The Kiss after Midnight (The Midnight Trilogy) (22 page)

Worth billions, Eichelberger has been repeatedly linked to senior members of the Russian and Italian mafias as well as large American drug cartels. He had maintained the legitimacy of all his businesses, reminding all who leveled allegations at him that he had never been charged with anything.

There was a grainy picture beneath the article, but it would be obvious to anyone in the know that it was Tobias. He swallowed with a dry throat, nearly choking. He poured a glass of water in the kitchen and gulped it down. His heart pounded. He felt dizzy but had to know what else the story said. He picked up the paper and continued reading:

Although it is not known exactly how much Eichelberger was worth, his lawyers have confirmed that his entire estate has been left to his estranged grandson, Siegfried Eichelberger, whose whereabouts are unknown. Siegfried, however, is said to have rejected his grandfather’s fortune due to a long-running feud.

It is unknown what will happen to the Eichelberger legacy, but—

The front door slammed and Tobias looked up to see Annabel staring at him. She leaned against the couch with her fists clenched. Tobias put the paper on the table and approached her.

“You’ve got no fucking money, right?” she growled.

“You don’t understand?”

“Don’t try to get out of this. You’re worth billions and yet you said nothing. I risked my life for you. I can’t go home. I can’t stay in the states and we’re running out of money, and yet all this time you didn’t think to tell me that your grandfather was this mega-rich guy.”

Tobias walked toward her and extended his hand, but Annabel shunned it and walked away. Tobias scratched his head and followed her. “He’s always been dead to me. I hadn’t spoken to him for years. My parents pretty much died because of him. I wasn’t going to let him buy me back with money. I have too much integrity for that.”

“Not now you don’t,” she screamed. “Or are you still not getting it? Everything you were is over, but with that money you can buy your freedom.”

“And sell my soul?” he shouted. “No, I won’t do that. I’d rather die.”

“But what about me? I sacrificed myself for you. Are you so fucking selfish that you don’t care?”

“I didn’t fucking ask you to!” He kicked the couch. “Maybe you should have just left me to die. All these people are probably dying ’cause I’m alive. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

Annabel sat on the sofa. Tobias sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. “Even if I did want to take the money,” he said, looking at the ceiling, “first I’ll have to find a way of getting to Germany. Can you see that happening with everyone here after us?”

“There’s a solution to everything, but first I need to know whether you’ll go ahead with it. No one will think any less of you if you took that money. Your parents won’t turn in their graves. If anything, you’re having the last laugh. A ‘fuck you’ to your grandfather. With his money, you’ll be setting yourself free.”

He stared at her. “Say we do go over there and get it—then what? Where do we go from there?”

She stood and grabbed his hands. “Wherever we go, it’ll be difficult, but how much easier would it be if we had that money? A million dollars would be perfect, but imagine how far we can go with a billion.”

Tobias pulled his hands away and frowned. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

***

“This just won’t do,” Wheeler said. The deputy director paced around Tom’s office like a man possessed. The newspaper article on Albert Eichelberger was on the screen. “How did we miss this? Tobias is the grandson of one of Europe’s biggest gangsters and we only find out after he’s killed in yet another gangland assassination?”

“We’re still chasing every possible lead to catch them, sir,” Emma said.

“Not good enough! There’s a connection with all these murders, and I want to know what it is. Eichelberger and Machado dying on the same day is too big a coincidence.”

The room remained quiet for a moment. Tom and Emma exchanged glances.

“Well, what progress have we made so far?”

Tom swallowed before rising. “Sir, I think this whole thing is a multi-headed Hydra and we have to look at each one independently. I’m not saying they’re not connected somehow, but we need to pick at it piece by piece.”

Wheeler sat down and took a swig from his glass of water. “Talk to me. What’re you thinking?”

Tom stood in front of the projector. “What if The Dominguez Organization is trying to wipe out all involvement with the Connor Murray debacle? What if Connor’s and Eichelberger’s murders were simply to eradicate all evidence of their complicity.”

