Nothing But the Truth Page 16

  Leo didn’t wait, of course, since he had a standing appointment. He showed himself to the chair to Griffin’s left.

  The barber, Enrico himself, fastened a cape around Leo’s neck, then leaned his chair back and applied a hot towel to his face.

  “Yow. Enrico, what are you trying to do, send me to the burn unit?”

  “Just trying to give you a nice, smooth shave, how you like.” Enrico sounded unperturbed, as if maybe this dialogue was a comforting routine they went through every week.

  “Mr. Simonetti?” Griffin injected what he thought was just the right amount of respect and awe.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Griffin Benedict. Wow, I can’t believe I’m sitting right next to you.”

  “You’re a reporter.” Leo sounded disgusted.

  Griffin was unnerved to realize he was on the radar of a homicidal mobster. Coincidence? Or did he know exactly who Griffin was because of his interest in Raleigh?

  “Have to earn a living somehow,” Griffin said, trying to make light of Leo’s negative feelings toward the press. “Don’t worry, I’m not writing a story about you.”

  “Good. ’Cause if I hear the words ‘machete man’ coming out of your mouth—”

  Enrico pulled the towel off Griffin’s face. “Mr. Simonetti is my best customer. I don’t stand for him being badgered in my place.”

  Leo laughed. “Ah, leave the kid alone, Rico.”

  “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble, Mr. Simonetti,” Griffin said as another barber, whose name tag identified him as Theo, lathered up Griffin’s face. “But I’m curious how you feel about the possibility of your son’s conviction being overturned.”

  Leo whipped the towel off his face and sat up, focusing his infamous laserlike black eyes on Griffin. “They’re gonna let Luigi go? Since when?”

  Luigi was Leo’s oldest son, doing ten to twenty for bank fraud. Griffin observed Leo out the corner of his eye. “Ah, not Luigi. Anthony.”

  “Anthony.” A different expression came over Leo’s face. Griffin would almost call it tender. “He don’t talk to me no more. But I knew all along he didn’t do it. That gun they found—I bet they traced it to Little Louie. Am I right?”

  Who the hell was Little Louie? “All I heard was they might have found the murder weapon, and they might be able to tie it to someone other than Anthony.”

  Theo sharpened his straight razor on a strop. Griffin was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, surrounded by a mob leader and his protective friends.

  “I already know that much,” Leo said. “A man in my position hears things.”

  Not surprising. Leo probably had plants at the police department. Every good mobster had a few cops on his payroll. Sad but true fact.

  “Of course, Anthony doesn’t tell me. Like I said, he don’t talk to me.” Leo sounded put out.

  Enrico soothed the mobster back into the chair and lathered up his face.

  “But that gun they found,” Leo continued, “it’s not Anthony’s, that’s for damn sure. Kid would never touch a gun. Even when he was little. ‘Guns are bad, Papa.’ He would cry if he even saw one. Sometimes I wonder how I sired that kid. But I still love him.”

  Griffin actually felt for the guy. His paternal feelings seemed genuine.

  “So, Mr. Smart Guy Reporter, you think this gun thing might pan out? He might get out of jail?”

  “I don’t know all the details, just that there’s a possibility. Who’s Little Louie?”

  “Louis Costanza. Nutcase. His father, Christophe, is someone I do business with. A few years ago I got a little irritated with Christophe ’cause he delivered some counterfeit auto parts to my mechanic. Supposed to be Mercedes, German crafted, and instead he shows up with Chinese fakes. So maybe I didn’t pay him and he got irritated right back at me.

  “But Christophe and I, we go way back, we work things out. Louie, though, the son, he’s a whack job. Thinks he’ll earn some brownie points with the father by getting even with me, shooting my son.”

  “Except Anthony wasn’t home,” Griffin concluded. “But his girlfriend was.”

  “You got it.” Then, more to himself, he added, “So wrong, on every level.”

  Holy hell. Was Leo telling the truth? “Do you know for sure Louie did it?”

