Devine's Providence: A Novel Read online

  Or at least I didn’t.

  Until now.

  No, I definitely couldn’t go to the police. That’s exactly what the thug said not to do. They likely have eyes on me. And if whoever’s behind this is willing to go to such lengths, there’s no telling what kind of pull they have with the cops. Planting evidence, false arrests, intimidation—it wasn’t that long ago that these tactics were synonymous with the Providence Police Department.

  I also couldn’t do nothing. I hadn’t even been working any job since the Winters incident, but even that wasn’t enough to keep me out of trouble. It was most likely this was all just to scare me, but I couldn’t trust that entirely. It was possible this wouldn’t stop until I could be silenced for good. And that was a possibility I couldn’t ignore.

  The only foreseeable way out of this mess was to go deeper into it. I had to track down exactly what was going on, and who was behind it.

  But what I wanted to do, was absolutely nothing. This all seemed so…unfair. I didn’t ask for any of this. I was just minding my own business, and now I felt like I was at the beginning of one of those old film noir movies I liked to watch late at night. I didn’t want to be dragged into it, but it looked like now I didn’t have much of a choice.

  WHY CAN’T I JUST BE LEFT ALONE?

  Terry sighed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Look,” I said. “I didn’t mean to put you in the middle of anything. Thank you for taking care of me. But my head’s stopped spinning; I’m better now. You should go.”

  Terry frowned and crossed her arms.

  “I can’t leave you,” she said. “As long as I’m involved now, I’ll help you however I can. I’m afraid it won’t be much, but for starters, you can’t clean all this up by yourself.”

  I had to relent, I knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “You’re the best,” I said, “but don’t touch anything just yet. I need to get someone in here to help me with any clues.”

  “I thought you said no cops?”

  “Officially, no,” I smiled. “But there is one particular cop who can help us.”

  Chapter 8

  INNER SANCTUM

  “Holy fuckballs,” said Zachetti, surveying the room. “It’s filthier than my browser history in here.”

  “Doubt it,” I said.

  Jake lumbered around the office, ducking his head in every room, looking about, and letting out a low “Tssssssh” each time, shaking his head. He was careful not to step on anything of too much importance, and he had to squeeze his way past Terry, who stood silent and motionless in the center of the reception area, eyeing him warily.

  While waiting for Zachetti to arrive, I had filled Terry in on the events of the past week. I told her about Chelsea Woodstern, about Marc Winters, and about the false coroner’s report. I told her about the thug the previous night, and why it would be considerably dangerous for everyone involved to just go to the police.

  She listened intently, but seemed skeptical about calling my old partner, even though I insisted I trusted him implicitly. Meeting him in person did nothing to alleviate her skepticism. He had barely even acknowledged her, treating her more like part of the crime scene than an actual person.

  Now, he was pushing his way around her, his large form unavoidably knocking her small frame about with every step.

  “Ah, ‘scuse me, dollface,” he said deftly, earning him a scowl behind his back.

  “And this happened last night?” he asked.

  I was leaning back in my chair, my feet propped up on the desk belonging to my non-existent secretary. I shrugged.

  “Could’ve been anytime in the past week. I’ve been taking some vacation time and haven’t been up here since…my last case.”

  “You mean Woodstern’s?”

  I nodded.

  Zachetti turned to Terry, finally acknowledging her as a human.

  “And you’re the landlady, right? You hear anything at all happening up here?”

  Terry shook her head.

  “No. But I’m closed up and home by seven, usually.”

  “What about that shop on the second floor?”

  Terry bit her bottom lip. “They’ve been…closed the whole week. Not much use for tanning salons in the middle of summer.”

  “I’d like to ask them some questions, anyway. They may have seen or heard something some other time.”

  “Forget it, Jake,” I said. “The place is as good as vacant. Terry’s using it as a front for something. Just what, I haven’t figured out yet.”

  Terry’s eyes grew wide and she started to stutter but couldn’t get any coherent words out.

  “Just for tax purposes, maybe,” I continued, “but it doesn’t matter. I’m sure she has her reasons.”

  Zachetti guffawed at the sight of Terry being caught so off guard.

  “Fellas,” said Terry, “I don’t know what…it’s not…how did…you can’t…” I held my hand up to stop her.

  “Don’t worry about it, Terry,” I said. “Lieutenant Zachetti’s not here in any ‘official’ capacity. In fact, he’s so far off the record it would make whatever you’re up to look like jaywalking. He’s not gonna tell a soul. Are you, Jake?”

  Zachetti shook his head, a wide smile stretching completely across his moon-sized face.

  “Nah, of course not, doll,” he said, winking. “I’m not here to bust balls. Whatever you got cookin’ is literally the least of our problems. Let’s just say you have immunity in my book.”

  Terry scowled but seemed to relax a bit.

  “I knew I was pushing my luck, leasing to a detective,” she said.

  “Anyway,” said Zachetti, “So we don’t know when the place was tossed. Do we know why? This may be an unrelated burglary. Anything missing?”

