“Sir, did Peter say anything unusual to you or to your wife, express anything but sadness when Tommy was killed?”
Mr. Biaggini stared off into the living room, toward the large windows at the falling snow veiling the world. “Of course, we don’t—didn’t—see Peter every day. I thought, though, that he seemed sad about Tommy when we spoke to you at the Hoover Building.”
“Do you know why Melissa left Tommy and started up with Peter?”
Mr. Biaggini sighed, stared down at the beautiful light wood floor. “From what I knew about her, I imagine it had to do with money.”
“You gave him a regular allowance, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a large allowance?”
“Not really. I paid for his apartment, all his utilities. He had all the money he needed to entertain girlfriends.
“I should go now, to be with my wife. Please find out who killed my son.” He nodded to them and looked lost for a moment before he focused on the doorway, his son’s burial suit draped over his arm.
When he was gone, Jennifer Whipple walked into the living room as Savich was examining the encrypted files on Peter’s computer. “I didn’t want to say anything with Mr. Biaggini here, but we found a whole lot of cash in a manila envelope in a flour canister in the kitchen. Fresh one-hundred-dollar bills. About twenty thousand dollars, I’d say.”
But no disks.
Henderson County Hospital
Tuesday afternoon
The code red wasn’t for Salazar.
Twenty minutes later, they saw him being wheeled into the recovery room through the closed glass door of the surgery hallway. He was on a ventilator, with doctors, nurses, and technicians on all sides, and more lines running into and out of him than seemed possible. A bag of blood under pressure was dripping into a line in his neck, and the large white bandage around his chest was stained pink. He looked bad, Griffin thought, and he was unconscious.
One of the doctors stopped to speak to them. “Come back in three or four hours, Agents. If he survives, he should be more responsive then.” It was odd, Griffin thought, but he looked both pissed and relieved.
Griffin leaned against the pale green wall of the waiting room. “If and when he wakes up, he’s going to tell us how innocent he is, and we know that’s not the case. And when we coach other gang members, they won’t talk, either; the gang has too much of a hold on them, inside and outside of prison.”
Anna said, “Even though Salazar was their cover, arranged to buy the land around Winkel’s Cave for them, one of them didn’t hesitate to kill him when he said he would talk to us if we didn’t shoot him.”
Griffin said, “Worse mistake he could have made. Everything was unraveling, but they followed orders. I have no doubt they only pretended to take him prisoner after they trashed his house, hid him in the cave until they could be sure to get him safely away. But he broke the code they live by—if you become a threat to the higher-ups, if you talk, you die.”
“Let’s get some coffee,” Anna said. When they reached the elevators, one of the doors opened and Anna nearly swallowed her tongue. There stood Dr. Elliot Hayman, director of Stanislaus. She hadn’t even thought to call him to tell him about his brother. His face was tight with panic, but when he saw her, contempt bloomed. “Ah, Ms. Castle. I don’t suppose that is your real name, though, is it? You’re a federal agent?”
“Anna is my real first name, and yes, I’m a DEA agent.”
Dr. Hayman’s face was white with anger, and when he spoke, his voice shook. “I know that my brother was shot. I won’t ask why you couldn’t be bothered to call me, his brother, to tell me, but now would you explain how could this happen? Who shot him? Is he alive?”
Griffin said, “He is out of surgery and is in the recovery room, Dr. Hayman, but his condition is very serious. He’s still unconscious. He was shot in the chest by one of the men he was involved with.”
Contempt rivaled disbelief. “No thanks to any of you, I found out my brother was shot. Agent Brannon confirmed it when he saw me in the lobby. He said my brother was shot in a nearby cave. Convenient to say he was not shot by one of your agents, isn’t it?”
Anna said, “It’s the truth, sir. There are many witnesses.”
“And you, Agent—”
“Parrish, Agent Anna Parrish.”
“Are you proud to see my brother shot? Proud that you betrayed his trust and betrayed me and Stanislaus?”
“I was doing my job, sir. It was you who invited him here to Stanislaus.”