  Theo ran the straight razor cleanly around Griffin’s chin. The blade was so sharp it felt like a satin ribbon.

  “Louie couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

  “The police never named him as a suspect.”

  “The police weren’t interested in my theories about my son’s girlfriend’s murderer. They said I was unreliable, that I was just making stuff up. But, you know, what goes around comes around. Few weeks later, Louie died behind the wheel. Driving drunk.”

  A convenient accident. “But Anthony still paid the price.”

  “He wouldn’t accept my help. Pigheaded like his mother, that one.”

  If Griffin had been in Anthony’s shoes, maybe he wouldn’t have accepted the gangster’s help, either. Leo’s brand of help might have involved bribing a judge or engaging in a bit of jury tampering, which could have exploded in Anthony’s face.

  “Have you talked to Anthony?” Leo asked. He sounded thirsty for any news of his son.

  “No. Just to one of his lawyers.” Griffin was loath to bring Raleigh or Project Justice to Leo’s attention if he didn’t already know about them.

  “If you talk to him, tell him all’s forgiven.”

  “I will.”

  “And you write one word of this conversation in your stinking newspaper, I’ll cut off your family jewels and stuff them down your throat.”

  Griffin tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone suddenly dry. Why was everyone threatening his private parts? “No worries about that.” As of this morning, he no longer worked for the Telegram. He’d had a difficult conversation with his longtime editor, Marvin Gussler—told him everything. To his credit, Marvin hadn’t gotten mad. But then, nothing much ever ruffled the guy. He’d told Griffin to take a leave of absence, give it a week, then decide. Marvin had even hinted that a raise wouldn’t be out of the question.

  Now, at the barbershop, Griffin didn’t say another word, and he prayed for Theo to finish his work quickly.

  “HE’S AT the front gate. Should we let him in?” Jillian, clipboard in hand, had just entered the dining room where Daniel and Raleigh were having a late lunch—tuna salad on fresh, crusty croissants right out of the oven. The delicious bread stuck in Raleigh’s throat.

  Daniel set down his tea. “By all means, let him in. Let’s see what he has to say for himself.”

  Raleigh cleared her throat. “Maybe I should go make myself busy.”

  “Nonsense. Raleigh, I never took you for a coward. Face the bastard head-on. Don’t let him see you hurting.”

  Wise words. But Raleigh wasn’t sure she could follow the advice. Already, her chest felt tight and her eyes burned, and she hadn’t even seen Griffin yet.

  Still, she couldn’t leave. Her boss had given her a direct order. She’d never seen Daniel in his dangerous mode, and she made a note never to cross the man. She wouldn’t want to be in Griffin’s shoes.

  A couple of minutes later, Griffin strode into the dining room as if he owned the place. He didn’t even have the good grace to show remorse.

  And he looked incredible. He’d gotten a haircut? At a time like this?

  “You have a lot of nerve,” Daniel said with deceptive mildness.

  Griffin looked confused. Not rueful. “You already know?”

  “Of course we know. CNI runs continuous news feeds all day long. You didn’t think they would sit on a juicy story like that for more than a few minutes, did you?”

  “Wait…how would CNI know anything about my meeting with Leo Simonetti?”

  Now it was Daniel’s turn to look confused. Jillian, too. And Raleigh was pretty sure her own consternation radiated out of her like a lighthouse beacon.
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  “You met with Leo?” Raleigh couldn’t help asking. “God, Griffin, the man is a cold-blooded killer.”

  “A killer who loves his son. He’s not the one trying to stop you from exonerating Anthony. He would like nothing better than to see his boy free and back in the bosom of his family. Now, your turn. What story are you all talking about?”

  “The whole story is out,” Daniel said through clenched teeth. “Finding the gun, our attempt to free Anthony, Raleigh’s stalker. Everything.”

  “Griffin,” Raleigh said, unable to hold her tongue, “I would have understood if you’d just written the story. Journalism is your calling, not to mention your livelihood, and you have a lot riding on reporting this situation. But the spin you gave it—I thought you believed me when I said I wasn’t accepting bribes—”

  Griffin held up his hand. “Stop. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t know anything about a certain story that broke on CNI this morning, shortly after you left? And you wouldn’t be the anonymous ‘source close to the investigation’?”