  “An unrelated burglary would be an awfully big coincidence,” I said, “especially because the only thing that seems to be missing are my notes from my first meeting with Chelsea.”

  “Really?”

  “As far as I can tell. I don’t keep much of value around here, but my safe was untouched. And they left my good Scotch.”

  Terry sighed.

  “Well, glad to see you’re not too put out by this,” she said. “And that you have your priorities in order.”

  I took my feet off the desk and sat up straight. I still had to move slowly to avoid an onslaught of pain and nausea.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be off the sauce for the time being. I need to stay clearheaded for a while.”

  Zachetti spoke in a low voice. “Oh, it’s that easy, is it?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Don’t start, Jake. We all have our demons.”

  “Sure, but most people can handle them without needing an exorcism.”

  I bristled. “Maybe having a drink or two helps me keep them out.”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t had a drink—or twenty—that mook wouldn’t have gotten the drop on you.”

  His voice was still soft and calm but his words stung sharply. Now I remembered why I hadn’t talked to him in so long.

  Or to anyone else, really.

  Terry was quiet, watching us both intently.

  I threw my hands up.

  “I’m not doing this. Especially not now.”

  Zachetti pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose.

  “You’re right,” he said loudly, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get back to business.”

  We both tamped down our feelings of bitterness, though mine couldn’t go down as deep as I’d have liked.

  Zachetti sat down on a chair and leaned forward.

  “The missing notes on Woodstern—what’d they say?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing, really. Remember, I didn’t know what was going on then. Actually, I still do
n’t know. I was supposed to meet with Chelsea the next day—and Marc Winters—to get the skinny, but we know how that turned out. I had written down a bunch of stuff I was able to dig up on Chelsea herself, but it wasn’t anything that can’t be found by some thorough Googling. Couldn’t find shit on the supposed missing person they were looking into.”

  “So we know from your assailant that someone wants you to lay off digging into Marc Winters’ death. We can assume from the missing case notes that your ransacked office is somehow connected to Winters, or at least Woodstern, also. It doesn’t look like they were actually looking for anything, I think they were just trying to send a message.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.”

  Terry finally spoke up. “There’s one thing I’ve been thinking, Lieutenant.” Zachetti raised his eyebrows and turned towards Terry, as if he had already forgotten she was still in the room.

  “They’re going through a heck of a lot of trouble to scare Harry off the case, and he’s not even on it anymore. What about you? Snooping around the coroner’s office had to have raised some red flags. Has anyone approached you?”

  A glimmer of a smile appeared on Zachetti’s face, and he looked almost impressed by Terry’s question.

  “Nothing as heavy-handed as what Harry’s going through,” he said, “but I’m definitely being watched.”

  It was no surprise that I, rather than Zachetti, was the one they decided to rough up. I was a stumbling drunk whereas Zachetti was roughly the size of a house. Add to that he was a policeman, and it was no wonder they were keeping an arm’s length away.

  “I was warned off the case, in no uncertain terms, by my captain. Says the order comes from high up. How high, we need to find out. I didn’t push it, but I’ve been covering my tracks. I’ve had a tail the past week, some old rust-colored Buick. For the most part I haven’t changed my routine, but I’ve been able to lose them when necessary. Which reminds me…”

  Zachetti reached in his pocket and pulled out an old flip-phone. He tossed it to me.

  “Take this,” he said.

  “Thanks, but I have a brand new phone,” I said. “You know they were able to get my contacts and everything?”

  Zachetti shook his head. “That’s a burner,” he said. “Untraceable. I’ve got one too; the number’s already programmed into that one. Plus a few others.”

  “Wow,” I said. “You’re not playing around.”

  “One other thing,” he said, “I did some nosing around into what ‘missing person’ Woodstern and Winters may have been looking into.”

  “Like I told you, I did the same, couldn’t find anything.”

  “That’s because you were looking for someone who’s missing.”

  “Uh…yeah. You’ve lost me.”

  “The head of the Providence City Planning Commission abruptly up and disappeared a few months back. No warning, no notice. Told his wife he was going out for a pack of smokes and never came back.”

  “The head of the CPC is missing? How did I miss that? In fact, how was that not front page news?”

  “Because he’s not officially missing. Two officers interviewed the wife and found a note on the fridge, saying he was leaving town, of his own free will.”

  “Huh…he left a Dear Jane letter, so case closed?”

  Zachetti shook his head.

  “More like case never even opened.”

  “How did you find this out, Lieutenant?” asked Terry.

  “Asked a few trusted guys if they’ve noticed any strange off-the-books missing person cases lately. Risky, I know, but I was careful.”

  “Wait,” I said. A blurred memory of the night before started to come back to me, of sitting at Rick’s, telling Zachetti that the only thing I knew about Chelsea’s investigation was that it had to do with a missing person. “You found that all out since last night?”

  Zachetti smiled smugly.

  “While you were taking a nice, long nap on the wet pavement,” he said, “some of us were actually working.”

