V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone 22)

“Can’t help you there. He hasn’t taken me into his confidence,” I said.

“Must be hot stuff, whatever it is. You know how cops are when it’s time for fun and games. If you hear anything, would you let me know?”

I said, “Sure.” We even exchanged brief pleasantries before she signed off. I sat and stared at the phone while a cartoon question mark formed above my head. Cheney was preoccupied about something. No doubt about that. I’d postulated the existence of a task force and an investigation that predated and superseded mine. Were they ready to make a move? If so, how had Diana picked up a hint of it when I was still in the dark?

The drive to St. Terry’s was an easy ten minutes. I found parking in the same lot I’d used Tuesday night when Dodie was admitted. I was hoping she’d be out of ICU by now and in a room of her own. At the very least, I hoped to connect with Pinky to see how he was holding up. I looked forward to telling them that Dante’d agreed to cover their bills and living expenses, which I hoped would be a source of relief. I wasn’t sure how much fast-talking I’d have to do to convince Pinky the offer was something other than charity. I regarded it as fair payment for services rendered. He’d provided Dante with valuable confirmation of his brother’s duplicity, which Dante could deal with in any manner that suited him, the more punitive the better as far as I was concerned.

I stopped in the lobby and asked the volunteer at the desk for Dodie’s room number. She checked her roster, which was revised and reprinted daily as patients were admitted, moved, or discharged. She was a woman in her seventies, probably a grandmother and a great-grandmother, though quite the looker for someone her age. She seemed momentarily confused and made a phone call to ICU for Dodie’s status, since her name wasn’t readily available. When she hung up, she said, “Mrs. Ford passed.”

“Passed what?” I said. I thought she was talking about a test. Then my mind skipped to the notion of a blood clot or a kidney stone. This seemed like an odd piece of medical data to be sharing with me. She was clearly uncomfortable at my pressing the point.

“She passed over first thing this morning, but that’s as much as I was told.”

“Passed over,” I repeated. “You mean, she died?”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“She died? But that can’t be true. How could she do that?”

“I wasn’t given an explanation.”

“But I called twice yesterday and I was told she was fine. Now you’re telling me she passed? What kind of word is that anyway, passed. Why don’t you call a spade a spade?”

The woman’s cheeks were suffused with pink, and I noticed that two visitors seated in the lobby had turned to stare at me.

“Would you like to speak to the chaplain?”

“No, I don’t want to speak to the chaplain,” I snapped. “I want to talk to her husband. Is he here?”

“I don’t have information about next of kin. I’d imagine he’s meeting with a funeral director about services. Really, I’m so sorry to upset you. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll have someone bring you a cup of water.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” I said.

I turned and headed for the door. I didn’t doubt her word. I just thought it was ridiculous that Dodie had died when she’d been fine last I checked. Ever quick with the old defense mechanisms, I was using anger as a counterweight to my surprise. I didn’t feel sorrow. I didn’t know Dodie well enough to experience the loss. Pinky would be devastated, and what sprang to mind was his vow of retaliation if anything happened to her. Now that he was faced with the worst-case scenario, he’d go off on a rampage, and Cappi would be his target.

I drove the four blocks to the duplex. I had no idea the state I’d find him in or what I’d say to him. I parked across the street, noticing that Dodie’s gaudy yellow Cadillac was gone. I felt a prick of anxiety, like the tip of a knife touching me between the shoulder blades. I took the porch steps two at a time and knocked on the front door while simultaneously ringing the bell. There was no response, so I did the next best thing, which was to try the knob. The door was unlocked. I opened it and stuck my head in. “Pinky?”

The house had that empty air of lingering food scents and humming appliances. I called his name again, though I was silly to do so when I knew he wasn’t on the premises. I moved into the living room. One of the couch cushions had been tossed on the floor and Pinky’s gun was gone. I sat down abruptly and put my head in my hands. There was no doubt in my mind he’d gone after Cappi. It was exactly the sort of rash move he’d make. What chance would I have of reaching Cappi before he did? More important, how would I find him? Rapidly, I ran through my options. My first impulse was to dial 9-1-1. And say what? I could describe Dodie’s car. I could describe the man driving it, but that was that. I could call Dante and warn him Pinky was on the loose. He was the man most likely to know where his brother was. Maybe he could put out a companywide alert and let him know what was going on. My third option was to warn Cappi myself if I could figure out where he was.