“It’s not that,” he said. “You came within inches of a killer the other night. If Junior was one of Olivo’s men, he could have someone watching Junior’s parents, and the fewer people who know you’re connected to this investigation, the better.”

  Ian straddled a chair at Detective Jason Nix’s desk. As lead detective in the drug squad, Nix was the person on the squad most likely to know about Junior’s involvement in any drug dealings. Ian wasn’t surprised at the detective’s wrinkled denim shirt with the cuffs rolled up, or the gray-and-silver hair, worn a little too long and scruffy. Both fit with being a member of a squad who at times had to go undercover and fly incognito as they interacted with suspects on the street.

  Nix leaned back in his squeaky chair and linked his hands over the beginning of a middle-age paunch. “So you want to know about Junior Flagg.”

  Ian nodded. “He was murdered at his class reunion.”

  “You don’t say.” Nix’s eyebrows rose. “He’s been on our radar for a while but the guy managed to stay just the right side of the law at all times, and we were never able to nab him.”

  “He works for Olivo?”

  Nix nodded. “Pretty high up in the organization. We’ve been watching him for some time, but Olivo taught him well, and he’d kept under the radar. We don’t have a single thing that we were able to charge him with.”

  “Any chance his murder was Olivo’s doing?”

  “There’s no word on the street about them having a falling out, so doesn’t seem likely.” Nix scratched the silvery five-o’clock shadow on his chin. “There is something going down with Olivo right now, though. He’s off his normal pattern. Hasn’t been to work for a few days, and his kids aren’t at school. He has an eighteen-year-old boy and a sixteen-year-old girl. We can see shadows through the blinds so there’s movement in the house, but none of them have been seen outside the house for four days.”

  Interesting. “Stay-at-home vacation, maybe?”

  Nix shook his head. “We called his office, and his assistant said she had to reschedule his calendar, so it wasn’t planned.”

  “I guess this is unusual for him.”

  “Very. He’s quite gregarious and outgoing. He entertains a lot and attends all of his kids’ school functions. And the kids have company most days. The mom is like this super mom who’s made her house the place to hang out.”

  Ian figured if the parents of these kids knew what Olivo really did for a living, they wouldn’t be letting their son or daughter hang at the Olivo house. “What do you make of the change?”

  Nix shrugged. “Never can predict these guys. But the thing with Olivo is that he’s structured his organization so he can live a normal life most of the time, and his guys do all his dirty work for him. It could just be a normal life thing. Could be sick. Someone in the family could be sick. Grandparents died out of state. Something like that.”

  “What about a threat to him and his family?”

  “Would have to be someone with a death wish of their own to threaten him, or worse, threaten his kids. Olivo would have him for breakfast.”

  “Or gun him down, if it was Junior.”

  Nix leaned forward. “Yeah, sure, but like I said, nothing on the street about that. I’ve got feelers out all the time regarding him. We’ll see if they produce anything.”

  Ian thanked Nix and headed out of the office to interview Junior’s parents. They lived in a posh area of Forest Park on the west side of the river. Ian had rarely spent any time in that part of the city, so he enjoyed winding up the steep hills with large homes on each side of the road and tried to imagine how the residents left home on the few days when the metro area saw freezing rain or snow. He would want to stay home, but people didn’t quit killing each other because of bad weather, so that wasn’t an option for him like these residents likely had.

  Ian pulled up to the Flaggs’s two-story home painted a deep gray. It had multiple roof peaks with shake shingle siding highlighting the front peaks. He parked in the driveway by the garage with carriage style doors and noticed two vehicles inside. Hopefully that meant both parents were home.

  He knocked on the front door and stood back to wait. He hated leaving Malone behind, but he’d meant it when he’d said that the fewer people who knew about her connection to Junior’s murder the better. A man was dead. Gunned down. Ian didn’t want that to happen to her. Thankfully, she had the Nighthawk team with her. Protecting her. Otherwise, Ian wouldn’t have been able to leave her house.

