A time for reckoning, p.12
A Time for Reckoning, page 12
“Checking me out, huh?”
He smiles and nods, which explains why he’s been cagey so far.
I glance out the window, which affords a good view of their manufacturing facility. The company builds hovercrafts and fast attack boats, both favorites of navies and elite commando units the world over.
“This place is a good fit for someone with your background,” I say. “How did you stumble into this gig?”
“It is a good fit,” he replies. “My wife’s uncle owns a piece of the company. He figured a bit of nepotism wouldn’t hurt, seeing as how I know what it is to be a user of their kit. I’m enjoying it. I may not be in the game anymore, but this allows me to keep my hand in.”
I nod. “Makes sense. Wish I had a rich relative or two.”
He chuckles, then leans in. “Now it’s time for you to explain what you’re doing here. I don’t suppose you’ve tracked me down and dropped by to shoot the breeze with someone you’ve never met.”
I glance at my watch. “Why don’t I explain over lunch?”
“Long story?”
“There’s some ground to cover.”
He slaps his hands on the armrest of his chair and gets to his feet. “Let’s be on our way, Mr. Valenti.”
“Tony.”
“Okay,” he says before tapping a finger on his chest. “Marty.”
“That’s better. All this mister crap makes us sound like a couple of corporate dicks.”
He chuckles. “Corporate dicks, huh? I like your style, mate.”
So, now fast friends on a first-name basis, Marty and I take a short walk outside of the company’s gate to a fish-and-chip shop a quarter mile down the road. We order and make small talk while we wait for our food.
“You came all the way to the UK just to speak with me?” he asks.
I explain about Trish’s relatives and our visits to London and then Pangbourne.
“Pangbourne? A great little town that is,” Marty says when I finish. “Have you been to the auto dealers yet?”
I smile and shake my head. “I’ve driven by. The people in that town must be rolling in dough if they’re able to afford the likes of a Bentley or Lamborghini. You’re familiar with Pangbourne?”
“I’m something of a gearhead and Trudy loves animals. We drove up once so she could see that nature park/zoo thing and I could gawk at the cars.”
“Beale Wildlife Park,” I say.
“That’s the place,” he says as the waitress delivers our food. “’Twas okay. I enjoyed the exotic cars more than the little beasties.”
I laugh and sprinkle malt vinegar on my fish and chips. Just when I’m warming up to this guy, his eyes go cold.
“Time to explain what we’re doing here,” he says while he pops a french fry—known as a chip here in the UK—into his mouth.
“I’m looking for Frankie.”
“And you’re hoping I can help you.”
I nod. “Jo and I found a bunch of pictures of you and him with your marine buddies in Iraq.”
“Jo’s a nice gal.”
“What she’s doing with my brother is beyond me.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You said she may be in danger?”
I tell Marty about Frankie’s abuse of his family, the fight I had with him in Cedar Heights, and the death threats he uttered to Jo and me. “Jo and Carly are in hiding. He threatened to slit her throat. Mine, too. He’s gone to ground. We need to find him. Can you help?”
Marty’s expression darkens. “Jesus. That sounds like a job for the cops, Tony. No offense, mate, but cornering Frank could be the dumbest thing you ever do. I’m not sure I want to help you get yourself killed.”
“The cops are looking for him.”
“They probably won’t find him, either.”
“Then I have to. I’d like your help.”
He shakes his head. The slowness of the shake tells me he’s still thinking. “I don’t know how I can, Tony. I haven’t seen or spoken to Frank in a few years.”
I dig an envelope of photos out of my jacket pocket and spread them out on the table. “Can you identify these guys?”
He studies the pictures, his lips curling into a smile once or twice as he does. “I could,” he replies. “Which doesn’t mean I will. What’s your game?”
