Liam frowns. “What do you mean anomalies?”
“Well,” Aine starts. “Besides the cross shaped bruise, both the detective on the case and the coroner left out that it was a woman who committed these crimes. Not a man.”
“A woman did all that?” Vas waves a hand at the photos of my mother. Aine nods.
“Whatever she was hit with is long and cylindrical,” she informs us. “Something covered in a black lacquered paint and metal.”
“Like a cane.” She doesn’t need to confirm what I already know.
“Like a cane,” Aine confirms. “Then, there is this.”
The Irish woman pulls out her cellphone and presses play. The footage is old and grainy, but there is no mistaking the size and height of the figure getting out of the car and walking up to our door.
“This is an Irish neighborhood, and there are cameras everywhere. The police got this off the house across the street, but it never saw the light of day. It isn’t even documented as being in evidence.”
“Why does she look so familiar?” I wonder. The black and white footage makes it difficult to determine hair or car color, and the distance and angle of the camera doesn’t help in identifying any traits that might stand out.
“There’s a license plate, but we haven’t been able to link it back to anything yet,” Sully sighs. “Your hacker might have better luck.”
I nod, but my mind is completely on the woman in the video. There is a tugging at the back of my mind that speaks to familiarization. Like I have somehow met her but never seen her. A face in a crowd of hundreds you think you see again a few days later.
Déjà vu is another word for it.
“Was Jonny Morelli the only officer on this case?” I turn to Aine. “You said he is dead.”
“Yeah, fucker committed suicide a few years ago,” she says. “IA found him working for some Italian mafia type here in the city. Caruso.”
Vas snarls. “Fucking Cosa Nostra,” he spits. “Leon’s been working on getting info from the Seattle Don, but it’s been slow going, even for him.”
I turn to Vas. “Why do you say,even for him?” I ask, suspiciously.
“Well.” Vas rubs the back of his head, looking a bit uncomfortable. “You know that Leon is Italian…”
“Yeah? So? I thought maybe he used to work for Dante.”
Vas flinches.
“No,” he sighs heavily. “Leon’s last name is La Rosa.”
You can hear a pin drop.
That is how quiet the room becomes as everyone around me stares at Vas with utter shock painted across their faces.
And here I stand like a fucking idiot trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
“Who are the…?” I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence.
“La Rosa?” My father’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “Yourobshchakis Leon La Rosa? Son of Augustu La Rosa? Don of the west coast Cosa Nostra? The butcher? The…”
“We get the point, dad.” I’m not sure which part startles him more. Leon’s family tree or my calling him dad.
Either way, he is left speechless for a few minutes while his mouth hangs open like a guppy fish.
“Is that where he has been this whole time?” I question Vas. “Is Dima with him? Or is he out visiting his own family with prominent mafia roots as well? Who’s his father? Putin?”
Vas doesn’t find me amusing.
Whatever, it was a good line.