Read FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) Online
Authors: Lawrence De Maria
FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) (12 page)
Scarne and Anastasia did not want to take a chance on being late for the drop off so they decided to leave Manhattan with plenty of time to spare. Maura Dallas stopped them at the door to the suite. She kissed Vincent Anastasia on the cheek and nodded at Scarne.
“Good luck.”
***
Traffic to Pennsylvania was light and the men had almost two hours to kill before heading to the dock at the Pecks Pond Inn. They stopped at a small roadside pizzeria in a strip mall in Lords Valley. It was apparently a local hangout. Most of the tables were filled by loud teen-agers, and the takeout counter was always busy. The table behind them was occupied by a young couple and two little boys. The kids were playing a game with a book of matches. They would slide the book across the table at each other. If it crossed the edge near a child and didn’t fall over, the kid could try to kick a “field goal” through the fingers of his brother, who arranged his fingers in a rough approximation of a goal post.
No one paid any attention to the two older men, who had ordered a plain cheese pizza and a pitcher of Coke.
“This place smells better than the pizza tastes,” Anastasia said, after taking a bite. “Although I’ve had worse.”
They spent the next half hour debating the relative merits of pizza. Scarne defended the New York variety. Anastasia was surprised that he picked three places on Staten Island: Deninos, Lee’s Tavern and Joe & Pat’s, as having the best pies in the city. He countered with Gialina’s and Pauline’s in San Francisco.
Both men, despite their relative backgrounds, were on edge. A bag containing $20 million in diamonds sat on the table next to the salt and pepper shakers, and the glass bottles of red pepper and Romano cheese. Suddenly, a matchbook flew onto the pizza between Scarne and Anastasia, startling them both.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” the man behind them said. “Bobby, go apologize.”
A little boy got out of his seat and walked over. He couldn’t have been more than five and looked terrified. Anastasia picked the matchbook out of the pizza and looked at him.
“Did you score?”
The little boy nodded and Anastasia handed him the matches, which had pizza sauce on them.
“Way to go,” Anastasia said, gently.
He winked at Scarne as the little boy scuttled back to his own table.
“I used to play that game with Alana. I used to take her to her soccer games and afterward we’d stop at the same restaurant in Sausalito for pancakes. You wouldn’t believe how many pancakes that skinny kid could eat.” He paused at the memory. “Anyway, she always beat me with the matchbooks.”
Despite the gravity of their mission, Scarne had to smile at the thought of the Dallassio family killer acting as a soccer mom and then eating pancakes and playing matchbook football with a little girl. He wondered if Maura Dallas ever took her daughter to a soccer game. Somehow he doubted it.
***
It was quite dark when Scarne and Anastasia approached the Pecks Pond Inn at the appointed time. On the day that he reconnoitered the area Scarne had identified a secluded but accessible spot near the shoreline that gave an unobstructed view of the inn’s dock. Anastasia, driving, stopped and Scarne, using infra-red binoculars, scanned the woods on both sides of the road. Other than the small heat signatures of forest animals, the area appeared deserted. Had there been signs of humans, both men would have proceeded on to the dock, as per instructions. But now Scarne got out of the car and walked carefully down to the water’s edge as Anastasia drove on. Neither man felt it was much of a risk. The ransom demand had included no instructions about the drop, other than to mark its location. Whoever was running the show was obviously not concerned about anything they did. Needless to say, that was troublesome.
By the time Scarne took up his position and fixed his gaze on the dock area, Anastasia was pulling into the inn’s parking lot, which was overgrown with weeds, as Scarne knew from his daytime visit. Anastasia had already cut his lights, so as not to compromise Scarne’s infrared night vision. There was some moonlight and even without his goggles Scarne could make out the old hit man walking along the dock and placing the bag at its end. Five minutes later, Anastasia, with regular binoculars around his neck, joined him at their makeshift observation post. They did not speak. In their general vicinity the only sounds they heard were the gentle laps of shimmering water against the dock. At one point Scarne heard a splash in the distance. He assumed it was a bass or a beaver.
At 11 PM, Scarne looked at Anastasia, who shrugged. It was a waiting game and both men were used to it. Scarne couldn’t recall all the times he sat in a car or stood in a doorway waiting for something to happen or someone to emerge from a house or building. He suspected that Anastasia had done the same thing, although assuredly with more sinister intent. Scarne was usually trailing a subject in one of his investigations. The man crouched next to him trailed victims.
