Justice for Francesca (Six Paths to Justice #1)

11. She’s… Complicated

11

SHE’S… COMPLICATED

Tripoli

C rawling down the path, through the smoke, through the noise. Chaos! Gotta get back to Chaos. A body lay on the trail. Gunfire. Several figures loomed in the smoke. Two grabbed Chaos. The other two grabbed him. He felt himself being dragged through the vegetation. He heard someone yelling his name. Yelling for Chaos. Eventually, the yelling stopped, and all that remained were footsteps through the jungle.

Nightmares always made for short nights. For the third night in a row, Tripoli had slept less than three hours.

Now he had something new to worry about. Despite how their question-and-answer game had gone the previous night, and despite how the night had ended, Francesca hadn’t shown up this morning. She didn’t arrive at eight a.m. Or nine. Or ten. He debated calling her. He texted her three times, then deleted each message before pressing “send.” By noon, he was basically climbing the walls, imagining all kinds of trouble she could be in.

Who did arrive was Cruz who officially informed him about Jessa, although no specific details were given. There was a perfunctory conversation about his alibi for yesterday morning and the night previous since they’d narrowed down the time of death to approximately four hours before Tripoli had arrived at the condo.

Francesca clearly hadn’t told them that he was the anonymous caller, and she had said she wouldn’t, but he hadn’t really expected her to keep that promise. Rules were so firmly entrenched in her that they were probably part of her DNA. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t outed him, she admitted she hadn’t understood why herself. He figured it was because no one had asked her a direct question that would have required an actual lie. He hoped it was because she felt the need to protect him from scrutiny. He didn’t care for himself because he knew he hadn’t murdered Jessa. But if Francesca was acting just the slightest bit irrational, it meant her emotions were involved, didn’t it?

By noon, he realized he was hungry. Since the club was essentially closed, and he was too lazy to go make his own lunch either in his residence or downstairs in the club kitchen, Tripoli decided to walk to the diner down the street. While a bit on the kitschy side, he loved Macaws I Said So , a long-standing business run by a veteran. The man had spent extensive time in South America and had developed a love for parrots while there. The diner became a sanctuary for birds that people purchased or adopted and could no longer care for, so they had free range of the restaurant. People were free to pet and feed the birds as long as they followed the house rules, and because Sam, the owner, and the birds were so loved, there were rarely issues.

Tripoli smiled at the parrot, a shy sun conure, posted at the door of the diner, and he ran the back of his finger down her breast. “Good morning, She-Ra. How’s my good girl?” He leaned in, and she busked his cheek with her beak.

A wolf whistle cut the air. “Give us a kiss, sexy!”

He laughed and turned one hundred eighty degrees. “Hello to you too, Skeletor.” He gave the gray male African parrot a scratch on the top of the head, and the bird proceeded to trill like Tripoli had found a good spot.

“Evans! Quit putting the moves on that bird, and come over here!”

He turned to the sound of the voice calling his name and saw Cruz Livingston and another man at a table in the far corner. With a last wink at Skeletor and a couple of clicks of his mouth to She-Ra, he headed over to the two men.

“Have a seat.” Livingston waved a hand at one of the two empty chairs. “We just ordered.” He gestured to his dining partner. “This is the medical examiner, Dr. Calder Stonewall.”

Tripoli took the proffered seat. “Dining with the enemy, Livingston? Hoping my empty stomach will distract me to give away all my secrets?”

“What secrets? You’ve been incredibly forthcoming,” Livingston answered.

The doctor extended a hand to Tripoli. “Call me Calder. Being so forthcoming, by the way, might make somebody wonder what you’re hiding,” he said with a grin.

Tripoli chose to ignore the jab, good-natured though it may have been. “Where is she, Special Agent Livingston?”

The smirk on Cruz’s face was reminiscent of the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland . “Hello to you too, club owner Evans.” His sarcasm changed, and his smile became sincere. “Please. Call me Cruz. I’m not big on formalities, and it’s such a mouthful. Always feel like my mother’s calling me out by all three names, except in this version, my mother becomes my boss.”

“Sorry. It’s just…”

“Just yanking your chain, Evans. I get it,” he said with a knowing smile.

The waitress stopped at the table to pour Tripoli a glass of water and take his order.

