In Too Deep: A Romantic Suspense Novel (61 page)

"Good bye, Sal."

A
s Mark had planned
, the news that Tabby Williams was taking over as head of MJT was lost in the chaos that was the news that day. For the next week, about the only thing that got more attention on the local news was the NFL highlights on Sunday night. Still, within three weeks, enough other local news had happened that Owen Lynch's face wasn't on the news every night.

While all that was happening, Tabby had kept herself busy, modernizing and taking the bare bones second floor office that Mark and I had used to something that actually was worthy of a real company. She hired staff, and even had a secretary.

Her transition was admirable. The first time she was mentioned by herself in a news story, the reporter had even made the comment that Tabby was a perfect blend between Marcus and Sophie Warbird. "Beautiful and brainy, in this reporter's opinion, MJT is in good hands. Kudos to Marcus Smiley, wherever he is enjoying his retirement."

In many ways, we were. During the day, we would take care of Mount Zion, with Mark saying his favorite thing to do was mow the lawn on the large riding tractor that Tabby bought for him for just that purpose. When he "accidentally" got cut on his temple and leaving an impressive scar that sort of pulled the corner of his right eyebrow upward a few degrees, I calmly bandaged him up while he sat in the kitchen. Afterward, it was enough of a change that we both agreed he didn't need another.

In the evenings and at night, the three of us had our own little family. Tabby insisted on finding a doctor who made house calls, so that she could be there for at least some of my prenatal appointments, and in the afternoons and evenings when she came home the three of us got the real work for MJT done.

The only real surprise came about two months after the body of Salvatore Giordano, a grandfather and suspected head of the crime syndicate known as the Confederation, was found dead of an apparent stroke near the duck ponds in the park. I was washing up the dishes, and Mark was in the home office reviewing some of the paperwork Tabby had left for him when the doorbell rang. Being the middle of the day, Mark checked the door suspiciously. We hadn't expected any deliveries.

"Hello, can I help you?" Mark said, opening the door. The man standing outside was wearing what I could tell was a decent but still off the rack business suit, and was Latino, maybe about thirty five or forty years old.

"Hi, I'm Bernard Fernandez, of the Department of Justice," the man said, "tell me, is Miss Williams around?"

"No, she's at work right now," Mark replied. I set down the plate I was washing, wiped my hands, and joined them at the door. "Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Fernandez?"

"I've been working a case recently, I'm sure you've seen it on the news. You mind if I ask you guys a few questions?"

"Not at all, please come on in," Mark said. It was safe. After all, the main part of the house was cleaned of anything involving our activities involving Mark's history. "Would you like a drink, Mr. Fernandez? And yes, my wife and I have seen you a lot on the television. How is your investigation going?"

"We'll see how it plays out," Fernandez replied, playing it cool. "By the way, can I have your names?"

"Sure, I'm Matt Bylur," Mark replied, "and this is my wife Joanna."

"Hi," I said, holding out my hand. Fernandez shook, then shook hands with Mark. "So would you like a drink? Sorry if I missed what you said."

"No, I only have a few minutes, I'm due at the federal courthouse in forty five minutes," he replied with an easy smile. "It was just, in the course of the investigation, Miss Williams' name came up. One of the businesses we got details on was an HVAC contractor. When we questioned the owner, well, there were some interesting things he had to say. Something about his son being brainwashed, and someone that he and a few of the others called the Snowman."

"The Snowman? Sounds like a nickname to me, I hope," Mark replied, his voice calm. I kept my own cool, even though on the inside my heart was trip-hammering in my chest. "What's this have to do with Miss Williams?"

"Well, when we questioned a Scott Pressman, the owner's son, he said that he was told by this Snowman that he worked with Miss Williams, and that she was under his protection. Tell me, how long have you worked for your boss?"

"Only just over six weeks now," I replied. "We came to the city just before this whole scandal broke. Let me tell you, it is not a good way to be introduced to the city where you want to raise your family, Mr. Fernandez. Corrupt politicians, dirty cops, and gangsters all over the place? Yeah, I was a little worried at first."

"I understand. I have a son myself, so I can understand your concerns. How far along are you, Mrs. Bylur?"

"Joanna, please. And I'm just about two months along."

"Ah. Hoping for a boy or girl?"

"We're split, really. I keep hoping for a little girl, I think Matt is secretly wishing for a boy, even though he says he's happy either way."

Fernandez chuckled and nodded. "I was the same way. Guess I got lucky. In any case, we just wondered if Miss Williams could help us with identifying this Snowman character. It's not a major issue if she can't, but I'd like to be ready in case the defense tries to pin all of this on some sort of gangland ghost."

"I see. Unfortunately we can't help you, but I'm sure if you call Miss Williams at MJT, she'll be happy to make an appointment for you two to chat," Mark said. "I have one of her business cards around here somewhere, she told us to give them to anyone who stops by."

"Oh, that'd be great," Fernandez said. Mark went and got one of the MJT cards from the magnet clip on the fridge, coming back a moment later. Handing it over, Fernandez took a look before tucking it into his suit inner pocket. "Thanks. You know, down at the office, we're kind of having a pool as to if this Snowman is real or not. Some of the guys think he was, some of them think he's just a figment of the Confederation's imagination, a boogeyman created to pin all their bad luck on. Me, I have no view either way. I will tell you one thing, though."

"What's that?" Mark said, still calm and collected.

Fernandez got up and buttoned his jacket. "If even half of what I hear is true, he did a lot to help me out. And if everything they say about him is true... well, I know there's some things in his past that have to be accounted for, but I'm not the man to do so. My office is concerned with making this a better city, not an urban legend. Hell, if I had the chance, I'd probably shake the man's hand, I don't think I'd have gotten a start on this investigation if it weren't for him. In any case, I'm due at the courthouse. Judge Carter might be a good judge, but she eats late attorneys for lunch, regardless of which side they're on. It was nice meeting you guys, I'll give Miss Williams a call later."

Fernandez walked to the door, and Mark opened it for him. He walked out, turning at the door to offer his hand to me again. We shook quickly, and then Mr. Fernandez held out his hand to Mark. "Thank you, Mr. Bylur," he said, a small smile on his face. "For everything."

Mark shook his hand, his own smile coming out. "Any time, Mr. Fernandez. It was good to meet you."

Fernandez nodded and turned around, leaving. After he got into his government Chevy and pulled away, I turned to Mark. "You think he knows?"

"He suspects," Mark said, "but he's not going to do anything. He knows that, at least in this city, sometimes justice takes indirect methods, sometimes."

I nodded, and we closed the door, going back inside. Mark got his phone and sent a text message to Tabby, telling her what had happened, then set it down. "So are you going to go on patrol tonight?" I asked as Mark headed back to the office. "It's been a few days."

"I might," Mark replied, stopping at the door. "After all, our baby's coming, and the city's not clean . . . yet."

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