“You know about it?”
“It made the news,” John answered. He’d ordered that mob hit because Jackie Montana had been trying to muscle in on John’s New Orleans operation. John had known that there were some civilians hit, but he’d never paid attention to the names of the victims. That hadn’t been his concern.
“You’re sure about that?” he asked now.
“Yes.”
John’s head was buzzing, but something the man was saying penetrated the swirling thoughts in his brain.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“Which part?”
“About the clinic.”
“Okay. Yeah. After Sam died, the mother tried to get in touch with a place called the Solomon Clinic. Down your way, in Houma.”
“Okay. Thanks. You have the address.”
“I have the old address, but the place burned down.
They talked for a few more minutes before John hung up.
“Thanks for your help,” he said to Swift.
“I didn’t do much.”
“You noticed.”
When he started out of the room, the older man called out, “Hey, what about all that stuff on the bed?”
“I’m sure you can put it away.”
He knew Swift was angry, which pleased him.
Outside he turned to his man. “You and Marv are going down to Houma.”
“For what?”
“Stephanie and that bozo she’s with might show up there.”
“Like where, exactly.”
“There was a clinic in town they might want to check out. I’ll get you the address.”
“We can leave our things here and drive over to Houma,” Craig said.
“And do what, exactly?”
“We could start with the archives at the local papers, or we could try something else.”
When she asked for details, he said, “I’ll tell you about it on the way over.”
They walked over to the main house where Mrs. Marcos was in the dining room.
“I hope you slept well,” she said brightly.
“Yes, of course,” Stephanie answered. “The cottage is charming.”
