Chapter 3 - The Side Gate at St. Francis
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Rain hammered the gothic slate roofs of St. Francis Academy across town just as the four-thirty bell rang for the after-school study program. Because of the phone call from the Varelli family’s senior legal counsel three minutes earlier, nine-year-old Eli Hayes was sitting safely inside the headmaster’s warm office, sipping a carton of apple juice and showing the school secretary his drawing of a cargo ship while waiting for his mother.
Outside on Elm Street, however, the side wrought-iron gate stood empty in the pouring rain.
Two unmarked black sedans belonging to Varelli Security glided silently down the tree-lined avenue, their headlights off. Inside the lead car, Carlo Conti scanned the curbs through rain-streaked glass, comparing the parked vehicles against the municipal traffic footage Dominic’s tech team had just pulled from Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons.
"There," Carlo said, pointing past a row of dripping maples. "Silver Genesis sedan, Massachusetts plates. Parked sixty feet from the side gate. That same plate sat outside the school at 4:10 PM on Tuesday and followed Marin’s Honda civic halfway to the bridge."
"Local police cruiser is three blocks out," the driver noted, checking his tactical tablet. "Should we wait for the uniformed officers?"
"If we wait for sirens, he wipes his phone," Carlo replied coldly, unbuckling his belt. "Box him in. Front and rear bumpers."
Within four seconds, both heavy Varelli sedans accelerated simultaneously. One swung diagonally across the silver car’s front hood while the second slammed to a halt an inch from its rear bumper, trapping the vehicle tightly against the high stone curb.
Inside the silver sedan, a man in a grey waterproof windbreaker dropped the telephoto camera resting on his steering wheel and reached wildly for the ignition. Before he could shift into reverse, Carlo was at the driver’s window, rapping the reinforced butt of a steel flashlight against the glass right beside the man’s ear.
"Unlock the door, friend," Carlo called out through the rain, flashing his private investigator licensing badge alongside a look that promised broken bones if the window had to come down the hard way. "Or we find out if side airbags deploy when a crowbar hits the pillar."
The man inside swallowed hard, looked at the two burly operatives blocking his passenger door, and hit the unlock switch.
Carlo yanked the door open, confiscated the man’s DSLR camera and two cell phones from the center console, and looked at the laminated press pass sitting on the dashboard.
"Nolan Pike," Carlo read aloud. "Freelance corporate intelligence out of Boston. You’re a long way from State Street, Mr. Pike, and taking pictures of nine-year-old boys with asthma is a very bad career move in Rhode Island."
"I didn't touch the kid!" Pike stammered, raising both hands in the cramped seat. "I was just hired to document his after-school routine and get photos of the nanny picking him up! That’s not a crime!"
Carlo pulled the memory card from the camera and slipped it into his coat pocket just as two Newport Police cruisers pulled up behind them with their amber hazard lights flashing.
"Actually, when your client uses those photos to extort a witness in a felony investigation, it’s conspiracy and stalking a minor," Carlo said pleasantly. "You have two choices right now, Mr. Pike. You can ride in the back of that police cruiser and let the district attorney figure out why your name is on a child harassment warrant, or you can sit in the back of my heated car for ten minutes and show Mr. Varelli the bank account that wired your retainer."
May you like
Pike looked at the cold stone facade of the school, then at the two stone-faced guards flanking Carlo.
"I want immunity in writing," Pike muttered, his shoulders slumping. "The retainer came from a trust in Providence. I have the wire receipts on my encrypted drive."
