Chapter 16 #3
“You’re the prime suspect. The current working theory is that the Pannetone explosion was a revenge hit.
Moresco was grabbing coffee in the gelato shop when the bomb went off.
He was at Pannetone’s for a meeting and left a few minutes in because the espresso machine in the office broke this morning. He got lucky.”
If Moresco had left a few minutes later, he would be dead right now—incapable of hurting anyone else. Instead, Moresco had been spared, and Aleksei was a fucking suspect. Maybe karma was already kicking in.
“How did they come up with the crazy-ass idea that it was me?”
“That’s partially my fault. I wanted the bureau to jump on the case, so I told them that you were working solo, tracking down a lead at Pannetone’s regarding Phillipe’s murder.
If I’d known Moresco was anywhere near that building, I would have kept my damn mouth shut.
Now, some newbie has the ass-backward theory that you planted the bomb to hit Moresco.
I told him he was off the mark, but you know how things get a life of their own around here. ”
Yeah, he knew. Some agents were great, and others couldn’t solve a goddamn Scooby Doo mystery. Him as the prime suspect made no sense. No fucking sense.
“Don’t they think the timing of Moresco’s coffee trip is a little too convenient?”
“I mentioned that,” Kemper responded. “And you know what else seems a little too convenient? There were two localized explosions at Pannetone’s. One on the second floor and one in the basement. The structure of the building is intact, and the gelato shop wasn’t damaged.”
“Let me guess. Moresco owns the building and the gelato shop.”
“You should play the lottery,” Kemper said. “You’d be a goddamn millionaire.”
“But instead of blaming Moresco, some shit-for-brains rookie is blaming me? Why would I blow up my own goddamn apartment?” A passing park ranger gave him an odd look. Aleksei took a few steps away from the office and lowered his voice. “What’s their reasoning for that?”
Another long suck and an exhale. He made a mental note to start sending Kemper quit-smoking reels when all this was over.
“They think it was an accident,” Kemper said.
“They think you had explosives in your apartment from building the bomb that took out Pannetone’s, and they blew.
I told them that was bullshit. I told them you wouldn’t hit Moresco, and that if you did, there was no way you’d take innocent lives in the process.
I also told them that you know your way around explosives and were too goddamn smart to blow up your own building. ”
If the idiots took a minute to look over his FBI file, they’d know all of that too.
“I take it they didn’t believe you?”
“They want you to come in. They want to talk to you.”
Of course, they did. Shit was hitting the fan from every direction.
“There’s one more thing,” Kemper said.
He hadn’t thought things could get worse.
“What?”
“After the explosion, I flew to Philly and went to Rosemary’s apartment. I was hoping that maybe I would find her there. When I arrived, the door was ajar. Her place was ransacked. Ripped apart. Someone was looking for something.”
It had to have been Moresco. Maybe he thought there was a leak.
Maybe Pannetone and Moresco had a falling out.
Maybe Moresco decided to have a different firm cook his books and wanted to eliminate all loose ends.
But none of those scenarios explained someone ransacking Rose’s apartment.
Maybe Moresco had seen that Rose wasn’t at the meeting, had sent someone to take her out, and the guy had trashed the place in frustration.
Or maybe Rose had something Moresco wanted.
The options were endless.
The only thing he knew for sure was that they were doubly fucked.
Rose was in danger, and the FBI was after him.
It was only a matter of time before the investigators tracked down Sage and learned that he and Rose were camping together at Ricketts Glen.
They might already know. Kemper wasn’t directly involved in the investigation, so the information he had was likely hours out of date.
Agents could already be on their way, and he had to assume whatever info the agents had, Moresco had as well. Moresco’s men might also be coming.
He and Rose had to get the hell out of here.
“I have to go.”
“Tell me where you are. I can help,” Kemper offered.
“At this point, the less you know, the better.”
“Dammit, Thompson, don’t shut me out.” Kemper’s tone danced between worry and frustration. “I thought you were in Philly. I thought you were in your apartment. I thought you might have gone up with that goddamn building. I can’t handle losing another man.”
He hated stressing out Gary. The guy had done his best by Phillipe. Was doing his best for him right now. But Kemper was still FBI, which meant his loyalty was to the bureau first and foremost. It was safer to keep him in the dark.
“I’ll check in with you soon. I promise.”
He hung up, turned off his phone, and dumped it in the trashcan.
Rose was not going to be happy when he did the same thing to hers.