Murder In the Past Tense (A Giorgio Salvatori Mystery Book 2) (25 page)

“Because it would have taken too long,” Rocky said. “Killing you. Burying you. And then cleaning up the cabin. They couldn’t leave a trace. It sounds like Robin was too sick to help, and he needed the insulin too quickly. He must have been close to what they call diabetic shock. My guess is that they were in a big hurry when they left. That’s why they burned the cabin down. They had to make sure they destroyed any evidence.”

She extended her hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been looking over my shoulder for over forty years.”

Giorgio shook her hand and then gave her his card. “We’ll wrap this up as quickly as we can, Ms. Riley. And if we can, we’ll keep you out of it.”

Giorgio and Rocky left and climbed into their car. Giorgio called Sheriff Williams and arranged protection for Amber, and then they stopped for a quick dinner on the way out of town.

It was just getting dark when they finally pulled onto Highway 18, heading for the valley. Rocky was driving.

“What’s our next move?” Rocky asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

They were on a two lane stretch of road with the mountain to their left and a deep ravine to their right.

“I’m going to call the captain, but I think it’s time we go arrest Edmond.”

“Shit!” Rocky snapped, looking up into the rearview mirror.

“What?” Giorgio said, twisting around and looking out the back window.

“Some dumb ass behind me. He’s right on my tail.”

The headlights from the other vehicle glared into the sedan. The car began to pull around them.

“Idiot,” Rocky snarled. “Where does he think he’s going? There’s not enough room to pass.”

Rocky pulled over to the right as much as he could to allow the other car to pass, bringing the guardrail alarmingly close.

“Jeez, I hope no one comes the other way,” Giorgio said, glancing ahead of them.

The vehicle pulled up alongside the sedan. Rocky waved him by, but it stayed where it was. Rocky glanced over.

“Shit!” he exclaimed again.

Giorgio turned, just as the van plowed right into them.

The sedan swerved to the right, smashed through the guardrail and flew over an embankment. It came down hard on the front end, and then bounced down the slope, banging over rocks and logs. Both men were thrown around inside, forced to hold on to whatever they could find.

Ten seconds later, it was all over.

The car slammed into a tree. The air bags deployed, exploding into their faces, while steam burst from the battered hood.

Things remained still for several moments. Both men sat, dazed.

“Your nose is bleeding,” Rocky said, pushing the bag away from his face.

Giorgio looked over at his brother, waiting until his eyes could focus. Then he lifted the back of his hand to his nose and felt the warm blood. He wiped it off.

“Who the hell was that?” he exclaimed.

Rocky glanced into the rearview mirror. “It was a blue van. That’s all I know,” he mumbled.

Giorgio’s head snapped around. “Then let’s get out of here.”

Both men disentangled themselves from the airbags and seatbelts and began to climb out of the car.

The car had landed in the center of a bank of bushes that encircled the tree, making it difficult to open either door. Giorgio pushed his door and finally had to lean his weight against it to get it open. He fell out and pushed his way through the branches until he was behind the tree. Rocky slid through a small opening between his crumpled door and the frame, and climbed through the bush on his side. Just then, a shot rang out and clipped the low hanging branch of the tree.

Rocky scrambled through the bush and slid on his butt down to where Giorgio was. They both removed their weapons.

“Can you see anything?” Giorgio said, peering through the bush, past their steaming car and up to the road.

“No. It’s too dark.”

Giorgio pulled out his cell phone. “Thank God!” he said when the phone lit up.

Another bullet winged the side mirror of the car, and they both ducked.

Giorgio dialed the Sheriff’s office. “Sheriff, this is Detective Salvatori!” he barked into the phone. “Someone’s shooting at us. We’re pinned down on an embankment about a mile or two out of town on Highway 18.”

Another bullet ricocheted off the tailpipe. Rocky crawled up underneath the side of the bush and squeezed off four rounds in the direction of the incoming fire.

Giorgio came up behind his brother.

“Can you tell if it’s Fritz or Perry?”

Giorgio had his own gun out now.

“No,” Rocky said, peering through the darkness. “Whoever it is up there behind those boulders.”

He nodded to the turn in the road where several giant rocks cradled the edge of the pavement.

A bullet whizzed past Rocky’s shoulder, embedding itself into an old log behind them. Giorgio flinched to the side as it flew past.

“Shit, he’s getting too close. C’mon.”