I’m going to have to push harder. As much as I hate to talk—or even think— about what happened to Trish, maybe the brutality of the attack will offend Thorne-Dalyrimple enough to stir him into action. I lean in and meet his gaze. “He raped my girlfriend for five hours and left her for dead. She survived, but he made a mess out of her. I’m afraid he’s going to come back to finish the job.”
Storm clouds gather in his eyes by the time I finish. “That depraved bastard!”
“He’s out of control, Marty. I need to find and stop him before someone dies.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes while Marty gazes out the window and thinks. He downs a few more chips and the better part of a piece of halibut, quaffing down a quarter glass of Guinness as he does. Then his eyes meet mine.
“You want the names of our squad mates so the cops can track them down and see if anyone is still in touch with Frank.”
“Exactly.”
“The cops, Tony. Not you. Don’t be stupid.”
Rather than lie, I simply nod.
Marty pushes his plate aside, takes a pen out his pocket, and starts adding names to the faces and nicknames in the pictures, telling me who’s who and everything about them he can recall. He adds details such as family information, where they came from, etc., as he works his way through the pile. I study each picture as he pushes it back. When he finishes, he looks up to find me studying the pictures and adding notes of my own.
I tap the pile of pictures. “Who is Frankie most likely to be in touch with?”
Marty thinks on it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Probably nobody. I can’t remember him talking with any of them as long as I knew him after we left the corps.”
“You’ve been estranged for how long?”
“Two years now.”
“What happened?”
“A couple of things. Did you hear about the family in Iraq Frank was accused of murdering?”
“Yeah, I did. What do you know about it?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing firsthand. I left Iraq a week or two before it happened. Frank told me the charge was a bunch of trumped-up bullshit and I believed him. Turns out that I shouldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
“He made some wisecrack about blowing the family away while we were on a mission for our new employer. This happened just after he killed a husband and wife on a contractor mission. I’m almost sure he killed the husband so he could rape the wife before killing her, too.”
We sit in silence while I digest that.
“Quite a hero,” I eventually mutter.
Marty’s response is an angry scowl, hopefully directed at my brother. I don’t need any more ex-Marine Raiders upset with me.
“A rapist and a murderer,” Marty seethes. “My brother-in-arms, for Christ’s sake!”
“Help me track him down.”
Marty plants his elbows on the table and gives the pile of pictures a pointed look. “This goes to the police, Tony. Have them call me with any questions.”
“I’ll get it to them.” After I make copies for my own use.
Marty’s eyes drift to the window while a range of emotions passes across his face as he polishes off his first piece of halibut and starts working his way through a second.
“What prompted you to leave the security business behind?” I ask.
Marty’s eyes settle on mine. “I’d been growing increasingly uncomfortable for some time with where our line of work was heading. The morality of doling out violence is ambiguous at the best of times, but it’s a little easier to justify when you believe you’re one of the good guys in a white hat. Know what I mean?”
I nod. Been there. Done that. Not the killing, but being on the wrong side of the black-hat, white-hat divide.
“Once you recognize that you’re operating in a world of varying shades of gray… well, let’s just say that it’s bloody uncomfortable when you find yourself wondering if maybe you’ve become one of the black-hat guys. That’s when I realized it was time to get out.”
Unlike my brother, Marty seems to be a man who actually understands the honor, duty, glory mantra of military types. It’s clear that the idea of possibly having been on the wrong team deeply disturbs him.
“Do you know Molly O’Reilly?” I ask after a long moment.
He nods. “Nice enough gal, I suppose, but she and Frank screwing around was just plain wrong. Her husband was a friend of Frank’s, for Christ’s sake.”
“Is that still going on?”
“It was when I split. Tell you what else bothered me,” he continues with an angry glare. “I never liked the way Frank gawked at my wife more than a few times after he’d been drinking.”
I change gears. “Any rumors about gold disappearing in Iraq while you guys were there?”
“Pretty much anything you can think of disappeared in Baghdad back in the day,” he replies with a shrug. “Gold. Jewelry. US cash. Everything, mate. Why do you ask?”
