Page 13 of Paranoia

I said, “This is not about Deason. It’s a completely separate investigation and won’t come back on you at all. There’s nothing to worry about.” I noticed Monica exhaling in relief. Anyone who’d ever lived in a neighborhood controlled by drug dealers knew the dangers of speaking to the police.

Ricardo said, “What do you need to know, Detective Mike?”

“I don’t know much about Deason or his crew. Anything you could tell me about him might be useful.”

They started by mentioning a couple of Deason’s enforcers. I made note of their names. Then Monica said, “They’d come into the store and take whatever they wanted like we were their private pantry. They never paid. We made our niece stay out of the store because we didn’t like the way the men would look at her. It was a terrible time.”

“His guys were the problem,” Ricardo said. “Mr. Deason wasn’t like that. He was always polite and paid for everything. He often left extra money on a table like he was making up for his own people. He liked to eat here. He said he liked the fresh ingredients.”

Monica added, “He was always nice. He had an office just down the street, so we saw him almost every day. He’d even come in with his family once in a while.”

I asked, “What about his family?”

“Mr. Deason married a beautiful Panamanian woman, Isabel Vega. They had a little boy named Antonio. I’m pretty sure it was Antonio. Cute as could be. You just wanted to pinch his pudgy little cheeks.”

Ricardo said, “That’s why we were so shocked when we heard on the news about everything he did. We knew the men who worked for him were bad, but we couldn’t think of him that way. The news made him sound like a monster.”

“Have you seen the wife and son since his arrest?”

Monica shook her head. “No. They got a divorce before the arrest.”

“When did he get the divorce?”

Monica bit her lip as she thought. “I don’t know. The boy was about eight or ten. So maybe fifteen or twenty years ago.”

I did some quick math and estimated the young man would bein his mid to late twenties by now. I wondered if he was in the business too. I turned back to Ricardo and said, “I see kids still use the Deason Youth Center.”

Ricardo said, “Oh, yes. It’s busy every day. Even our son, Ricky, used to go there to study before he went to Stony Brook.” Then Ricardo leveled his gaze at me. “Did Deason really have all those people murdered?”

I shrugged and said, “It looks like it to me.”

“Have you ever met anyone worse than that?”

I thought about it. Then I said, “Yeah, unfortunately I have.”

CHAPTER 21

I WAS WHIPPED by the time I got home. I’d run down a number of leads without much success. The obvious lead I had to follow next was Richard Deason’s son, who Monica Salazar had thought was named Antonio.

There was no detail too small in a case like this. And I still had other cases I was monitoring. I also had some supervisory duties I was handling for Harry while he was away. Nothing serious. Mainly keeping an eye on some of the younger detectives in the squad. That included Rob Trilling. Pairing him with Terri Hernandez had been a stroke of genius on my part.

I’d held off on calling Mary Catherine again after she and Juliana made fun of me. I realized she was sharp enough to follow the doctor’s orders. It was still nerve-racking.

I barely said hello to the kids studying at the dining room table as I barreled through the apartment to check on MaryCatherine in our bedroom. I froze at the doorway, a smile spreading across my face as I silently took in the scene.

Mary Catherine was sitting up in the bed with her favorite glass—a souvenir from our honeymoon in Ireland—filled with juice. On the nightstand was a plate of fruit, a plate with cheese and crackers, and a bowl of soup. Sitting next to her on the bed were our two youngest, Chrissy and Shawna, playing Go Fish. The smile on Mary Catherine’s face was spectacular.

Then Shawna glanced up from her cards and jumped off the bed. Chrissy wasn’t far behind. I walked over to the bed with both the girls still hugging me.

Mary Catherine smiled and calmly said, “And how was your day?”

“Usual. How was yours?”

“Since school got out and Brian walked everyone home, we’ve had a wonderful time. I am about to be crowned Queen of Go Fish.”

Chrissy whined, “We’ve only played three games. A real Go Fish tournament is best of eleven.”

I gently kicked the girls out of the bedroom and stretched out on the bed next to Mary Catherine. I said, “How has your day really gone?”

---