  The door opened, and Junior’s father stared at Ian as he ran a hand through his thick brown hair that had a tint of gray at the temples. Junior had resembled his father, except Junior’s hair was blond, and he was a good foot shorter. Ian put Gilbert Sr. in his early to mid-fifties, and he was in great shape for his age. A big man, he had muscles that seemed built in a gym and wore a confidence about him that Junior had lacked.

  “Detective.” Flagg smiled, not seeming at all worried about the visit. “What brings you here?”

  “I have a few questions for you.” Ian tried to sound lighthearted. “Would it be okay if I came in?”

  “Of course. Whatever you need.” Flagg stepped back and led the way through a massive two-story foyer with wrought iron railings and gleaming tile floors to a family room with equally tall ceilings. Muted gray paint covered the walls, and various shades of blue accented the room in the furnishings. The place looked more like a magazine picture than a room where people lived every day.

  Flagg gestured at a sofa that faced another matching sofa. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.” Ian smiled. “If your wife is home, it would be great if she could join us.”

  “Let me get her.” He stepped out of the room and called, “Karen. The detective is back and wants you to join us.”

  Silence filled the cavernous space until the clip-clip-clip of high-heeled shoes came toward them. Karen wore jeans and a black sweater, both designer. Her blond chin-length hair was immaculately combed, but her mascara was smudged.

  She perched on the edge of the sofa across from Ian. It was easy to see that Junior got his diminutive stature from her. “How can I help you?”

  “First, let me say again how sorry I am for your loss,” Ian said.

  She gave a firm nod, but her chin quivered.

  “We appreciate that,” Flagg said, sounding sincere as he leaned against the fireplace mantle.

  Ian decided if he could help ease their grief he would. “Before we get started, I wanted to tell you that the autopsy has been completed. The cause of death didn’t change, of course, but the medical examiner learned that Junior had stage three pancreatic cancer.”

  “Cancer!” Karen grabbed hold of her blouse.

  “But he didn’t say anything.” Flagg frowned.

  “Could this be what he was trying to tell me about?” Karen worried her lower lip. “Would it have been terminal?”

  Ian nodded. “The ME seemed to think so.”

  “Then he would’ve died anyway,” Flagg said, his tone flat and unreadable.

  Karen flashed her gaze to her husband. “But we would’ve had more time with him.”

  “He didn’t suffer this way,” Ian said.

  Karen nodded. “A positive, I guess.”

  “I was hoping, now that you’ve had some time to process Junior’s death, that you might’ve thought of someone who might have wanted to kill him.”

  Karen shook her head hard.

  “I have no idea.” Flagg sat next to his wife and took her hand.

  She looked at his hand in horror, as if she wanted to whip it free. But she remained frozen and stiff in her seat.

  “I’ve been looking for employment records for Junior but can’t find any,” Ian said. “Can you tell me where he worked?”

  Karen opened her mouth to speak, but Flagg jumped in. “He did odd jobs for cash. Didn’t make much. He was a disappointment, for sure. But I figured he would sort himself out and come back to work for the company.”

  “Sort out?” Ian asked.

  Flagg clenched his teeth for a moment. “He started working for me right out of high school, and I wanted him to take over for me. He did all right for many years, but then he got a wild hair and decided that he didn’t want to take over. He wanted to be a beekeeper, if you can believe it.” Flagg rolled his eyes. “Who does that? Who? You can’t make any money at that. He decided he was going to sell the business after I retired and take his inheritance. I couldn’t have that, so I told him to go take care of the bees and see if he could live on that, figuring he’d be back in a month or two.”

  “But he never did come back,” Karen said, her tone sad. “And he didn’t raise the bees.”

  Flagg shook his head. “I must’ve spoiled the kid too much.”

  At that, Karen jerked her hand away. “Spoiled. Is that what you think?” Her voice rose, and her breathing came hard and fast. “Because that’s not how I saw it. Not at all.”