Suddenly, they heard a “pop” in the distance, off to their left. Instinctively, they both turned toward the sound and saw a trail of what looked like sparks arcing into the sky. Then, the firework rocket exploded loudly over the lake in a bright flash, and tendrils of fire streamed downward. Scarne, who was wearing the infrared binocular was momentarily blinded and ripped the goggles from his head. Anastasia, with a regular binocular, was not affected, although he, like Scarne, momentarily lost whatever night vision their eyes had become accustomed to in their hour at the lake. But both men immediately shifted their views back to the end of the dock. The bag was still there.
“Must have been kids,” Anastasia whispered.
Scarne was not so sure. He felt a faint unease. The night had grown chilly, but a trickle of sweat ran down his side under his shirt.
***
It was miserable work. By midnight, it was considerably colder. They had dressed appropriately for nighttime in the spring in Northern New Jersey. Heavy black pants, good socks, flannel shirts and long-sleeved windbreakers, also dark-colored. Both men wore ski caps, now pulled down over their ears. But their inactivity allowed the cold night air to seep in and Scarne’s joints and muscles were beginning to stiffen and ache. He assumed the older man was suffering even more. Worse, two hours into the drop, both were becoming eye weary from the constant surveillance. Scarne suggested that they alternate watching the dock every hour. The man not “on duty” could rest his eyes, even cat nap, if he were able. The watcher would also alternate the binoculars between regular and infrared. Scarne offered to take the first shift, and Anastasia grunted appreciatively.
At 5:20 AM, Anastasia nudged Scarne, who had nodded off.
“Something is not right.”
Scarne uncurled painfully and almost immediately started shivering.
“The sun is coming up,” Anastasia said.
Scarne looked across the lake. It was still dark but he could see the glow off the clouds in the distance that heralded dawn.
“Another 20 minutes and it will be light enough for people on the lake to see the bag,” Anastasia said.
As if on cue, a big bass jumped in the water not 50 feet from where they sat. The lake was waking up.
“There will be fishermen around here soon,” Scarne said. “Let’s get the diamonds. I don’t know what went wrong, but they wouldn’t leave $20 million on a dock in broad daylight.”
“Maybe they made us.”
“So what? They didn’t say we couldn’t stick around. If they were sharp enough to know we were here, they’d be sharp enough to know we are alone. They would still have had enough time to skedaddle before we could reach the dock. Let’s go.”
Anastasia had parked his car in a cutoff a short distance from where he entered the woods. Five minutes later they were in the parking lot next to the inn. By the time they reached the bag at the end of the dock, there were streaks of sunlight on Pecks Pond.
“Shit,” Anastasia said, as he picked up the bag.
“What?”
“The handle is wet. And it feels heavier.”
As he said it, water started dripping from the bottom of the bag.
Both men knelt and Anastasia unzipped the bag and lifted out the metal box. It too seeped water. He opened it.
Scarne looked at the contents. It was full, but not with diamonds. He reached in and took a handful of colored “diamond” nuggets of the kind that people use in their decorative backyard fire pits. He had helped Dudley Mack fill his pit and knew their cost. The box held about $10 worth of glass. There was something sticking out of the pile of faux diamonds. Scarne picked it up. It was a small waterproof Ziplock bag. He opened it and shook out the contents on the dock. Out tumbled a lock of hair, a ring and a scrap of paper. Anastasia fingered the blondish hair and looked at the cameo ring with the mother-and-child engraving. His face hardened.
“The ring is Alana’s. I presume the hair is also hers.”
Scarne read the short note that was on the slip of paper. He shivered, but not from the cold. He handed the note wordlessly to Anastasia. It read:
“This is all you will ever see of your daughter.”
CHAPTER 16 - AFTERMATH
“What did Maura Dallas say?”
“She said she half expected it,” Scarne said. “There was no reason Alana would be kept alive.”
He had just finished telling Noah Sealth about the debacle at Pecks Pond. It was late Monday afternoon, a half hour after Scarne left Maura Dallas and Anastasia in the suite at the Peninsula.
“That’s it?”
“She said she didn’t blame anyone but herself for how things turned out. She was the one who refused to involve the cops. Her rules, her consequences.”
“What is she going to do now?”
“Go back to San Francisco.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that.”
“It’s her goddamn daughter, for crissake! Isn’t she at least going to let the police know now? Doesn’t she want to find her daughter’s body?”
“She was very rational about it all. Said Alana was probably either buried in the state forest someplace or was at the bottom of one of the lakes. In fact, she pointed out, the girl might not be anywhere near where the ransom was paid. Other than continuing the search for the kidnappers, which she believes to be fruitless, she is resigned.”
“And what about the $20 million?”
Scarne rubbed his eyes. He was dead tired. He had not eaten since the night before at the pizza parlor. The bourbon he and Sealth were drinking burned in his stomach.
