Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (7 page)

“This is our type of case; pretty much right up our alley,” Doc said. “Assuming it pays, is there any reason why we shouldn’t take it, now that SPD has basically signed off?”

“There’s a couple of things we should consider before we decide,” Toni said.

I looked at her, wondering what she was referring to.

“Angelo Fiore,” she continued, “is a first cousin of John and Peter Calabria.”

I knew this but considered it common knowledge. I hadn’t thought about the possibility that the others might not be aware of it. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention that,” I said. “You’re right. The Fiores are related to the Chicago crime family John and Peter Calabria. But Angelo Fiore is not part of that.”

“You certain about that?” Toni asked. “Where’d he get his money to start his business? And did you know that the Calabria family is distantly related all the way back to Al Capone?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the six degrees of separation?” I asked. “Hell, we’re all probably distantly related to Al Capone.”

“He might be,” Doc said, pointing to Kenny. “I’m an Apache.”

“Doc is excepted,” I said.

“I believe the six degrees refers to friendships, not relations,” Richard said. “In any case, I prefer to think I’m from a different genealogical branch as well. That said, Toni’s is a valid question. Fortunately, it’s already been asked and answered many times before. The Calabrias were once a major force in Chicago crime—drugs, prostitution, loans, the like. I say
were
because I believe that the Calabrias themselves are essentially retired—no longer involved with operations. Although the name of the organization remains the ‘Calabria family,’ the actual day-to-day operations are run by younger generations now. Peter and John are out of it.” He paused and sipped from a water bottle before continuing. “Actually, what happened is that Peter and John Calabria were both rung up on federal RICO charges in the nineties. They both spent several years in a federal prison. They got out and that was that—they were done. In any case, the Fiore branch of the family here in Seattle has always been clean. When I was at SPD, we knew Angelo Fiore was related to the Calabrias, and we watched him pretty closely. The Feds would also drop in from time to time and have a look. As far as I know, no one has ever been able to even accuse Angelo of any mob dealings, never mind convict him of anything. From anything I’ve ever seen or heard, he’s an upstanding member of the community—active in politics, patron of the Seattle Symphony. He’s squeaky clean. But excellent due diligence, my dear,” he said, nodding to Toni.

“Thank you,” Toni said with a smile. “Since you are both so well informed, I suppose you’re aware of Angelo’s current troubles with the federal government?” This time, Richard and I both stared at her.

“What?” Richard asked.

“Turns out that Angelo has a very serious IRS problem.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yep,” she said. “In fact, two years ago he was indicted in federal court for income tax evasion. His trial is scheduled for later this year.”

“Where’d you get that?” I asked.

“I’m a detective,” she said. “I detect.”

“Yeah, right,” I answered. “Give it up. Where’d you get it?”

“Same place I got the info on the Calabrias. I had Kenny dig it up on the Internet.”

I looked at Kenny, and he was grinning. “True,” he said. “I pulled the federal records, and Angelo Fiore was indicted over two years ago. It’s taken this long to get to court, but his trial is set for December.”

The room was silent for a second. Then Toni said, “The question is, do either of these two little tidbits a) have anything at all to do with Gina Fiore’s disappearance, or b) have any impact on whether we accept the case?”

“What would the Chicago mob have to do with Gina’s disappearance?” Richard asked. “It’s hard to know what goes on inside a closed organization like that, but it seems unlikely that they have anything to do with this. After all, Angelo’s been running clean and untouched for forty years.”

I didn’t relish the thought of getting tangled up with organized crime, but I had to agree with Richard. I couldn’t see any reason why the Calabrias would have had anything to do with this. “I tend to agree,” I said. “The bigger issue might be if the Calabrias try to send muscle from outside to help the family out. We’ll have to watch out for that. As to the tax problem, I don’t care about that except to make sure we get paid. I’ll talk to Robbie about an advance retainer.”

Toni and Richard nodded.

“We’ve got the manpower, and we’ve got an opening,” Doc said.

“And we’ve got the experience in missing persons,” Kenny added.

“Anyone see a reason why Toni and I shouldn’t make a deal with the Fiores?” I asked. There were no objections.

“Alright. We’ll go tell them we’re in. Toni and I already have a meeting set up with the family this afternoon.”

