Necessary Decisions, A Gino Cataldi Mystery (5 page)

Three leaned against the wall of the van, glaring at Boss.

Boss turned his attention to Lonny. “Four, if you ever question what was done on a job again,
your
share will go for cleaning up. Clear?”

Lonny gulped. “Clear.”

Chapter 7

New Case File

I
got the call around 10:00 PM. I was seldom asleep, but if the phone rang late at night, I worried if something was wrong with my son.

Did he fall off the wagon? Did he overdose?

I’d been living with this nightmare for a year, though it seemed like ten. I grabbed the phone, anxious. “Hello?”

“Gino, it’s Chief Renkin. I hope it’s not too late.”

Chief Renkin! What the hell?

“Not a problem, sir. What can I do for you?”

“We have another home invasion, but this one escalated; they beat the son pretty badly.”

“Where?”

“Champions Forest. You live close by, don’t you?”

“Not far at all, Chief. You think it’s the same group?”

“It sounds like it.”

“I assume you’ll clear this with Captain Cooper.”

“Already done.” Renkin hesitated, as if he was going to hang up, then, “I know this doesn’t make any difference, but the Marshalls are dear friends of mine.”

“I understand, sir.”
Doesn’t make any difference, my ass.

I grabbed my gun and headed out. Home invasions were bad enough; these people being “dear friends” of the chief compounded the situation. During the twenty-minute drive to the crime scene, I thought about my new job—Special Crimes. Sometimes I liked it, and at other times, it was a pain in the ass. Tonight would fall into the latter category.

A few minutes later, I turned off Champion’s Forest Drive and into a circular driveway that looked as if it led to a country club. Why did the chief bother with an address? He could have just said look for the house that’s as big as a factory. The place stretched for half a block, all brick and windows, and enough rooflines to put a cathedral to shame. I rang the doorbell and waited, wondering if a nap was in order before they could answer.

While I waited, I thought about what Marshall might look like based on what I knew—his name, and that his son played football. Damn good football, according to about every paper in Texas. A man who appeared to be in his mid-forties with signs of gray in his hair greeted me. Marshall fit everything I’d imagined. He was big, my guess was linebacker in college, and from the ring on his finger that anybody in Texas would recognize, he had played for A&M.

“You must be Detective Cataldi.”

His accent had me guessing he was from East Texas, maybe up by Tyler. I shook his hand. “Chief Renkin told me what happened, Mr. Marshall. How’s your son?”

“Not good. My wife is still at the hospital. I came back to meet with you.” He stepped aside. “Come in, Detective.”

I stepped into a marble foyer that looked half as big as the first floor of my house. It boasted a double-spiral staircase that resembled something from the
Gone with the Wind
era of mansions.

Marshall led me through several rooms, all large and all decorated as if
Interior Design
or
Architectural Digest
would be there in the morning for photographs. We ended up in the kitchen, a place I could have retired in. It was the first time I felt truly comfortable since entering the house, but then again, kitchens had a way of doing that to me. They sparked images of food and good wine, although the good wine part was only in my dreams. My kitchen was stocked with cheap, or should I say,
inexpensive
Chianti. Anything over ten bucks a bottle had to wait for a Saturday night.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

I was tempted to refuse, being on the job and knowing he was a friend of the chief, but curiosity got the better of me. “I’d love some. Thanks.”

“What do you prefer?”

“Whatever you have is fine, sir.”

“I’m guessing you’re Italian by the name. How about Brunello?”

“Brunello would be wonderful.”

I expected him to turn to his servant or butler or whoever had been trailing us and issue an order, but he didn’t have to say anything; the guy took the cue and disappeared.

“What happened to your head, Detective? That looks rather nasty.”

“I got it while working undercover. It’s mostly healed.”

Marshall sighed. “Good God, what is the world coming to?”

I was about to say something when the butler returned. While he poured the wine, I took out my notepad. “Tell me what happened, Mr. Marshall, and try to go through it slowly. No detail is too small or too insignificant.”

From the intense look in his eyes, I got the distinct feeling he understood. “I was in the shower when they came in. Roger, my son, was in his room showering. I’d picked him up from football practice and we came home and, as we always do, went to shower.” He sipped his wine and stared at me. “It’s almost too much of a coincidence that they chose
that
moment to come in—when both of us were showering. Don’t you think?”

I made notes as he talked. “Who answered the door?”

He shook his head. “My wife, but I know the details. One of them rang the bell, which she answered. The others came in through the sliding door in the back.” Marshall rose from the table and walked into the next room. “As you can see, there is easy access from the golf course, with plenty of cover from the foliage.”

From the periphery, I saw the butler nodding. I wondered if he had warned them previously of what I was thinking.

Keep the fucking door locked.

“The door wasn’t locked?”

He scoffed. “It never is, except at night. My wife checks the doors and sets the alarm before going to bed.”

I walked outside and took a look around. We hadn’t had rain in weeks, so the ground was too hard for footprints, even with sprinklers. “Did they wear gloves?”

The butler stepped forward. His accent wasn’t British, as I expected, but it was eloquent. “All of them did, sir. Surgical gloves.”

I made a note and turned back to Marshall. “What happened next? Did you hear them?”