Giorgio backed up and scuttled to the other side of the tree. Rocky followed him. They positioned themselves behind the rear wheels of the car, facing up the hill. Giorgio lay on his stomach, with his arms stretched out under the car chassis, the gun clasped between his hands. When a gun flash lit up the night and a bullet hit the other side of the car, he fired. A voice cried out and a moment later, the sound of screeching tires echoed through the canyon as the car sped away into the dark curves of the mountain.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Giorgio and Rocky spent the next hour and a half at the sheriff’s office in Big Bear, filling out a report. Since it was clear they’d been followed, Giorgio called Sheriff Tubbs, who volunteered to take Amber Riley into his home until he got an all clear from Giorgio.

It was almost eight o’clock when he and Rocky hit the road again in a rented car. It had been a long hour and a half, in which both men had been chafing at the bit to get going. Their adrenalin was flowing and they wanted to end this.

Giorgio called Ron Martinelli.

“Is your uncle a diabetic?” he asked.

“Uh…yes, why?” Ron replied.

“I’ll explain later. I also need to know if Perry or Fritz might have access to a commercial van through your company. An old blue or gray one?” he asked Ron.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “Not through
our
company. But Fritz has a separate recycling business. He drives one for that,” Ron said.

“What color?”

“Blue.”

“Okay. Stay close to the phone,” Giorgio said. “I may need you again.”

He hung up and called Captain Alvarez at home.

“Captain, we have a positive ID on Edmond Martinelli as one of the men who abducted, tortured and raped a young woman up in Big Bear back in 1967.”

“A positive ID?” the captain said.

“Yes, sir. Her name is Amber Riley and she still lives there. We interviewed her and showed her four photos. She picked out both Royce and Edmond Martinelli’s pictures. We’re on our way to Edmond’s house now to arrest him. We’re about two hours away.”

“So how is all of this connected to Lisa Farmer?”

“When this girl escaped,” Giorgio said, “Royce and Edmond came home early. Lisa was hiding in the study that night when Royce took a phone call from Edmond. Lisa must have overheard them discussing the girl who got away up at Big Bear.”

“And that’s what got her killed,” the captain stated.

“Right. But there’s more. As we were leaving town up here, a blue van ran us off the road and then someone opened fire on us. We’re pretty sure it was either Fritz Martinelli, or his son, Perry. I think I hit whoever it was. I’ve already put out APBs on both of them. We don’t know which one tried to kill us, but Ron Martinelli just told me that Fritz owns a blue van. This is all coming to a head, Captain.”

“Good work, Joe,” Captain Alvarez said. “If you’re going straight to Edmond’s house, I’d better call in the Altadena police and tell them to meet you there.”

“Okay,” Giorgio agreed. “But no lights or sirens. We’ll meet them half a block up the street. Have them bring the warrant.”

“I’ll have McCready and a couple of our officers meet you at Martinellis. Be careful,” he said and hung up.

Rocky’s eyes darted toward his brother. “Do you think Fritz will be there?”

“Hell if I know,” Giorgio snarled. “But I have no doubt that Edmond is the puppeteer in all of this. I doubt the others do much of anything without his blessing. He’s a man who likes to be in control.”

When they pulled up to the intersection closest to Edmond Martinelli’s home, they encountered three other police cars – two from the Altadena Police Department and one from Sierra Madre. Giorgio and Rocky got out and Giorgio explained the situation. They were told that the lights were off at the home, but Edmond Martinelli’s car was in the garage.

After conferring with the officer in charge from Altadena, the group of eight officers got back in their cars and pulled into the big circular drive. Car doors opened and officers emerged with guns drawn, fanning out to surround the home. While two officers planted themselves behind their vehicles in the driveway, Giorgio and Rocky approached the front door.

Giorgio pounded on the door.

“Edmond Martinelli! Police. Open up.”

Nothing.

“Mr. Martinelli, come out with your hands up!”

Still nothing.

Giorgio counted to five and was about to call one more time when the porch light finally flicked on. He and Rocky stood back, their hands cradling their weapons.

The front doorknob clicked, and the door opened about an inch.

“Mr. Martinelli,” Giorgio called through the door. “We don’t want a confrontation. Please come out with your hands up.”

“No, Detective,” a voice called from inside. “I know the game is over. At least for me. But you’ll have to come inside to arrest me.”

“Mr. Martinelli, the house is surrounded.”

There was a mirthless chuckle from inside. “Don’t you think I know that? No, Detective. This will be on my terms.”

“Damn!” Giorgio said under his breath.

“What do you want to do?” Rocky whispered.

“I don’t trust him. He could have booby-trapped the entrance,” Giorgio said, glancing around them. “Step back,” he ordered Rocky.

Rocky backed off and Giorgio lifted his left leg and kicked in the door. The door swung all the way open, but nothing happened.