“Cool,” Kenny said. “Does this mean we get to keep getting paid?”

“Cross your fingers,” I said. “We’ll need you to start working on our standard missing person protocol—bank activity, credit card activity, cell phone use, the works. Keep in mind that, at least in theory, the police may be doing the same thing. Be careful not to trip over them.”

“Please,” Kenny said with a disgusted look.

“Amends,” I said. “Doc, why don’t you pull the Sex Offender Registery. We’ll start working that angle just in case. Let’s see if someone stands out.”

“I’m on it,” he answered.

~~~~

The Queen Anne neighborhood, where the Fiores live, is not far from our office. Since it was a beautiful summer day, we took the Jeep with the soft top pushed back. I popped in “Times Like These” by the Foo Fighters—the acoustic version—and we listened as I drove. I rested one arm on the windowsill while Toni took in the sights.

The Queen Anne area is always in high demand. While neither the size of the lots nor the size of the homes on them could be considered extreme, the central location, the historical architecture, and the urban panache of the area make the price of entry here such that only the very well-heeled can afford to buy in. Once-beautiful houses that have started to show their age are typically purchased by wealthy techies who are not afraid to spend incredible sums of money to restore the homes to their former beauty—or even beyond. It’s an area that hasn’t been hit too hard by the nationwide real estate recession.

Ten minutes later, halfway up the Queen Anne Hill, we pulled up to the Fiore residence. The large yellow home featured Victorian architecture and was set back from the street by a large lawn and a veritable sea of roses and rhododendrons. Ornate, white wrought-iron fencing that was partially covered by a Photinia hedge protected the home. Large maple trees served as a backdrop.

“Damn,” Toni said, looking in awe as we drove past. “I’ve been hanging with the wrong crowd.”

I chuckled. “I’ve never showed you where my dad lives, have I?” I asked. “He’s about half a mile north of here.”

“Is it like this?”

“Yeah, a little,” I said. “It’s a Victorian, like this one. Very old. My great-great-grandfather built it in 1920. Different color, thank God.”

“If it’s anything like this,” she said, looking wide-eyed at the large, impressive home, “then the answer is yes.”

“Yes? Yes what? What’s the question?”

“Yes, I will marry you and have your children. When do we move in?”

I laughed. The white-iron entry gates were open, so I swung around and parked in the circular drive. Promptly at 2:00 p.m., we rang the bell.

“Danny, Toni,” Robbie said when he answered the door, “Thanks so much for coming. Please come in.”

Robbie closed the ten-foot doors behind us, and we found ourselves in a foyer with bright white wainscoting and shiny dark-oak flooring. Centered above us was a crystal chandelier, perhaps six feet in diameter. A large vase of stargazer lilies sat atop a walnut entry table to our right. On the wall to our left was a huge French Impressionist painting of a seacoast village. “Is that real?” I asked Toni. I couldn’t tell.

“Hard to say,” she said. “Looks real.” She’d taken art history in college and it was a hobby of hers. Real or not, the overall effect of the home was very impressive—all the more so because it achieved an elegant style without seeming to try very hard.

“Please come this way,” Robbie said, walking with us. “My parents are waiting for us.” We followed him to the back of the home where the family room was located. Floor-to-ceiling windows trimmed in gloss white formed the back wall. The room overlooked a backyard that featured a brilliant blue swimming pool set amid red-brick decking and rich, well-tended landscaping. The mature trees completely sheltered the yard from the surrounding urban area.

Natural daylight flooded the room. We stepped from the wood flooring into the carpeted room, and it felt like I sank in up to my ankles. A large flat-screen television was on, tuned to a news channel with the sound muted. As we entered, a small man and a taller woman rose to greet us.

“Mother, Father,” Robbie said, “I don’t know, but you may remember Danny Logan—Gina had Danny here for Thanksgiving dinner with us several years ago. And this is Miss Toni Blair, also of the Logan agency. Danny, Toni, my parents Angelo and Carina Fiore.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Fiore,” I said, reaching to shake hands, “we’re very pleased to see you. We only wish it could be in happier times.”

“Thank you,” the woman said. “We’re very grateful to have you here.”

Angelo Fiore was a short, thin man who appeared to be in his late sixties. He hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen him, five years before. His hair was still full and, along with his goatee, was still mostly dark, not much gray. His face, though, was lined with wrinkles, which gave away his age. His eyes were more tired than I remembered, but this may have had more to do with the stress brought on by his daughter’s disappearance than with his age. He was dressed neatly in gray slacks and a yellow knit shirt.

Carina Fiore was a striking woman—it was easy to see Gina in her. She was in her mid-fifties and was five five or five six—nearly as tall as Angelo. She had a very attractive figure. Her hair was mostly blonde with maybe a little gray mixed in. Her eyes were a deep blue, but swollen and lined with red—she’d been crying recently. She was very pretty, but her distress was obvious.

Carina Fiore nodded and said, “It’s very good to see you again. Please, sit down.” She pointed to a sofa. “Let’s talk. May we bring you something to drink? Iced tea, bottled water?”

“Yes, please. Water would be very nice,” Toni said. I nodded in agreement. Robbie stepped away to the kitchen while the four of us sat down.

There was silence for a second, then Angelo leaned in and said to me, “You’re the soldier.”

I nodded. “Yes sir, I was in the army when Gina had me over.” I glanced at Carina. I had no idea what Gina had told them about why I was there for dinner with them those several years ago or, maybe even more important, why I seemed to disappear from her life shortly thereafter.

“I do remember, indeed,” Carina said. “My daughter bringing any man home is something to remember, for certain. She seemed to like you a great deal, as I recall, but then you had to go off to school.” So—Gina’d told them the truth.

“That’s right. I was a special agent for the U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Division. I had to go back east for more training.”

Angelo stared at me. “I’m not on all that good of terms with the federal government at the moment, young man. Let me ask you—do you have any connection with the federal government now?”

“None, sir,” I answered. “I was discharged in December 2007.”

Angelo nodded. “Good.”

“Have you seen my daughter recently?” Carina asked.

“No ma’am, I’m sad to say I haven’t seen her since shortly after our Thanksgiving dinner here in 2006. We hadn’t been seeing each other for very long before the dinner. After I left, we eventually lost contact altogether.”

“People flow into and out of each other’s lives, don’t they?” she said.

I nodded. “That’s true.”

“And you,” Angelo said to Toni. “This guy tell you about any of this—this history?”

Toni looked directly at him for a moment, and then blasted him with the dazzling megawatt smile. “He tells me everything, Mr. Fiore.”

Angelo was only human. He couldn’t resist. He melted and smiled back. The ice was broken.

“My daughter’s gone,” he said, sober again. “Can you help us?”