“Breakage,” he said, wearily.
Sealth shook his head.
“Sounds like the kid was breakage, too,” Sealth said. “I knew Maura was a tough bitch. I just didn’t know how tough. How do you think they did it?’
“The fireworks. Vinnie and I momentarily took our eyes off the dock, and our night vision was shot to hell. I figure someone was in the water by the dock, reached up and switched bags, then swam away.”
“Underwater?”
“Had to be. Our vision wasn’t so compromised we would have missed someone doing the Australian crawl. And we probably would have heard it.”
“How far can someone swim underwater carrying a bag of diamonds?”
“Plenty far, with scuba gear. For all I know, he surfaced on the other side of the lake.”
“That’s how you figure it?”
“Nothing else makes any sense. Anastasia reads it that way, as well.”
“But no proof.”
“No proof. No diamonds. No girl.”
“Seems kind of elaborate, don’t you think? Why not just a simple pick up, even on a rural road, or something. And why give proof of death? Why not leave Maura hanging for a few days? Put some miles on the getaway.”
“I thought about that. The only thing I can figure is that they did not want Maura continuing to look for her daughter. Better to let her know that Alana was dead, in case she went to the F.B.I., which might pull out all the stops in a rescue attempt. Now all they have to worry about is Dallassio vengeance, and they probably have prepared for that. By the time we found out the diamonds were gone whoever made the switch had a six-hour head start. Enough time to get on a plane.”
Sealth poured them both another drink. Scarne thought about objecting, but did not see the point.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Maura is convinced it’s either an inside job or somehow mob-related,” Scarne said. “I’m not so sure. Besides, they can turn over those rocks now better than we can. I’m going to go over everything related to Alana’s personal life.”
“Did you tell Maura that?”
“Yes. She did not discourage me, but I could tell she thought I’d be wasting her time.”
“And her hundred grand.”
Scarne laughed harshly.
“I told her it was personal. I don’t like losing a client. And it’s not like we earned our keep on this one, Noah. I offered to give her back the retainer.”
“I figured you would,” Noah said. “Even though, strictly speaking, the girl was not our client. But I know how you feel.”
“Maura won’t take the money back, no matter what happens.”
“Got any leads?”
“Nothing solid. Just a couple of loose ends at Columbia.”
“Like?”
“Alana took some classes at Columbia, and one of her teachers is proving hard to reach. It’s probably nothing. But I have to start somewhere.”
“I think you should start with something to eat and a good night’s sleep, Jake. You look like crap.”
***
On the way home, Scarne stopped at Knickerbocker’s on University Place in the Village, where he had a cheeseburger at the bar. And another couple of drinks. He knew he was drunk, but he didn’t know how badly until the bartender asked him if he was driving. When he said he lived nearby and was walking home, the man said, “take it easy, Jake, the issue is still in doubt.”
Scarne nodded, and said, “Coffee, black, Tommy.”
Three cups later, he paid his tab and headed wearily to his building at 2 Fifth Avenue. He was not concerned about the caffeine keeping him awake. He felt like he could sleep for a week.
When Scarne walked into his eighth-floor apartment, he saw a figure silhouetted against the windows that overlooked Fifth Avenue. He drew his gun and slid to the side in a crouch as he flicked on a light. Vincent Anastasia, who had been standing at the window in the living room looking up the street at the famous arch in Washington Square Park, turned around.
“Nice view,” Anastasia said. “Put the rod away.”
Scarne holstered his weapon.
“How did you get in here?”
Neither the doorman or the lobby concierge had mentioned a visitor.
“Entrance on 8th Street.”
“You need a code.”
“You must be joking.”
“You could have called.’
“I could do a lot of things.”
“Never mind. You want a drink?”
“Scotch. One cube.”
“Single malt all right?”
“Never isn’t.”
Scarne went to a tall glass-door barrister bookcase that served as his liquor cabinet and took out an unopened bottle of 14-year-old Balvenie Caribbean Cask, which he placed on the coffee table in front of his couch. He went into the kitchen, grabbed two brandy bubble glasses from a shelf and filled the small ice bucket he kept on top of his refrigerator. Scarne never needed a drink less, but he’d be damned if he’d let Anastasia know it. By the time he returned to the living room, the Dallassio family killer had arranged himself comfortably in a chair near the couch. Scarne cracked the Scotch bottle and made two drinks, both with one cube. Normally he drank his single malts with just a drop or two of spring water, which was supposed to release the liquor’s “essense”. Maybe the ice cube would have the same effect. Never too late to try something new, he reasoned. Nothing wrong with ice made with New York City tap water straight from the Croton Reservoir. He’d read somewhere that it had won a blind taste test against “premium” bottled waters. He handed a drink to Anastasia. They didn’t clink glasses. Both drank.