Giorgio signaled to McCready to have a team enter from the back. He waited a moment as the men got into position. When he heard glass shattering, he counted to five and then entered the house, his gun held firmly in front of him. He crossed through the entryway and cautiously entered the living room where an officer had just relieved Edmond Martinelli of a pistol and a cell phone.

“I caught him with these, Detective,” the officer said, handing the gun to Giorgio. Rocky took the cell phone.

“He had the gun pointed at his temple,” the officer said.

“Check the phone,” Giorgio said to Rocky.

Rocky scrolled through the call log.

“He just talked to Fritz,” Rocky said.

Edmond slumped into a high-backed, leather chair as Giorgio tucked the weapon behind his back.

“Stand up!” Giorgio ordered him.

Giorgio nodded to the closest officer to move in. But Martinelli ignored the officer and remained where he was. He turned to Giorgio instead.

“I’m an old man, Detective. I’m not going anywhere. By the way, how was your little trip to Big Bear?” he said, as if this was just a casual visit.

“Fritz told you we were coming,” Giorgio said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“So this is a family affair,” Giorgio snarled. “First you and your brother. And now your son and grandson. Which one of them tried to kill us up in Big Bear?”

Edmond turned and gazed out the window, his heels together on the floor, his large feet turned out to the side.

“There’s really nothing in life more important than family, wouldn’t you agree, Detective?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The old man remained silent.

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Giorgio said, advancing. “We met the woman you tortured up in Big Bear – the one that got away.”

“The one that got away,” Edmond said with a wistful smile. “A rather colloquial way of describing it, don’t you think? I told Royce we should have gone back and taken care of her. But he was convinced there was no way anyone could trace us. We were so careful, you know. We didn’t talk to one person in that town. We brought everything with us and then burned the cabin down when we left. Royce thought that going back would have only served to put us at risk. So we just moved our little hobby to other locations.” A smile played across his lips at the thought.

“Where? Where else did you go?”

“Oh, Detective,” he said, glancing at Giorgio. “I’m afraid I’m not going to just give up that kind of information. I know my time is up. I’m an old man. And an old man has to have a few memories that are his alone.”

Giorgio was near the fireplace and kicked out with his foot and sent the wrought iron fireplace set crashing to the floor.

“They’re not just your sordid little memories! These were young women!”

Edmond Martinelli merely glanced at the iron tools now splayed across the floor and then turned to Giorgio with a smile.

“Careful, Detective. You’ll have to pay for anything you break.”

Giorgio flinched and Rocky stepped in front of his brother.

“We know Perry killed Carson Montgomery,” Rocky said.

The octogenarian glanced up, his eyes reflecting a momentary surprise. Then he rested his

elbows on the arms of the chair and brought his hands together, fingers touching in a church pose.

“You’re all going to jail for a very long time,” Giorgio said, anger searing his voice.

“I don’t think so,” Martinelli murmured.

“What?” Giorgio blurted, moving forward again. “What do you mean?”

“No one’s going to jail,” he said in a casual voice. He turned very calm eyes in Giorgio’s direction. “I’m afraid that’s not in the game plan.”

“And I suppose it’s
your
game plan, isn’t it?” Giorgio said.

He flashed a confident smile. “It’s
always
my game plan, Detective. You…standing here in
my
living room is part of my game plan. The Martinellis have always had a game plan. Starting with the family motto and right up to the end. No one will be going to jail. But the world
will
remember us,” he said with a smile.

“Joe!” a voice called out.

Giorgio and Rocky turned. McCready burst into the room.

“I just heard it on the radio! That reporter, Mia Santana…she’s been abducted right off Sierra Madre Boulevard. Two men pulled her into a van.”

A voice shouted, “No!’ and a shot exploded behind them, shattering the silence.

Everyone dropped into crouches, guns aimed at Martinelli.

But Edmond Martinelli had slumped sideways in the chair, a gaping wound in the side of his forehead. Blood ran down his neck into his starched white shirt. A 45-magnum pistol had dropped from his hand to the floor. The smell of sulfur hung in the air.

Giorgio ran forward and kicked the gun away and then checked his pulse.

“Shit, he’s alive! Call an ambulance!”

Rocky pulled out his cell phone.

“What the hell happened here?” Giorgio spun around on the young cop assigned to guard Edmond.

“He…he must’ve had a gun tucked into the chair,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I glanced away for just a moment…and…”

“Never mind,” Giorgio snapped.

He leaned over and observed the elder Martinelli. The man’s breathing was shallow and his mouth had dropped open. But he was still alive.

“McCready!” Giorgio yelled.

McCready appeared behind him.

“Secure this area and wait for the ambulance. When you get this guy to the hospital, put a guard on him.” He glanced up at the young cop. “Someone who will actually watch him. We’re going after Fritz Martinelli.”