~~~~

The last time I’d been at this house, Gina had been laughing and happy. She was twenty-two then, a recent magna cum laude graduate from the University of Washington, and on top of the world. At that time, the home had been decorated for Thanksgiving and had a warm, comfortable feel about it. Gina and I had arrived around noon. I remember making small talk with her dad, but mostly I’d wanted to talk to Gina. I was hooked—completely enthralled. She knew it, and she played with me, but I didn’t mind. I was done. Stick a fork in me.

It had been a rare sunny November day, and after dinner we’d decided to go for a ride. We drove over to Gasworks Park at the top of Lake Union and found a bench that looked out over the water to the south. I had my arm around her as she explained her idea. “Let’s take a couple of weeks off just after New Year’s and go to Hawaii,” she said. “By then, we’ll be sick and tired of the gray Seattle winter. I want to share a Hawaiian sunset with you. We’ll have them bring us boat drinks—the kind with the coconut and the pineapple slices and the umbrellas. We’ll get a little drunk, but not too much. We’ll watch the sunset. Then we’ll run back to our room and get naked.” I reminded her of the fact that I was due to report to the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, for Advanced Training. “No problem,” she’d said. Just reschedule it. Truly nothing sounded better to me than spending two weeks—or two years for that matter—in Hawaii with Gina. But she didn’t know about the realities of the military—my world.

I never got to take that trip with her. I reported for training in Virginia and what started as nightly phone calls quickly turned into weekly phone calls and then, within a month, no phone calls at all. I got a one-week leave for Christmas, but when we talked over the phone about it, it seemed like the enthusiasm had waned—maybe for both of us. I ended up going to St. Thomas with a couple of guys from the school.