  With every word she spoke, Griffin’s face got harder. “I haven’t written any stories. Not for CNI or the Telegram.”

  “No one else knew the details in the story,” Raleigh said quietly, trying not to cry. If he would just admit he’d done it, that he’d fallen prey to greed or weakness, maybe she could have dealt with it, found some way to forgive him. But to stand there and deny he was involved—convincingly, she might add…

  “What details?” Griffin demanded.

  Daniel intervened. “The deposit from a Swiss bank account. The supposed phone calls to Leo Simonetti. Falsified phone bill. Tests being done on the gun. The phone threat. Only four people knew all of the details, and I’m pretty sure Beth, Raleigh and I didn’t speak with anyone at CNI.”

  Griffin’s eyes hardened to chips of granite. “You’re forgetting one other person who knew everything. The man who’s behind all this. I have no idea what he hopes to accomplish with heightened publicity, but I’m damn sure going to find out.”

  He looked at Daniel and Raleigh in turn, daring both of them to continue their accusations. Raleigh didn’t have the nerve. If anything, an angry Griffin was more intimidating than Daniel at his most deadly. But she was surprised Daniel had nothing to add to the argument.

  “I came back here to tell you something. I have a lead for you. The name of the man who might actually have killed Anthony’s girlfriend. Louis Costanza, aka ‘Little Louie.’ Apparently he chose an odd way of settling a score between his father and Leo.”

  Raleigh struggled to get her mind up to speed, processing the startling new information. “You’re saying this Louis might be the one trying to stop me from exonerating Anthony?”

  “Probably not, since he’s dead.” Griffin turned to leave.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Raleigh asked. She couldn’t just let him leave like this.

  He turned, and the look he gave her chilled her blood. “I’m gonna do what I set out to do—find the person who’s trying to hurt you and put a stop to it. Then, I doubt you’ll see me again.”

  Daniel, Raleigh and Jillian took turns staring at one another for a good thirty seconds after Griffin cleared the room.

  Finally, Daniel broke the stunned silence. “Of course. If it wasn’t Griffin, it had to be the real villain.”

  Raleigh tried to work through it. “When Griffin wouldn’t take the bait, my stalker found some other reporter to tarnish my reputation.”

  “Well, he’s not going to get away with it,” Daniel said fiercely. “Jillian, get someone on the phone at CNI. Someone capable of making a decision.”

  “I’ve left three messages already this morning.”

  “This time, get through to them. Tell them their ‘anonymous source’ might well have tried to kill Raleigh. And if they don’t hand over his name—to the police, if not to me—they could get slapped with an Obstruction of Justice charge.”

  “I like it,” Jillian said with a smile before departing.

  “Come on, Raleigh,” Daniel said when they were alone. “Smile. This is coming to a head, and soon. Your enemy is getting desperate. His plan is unraveling. He’ll make a big mistake soon, and then this will all be over.”

  Raleigh didn’t feel much like smiling, despite the fact that Griffin had just handed her a huge bone. Louis Costanza? The name meant nothing to her.

  “Daniel, I know I’m supposed to be on vacation, but I need to follow up on the name Griffin supplied.”

  “You have an office with a phone, computer and internet at your disposal. Let me know what I can do.”

  A SHORT TIME LATER, Raleigh had a boatload of information on Louis Costanza. He was, indeed, the son of Christophe Costanza, a dealer in auto parts who was purported to be a minor cog in Leo Simonetti’s crime family. Unfortunately, the son had been killed in a drunk driving accident just two weeks after Michelle Brewster’s murder.

  Raleigh spoke with the detective who had investigated that accident. He’d been harboring misgivings about it for years because something hadn’t “felt right” about it.

  “Like it might have been staged?” Raleigh had asked.

