“When the three men started chasing ya?”
“Yes!”
Cassidy turned to Mike with a big grin. “Things are starting to fall into place. We also worked out why everyone thought you were someone else.” When they told us about the black and white sketches and nobody clocking Wes’ different eye colors, another piece clicked into place.
“Go ahead, tell them about the call we got today too, partner,” said Cassidy.
Mike faced us. “Remember when we asked where your vehicle was parked after you told us that someone had stolen your license?”
Wes nodded. “Yes.”
Mike grinned. “After our meeting with Kershaw, I got a call from the LAPD’s forensic lab. They’ve been processing fingerprints from your car for days but today, they finally matched a partial fingerprint found on the inside of the glove compartment to one of the two thugs who assaulted Father Gilmartin.”
I sat back and looked at Wes in shock. A slow smile spread across his face as I reached for his thigh under the table. He took my hand, squeezing hard. We stared at each other for a few seconds before finally turning back to Cassidy and Mike.
“All of this is great news, guys, but how do we find them now we know who they are?” I asked.
“We’ve got a meeting with a friend who works in the organized crime unit, Patsy. I have every faith that those three will be in custody very soon.”
“But how?” Wes asked. “Won’t they be protected by their big mob bosses?”
I grinned as Cassidy and Mike both smiled. “That’s not how it works, Mr. Chaudry. If the mob bosses find out the FBI has a vested interest in solving a murder one of their low-level guys committed, especially a murder for hire not ordered by them, they’ll take care of their own guys.”
“What do you mean take care of them?” Wes asked. When they didn’t answer immediately, he looked at me. “What? Did I say something funny?”
I shook my head. “Not funny, Wes. It’s just that low-level mob guys aren’t supposed to go around murderin’ civilians, especially if it’s for money they don’t plan on sharin’ with their bosses. Or if it interrupts a good thing like an extortion racket. Anythin’ that causes the FBI or the LAPD to go pokin’ around in their business is goin’ to get someone inside their own organization killed.”
His eyes widened as he slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, my God! You mean they get rubbed out?”
We all burst out laughing. Wes stared at us for a few seconds before grinning and beginning to laugh too. “Okay, so I don’t know all the cop lingo.”
“Rubbed out?” I repeated, unable to believe how utterly charmed I was by the man. We were still wiping away tears of mirth when the server walked over with our check. She waslooking like she wanted us the hell out of the restaurant as fast as our wee feet would carry us.
Cassidy grabbed the check as I reached for the wallet. “This lunch is on the department, Patsy.” He pulled out several bills and put them in the check folder as I capitulated with a big thanks for the great meal.
I glanced at Wes. “Ready to go?”
We headed out to their car and back to the camp while I thanked them for everything they’d done to work out what was going on with the men who wanted Wes dead. There was way too much of that going around and frankly, I couldn’t wait for it all to end so we could start our lives together…because that was a certainty, by now. Wewouldbe together.
Chapter Twenty-One
PATSY
By the time Wes and I had crawled back into our tent tonight, I was convinced life in a homeless encampment was not only dangerous, but it was downright boring as all hell. I couldn’t wait for this case to be over and sincerely regretted involving Wes. When Cassidy and Mike had dropped us back off at the bus, we’d briefed Candy on the investigation into their robbery case as well as Detective Kershaw’s suspects.
Though their mob ties had surprised Candy, he’d taken it all in his stride. He’d agreed that if their deviation into a murder-for-hire scheme that went from simple extortion to something that brought unwanted fed attention, the three thugs wouldn’t be long for this world. The golden age of mob justice when one of their own crossed a boss, almost always played out.
Personally, I’d been surprised that the Italian mob was even active in L.A. at all. I knew there were different organized crime families peppered throughout the U.S., but at one stage, the Italians had been replaced by the Russian crime bosses after the fall of the Berlin Wall. For some reason, I was under the impression that Asian gangs and Mexican drug cartels comprised most of the organized crime in the U.S. now. I’d thought La Cosa Nostra was a thing of the past as one criminal testifying against another helped bring the era of the once big and powerful American mafia families to an end in the 80s and 90s.
Wes and I played cards for a while after the camp settled down. We’d all decided that there was no reason for the two of us to wander around like sitting ducks to work out where the killer was. Several tents had buggered off in the day as people decided it was too bloody dangerous to hang out in the vicinity of a homicidal maniac picking off victims one by one. We’d agreed that there would be very little finger pointing and camp gossip by virtue of sheer fear, if nothing else.
Candy had positioned the rest of the team around the camp, having decided at the last moment that it really didn’t matter if anyone stood out to the killer anymore. Monroe was in a sniper perch at the east end, closer to us, and Clifford was set up at the west end. Though Candy couldn’t be certain snipers would be necessary, it never hurt to have men he trusted looking through rifle scopes as they scanned the camp. The higher ups thought the killer would keep his head down as he searched for his trophies, not paying attention to all the fit looking men who were new to the camp. I thought that was a wee bit naïve but the serial had to be desperate to get them back if we were right about his motives for the murders.
We all wore coms and throughout the evening; we heard our men checking in as they made their way through the camp, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone who looked the least bit out of place. After cards, we made a final trip to the latrine before returning to our tent and sleeping bags. We wrapped up in each other’s arms and eventually drifted off to sleep.
I was jolted awake by a sharp shout in my earwig and sat bolt upright as I heard Rex yell, “Fire!” Wes sat up beside me, and I reached for him as Rex reported that he’d spotted something burning not twenty feet from where we’d bedded down. I grabbed my pants as I rolled out of bed.
“Where’re you going?”
