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“What sort of information?” Alex asked.
“Anything that would suggest that the man might be trouble. For instance, if they are an abusive alcoholic or prone to violence. The last thing I want is to leave one of my boys alone with a guy who has anger issues while he’s been drinking heavily.”
“So why would you grant access to a murderer or a kidnapper?” Marc growled, temper flaring.
“I wouldn’t. I’ve only had two instances where I suspected that someone might be involved in such a heinous crime, and both times, I had my friends in law enforcement look into the guys.”
“Bull shit. There are a lot more than two heinous crimes in that journal,” Alex shot back.
Matteo turned and glared at the young man.
“Drug trafficking or cheating on someone’s spouse, I don’t give a shit about. People can do what they want or make money however they please so long as it doesn’t affect my boys or my business.”
“So, then you did write the journal,” Marc noted.
“No. But I think I know who may have,” Matteo said, glancing over at Levi.
Levi looked back at him, confused.
“A few years ago, I had a boy working for me named Edwin. He was a young man who had an alcohol and substance abuse problem. I got him off the streets and helped get him clean. I kept him close as I feared that he might fall back on old habits, but I didn’t realize how my actions were being perceived in his mind. To him, we were becoming a couple.
“One night, he came to me with this grand idea that we should be using the information we collect about our guests to blackmail the wealthier ones. I explained to him that we were not criminals, and that was not how I did business. He said he understood and dropped the issue.” Matteo looked over at Levi before he proceeded. “Then, one night, he snuck into my room and tried to force himself onto me, convinced that we were a couple and belonged together. When I refused him, he told me I’d be sorry, and then he ran off from the mansion. That was over three years ago.”
“So you think that this Edwin is the person who wrote this journal?” Chase asked, finally joining the conversation.
“I’m guessing so. He must have done his own research as well because some of this information I have never seen before, including Mr. Peabody being a suspected kidnapper. I knew the man was eccentric and a bit of an odd one, but nothing ever led me to believe that the man was dangerous or a kidnapper, for that matter.”
“What can you tell us about this Mr. Peabody?” Chase asked.
Matteo glanced over at Levi. “Well, the man was a history professor I believe, lived alone, was a quiet, shy type of man. He liked to visit La Maison once every few months. He was very reserved and liked to just spend the evening chatting with Levi. He never tried anything sexual; he just liked to chat and hang out like they were the best of friends.” Matteo turned toward Levi for any additional information.
“Yeah, he’s pretty much a kitten. He likes it when I sit with him and act like we’re best of friends. He has a thing for fantasies and likes to make up pretend scenarios every time he visits.”
The group looked at Levi, confused.
Levi proceeded to explain.
“During one visit, he wanted to pretend that we were going to spend Christmas together in London, so we spent the evening discussing what sort of sights we would see during our trip. We even discussed what sort of presents we should buy for our friends and families. It was a sweet conversation. I really find it hard to believe that he would kidnap anyone. What for? I get the sense that he’s a lonely man and just wants someone to talk to.”
Turning to face Chase, Matteo tilted his head slightly. “In the stables, you specifically asked me about Peabody. Why?”
“He’s the case I’m investigating.”
“Why? What leads you to believe that any of the horrible things Edwin has written about in that journal are true? I can only vouch for the things that I have recorded myself. How do you know that these are not lies created by a psychotic little prick who was looking for a quick and easy cash grab?”
Ares sat at the head of the table, enjoying a mouthful of risotto. He was a handsome man in a rough, rugged sort of way. It was clear that life had been tough on the guy. Chase didn’t know much about the man or his history, but it was clear that everything he had, he had to fight for to get. Those deep-set hazel eyes hid many secrets, many of which the living were not privy to. He didn’t seem to give a shit about Marc, his assumptions, or his research methods.
The rest of the table turned to Marc and waited for him to explain.
“Two weeks ago, we came across a posting on the dark web from a man looking for his sister. He claimed that she went out on a date with a man with a rose tattoo on his left wrist but never returned home that evening. Your journal right there mentions that Peabody had a rose tattoo on his left wrist. Also, the age and description available seem to match the suspect in the man’s post. So, we’re hoping to find out where Peabody lives and rescue this guy’s sister,” Marc explained.
Matteo threw his arms up in the air quickly. “Hold up! You’re not going to go around harassing my clients, accusing them of crimes that some crack-pot ex-druggie with an alcohol problem wrote down in a book somewhere. My guests expect privacy and confidentiality as part of their stay. There is no way in hell I’m giving you their address so you can go and accuse them of something that they did not do.”
“So, you want to turn a blind eye and let these monsters go? Let them continue to kidnap and murder people, all so that you can continue to fill your pockets with hundred-dollar bills?” Chase shouted from his end of the table.
The room fell silent.
“That’s not what I’m saying, dipshit. I’m saying, stop being a shoot first-ask questions later dumb-ass American, and stop to think about things first. We can work together to discreetly investigate the names in this journal to determine whether the accusations made in these pages are true or just the ramblings of a sick kid.” He held the journal up as he ranted. “If these accusations turn out to be true, then we can take matters into our own hands.” Matteo’s eyes darkened. There was something to be said about Italians and their tempers.
