“No, ma’am. He’s probably out to sea right now, but if not, he’s stationed in Norfolk.” While the detective was writing, Archie asked, “Are you going to call him about this, or should I?”
Marilyn paused. “Looks like I have a growing list of next-of-kin to notify. Let me see if I got this straight: Mr. Barberi had two uncles—Joe Madsen and Angelo Barberi, one father serving a life sentence in Gurnee, one brother who may or may not still be serving his sentence in Gurnee … anyone else I should know about?”
Archie bit his lip. “I think Joe mentioned once that Logan might have a kid of his own? I’m not sure.”
“I’ll check it out. I’d like to do the notification of death myself, but if you have Joe Madsen’s contact information, I would appreciate it.”
“You have my full cooperation, Detective. I was much closer to Joe than I was to Logan, but I want to find the bastard who did this and bring him to justice.”
“Good. And may I ask, Captain, your whereabouts for the past twenty-four hours?”
Archie was startled. She had charmed him into believing they were a team, then wham! She was good.
He nodded. “I was actually in Washington, DC, yesterday, Detective,” he said. “Meeting with Admiral Kearney. Just returned last night. I’d be happy to show you my travel itinerary and give you the Admiral’s number, as well as Joe’s information, if you’d like to accompany me to my office.”
“That would be lovely,” she smiled, pocketing her notebook.
Archie waited for Marilyn to check in one last time with the techs before they headed to the base.
*
“Carlo!” Angelo yelled, entering the foyer of his opulent house. He was shaking with rage and had no idea what he would do once he saw his son’s fucking face.
“In the kitchen, padre!” He heard a faint reply from the interior of the mansion.
Making his way to the large kitchen, Angelo was greeted by the sight of his son sitting at the table, stuffing pasta into his mouth. Noticing the fury in his father’s black eyes, Carlo put his fork down and slowly stood up, taking a few uncertain chews.
Angelo crossed the room in a second and slapped Carlo across the face, causing him to reel to the side, coughing and sputtering. Somehow, Carlo managed to avoid choking on the pasta, and he cradled his burning cheek while righting himself, staring at his father with utter shock and disappointment.
“You promised you would never hit me,” he softly cried.
The Mafia boss looked at him incredulously. Since they’d just completed a scan for listening devices in the house this morning, he decided to speak freely. “That was before you decided to murder my godson.”
Carlo’s eyes widened. “What? Logan?” He looked horrified. “He’s, he’s dead?”The last word came out as a shocked whisper.
Thinking he should hand his son a fucking Oscar for that performance, instead Angelo gave him a slashing punch to the gut. Carlo doubled over, breathing laboriously for a few moments before moaning, “I didn’t do it!”
Angelo looked at him disgustedly. “Unless you want me to keep beating the shit out of you, you’d better stop. You’ve been gunning for Logan since you two were kids. I know it was you.”
Still doubled over, Carlo was glad his father couldn’t see his face, which bought him some time to decide how to play this. Acting stupid about Logan’s death clearly wasn’t working. Carlo was simply too intelligent to play dumb convincingly. There was also something appealing about finally being able to discuss his victory with someone who would listen. Tank and Meat had refused to talk about what happened in the warehouse yesterday.
Slowly returning to standing, Carlo tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his stomach and face. Although Angelo was fifty-four years old, he still packed a wallop. Carlo silently scolded himself for underestimating his father—he was the boss of the family, after all.
“I didn’t mean it, padre. I went in there planning just to get Logan back in the fold like you told me to, but he wouldn’t stop insulting me. It just, um, happened.”
“How the fuck does a man getting fatally stabbed in the gut just happen, Carlo?”
Carlo blinked several times. “So, they found the body, then?”
“The police just interrogated me at my club, you fuckwit! I appreciate you giving me the heads up, by the way. I could be sitting in a goddamn holding cell right now! Thank God I was at the club yesterday, with witnesses. I told them you were there too, and you’re lucky the guys backed me up on that. What the fuck were you thinking, stuffing the body in a canoe?Right out in public?”
“I—I freaked out,” Carlo retorted, feigning fear. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You drove all the way up to fucking Lake County, and then you don’t even finish the job right? Hell, the lake was right there. You could have weighed down the body and put it in the water. No boaters are allowed near that naval station anyway …”
Angelo’s voice trailed off as something dawned on him. He peered disbelievingly at Carlo. “You’re trying to pin this on Grant,” he said slowly. “That’s why you left the body up there, not even bothering to hide it.”
Fuck. Carlo indeed had underestimated his father. Angelo could see right through his plans.
“So, you’re jealous of both brothers, then,” Angelo added, shaking his head. “You wanted to take them both out with one fell swoop. Son of a bitch, Carlo. Logan was worried about you hurting Grant, and now I know why.”
“Great. Now you’re siding with Logan and Grant against me?”
Angelo felt exhausted, and he refused to engage in this discussion. He didn’t think Carlo would like the answer anyway. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he asked, “Who was with you in the warehouse?”
“Tank and Meat.”
“Don’t tell them I know you it was you. Enzo would kill me if he found out what you did.” He sighed loudly. “This was a fuckup of massive proportions, Carlo. You have made me so goddamn furious. I don’t know what to do with you.”
“I thought you’d be proud of me,” Carlo whined.
“Proud of you? Why the hell would I be proud of you?”
“Because I took care of things for the family,” Carlo explained in a small voice. “Logan was hurting our profits, so I did the brave thing to protect the family.”
“Don’t you understand, Carlo? Logan is the family. Or, I should say, he was the family.” Now that Angelo’s rage was mostly spent, he felt a lump in his throat thinking about his godson, a man who understood and admired Angelo like none other. He would never see him again.
Clearing his throat, Angelo demanded, “Give me your weapon.”
“What? Why?”
With a menacing glare, he took a step toward his son. “Give it to me. Now.”
Grimacing, Carlo reached into his jacket and pulled out a handgun, reluctantly handing it over to his father. Angelo took the weapon and seethed, “I can’t trust you with this right now. Try not to fuck anything else up in the next few days, got it?”
Carlo gritted his teeth. “I help this family, padre. I do everything in my power to help this family. When are you going to give me the respect I deserve?”