He shook his head again. “I didn’t know anything had happened until one of them came into the bathroom. He opened the shower door, wielding a knife, and ordered me out.” He flushed before continuing. “For God’s sake, Detective, they wouldn’t even let me dress. They forced me out naked in front of my daughter.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s common practice, sir, but a lot of professionals do it. It makes people feel helpless. Naked victims are less likely to resist.” I wrote down what he said, then continued. “What did they do next?”

“They took our jewelry and cash then the one who seemed to be the leader asked where the safe was.”

“You say
the leader
. Is there a reason why you say that?”

“He ran the show. There were five of them, four white and one black. The tall man I’m talking about was white. He gave the orders.”

“Is there anything else you remember about them? Take your time.”

The butler spoke. “One of them seemed…feminine.”

“You mean gay?”

“No. A woman. She spoke only once. When the man struck Roger, she yelled ‘Number Three.’ After that, she never spoke again.”

I sat upright, muscles tensed. My fist clenched involuntarily. “She said ‘Number Three.’ You’re sure?”

“Positive,” the butler said. “I thought it odd at the time. It stuck in my head.”

I looked to Marshall. “Did you hear it?”

He seemed to give it thought. “I honestly can’t say. I was focused on Roger.”

The butler spoke again. “After she said that, the lead man hollered ‘That’s enough, Number Three.’”

My pulse quickened. My heart raced. This was the only lead I’d had to the mysterious Number Three since that fucker knocked me out and stole Mary’s watch. I was so damned nervous, I couldn’t think straight.

I turned to the butler. “You said one was a woman. What makes you think that?”

“Her voice sounded feminine. She was slight of build, and the way she moved shouted female. I was close enough to see her skin, too. It was smoother than the others’.”

“I thought they wore masks.”

“They did, but her arms were exposed. Or perhaps I should say her forearms were.”

“That’s very good. That may help.” I turned back to Marshall. “What happened with your son? Why did it turn violent?”

He lowered his head. “It was my fault.”

I let him keep the silence, not forcing the issue.

“As I said, after they’d taken the jewels and cash, the leader asked where the safe was.” Marshall looked up at me. For a minute, I thought he’d cry. “I told him I had no safe.”

I waited, but he said nothing more. “What happened then?”

“He didn’t give me a second chance. The boss nodded to one of the others, and they took a…a tire iron, and swung it at Roger, beating his legs and kicking him.” Marshall
did
cry now. “Roger…screamed and grabbed the man’s leg. Then they hit Roger’s face. And they kept hitting, and hitting, and hitting.” Marshall closed his eyes briefly, as if recalling the incident. “I thought they’d killed him. Jesse screamed ‘Tell them, Charles. It’s only money.’”

Marshall wiped tears away. “After that, I told him where it was, Detective. I told him where everything was, but I had waited too long.” Marshall got up and walked around the kitchen. “The thing is they
knew
we had more. Someone must have told them.”

“Did you have insurance? Who else knew where you kept things, or that you even had a safe?”

“Of course the jewelry was insured. As far as who knew, all of us have safes.”

“‘All of us’?”

“I’m sorry. All of our friends, the people we associate with. But none of them know where our safe is.”

“And neither did the robbers.”

“Detective, honestly. You can’t think our friends had anything to do with this.”

“Right now, Mr. Marshall, I’m just asking questions. Let’s go over everything again. What they looked like. How tall they were. Their build. How they talked. What they said. Any accents? I’m going to need everything I can get if we hope to catch these people.”

And I wanted to catch these people more than Mr. Marshall could ever know. That watch was my last gift from Mary, and that scum-sucking fucker named Number Three was going to pay for taking it.

I got back to focusing on their answers. The butler said the one in charge was maybe 6’ 3” or even 6’ 4”. Marshall swore he wasn’t that tall.

“I’m 6’ 2”,” Marshall said. “And he was about my height. No taller.”

I made note of that. “What about build. Big and bulky? Thin and wiry?”

Marshall thought. “Big, I’d say.”

“He was bigger than Mr. Marshall,” the butler added.

“How did they talk? Did anyone have a recognizable accent?”

“They were from Texas,” the butler said. He seemed positive about that.

Marshall agreed. “They didn’t say much, but when the leader asked about the safe, I detected a Texas accent.”

I finished my notations, took a moment to focus, and started again. “Let’s go through the whole event one more time. I know this is difficult, but it may help.”

Marshall gripped the wine glass as if it were a life jacket. “I’m ready. Go on.”

For the next hour, we went through the details. The butler had an excellent memory. When we were done, I gave them both my card and said I would be back to ask more questions.

Marshall walked me to the door. “Do you think there will be more invasions?” He paused. “Do you think you’ll catch them?”

“It’s difficult to say, Mr. Marshall. These cases are tough. If they quit now, the chances are not good for us catching them. We normally only catch them if they start making mistakes.” I knew that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but I hated to give victims false hope. Nothing worse than promising to catch who did them wrong and not deliver.

He nodded, probably expecting no more.

As I left, I thought about what I’d learned tonight. I knew without a doubt that there would be more of these break-ins, or home invasions, and I knew that the next ones would be more violent. Once violence entered the picture, it always escalated. I had to catch them, and fast. I wouldn’t say it out loud or promise anything to the Marshalls, but I swore right then and there that I’d get these fuckers.

Chapter 8