Blood Kills, Nanci Rathbun [best books to read for self improvement TXT] 📗

Franken and me. I noticed a slight coolness but put it down to his being on duty. “I’m glad you’re well enough to see me, Ms. Franken. I’d like to go over events again. We find it often helps a person remember something they missed the first time around.”

Franken explained about the nightmare. “I’m not a big believer in ghosts, but that sure sounded like a message from beyond.”

“Did Swanson have a safe deposit box?” Wukowski asked.

“He didn’t say so. I asked when I drew up the will so that we could include instructions for his executor, and he gave me an emphatic no. Wish I could tell you more.”

“What was his state of mind at the time?”

“Mr. Swanson was always very controlled when we talked or met, but he did say that he’d had a recent health scare.”

I wondered if that related to anticipation of bodily harm but kept the thought to myself.

“And his decision to appoint Ms. Hill as his heir and executor. Did he give you reasons for that?”

“Only that he had no family and he considered her to be principled and capable. He believed she would follow his instructions and was very unlikely to misuse funds. He also wanted to be sure the Galleria stayed open and Debby seemed the perfect person to assure that. He loved that place, Detective. He said it brought out the better side of him and that it allowed him to fulfill a youthful dream.”

At the thought of a life with such aspirations cut short, I felt the start of hot tears but blinked and forced them back. Mick cared for the Galleria like a father would a child. We had to find Artur in order to keep that dream alive.

“Well,” Wukowski said, “on the off chance, I’ll visit his bank and ask if he rented a box there.” Then he turned to me. “Since I don’t have a court order, it will be simpler to include Debby. The bank will allow her to have access once they see the will.” He gave me his lopsided smile. “I’m sure you want to tag along.”

“You bet I do,” I said, ignoring the inference that he thought of me as a pesky little kid. “Before we go, Rebecca, is there anything you need? Or anything you want me to do at your home or office?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head that caused her to raise her fingertips to her temples. “Ouch, keep forgetting not to do that. But the office is buttoned up tight, from what Mr. Markham tells me. Over and over. He called this morning.” Her uncovered eye rolled. “And my neighbor, Joshua Birnbaum, promised to keep watch on the house and garden. So I think I have things covered.” She leaned slightly forward and took my hand, patting it as she said, “I will never be able to repay your kindness, but I will make a generous donation to Terry’s organization. She tells me that a Catholic charity is more than happy to accept a Jew’s money and that the sisters are praying for my recovery. Imagine!”

In the living room, we arranged to meet at the bank after Wukowski picked up Debby. That gave me time to retrieve the original copy of the will from my condo.

Before leaving, I decided to visit the powder room. From the other end of the hall, I heard Papa invite Wukowski for our traditional Sunday family meal—spaghetti Bolognese, salad, garlic bread, and dessert. “Bring your mama,” Papa added.

“We’re so damn short-handed, Pat, that I really can’t make a commitment. Can I take a rain check? I’ll let you know as soon as an open Sunday finally appears on my schedule.”

“Bene!”

The sound of running water and flushing drowned out the rest of their conversation. I exited the half bath to find Wukowski gone and Papa watching me with a Cheshire cat grin. He would stonewall if I asked what that was about, so I simply kissed his cheek and headed out the door. Sicilian fathers never stop protecting their daughters, and that can include plotting.

Chapter 30

We only kill each other.

Mobster Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel

We got no joy at the bank. There were no safe deposit boxes for either Michael L. Swanson or Mikhail Lebedev. The trip was not entirely wasted, since Debby was able to look over Mick’s accounts—personal, Galleria, and Metal Works—and meet his, now her, designated banking representative. It pays to have a big balance, I thought.

Wukowski asked us to remain in the conference room after the rep left. “Before we separate,” he said, his face grim, “there's something you need to know. Iggy called me while you were conferring with the bank guy. A man from Franken’s office building was found dead in the parking garage this morning, during a routine check. Preliminary results indicate he was killed on the night of the attack on Franken. Choked out, larynx crushed.”

“Oh no,” Debby moaned.

“Do you think it’s related to the attack on Rebecca?” I asked, my mind reeling.

“I do,” he said, his voice flat. “No ID on the victim, but the lobby guard recognized him. An accountant. Works in the same tower as Franken. The lobby visitor log didn’t show anyone signed in after hours, so whoever attacked Franken got access to the building another way. The accountant provides the most obvious method.”

“But… why kill him? Why not just knock him out?”

“Expediency,” Wukowski said. “The perp couldn’t know how long he’d be with Franken. What if the guy woke up and raised the alarm?”

Beside me, Debby began to quietly weep. My own throat tightened, but I breathed deep and looked across at Wukowski’s stone face, knowing that maintaining his composure in the face of such senseless violence was his way of asserting control over the event.

Wukowski said, “Back to the safe house for you, Miss Hill. And Angie—”

I interrupted him. “I’ll be careful.”

Chapter 31

I find that the harder I work, the more success I seem to have.

Thomas Jefferson