  Flagg faced his wife, his eyes wide and intense. “I gave him everything. Clothes. Electronics. Cars. His condo that I’d paid a fortune to remodel. Whatever his little heart desired.”

  “See, there you go.” Karen fisted her hands on her knees. “He’s dead, and you’re still mocking his size. It wasn’t his fault he was small, and you never let him live it down. Never.”

  “I didn’t—”

  She flashed up a hand. “You can’t deny it, Gilbert, so don’t even try. Your belittling and constant criticism killed him.”

  “Now, wait a minute.” Flagg’s voice shifted from kind to angry in a heartbeat.

  “It’s true. He cut ties with us because of you,” she said. “And he had to find some way to live. You forced him to turn to the drugs.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  They both swung their gazes to Ian and looked at him with surprise, as if they’d forgotten he was in the room.

  “Drugs?” Ian asked, when he knew full well that Junior worked with Olivo.

  “It’s nothing.” Gilbert’s words carried vehemence, but then he relaxed his posture and forced a smile.

  Karen didn’t say a word.

  “Karen?” Ian asked.

  “Junior started selling drugs,” she blurted out.

  “Karen,” her husband warned.

  “I won’t be silenced anymore.” She lifted her hand again but let it fall as her face creased with guilt. “Maybe it’s my fault he’s dead. If I had stood up to you, maybe he’d still be alive.”

  “Nonsense,” Flagg said, his tone patronizing. “You couldn’t do anything for him. He was destined for this path.”

  “You’re wrong, as usual, and it’s time the truth came out.” Karen shifted her gaze to Ian. “Apparently, Junior was good at selling drugs. He moved up the chain and was a righthand man to the boss.” She swung her face to Flagg. “Which he could’ve been for you, if you’d only given him a chance and time and encouraged him to do the beekeeping thing on the side instead of mocking him.”

  “Do you know who he worked for?” Ian asked.

  “A man named Tirone Olivo.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Karen nodded. “I tried to ignore Junior’s lifestyle. Flashy car. Nice clothes. Lots of dining out. Luxury vacations. I knew he had to be doing something illegal to have all of that. I confronted him about a year ago. It took me that long to work up the courage. When I did, he told me everything. He was proud of what he’d accomplished and was glad to finally be able to tell someone about it.”

  “Proud?” Flagg scoffed. “If either of you had told me, I would’ve turned him in. We don’t break the law, Karen. Ever.”

  “Which is why he didn’t say a word to you, and I didn’t tell you until yesterday.” Karen gritted her teeth. “But you knew something was up. You had to.”

  “Did you ever meet Olivo?” Ian asked Karen to keep her talking.

  “Once.” Karen shuddered. “He was quite charming and seemed normal, but there was a dangerous vibe underneath it all. Junior told me he was a ruthless, terrible man, and he wouldn’t let Junior go when he wanted to take a break.”

  “Was this recent?” Ian asked.

  She nodded. “Something spooked Junior, and he said he had to fix it. Could’ve been the cancer, too, that set him on the path he was on when he died.”

  Now, Ian thought they were getting somewhere. “This thing. He said it had to do with Olivo?”

  She shook her head. “He just said he discovered something that he had to fix, and that he was sorry, but it had to come out. That it wouldn’t be good for the family. So I figured he did something with Olivo, and he planned to go to the cops, and it would all make the news.”

  “Did he come to you people?” Flagg looked hopeful.

  “There’s no report of him filing a complaint or communicating with our department in any way,” Ian said, wondering. Did the thing Junior had mentioned cause his death? Did it have something to do with why Olivo had hunkered down in his home with his family?

  “Then I don’t know what he was up to,” Karen said.

  Ian turned his attention to Flagg. “Before Junior died, he spoke with one of our classmates whose parents had died in a car crash in the nineties. He told her that the crash wasn’t an accident, and if she wanted to know about it, to meet him in the room. She did, but before he told her anything, he was shot.”

  “Do you think these parents were involved with this Olivo thug too, and he killed them?” Karen asked.