“Not bad,” Anastasia said. “I don’t like single malts too smoky. Some of them taste like you got a mouth full of peat, whatever the fuck that is.”
“How is Maura?”
Anastasia crossed his legs.
“I’ve watched over Joe’s kids since they were in diapers.” He laughed. “Even changed them on occasion. Never had kids of my own. When Tony died, and Joe went soft, not that I blame him, I figured that was it. The family would be taken out by other gangs. Maybe the Bruttis, or the Ukes. Perhaps we could cut some deals and keep a piece of the pie.” He held up his glass and smiled. “A lot of those mokes were afraid of me. I could have kept things together. But Maura stepped right in. She was born to the business. Toughest broad I ever met. Everything stayed the same. Sure, some people made moves. Maura told me to squash them, and I squashed. Pretty soon, we were top dogs again.”
Anastasia took a long pull from his drink.
“Alana was the most beautiful baby I ever saw. For the first few years, Maura smothered her with affection, then business took over. She didn’t exactly ignore Alana. The kid had everything. Best schools, vacations, you name it. But Maura concentrated on running the Dallassio empire. She traveled a lot. I’m not saying she didn’t love Alana, but Alana was part of things, not the center of her universe. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I did as much as I could.” Anastasia gave Scarne a wintry smile. “But I was often out of town on business, too.”
And the murder rate in San Francisco dipped, Scarne thought, and probably rose in other cities.
“Alana was basically on her own during her teens,” Anastasia continued. “Once she was in college, we rarely saw her.” He paused. “Anything about the videos bother you, Scarne?”
“Yes. She seemed too controlled. No fear. No hesitation reading the instructions.”
“Stockholm Syndrome,” Anastasia said.
Scarne decided that Anastasia was no mere henchman. There was a good brain behind the hatchet face. And age apparently had not slowed him down.
“That means Alana might still be alive,” Scarne said.” She’s been a captive so long, she may have identified with her kidnappers, and become dependent on them. Like Patty Hearst with the Symbionese Liberation Army.”
“That’s how I figure it. You?”
“Yeah.”
“But you didn’t say anything to Maura.”
“Have you, Vinnie?”
“No. I thought she might have too much on her plate. And I thought you could run it down. I have to stick close to Maura, just in case it was related to our business.”
Scarne poured them both more Scotch. If it wasn’t for the hamburger at Knickerbocker’s, he figured he’d be dead.
“Vinnie, you and Maura weren’t straight with me. I don’t like that.”
Anastasia eyed him coldly.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You both told me that mother and daughter weren’t close.”
“So?”
“Alana hated her mother.”
“Who told you that?”
“I spoke to some of her friends at school.”
“Kids. Shit.”
“Yeah, kids who will tell each other things they wouldn’t tell anyone else. You going to deny it?”
Anastasia started at Scarne.
“No.”
“So, you didn’t think it was important to tell me?”
“A lot of kids hate their parents at some time. They get over it.”
“Alana isn’t just any kid. And Maura isn’t just any mother. We’re talking Dallassio blood. Maybe it isn’t just Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe it’s also revenge.”
“You think Alana staged her own kidnapping?”
“No. But I don’t think it would have taken much for her to see it as an opportunity to get back at her mother.”
“Spare me the Dr. Phil crap, Scarne. What, are you some kind of psychiatrist now?”
“I could have earned a graduate degree in fucked-up women, Vinnie. Tell me it’s not possible.”
Anastasia shook his head, but not in denial. In resignation.
“Something else sticks in my craw,” he said.
“What?”
“The fucking diamonds. Assuming it’s not a mob job, normal kidnappers would ask for cash. Why would they ask for stones? They are not that easy to get in those amounts, unless you are in the business. Getting rid of them at a good price is also hard. It takes knowledge. And most people don’t know about the family’s diamond operations.”
“But Alana did.”
“It fascinated her. Other than me and Maura, she knows more about it than anyone else in the family.”
“Something else you didn’t mention.”
“Listen, we hired you to find the kid, not put your nose in the family business.”
“Do you know how screwed up that sounds, Vinnie? Withholding the two pieces of information that might have helped me. What did you want me to do, stand on every street corner in the Northeast and yell ‘Alana, come home’.”
“OK. Maybe we fucked up,” Anastasia said, putting down his glass and standing up. “But now you know. So, get back to business. Thanks for the drink.”
The old hit man walked out the door.
“You’re welcome,” Scarne said to the now-empty room.