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“No,” I said. “When you get our age naps are important.”
“Everyone in here knows they’re not actually old, right?” Doug asked. “So weird.”
“Hold up,” Cole said. “Go back to what you were saying about military records.”
“We’ll never get a warrant on Kirby,” Jack said. “We could have video of Kirby dancing on Sowers’ skull holding the murder weapon, and we’d have to turn it over to the Justice Department. And then they’d bury it. It’s what they do. Kirby knows he’s protected because he didn’t pull the trigger on Sowers. But anyone at the state department who’s making diplomatic trips around the world would have access to the military. Or at least former military acting as private security. I want to see if Pickering was on assignment anywhere at the same time Kirby was visiting.”
“I’m always happy to help you, Jack,” Mackenzie purred, her voice changing to Kathleen Turner. “I’ll run a scan now. I’ll need Doug’s assistance as there will be some obstacles considering this Kirby’s position.”
“Thank you, Mackenzie,” Jack said. “Moving on.” Jack hit a button on his laptop and Alex Denaro’s face appeared on the wall. “Then we have an interesting fly in the ointment. I did a search on the Denaro family. His great-grandfather came from Italy in the forties and ran the mob in Little Italy in Philadelphia. They called him Big Lou, and then the torch was passed to the next generation after Big Lou’s death.
“The whole thing sounds like a movie,” he continued. “The Denaros have paid cops in their pockets and it’s no secret who runs that part of town to this day. I don’t know why Denaro left the organization—if he actually did—but he knew Sowers because he was a regular, and he knew about the drugs and women. And Bobby Pickering was his too. He was so helpful to give us his personnel file last night.”
“Yeah,” Martinez said, smirking. “I never trust anyone who seems too helpful. Everyone always has at least one thing to hide. Something that might not make them look so good.”
“Cops are so weird,” Lily said. “So you don’t trust helpful people?”
“We don’t really trust anyone,” Martinez said. “Everyone lies.”
“Sad,” Lily said. “You need a good woman in your life.”
He winked. “I’ve got plenty of good women in my life.”
“Before Martinez can start reading off the names of the women in his phone,” I said. “Why was there such a difference in the victim’s head trauma this time? Was it a different weapon?”
“Same weapon,” Jack said. “Different bullet. Not a hollow point this time. It was meant to destroy everything in its path. The killer wanted to make a scene and he got what he wanted. And maybe it was a warning.”
“To who?” I asked.
“Maybe Darnell Watkins,” Jack said. “Or maybe to us.” And then he turned to Cole and Martinez. “What happened when you got Darnell into questioning?”
“He’d already lawyered up by the time we asked the first question,” Martinez said. “Kid’s scared to death.”
“Who’s the attorney?” Jack asked.
“Some guy named Rob Moretti,” Cole said. “Looked like he came out of the Mafia playbook.”
Jack raised his brows. “So maybe Alex Denaro has a reason for not wanting Darnell to talk. Did you get anything out of him?”
“Not one word,” Martinez said. “Moretti wouldn’t even let the kid say his name for the record. We can hold him for seventy-two hours, so that’s what we’ll do. Maybe he’ll decide to start talking.”
“Jail might be the safest place for him if the killer is knocking off people who could identify him,” Jack said. “We’ll give him a good night’s sleep and then take another crack at him in the morning. He might be feeling real talkative.”
“Those were our thoughts too,” Cole said. “Kid’s never been in trouble. Not even a parking ticket. A night in jail isn’t going to sit well with him.”
“I think Jaye and I need to pay a visit to Alex Denaro,” Jack said.
CHAPTERTWELVE
The womanin the house across the street from us had just recently been murdered by a copycat serial killer. Her house had been cleared of all the crime scene paraphernalia, but there was an eerie emptiness that accompanied the house now and the grass and weeds were starting to take over the front entryway.
I guess the agents figured the coverage was enough that their sedan wasn’t visible, but we could see them parked as we came out of our gate and headed down Heresy Road. I resisted the urge to wave.
Alex Denaro and his wife had bought one of the old farmsteads not far from Jack’s family land, so it didn’t take us long to get there. Jack hadn’t called first, so we were taking a chance that he’d be home. But it wasn’t like he had a restaurant to open.
“Nice place,” Jack said as we wound our way down a gravel drive.
The farmhouse was big and white, and there was a chicken coop that was a mini replica of the house off to one side. There was a big red barn back behind the house and a basketball goal in the driveway.