  If there was any sliver of doubt that I was now in this, like or not, the fact that Zachetti was so determined sealed the deal. I trusted his instincts better than I trusted my own, usually.

  “So a government official has vanished,” I said. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

  “Dude named Philip Grayle,” said Zachetti.

  “And who would benefit from the head of the City Planning Commission being so suddenly absent?”

  “That,” said Zachetti, “Is what we need to figure out. And what I have a hunch Woodstern and Winters were trying to crack, as well.”

  He glanced around the room. “May not be a bad idea to scan for bugs in here.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “You really think this is some big-time operation, don’t you? Winters didn’t seem to trust anything, either. I was thinking this was just a couple of hoodlums he got tangled up with, but you’re saying this is some Sopranos-level shit?”

  “I’m tellin’ ya,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on. Grayle’s disappeared and Winters is murdered, both cases reeking of a coverup. Too strange to not be connected, somehow. But until we have some idea, we need to play it extra safe.”

  “I guess I can’t argue with that,” I said. “So where do we start?”

  Zachetti glanced at his watch. “I have, uh…a couple of leads to chase down. We’ll meet back up later tonight and go over the facts. I’ll drop by around seven? That’ll give you some time to get this place in order and see if anything else sticks out.”

  I nodded.

  He pushed himself to his feet and looked at Terry. “And if I were you, dollface,” he said, “I’d seriously consider raising your security deposit.”

  Terry scowled at Zachetti, but simply said, “You’re smarter than you look, Lieutenant.”

  The roar of Zachetti’s guffawing followed him outside and down the stairs.

  • • •

  As the day wore on, I started to feel more and more like my old self. The hangover passed completely, eventually, and the stiffness in my joints loosened up. My head still ached and my face was still sore, but I could move around fine without fear of tumbling over.

  Terry and I worked our way through the office, filling books back in cases, files back in folders, and brick-a-brack back on shelves. We swept up any broken glass (I would have to take a trip to the dollar store to replace quite a few picture frames), and vacuumed the rugs. I tried to convince Terry that the intruders must have soiled the windows, so she had better wash those too, but she didn’t buy it. She did, however, humor me by allowing me to play through my collection of Miles Davis albums while we worked—with the exception of Bitches Brew, which she deemed “too experimental” for her taste.

  Poor gal doesn’t know what she’s missing!

  After a few hours, the place looked more or less like I had last left it. Terry was kind enough to run to the hardware store for supplies to fix the busted-in door, and brought back with her the greasiest, most glorious pizza I had ever devoured. For Terry, a small Greek salad sufficed.

  I was able to patch up the door frame and replace the lock with relative ease—being a homeowner forces you into being a jack-of-all-trades, even if you’re master-of-none.

  Seven o’clock rolled around fairly quickly, and soon Zachetti was knocking on the now-totally-sturdy door.

  Terry opened it to let him in, and grimaced as he breezed past her with a, “Hiya, doll!”

  And Zachetti wasn’t alone.

  Following him in was a petite young woman, her golden blonde hair spilling out the back of a Red Sox cap. She wore an oversized grey sweatshirt with “OLD NAVY” on the front, skinny jeans, and flip-flops. She carried an old, worn backpack.

  I had to stop and think if maybe Jake had a daughter I didn’t know about, but I knew for a fact he had just one c
hild—a son named James. Little Jimmy Zachetti was born one day before my daughter (the snide joke amongst the other cop’s wives was that Jake and I did everything together, on and off duty).

  So who was this young lady, and why the hell was Zachetti just waltzing her into my office? Today, of all days? There was something vaguely familiar about her, but when our eyes finally met, it was her piercing gaze that gave her away. Although that gaze was now piercing from bright blue eyes instead of the familiar intense green.

  “Chelsea?”

  “Hello again, Mr. Devine.”

  Zachetti looked around the room.

  “Better in here now,” he said. “Much better.”

  He swiveled his pumpkin-like head toward Terry.

  “Hey, if you’re done in here, doll, my garage could use some cleaning out.”

  Zachetti laughed heartily. Terry did not.

  For my part, I was stuck on the sight of the new version of Chelsea standing in front of me.

  “What are…you came…why did…” I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. I turned toward the grinning Zachetti.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Oh, how rude of me,” said Zachetti for the first time in his life. “Harry, this is Chelsea Woodstern, in from Los Angeles.”

  “I damn well know that, but what is she doing here? I thought she went back to California?”

  “I just picked her up from the airport.”

  Chelsea cleared her throat. “Do you two always talk about people as if they weren’t standing right next to you?”

  “Yup,” said Terry.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Chelsea. “Please, sit down. Jake, be a pal and put a pot of coffee on, would you?”

  “Me?” said Zachetti. “What do I look like, your secretary? Why don’t you ask—”

  He turned toward Terry, who swiftly interrupted him before he could say anything further.

  “Extra cream, no sugar, doll,” she said.

  Zachetti frowned before lumbering off to the kitchenette.