“But what about the others? I mean, what have we got? Penélope, Reynaldo, Chris Hawkins and now the Madisons, not to mention Nathan. This is getting out of hand, folks. I want to know the cartel’s connection in all this. Don’t tell me there isn’t one either.” He stood up. “We’ve now found out that Tobias Mead is actually Siegfried Eichelberger, grandson of one of the men you think Juan and company are taking out. So tell me how he fits into this.”

Tom took a deep breath. “I actually believe that Tobias was nothing more than a man in the wrong place with the wrong girl. I think Penélope’s murder was rage and jealousy on the part of Antonio. His girlfriend had just cheated on him. We all know how much of a hothead he is. We can’t be sure of Juan’s part in all this. All we know is that word around the police precincts is that Tobias has serious evidence against him, evidence that can put him away for life. We’re still trying to find out just what this evidence is and if it’s actually real. As for Tobias being Albert’s grandson, what if it’s not a coincidence at all?”

Wheeler returned to his seat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked around the room. “So what about Reynaldo? Who killed him?”

“Well, we certainly don’t believe it was a mugger,” Emma said, rising. “We now know that Reynaldo was a love rival to none other than Antonio himself.” Wheeler’s eyes widened. “Antonio actually dated Annabel before he even noticed Penélope, but it seems he lost her affections to a certain Mr. Machado, something we’re sure the
comisionado
didn’t take too well.”

Wheeler leaned forward. “What are you telling me? That Antonio was seeing Annabel before Penélope?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom said.

The deputy director scratched his head. “What do we know about Annabel?”

“Nothing concrete,” Tom said. “But we’ve been to see her foster mom, and she’s been telling us about something she thinks happened in Mexico, something that changed her.”

“Changed her how?”

“We don’t know,” Emma said. “But we’re still looking into it. And, sir, you should probably know that Annabel’s mother was once a mental patient.”

Wheeler buried his head in his hands before striking the table. “I don’t want conjecture. I want answers. I’ve now got bodies dropping across the Atlantic with links to our own murders. I have witnesses dying, along with one of our own agents. I need this solved.”

“Yes sir,” Tom said.

“Now, what new evidence have we got on Antonio?”

“We had Victoria Madison, sir,” Emma said.

“Well, that’s over. We have to move on. What else?”

“With all due respect, sir, we can’t just move on,” Tom said. “We found out that surveillance footage was probably deleted. A witness who could have blown the case wide open was assassinated in broad daylight. We were on to something there and someone made darn sure she wasn’t going to talk. That bastard probably used a look-alike to clear himself. It gave him time to get rid of Penélope’s body.”

“But that line of investigation no longer exists. Who’s going to back that story now, huh? I’ll say it again. We have nothing as far as the look-alike is concerned or the missing footage.”

“But are you going to at least accept that we have a leak in this office, and a serious one? How else could they have gotten to her so fast?”

Wheeler took a deep breath and relaxed in his chair. Tom stood in front of him. “What about Nathan, sir? We have to get them back for that. They killed one of us.”

“Get who back? We don’t know who ‘them’ is. We need to focus, people, or we’ll completely lose it. Work the workable leads and leave the deadwood.” He peered into Tom’s eyes. “I’m truly sorry about your friend. He was a good agent, but as of now, you need to pass that case to the NYPD. I have some of our guys looking into the possible leak in our office and the disappearance of the camera footage.”

“The NY—” Tom took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

Wheeler stood up and coughed. “This isn’t over by a long shot. We’ll get them, but in order to do that, we need to prioritize our efforts. I want a daily status report on your progress.” He walked to the door. “We can’t let them win.”

Tom returned to his seat after Wheeler had left. He punched the table and looked at Emma, who looked back at him with no expression whatsoever. “Has the unit outside the house reported anything?” he asked.

“Nothing yet. Just a few of Jane’s friends, but no sign of Annabel.”

“And the phone?”

“No calls either.”

“Okay. I’ll keep looking into Annabel, but you need to look into Eichelberger. Find out everything you can about his relationship with Tobias. After reading the papers, he must be thinking about the money.”

Emma walked to the door. “Should we tell the Germans why?”

“No. We don’t want to spook them. We know Tobias can get out of the country if he wants. Let’s just keep an eye on things, but we have to allow him a way back there.”