  “Yeah. One-car accident. Car hit a light post. Victim had enough alcohol in his blood that he shouldn’t have been able to find his car keys, much less drive the car seventeen miles from where he’d last been seen alive. A surprising amount of trauma to his body, given the specifics of the accident.

  “But I couldn’t get my teeth into anything.”

  The scenario made sense. If Louie had killed Michelle as revenge against Leo, someone might have evened the score. Leo himself could be responsible. He might have had Louie killed, not realizing he’d put the nail in his own son’s coffin.

  After ending her conversation with the detective, Raleigh was still stumped. Who else, besides Michelle’s actual killer, wanted to stop Raleigh from exonerating Anthony? Was it some mob vendetta thing?

  Her cell phone rang. Caller ID was blocked, which gave her pause. But curiosity got the better of her. “Raleigh Shinn.”

  “Raleigh. This is Sergeant Bob Smythe with the Houston Police Department. I have some information for you involving the Anthony Simonetti case.”

  The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place the man. “You’re one of the detectives I’ve been hounding about running the serial number on that gun?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  His voice was deep and smooth—the guy sounded like a late-night radio deejay, she caught herself thinking with a smile.

  “Did you ID the gun?” she asked excitedly. Please, oh please let it belong to Louis Costanza. Without the bullet match it wasn’t a perfect slam dunk, but it would make for a good argument.

  “I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Can you meet me somewhere? I’ve found another piece of evidence that might be of use to you.”

  “I can come to headquarters if you like.”

  “Things are a mess here. Exterminators are here, spraying for cockroaches.”

  Ew. “How about if I we meet at my office?”

  “Perfect. I can be there at five—no, wait. My wife is gonna kill me if I don’t get home for dinner on time. Would you mind meeting after hours? Say, seven-thirty?”

  “I can do that.” It would save her a drive through rush-hour traffic. Daniel would give her the use of a car and probably a bodyguard, too, knowing him. But he wouldn’t try to dissuade her from going. Solving this case was too important.

  GRIFFIN WAS SO ANGRY he nearly took out a row of privet hedge as he sped down Daniel Logan’s driveway away from the mansion, still in his borrowed car. He would have to find a way to pick up his Mustang and return Jillian’s Range Rover, but that was the least of his worries.

  He couldn’t believe CNI had stabbed him in the back that way. But Raleigh’s lack of faith in him was far more painful. The news network represented a job, nothing more; Raleigh could have b
een his whole future.

  Yeah, he was willing to admit it, now that it didn’t matter: he’d fallen in love with her. When he’d tried to distance himself from her this morning, it hadn’t been because he was jealous of Jason. He’d done it because on some level he’d been terrified of his own feelings. He wasn’t the kind of guy who fell in love and spilled his messy emotions all over the place.

  But apparently he was, because right now he had to fight the urge to turn around, drive back up that mile-long driveway, storm inside the house and tell Raleigh how he felt.

  As angry as he was with her, though, his declaration might not come out just right.

  Actions spoke louder than words. The same person who had initially tried to manipulate him into publishing a libelous story about Raleigh had to be the same person who had contacted CNI and provided them with all that bogus information. He doubted the network would reveal their source to him, and maybe not even to the cops. Journalists—and he used the term loosely here—were freakishly protective of sources.

  But Griffin had one lead still to follow. He’d called the Johnson-Perrone Medical Center earlier to check on John Shinn’s postoperative condition. Raleigh’s father-in-law had apparently sailed through the surgery and was doing well. No way would Griffin be allowed to question him. But his wife? She was accessible. Maybe it was time to press Raleigh’s mother-in-law about that Swiss bank account.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RALEIGH PICKED at her dinner, anxious about the coming meeting with the detective. Was it possible she had finally convinced the police they’d made a mistake in arresting Anthony in the first place? Police and prosecutors were notoriously slow to admit to mistakes, and Raleigh usually found herself as their adversary.

  But they weren’t monsters. They could be persuaded. Most of them—the good ones, anyway—wanted the right person behind bars, even if it meant some professional embarrassment.