Once she left the table, Cruz continued, “Frankie got a call from our boss this morning to discuss the Michael Murphy situation, so she had to go into the office.”

“Is that why my bar manager was requested to appear at the offices of the FBI this morning?”

Cruz and Calder traded looks. “I couldn’t say.”

This was going exactly as Tripoli feared it would. It wasn’t good that his bar manager was being questioned as a person of interest for a murder. However, he knew that Michael didn’t murder Jessa any more than he did, so his bigger concern was that a whole day away from him would allow Francesca time to think. Last night, he’d gotten to her, but time away like this would get her in her head, and she’d start pushing away from him again. He’d be back to square one with her. Maybe worse.

Cruz was studying him closely. “Frankie is complicated on a number of levels. She’s a bit of a rule monger?—”

“A bit?” Calder snorted. “She told me this morning I improperly handled the disposal of the trash elements I created from the crime scene.” He shook his head and blew on his coffee. “It was a freaking seal strip from an evidence bag. Actually made me take it out of the garbage can and put it in a burn bag, or she wouldn’t leave my morgue.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Cruz replied, “she needed to be honest with Special Agent in Charge Ortiz about her connection to Michael so that it didn’t taint the investigation further. I mean, our boss knew, but this most recent murder raises the stakes higher.”

“Did she get removed from the case?” Tripoli asked.

“No, surprisingly.” The agent studied Tripoli closely. “She actually seemed pissed when she didn’t get removed. I found that very interesting.” Cruz took a sip of his coffee, watching him over the cup as he did. “But since she hasn’t seen Michael in over a decade, Ortiz said that as long as she didn’t come into direct contact with him on any portion of the case, she could stay. Anything to do with Michael will be handled by me.”

“Might be difficult to keep them away from one another.”

With a wave of his hand, Cruz negated his concern. “Neither of them has initiated contact with the other in fourteen years. I doubt they’re going to rush to reunite now.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she purposely tried to make it look like she was questioning him so that she’d get kicked back home,” Tripoli grumbled.

Cruz smirked. “Chief thought of that. Gave her an actual order to stay away from him. And since we know what a rule monger she is , she’ll do exactly as she’s told. Frankie never breaks the rules.”

Tripoli eyed Cruz warily. The fucker knew. He knew Tripoli was the anonymous source, and he wasn’t saying anything. He wasn’t angry either. If anything, the man seemed amused that she’d actually broken one of her coveted rules.

“I gathered that about her. She told me about her brothers. Not in detail, but enough. She also told me the basics behind her transfer.”

Calder let out a “hmph” noise and rolled his eyes. “Total bullshit. Frankie’s so straight a sniper could use her to sight his target.”

The agent nodded in agreement. “Her family is a good portion of it. It’s hard to let that go. You should meet my girl, Mickie. She should know. Family can be hard to cut yourself from, even when it becomes toxic. As for the transfer? That fucking pisses me off. She was a good cop from what I read in her file. She makes a great agent, but I know making the choice was difficult for her. She shouldn’t have had to make that choice in the first place.” Cruz shifted in his seat. “Still, their loss is our gain. When it came up that the two of you knew each other from a previous investigation, they didn’t hesitate to call her back out on a case so quickly after her last one.”

“FBI hoping I was the killer and that I would give up information on the sex trafficking case they couldn’t link me to the last time?”

“I don’t doubt that played a part, as misguided as the thought was.” He pursed his mouth, clearly thinking about what he was going to say. “Personally though? I really just wanted to share with you to go easy on Frankie. She’s a bit… confused right now.”

Their food arrived, and the men began to dig in.

“In a lot of ways,” Tripoli said, “she’s exactly the same now as she was when she was undercover at The Library. She was friendly, but you had to approach her first. She was incredibly nice but reserved. Never seemed to react to anything. As I got to know her more, she loosened up, but then all hell broke loose.” His gaze flicked between the two men. “I’m assuming you know what happened.”

Cruz and Calder both nodded.

“Now I’m not sure what to make of her; she seems so… cold.”

Calder chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Cold. Clinical. Closed off. Pick your ‘C’ word, and she’s been called it.” His eyes relayed that he was not happy with at least one of the other C-word options.

