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“I’m guessing he didn’t know who he was dealing with,” Boone said with a shrug. “When he met Violi and discovered who he was messing with, he ran.”
“A possibility,” Asher agreed with a slow nod. “But then why not just pay back the money? Fanning’s got millions in his account.”
“A good question only Fanning could answer,” Boone said, dryly.
Too bad they couldn’t ask him. Asher hated Fanning, but he hadn’t wished Fanning dead. Remy filled his thoughts. He wondered how she’d react to this news. He considered next steps and how to even proceed now. “Violi has the connections to secure a hit like this?”
“If he’s hanging around the King criminal family who meet up at Antonio’s, without a doubt,” Boone confirmed.
Still, where did that leave them? Nowhere. What they knew and what they could prove were two different things.
Asher pondered what he’d heard. Back in the nineties, the King family had been big players in racketeering and money laundering. When the head of that family, Stefano, got taken down and put into jail, most of the organized crime in Whitby Falls ended. Until Stefano’s son, Joaquin, got old enough to take over. He was a smarter criminal than his father, and a rich one at that.
Obviously, following Asher’s line of thinking, Boone added, “We can look, but if King’s men are involved, we will find absolutely nothing tying Violi to Fanning’s death. It’ll look like a fight between inmates.”
“Who’s working the case?” Asher pressed on.
“Detective Smithson in Whitby Falls is looking into the large deposit into the suspect’s wife’s account,” Boone reported. “But even that will be neat and tidy, and they’ll have a reason to explain it all.” Frustration tightened the corners of Boone’s eyes. “Joaquin King and his men are a step ahead of the game, always.”
And they all knew why. Whitby Falls had a few dirty cops in their ranks. They always seemed to avoid the clean cops attempting to take them down, and internal investigations had yet to weed them out.
Asher’s back stiffened at the thought of Remy being anywhere near anyone connected to Joaquin King. “Which wife was Violi’s sister?”
“The most recent one,” Rhett said, opening the file folder and handing Asher a photograph.
Asher studied the picture. The woman looked nothing like Remy, a complete opposite with dark features and dark hair. Asher dropped the photo onto his desk, then rubbed at the tension along his neck. “That explains why Fanning only managed to get a few hundred thousand from her. He got a lot more from the other wives.”
Rhett inclined his head. “That’s where my thoughts went too. Fanning must have realized that scamming more money from her would’ve sent him to the grave. He took what he had and booked it.”
Asher inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. “I want this cleaned up for Remy, and yet, somehow we only seem to get more in the thick of it as things go by.”
“With Fanning gone now,” Boone said, causing Asher to lower his hands, “this guy has gotta be on his way soon.”
“Let’s hope for that,” Asher said.
Rhett rose from his chair and moved to the doorway. “Besides, Fanning’s death happened in Whitby Falls’s jurisdiction. It ain’t our problem. The way I see it, Remy got her justice too. Violi will be gone, and we can put this matter to bed.”
“Is anything ever that easy?” Asher asked with a snort.
“This time, let’s hope so,” Rhett said before leaving the office.
Boone rose from his seat and said, “Thought you should know that Kinsley called a bit ago. Remy’s at the bar and she looks upset but won’t talk about it.” He made it to the door, then turned back. “Let me know if something’s up.”
Asher nodded. “Does she know about Fanning?”
Boone shook his head. “No one knows but us.”
Asher watched Boone leave his office and then he cleaned up his files and his desk. He grabbed his leather jacket on the back of the door on his way out. The station was bustling, a couple cops walking a handcuffed inebriated woman into the back of the station. Two officers were typing up reports, and the receptionist was busy on the phones. Asher was only thinking about Remy when he made it outside, sliding into his jacket as the cool autumn air brushed over him. He walked the few blocks, the leaves blowing down the street, and he entered Kinsley’s bar a moment later.
On the black shiny stage, a woman with a gravelly voice sang her heart out while playing the piano. He found Remy sitting at the bar, her shoulders curled, with Kinsley standing on the other side of the bar, her chin in her hand, saying something to Remy.
When Asher got closer, Kinsley saw him coming and straightened. Her mouth moved again, then she turned away and headed toward the end of the bar. She must have told Remy he was
coming, because she looked his way when he slid onto the stool. He took one look into her face and frowned. “You know about Damon.”
She nodded. “Lars told me.”
Asher’s back straightened. “You spoke to him?”