***

Juan said a prayer before opening the car door. He straightened his black suit and matching shirt. He had embraced Jorge at the funeral but didn’t get a chance to speak to him at length. Three Lincoln sedans were parked across the street, directly outside where Reynaldo used to live. He watched the dead man’s weeping mother embrace relatives before she entered the house.

The passenger door opened, and Andrés stepped out in his pinstripe suit. He walked beside the
gobernador
and gestured for Pablo and Nino to remain by the car.

“How do you think he’s doing?” Andrés asked.

Juan glared at him. “How do you think? He cared a lot for Reynaldo. It must be killing him inside.”

“You know what he’ll want, don’t you?”

Juan nodded. “It’s only natural to want revenge.” He walked toward the house, and the door opened before he got there. Eduardo stepped out. He had taken off his blazer, and only wore a white shirt with his black pants.

“How is he?” Juan asked.

Eduardo angrily shook his head. “He’s mad, I’m mad. What’s happening, Juan?”

Juan gave him a stern look. “Things are out of control at the moment, but we can’t lose ourselves in it. Understand?”

Eduardo looked at the ground, his lips twitching. Juan stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. Old friends of Reynaldo’s greeted him, some shaking his hand. He looked up the stairs as Reynaldo’s mother, Salma, came down. He took a step back and extended his arms to her. She embraced him and sniffled.

“I’m so sorry,” Juan said. “It’s a terrible thing what our streets are becoming.”

She wiped her tears and looked at him. A fleeting scowl gave way to a crooked smile that she seemed to force. “What are we going to do? I don’t know what they wanted from my boy. His watch? His money? All I know is that he’s dead and someone’s walking around with no punishment.”

“You have my word, Salma. I’ll find out who did this and they’ll pay.”

“Will they? Is my son important enough?”

“He was to me.”

“I really hope so.” Salma nodded toward the front room. “He’s in there.” She walked into the kitchen and shut the door.

Juan entered the living room to see Jorge sitting in a corner sofa, staring intently at a portrait he was holding. The
gobernador
leaned over the couch to see it. The photo must have been twenty years old, judging by Jorge’s appearance in it. Reynaldo—also in the picture—didn’t look a day over 5.

“Even when he was just 6,” Jorge mumbled, “he was a handsome devil.”

“He certainly
was
a handsome boy,” Juan said.

“He could have had it all, you know.” Jorge sniffled and wiped tears from his eyes. “At first I didn’t want this life for him, but he just got into it so quickly. I had so many big plans for him.”

“As did I.”

Jorge threw the picture to the floor and approached the window. He drew the curtains. “Twenty fucking six years old,” he shouted. “That’s just too young, Juan.” He looked back to see Juan studying the picture. “I can’t let this go.” Juan looked at him. “I just can’t. It’s as if my son’s dead. I know we don’t let things like revenge get in the way of business, but I demand it.”

Juan rose and folded his arms. “You’re upset, Jorge. Right now, you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me. I’ve known you practically my whole life. We’ve done everything together. We made this family what it is. Have I ever questioned you? Haven’t I been completely loyal to you?”

Juan walked toward his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say anything you might regret later.”

“What’s there to regret?” He pushed Juan’s hand away. “We know who did this. His mother had to bury him in a closed casket, Juan. A fucking closed casket. Antonio beat him so bad he tore through his flesh. Who does that?” Jorge kicked the coffee table over and stamped on it, sending glass everywhere.

Rodrigo ran into the room with his nine-millimeter in his hand. “Everything okay?”

Jorge waved him away. Juan sat and lit a cigar. “I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but please don’t ask me for something I can’t do.”

“Why?” Jorge said. “Apart from blood, what does that man bring to the table for any of us? The mess we’re in is because of him. His dead girlfriend, Tobias’ friend and now Reynaldo. Don’t you think the FBI knows something’s up? It’s only a matter of time before they get to him. Do you think he’ll not just want to save his own ass?”

Juan stood up, his face tense. “I’m not having this discussion. We don’t know he’s responsible for Penelope’s death. He’s also my only nephew. What he did to Reynaldo was unforgivable, but as you said, he’s family. I’ll do whatever I have to make this right, even if it means hurting his pocket.”