Cruz scowled at his friend. “Most of those are unfair as well.” He lowered his voice. “This is where I’m really toeing the line with confidentiality. All I can tell you is that going undercover as much as she does isn’t normal for an agent. You have to volunteer for it. Been there, done that, and I have no desire to do it again. Frankie, however, volunteers a lot. She’s incredibly good at what she does, and she gets moved around a lot. But being that good comes with a price, and the longer people are undercover, sometimes it gets harder and harder to resurface. Add to that her family issues? The woman is going to implode one day if she’s not careful.”

“Well, as insightful as this all is and as grateful as I am, you gentlemen didn’t invite me to sit down to talk about Francesca.”

Calder stopped chewing and swallowed. “Francesca, is it?” He looked at Cruz. “Interesting.”

Tripoli snorted. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“Well, you are correct. We were planning to come over to Elysium after lunch to ask you some questions about Mila Sequeira. I have the basics on your relationship, but I wanted to ask you about her business interests and their connection to you. Your walking in the door killed two birds with one stone.” There was a well-timed squawk from one of the live birds that made the café their home. “No pun intended,” he muttered.

Tripoli warned, “Yeah, don’t be calling down Skeletor’s bad juju on your head. There’ll be more than mayonnaise on that sandwich.”

All three of the men chuckled.

He answered the unasked question, “I met Mila when I was interested in purchasing my newest property. It belonged to her uncle, whom she worked for. I needed an introduction, which she agreed to make for a ten percent interest in Elysium. In hindsight, I probably should have declined her option and offered her a slightly higher commission fee. However, I banked on her willingness to sell her interests back to me. She had a notoriously short attention span for these kinds of things, so at the time, it seemed like a risk worth taking. Once I gained the introduction, things went smoothly, and the sale was done within a week.”

“What happens to Mila’s ten percent now that she’s passed?”

Tripoli shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I don’t know the contents of her will or if she had one. There’s general concern amongst my staff that we’ll now have mafia ties if it goes to her family. Understandably, that makes them nervous, and a couple are considering selling out if that comes to pass.”

“She didn’t have a will.”

Tripoli’s face scrunched up. “If you knew the answer, why ask me?” He rolled his eyes. “Never mind. You wanted to see if I knew and, if I didn’t, what my reaction would be.”

Cruz supplied the answer Tripoli didn’t want to hear. “As of right now, no will has been found; therefore, all of her assets will revert to her nearest relative.”

“Which means her father.”

“Correct. I imagine the mafia would love to get in on this club, considering its success.”

Tripoli nodded. “Yes, I imagine so.”

He could feel Cruz’s FBI brain at work just by looking at him, but it was Calder who voiced the question. “And? What will you do if they pursue it?”

“I’d meet with the ownership, discuss it, and we’d vote.”

Cruz reached into his jacket pocket for a piece of paper there. He consulted the notes on it. “Yes, I reviewed the ownership portions. You have twenty-five percent, Christopher ‘Cosmos’ Reynolds owns twenty-four percent, Mason “Triumph” Zelinski owns twenty percent. Matilda “Tilly” Moll owns five percent, Michael Murphy owns three percent, and Mila Sequeira owned ten percent. Where does the other thirteen percent go?”

“The rest of my staff. Ryleigh, my bartender, has three percent. All others—approximately thirty-five of them—share in the remaining ten percent as part of their benefits. They work here, so they should at least be heard, as well as gain something for their hard work.”

“The staff includes your performers?”

“Performers, waitstaff, technicians, custodial. If they get a paycheck from me, they’re part of that ten percent. I realize it sounds like a pittance, but the truth is, the clubs are very successful. It’s a very nice bonus around the holidays, especially since Cosmos, Triumph, and I all secretly give over a portion of our financial shares as well.”

Calder grunted. “I think we’re in the wrong business. No stock options as a public servant.”

“You’re part owner of a million-dollar lottery ticket. What are you complaining about?” Cruz argued.

“You know I have no interest in that ticket. Never have, never will.” He looked at Tripoli. “My wife got a lottery ticket as a tip when she was a waitress. It was a big winner.”

“Nice,” Tripoli said.

Cruz refocused the questioning. “Why did Mila want ten percent of this location versus the new one?”

“She said it was because she rarely traveled to London and wanted to be on the ground floor of somewhere she’d actually spend time.”