I tell him about the gold in Frankie’s footlocker. His eyes widen when I mention its value.
“Christ, it’s like I never knew the man,” Marty mutters.
“Join the club,” I say. “You, me, even his wife.”
“I thought he was gonna be hard to find even before I knew he had millions of dollars to work with,” Marty says. “Now, I’m not sure anyone will find him.”
I will. I’ve already got an idea about how to surprise Frankie.
19
Grazyna is stretched out on a lounger in Uncle Peter’s backyard a couple of weeks later, wearing a bikini as she soaks up the midafternoon sun on a scorcher of a late-July day. She’s enjoying her summer in Chicago and is coming to terms with the divorce plan. She has great confidence in Tony and Penelope, who seem to have matters well in hand. There hasn’t been a peep out of Mark since they served him with the injunction notice that prohibits him from contacting her. She had been skeptical that her husband would respect the court order, but has been happily proved wrong. After all, he and his family consider themselves above the law in Wyoming. In fact, they are the law there. Maybe it is true that they are, as Penelope put it, whales in a Wyoming fishbowl, but mere minnows in the ocean of Chicago.
Grazyna met with Penelope earlier in the week while Tony was still in Europe. Professor Dabrowski has apparently persuaded a handful of women to give depositions in support of the divorce case. At least one of them is from Douglas. Penelope will be flying to Denver to take the depositions sometime next week.
Grazyna sits up, tilts her big floppy hat back, and reaches for a sweating glass containing a margarita, one of several fruity drinks her aunt can whip up on demand. The food here is good, the family pleasant and supportive, and the drink service is excellent. She smiles and takes a good pull on the straw floating in her glass and swirls the drink around her mouth. This is the life.
A car coasts down the alley behind the house and stops nearby, not an unusual occurrence in the neighborhood. Sometimes the alley seems to carry more traffic than the street out front. Otherwise, the Zaluski backyard in Cedar Heights is like an urban oasis in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the big city. She used to think Krakow was a big city, but it’s only a fraction the size of Chicago. Between the backyard and a nearby forest preserve, Grazyna is pleasantly surprised at the amount of solitude available to her.
She turns her head at the sound of the back door opening.
Aunt Milly appears on the step, smiles, and asks, “You ready for another margarita, honey?”
Grazyna smiles back, glances at her drink, and shakes her head. “I think another might put me to sleep, Auntie.”
Milly walks over and perches on the end of an adjacent lounger. “You may be right. Mind you, this is your summer of laziness. Plenty of sleep may be just what the doctor ordered.”
Grazyna chuckles. “My summer of laziness. I like that!”
“So, another margarita?”
“I do not think so.”
“Then something else without the alcohol, dear. You must stay hydrated in this heat. How about a glass of lemonade?”
“That sounds heavenly. It is not too much trouble?”
Milly waves the thought aside. “I love having you here, Grazyna. You’re family and I’m the mother around here, so it’s my duty to keep you happy.”
Grazyna grimaces and taps her tummy, which has just a little more swell than it did a month ago. Three pounds worth. “But not fat and happy, Auntie!”
Milly laughs and shakes her head as she gets up. “No danger of that with your lovely figure.”
Grazyna smiles a wicked smile to herself as the back door closes behind Auntie Milly. Maybe gaining thirty pounds isn’t a bad idea. Mark would not approve. He might grow disgusted and be happy to be free of her! She sinks back onto the lounger with a smile and tugs her hat back over her face. Ah, so peaceful!
She doesn’t allow the sound of two car doors opening in the alley and a pair of muffled voices to disturb her tranquility after a chilled glass of lemonade is delivered, sighing deeply as she drapes her hands over the side of the lounger so that her fingernails brush the stone patio.
Not even the creak of the back gate opening disturbs her. It’s probably one of the Zaluski teenagers arriving home from the neighborhood pool. She smiles under her hat when she senses someone nearby; one of the kids is having some fun sneaking up on her. She resolves to stay still as long as possible before jumping up in surprise when she is tickled or someone shouts “Boo!” as they like to do. She will scare them right back!
