassment. To top it all off, the mayor told the chief he thought we were wasting too much time on this investigation.” He bowed his head for a second. “We’re not going to stop investigating, but we’re going to have to be more low key about it.”
“You’re telling us he’s gotten away with it.”
Ellsworth looked at me for a moment, nodded his head. “Pretty much.”
I felt defeated. I had thought all along that something would come along, rectify the situation.
When we were finished with lunch, he gave each of us one of his business cards, told us to stay in touch. As we shook hands good-bye, he surprised me. “I didn’t like you at first,
Seattle
,” he said. “But you’re an okay guy. Sorry this turned out badly for you.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “I didn’t like you at first, either. But you’ve grown on me, Ellsworth. Crack this thing so we can come back. We’ll all go out to dinner and celebrate.”
That was the last we saw of him. We went back to our rooms, collected our luggage, carried it down to the motor pool area where an unmarked white Ford panel truck was waiting to take us to the airport. Two officers helped us stow our luggage in the back. When it was all loaded, we got in the truck’s back seat; they sat up front. The driver started the truck, pulled out of the garage area into the bright
Florida
sunshine.
He surprised me by heading inland. “Aren’t you going to take 41?” I asked. Once we got out of downtown, SR41—the Tamiami Trail north—would have been a straight, four-lane shot to the airport.
“I’m going to go 301,” the driver said over his shoulder. “It’s more direct, and this time of day, there’s less traffic.”
He may have been right. But State Route 301 was one of those highways with a traffic light every block. Drive. Stop. Sit. Repeat. After the fifth repetition, I decided going this way had been a mistake.
“What airline are you folks flying?” he asked, looking in the rear view mirror at us as we waited for the seventh light. He never heard the answer.
Simultaneous explosions sounded outside the truck. Both side windows shattered. Shards of glass flew inward. Blood splattered the windshield, ceiling. The two officers slumped together in the center of the van.