“During the time leading up to and including the purchase of the club space, you were dating Mila. What about afterward?”

“We dated from just before the purchase of the London space up through the opening of Elysium. The relationship could be classified as the ‘I could use a plus one’ variety.”

“Because she was a principessa?”

Waving the question off, Tripoli finished chewing his food and swallowed before answering. “That kind of thing has never mattered to me. I make my judgments based upon who they are.”

“Like Michael Murphy,” Calder said.

“Exactly.”

“So Mila’s connections didn’t bother you?” Cruz asked. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“It was just after we opened Elysium. We opened January seventh. Three days later, I believe, was when I spoke with Mila about us. The relationship had long run its course, but the weeks leading up to the opening were busy, and I knew that the conversation with Mila would be drama-filled and long. I honestly didn’t have the energy for the fallout that would occur, so I decided to wait until after the opening to end the connection because I didn’t want that drama to spill over into opening night.”

“Did she create a scene when you broke it off?”

“Oh, she tried. However, I did it in private, and a scene rarely works when there’s an audience of one. She made some emotional threats—I’d used her for her connections, I’d be sorry, I’d never have it so good with someone else, no one could live up to my expectations, etcetera.” He considered his statements. “Most of it was bogus. From the beginning, I was more than clear about why I introduced myself to her, as well as my take on a more involved relationship. Even why I felt that way.”

“And you hadn’t seen her since that argument?”

“No. She spent most of her time in Chicago, although she did have a home here. I believe she made The Lucky Rabbit, our club in Lombard, Illinois, her home club at that point. I certainly never saw her here, anyway. Then again, with the new club opening in three months, I’ve been spending most of my time in either Los Angeles or London. The only time I ever heard from her after we broke up was when there was a club issue here at Elysium that needed her vote. It was about giving Tilly, Ryleigh, and Michael individual shares in the club. Her vote didn’t swing results, but I allowed her to have her say. She was outvoted ninety to one on Tilly’s portion.”

“She had problems with Tilly?” Calder asked.

“Mila didn’t like that Tilly had no financial stake in the club to have earned those shares.”

“But neither did the other two,” Calder confirmed.

“That is correct. It was just Tilly who was the issue. I think Mila saw her as a rival, but Tilly is like a little sister to me. There’s no interest there, on either side.”

“One last question,” Cruz said. “Out of curiosity, when Mila said no one would live up to your expectations, what would those be?”

Tripoli smirked. “Somehow, I don’t believe that question is investigation related.”

Cruz smiled knowingly again. “Frankie may be complicated, but she’s also worth it.” Finished with their food, Cruz left money on the table for their meals and stood. “Thanks for answering my questions. I’ll let Francesca know you were concerned and tell her to call you.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

After Cruz and Calder left, Tripoli stayed seated at the table for a few more minutes. A flapping sound entered his left ear, and he felt a delicate force land on his shoulder. He turned his head to see She-Ra had come for a visit. For whatever reason, the shy little lady bird seemed to recognize him and always came to visit his table. He picked up a piece of fruit from his plate and hand-fed it to the bird.

“She’s sneaky, She-Ra. Francesca probably could have talked to her boss by phone, but she used that conversation as an attempt to avoid me.” The bird pushed her head back and forth several times as if she agreed with him. “Her head is still too caught up in her need for rules and structure. Too worried about making a misstep. Too worried about being a McCabe. That need would make her an excellent submissive, but that isn’t what she wants or needs. She doesn’t need a power exchange.”

She-Ra bobbed left to right to suggest that, no, she didn’t need that.

“She needs me. Someone who will love her with every part of him. Someone who will put her first, above everyone and everything else. Someone who will protect her, even from herself. Someone who will respect her need for justice and who wants justice for her. Someone who will care for her in ways she doesn’t even know she needs.”

Without a doubt, that final reason was his purpose. He lived to serve, whether it was his country, his work family, or now… Francesca. It’s what men like him did.

Skeletor came screaming across the room to land on Tripoli’s table. His squawks and trills let him know that the bird felt the man was monopolizing his best girl bird-friend. Smiling at the bird’s antics, he gave a piece of fruit to the scolding male. “I’ve got enough to worry about with my own ‘bird.’ I’m not going to steal yours too, big guy.”