She gets a scare all right, just not the one she’s expecting. Her hat is flipped back as a gloved hand covers her mouth. A different pair of hands flips her onto her stomach. Her attempt to cry out is muffled by the enormous hand covering her mouth and nose. She feels something close around her wrists as they’re tied together behind her back. A cloth is stuffed in her mouth. Then she’s hoisted off the lounger as if she weighs no more than a feather.
Mark! she thinks as panic strikes.
She’s tossed over someone’s shoulder and then they’re hurrying through the yard toward the back gate.
“Hey!” Aunt Milly cries out as the screen door slams open. “What’s going on out here? Who are you? Put her down!”
“Get back inside and shut up unless you wanna get hurt, lady,” the man carrying Grazyna shoots back. The voice sounds familiar, but it isn’t Mark’s.
A man’s voice from next door calls out, “Should I call the police, Milly?”
“Yes,” Grazyna’s aunt shouts as her footsteps draw closer.
A second intruder orders the man carrying her to, “toss her in the backseat while I take care of this bitch.”
Grazyna’s legs slam against the frame of the gate as she’s hustled into the alley.
“No!” Auntie Milly cries out.
Grazyna cringes at the sound of a fist smashing into a body. She’s sure that the sickening crack that follows is the sound of Auntie Milly’s head crashing down on the stone patio.
The last thing she hears before being tossed like a rag doll into the back seat of a sedan is the voice of the neighbor shouting, “My neighbor’s niece is being abducted.” The slamming of the car door behind her cuts off whatever comes next. When Grazyna realizes that she’s alone in car, she scuttles backward across the back seat to the far door and positions herself to yank the door handle. She pushes the door open and falls into the alley, then struggles to her feet and starts to run.
“Get that bitch back here!” a voice behind her cries out.
The back gate of the neighbor’s fence swings open as footsteps close in behind Grazyna. The face of an elderly man appears in the opening. He beckons to her. “In here, miss. Hurry!”
Already off balance as she runs awkwardly with her hands tied behind her back, Grazyna loses her balance when she pivots toward the open gate and crashes into the gate post, bouncing back to fall face-first onto the asphalt. She turns her head to look up as the old man emerges and reaches down for her. Heavy footsteps arrive. Grazyna is horrified when a fist slams into the man’s face with the crunch of bone giving way, propelling him backward through the open gate. The assailant follows him in and launches a pair of vicious kicks into the prone figure. Grazyna uses the precious seconds to scramble back to her feet and flee. She gets only ten or fifteen feet before her hair is grabbed from behind and she’s yanked backward. The forward momentum of her body launches her feet into the air. Grazyna lands hard on her back, knocking the breath out of her. She barely feels that pain against the fire that has erupted in her scalp.
“Enough bullshit!” a masked face growls at her before the man hoists her back over his shoulder and retreats back to the car.
She hears the faint sound of an approaching siren seconds before they reach the open rear door of the car. Her head cracks against the top of the door frame as she is thrown inside. The door slams shut. This time she’s not alone in the backseat. A big body falls across her to pin her down as the car surges forward, throwing her and her assailant against the seatback. As they race away, the smell of a sweating body fills her nostrils. She gags against it in horror when a hand roughly mashes her breast to pin her to the seat.
Grazyna studies the hungry eyes peering out of the balaclava inches from her face. Despite their pathetic efforts to sound like Southerners, she suspects her abductors are members of Mark’s posse. Where they plan to take her does not bear thinking about. Nor does what will happen when they deliver her to Mark.
20
Horace Greenwood and I are seated across the desk from Cedar Heights Chief of Police Jake Plummer, discussing what Chicago PD is doing with the pictures and other information I brought back from South Carolina. The police have had Frankie’s footlocker delivered to Chicago.
