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

I responded. “Whoever came after Mick and Rebecca Franken has no reason to think I’m involved. I’ll be extra watchful, and I’ll alert you if I feel concerned or alarmed in any way.”

“And you’ll keep your weapon on your person,” Bram directed me.

“I will, I promise.”

“Same goes for you, Bobbie,” he insisted

“Me? I haven’t even had contact with Hill or Franken.”

“You were with us when Swanson’s body was discovered,” Bram reminded him. “What if the killer was leavin’ Metal Works as we were goin’ in? He could’ve caught sight of us.”

Now that image made me shiver!

I handed Rebecca’s key ring to Spider, with a request that he assess the security there as soon as possible and provide her with a cost estimate to beef it up. Then, noting the door at the end of the hall, with a hanger on the knob that read “SH—BABIES SLEEPING,” I headed quietly downstairs to my car.

Chapter 36

Ill-gotten gains work evil.

Sophocles

Lounging on the deck of his multimillion-dollar penthouse, Artur enjoyed the cool fall air and sipped from his tumbler of icy Beluga Gold Line Noble vodka. A Cohiba Behike cigar, couriered from Cuba for his pleasure, lay smoking in a crystal dish beside him. The satisfaction of being able to buy anything he wanted, including women, pricey liquor, and cigars costing almost five hundred dollars each, brought a crooked smile to his lips.

Elena slept soundly in the master bedroom, but years of working when the criminals ruled had turned him into an inveterate night owl.

Pondering the details of Mikhail’s murder and its aftermath, he decided that his involvement with the assassination of that stupidly stubborn state representative posed no threat to his freedom. Sooner or later, the police would discover that the blood from Mikhail’s shop matched what he left on the killing floor of the politician's home.

Neither the will nor any of the other documents he obtained from the attorney’s computer led to him. That left only one loose end—the evidence Mikhail claimed to hold. Trusting no one to assist him on such an intensely private matter, he decided that he would tackle the search of his cousin’s property on Wednesday. If the police had not finished their own examination of the buildings by then, chances were good they believed it to be unnecessary.

The short delay in attending to this matter was unfortunate, but pressing business demanded his attention and he could not defer it. An entrepreneur’s reputation would be easily damaged if a valued and highly lucrative client became disillusioned with the service he provided.

But, he mused, it might be profitable to put a tail on Big Man, whom he now knew as Abraham York, thanks to a decades-old photo match on his sister’s Facebook page one Veterans Day. From the way he carried himself, Artur had already deduced he was military. Everything else about the man eluded him, and he wanted more data before deciding on next steps.

As for White Hair and Young Guy… thanks to a flurry of news about them over two years ago, he also had their names. Angelina Bonaparte and Bobbie Russell. Private investigators who came to public notice after uncovering a Bosnian War criminal. The woman concerned him more than Russell. She headed the agency, and her father’s ties to the Mafia gave Artur reason to consider carefully before acting against her. The long and relentless reach of Bratva’s rival in organized crime would never pull back if one of theirs was harmed.

For now, he would assign Leonid, the most-trusted boyevik in his crew, to get a look at her mail.

With a grunt, he stubbed out the cigar, drained the last of the vodka, and rose.

Chapter 37

Accusations fit on a bumper sticker; the truth takes longer.

Michael Hayden

Monday passed quietly until Wukowski called at two that afternoon. “Angie, I have some significant information that impacts Ms. Hill, concerning the Swanson case. The safe house team is bringing her to headquarters in an hour. She asked that you be present.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “Have you located Hunter?”

“No.” His voice sounded tightly controlled. “It’s not good news. I’ll see you at three.” With that, he hung up.

My mind jumped from one possibility to another. Had Artur fled the country? Had he killed someone else? A quick call to Papa assured me that Rebecca and Aunt Terry were fine. What about the others at the Galleria? Or even Mick’s neighbors? I forced myself to stop catastrophizing and prepared for the meeting.

Wukowski and Debby were waiting for me in the Homicide conference room. Debby jumped up to give me a quick hug and whisper, “What’s this about?”

“No idea,” I told her.

We sat across the table from Wukowski, whose lips were compressed in a tight line.

“As I said, we’ve uncovered information concerning Michael Swanson.” He looked from Debby to me. “You won’t like this, but you need to know. We sent blood from the crime scene at Metal Works to forensics, hoping for a match to the killer, but only Swanson’s blood was present. His DNA turned up at a homicide in Illinois this summer, involving a local politician who campaigned on the promise of clearing Bratva—Russian organized crime—from his district. The Chicago PD has put a lot of heat on known members since that murder. An informer told them that Swanson’s death was a case of the mob tying up loose ends so the furor would die down. Kill the assassin, close the case.”

Debby’s hands covered her mouth as she gasped. “I… I can’t believe that. Mick was such a gentle man.”

“DNA doesn’t lie,” Wukowski asserted.

“But in the note to me,” I said, “Mick stated that his cousin, Artur, had framed him for crimes in Chechnya. Maybe that’s what happened in Illinois. Are you sure the lab got a good match? From what I’ve read, there are different levels of testing.”

“They’re sure, Angie. The blood was an exact match for Swanson’s, and they found no foreign traces in any of the samples. Our ME questioned them