  “Perhaps,” Ian said, but he doubted they had any involvement with drugs. Still, he couldn’t rule that out. “The classmate has just moved back into her parents’ old home, and I’m wondering if that somehow triggered Junior’s comment. Her parents were Lewis and Joanna Rice. Do those names ring a bell?”

  “No.” Flagg paused, eyes narrowed. “No. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of them.”

  “Me either,” Karen said. “And I have no idea how Junior knew about them.”

  “You should know,” Flagg said, sounding solemn. “Our son had very low self-esteem and had a habit of embellishing things to make himself seem more important. He had trouble getting girlfriends too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was just making up the story to find a way to connect with this woman.”

  It sounded like Flagg contributed to Junior’s low self-esteem, as his wife had claimed.

  Karen fired a testy look at her husband. “You’re so quick to say he was wrong, but maybe he wasn’t.” She shifted to lock gazes with Ian. “Whatever you need to find this killer that I can provide, it’s yours. Anything. I will see that my son’s death is avenged.”

  9

  Ian was once again ensconced in the back seat of the Nighthawk Security vehicle next to Malone, heading out to Peck’s house. He updated the others on his interview with Gilbert Flagg. As he finished, his phone chimed, and he looked at the text. “Blake found a friend of Junior’s. Name’s Timothy Richardson. He wasn’t in our class. Sound familiar?”

  Malone shook her head. “Did Blake talk to him?”

  Ian nodded and read the rest of the text. “He claims not to know about Junior’s job. Thought he was an importer. They met in a bar a couple of years ago. Basically, just hung out to watch sports and drink beer.”

  “Not a real lead then.”

  “Blake will have Nick do a deep dive, so we’ll see.” Ian moved on to his emails and read one from the firearms examiner. “Interesting. The gun used to kill Junior only had your prints on it.”

  “How’s that interesting?” Malone asked. “It’s what you’d expect with the shooter wearing gloves.”

  “That’s not the interesting part. The gun was used in a gangland slaying a few years ago.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Malone said, eyeing Ian. “Could Junior be the killer from back then? I mean, you tell me Junior’s not only a drug dealer, but high up in his organization. Now this? Junior never struck me as the kind of guy to have the courage to sell drugs much less be brutal enough to move up the chain or kill anyone.”

  “I didn’t think so either,” Ian said. “But his mother was certain about the drugs, and in an odd sort of way, even proud of his advancement.”

  Aiden glanced in the rearview mirror. “Are you thinking his murder is related to Olivo?”

  “I was leaning that way, and now that we know the gun was used in a drug slaying, it seems more likely that Olivo or a rival is behind killing Junior than it being connected to Malone.”

  “You’d think if the intent was to set Malone up, that the gun wouldn’t have a history,” Aiden said.

  “Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Brendan looked between the seats at them. “The shooter saw an opportunity to deflect suspicion from his organization for a while by handing the gun to Malone.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Ian said. “But even if it’s not connected to Malone, we need to solve the murder of her parents too.”

  “That’s important,” Clay said. “No doubt about that, but we need to find this shooter first. If finding Malone in the room was a surprise to him, he could be rethinking things in the light of day and be worried she might ID him.”

  “I’ll text the latest info to Nick,” Ian said. “Could help in the facial recognition search. Then I’ll call Nix at the drug squad to see if he remembers the earlier shootout where the gun was used.”

  Ian turned his attention to his phone and sent the text to Nick but had to leave a message with Nix. Ian wished he were closer to the precinct so he could meet with the guy in person again, but Peck’s property was coming up, and Ian needed to focus on that right now.

  The Veritas van was already parked near the house, but no sign of the people from the state lab. Ian glanced at his watch. Only eleven forty-five. With fifteen minutes to kill as he waited, Ian would use that time to look the car over again.

  Aiden parked behind Emory’s vehicle, and she slid out from the passenger’s seat. Blake got out from the driver’s side.

  Emory slid her hand into the crook of Blake’s arm. “I brought Blake along in case we need him for something.”