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We were all at the Benetti House and it was where they conducted all their meetings with people outside the family. Their home safety rivaled that of Fort Knox, and even I wasn’t allowed in a Benetti home building. The men of the family were fanatics over the safety of their wives, so I knew that it wasn’t anything personal, and I also understood it. With the lifestyle that these men led, they could never be too careful. However, I was still family enough to meet with them in Francisco’s office, instead of the conference room that they usually reserved for large business meetings.
Ria made herself at home on top of Francisco’s desk while Vincent sat down in one of the armchairs positioned in front of the desk. Francisco grabbed two folders off the top of his desk as I sat on the nearby couch. After handing me the folders, Francisco went to go stand next to his wife. According to Ellie, Francisco rarely left the woman’s side, but who could blame him.
I glanced down at the first folder, and it was labeled Kurt Oliver. As soon as I opened the folder, a picture of his mugshot stared back at me. He didn’t look like a monster, but monsters very rarely did.
Vincent’s voice broke the silence. “Kurt Oliver. Forty-two-years-old and a car salesman when he’s not dealing drugs.”
I looked up at him. “Is he a known drug dealer?”
Vincent shook his head. “No, he’s small time.”
“But he thinks that he’s big time,” Ria chimed in. “He attacked Sarah Lewis as a payback for her brother not coming through with some money.”
“Sal couldn’t find anything like rape prior to his attack on Sarah, so he’s not a serial rapist. He used the attack as a means to build his reputation in the drug game,” Vincent added.
Looking between all their faces, I asked, “Anything on the brother?”
Ria shook her head. “He’s just an average douchebag. The only reason that we know what we do is because Dante took the liberty of procuring your new friend for you.”
“That was thoughtful of him,” I remarked absently.
Ria grinned like a true sadist. “As soon as Kurt realized who had him, he started confessing every sin that he’s ever committed in a bid to save himself.”
“He’s in the warehouse on Burberry Street,” Francisco informed me.
“And the technicality?” I asked. While mistakes happened, cops were expected to be good at their jobs. Human error with something so important should not go unpunished.
“Christos is already working on it,” Vincent answered. “By the time that he’s done with MCPD, Sarah Lewis is going to be left with a healthy chunk of change.”
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. “I really appreciate your help on this.”
“Anytime,” Ria replied, and it didn’t matter what the other men in the room thought. She had offered up their services a long time ago, and no one in the family would ever contradict her.
Setting Kurt Oliver’s file down next to me on the couch, I opened the folder that was labeled Posie Tinley, and no one said a word as I scanned through her file. Though the folder was thin, the contents were a lot heavier than I had ever expected.
When I was done reading Posie’s file, I looked up at the three faces regarding me. “Who knows about this?”
“I did the research personally,” Vincent answered. “So, just us three know the details that are in that folder.”
“Jesus Christ,” I swore under my breath, running a hand through my hair.
“All three men were sent to prison, but they’re all dead now,” Francisco said. “Martin Tyler killed himself seven months into his sentence, and the other two were killed within two years of their sentences since they hadn’t been afforded protective custody.”
“I thought all rapists were afforded protective custody in prison?”
“They normally are,” Vincent confirmed. “But Donaldson and Sanders kept getting reassigned to general population, no matter how many times they had ended up back on the PC yard. We don’t know how, either.”
“A fourth guy had also come up missing back then,” Ria added. “Kenneth Thomas, and he was a federal judge’s son. According to the rumors, he’d been behind Posie’s attack.”
“There’s more,” Francisco stated solemnly.
“Jesus fuck, really?” I asked, looking over at him.
“Did you know that her best friend is Lennon Prince?” he asked.
I shook my head, though the name sounded familiar for some reason. “No,” I admitted. “I really don’t know much about her personally.”
“Lennon Marlow-Prince,” Vincent clarified.
