Page 39 of Night Prey
“Any chance his murder was Olivo’s doing?”
“There’s no word on the street about them having a falling out, so doesn’t seem likely.” Nix scratched the silvery five-o’clock shadow on his chin. “There is something going down with Olivo right now, though. He’s off his normal pattern. Hasn’t been to work for a few days, and his kids aren’t at school. He has an eighteen-year-old boy and a sixteen-year-old girl. We can see shadows through the blinds so there’s movement in the house, but none of them have been seen outside the house for four days.”
Interesting.“Stay-at-home vacation, maybe?”
Nix shook his head. “We called his office, and his assistant said she had to reschedule his calendar, so it wasn’t planned.”
“I guess this is unusual for him.”
“Very. He’s quite gregarious and outgoing. He entertains a lot and attends all of his kids’ school functions. And the kids have company most days. The mom is like this super mom who’s made her house the place to hang out.”
Ian figured if the parents of these kids knew what Olivo really did for a living, they wouldn’t be letting their son or daughter hang at the Olivo house. “What do you make of the change?”
Nix shrugged. “Never can predict these guys. But the thing with Olivo is that he’s structured his organization so he can live a normal life most of the time, and his guys do all his dirty work for him. It could just be a normal life thing. Could be sick. Someone in the family could be sick. Grandparents died out of state. Something like that.”
“What about a threat to him and his family?”
“Would have to be someone with a death wish of their own to threaten him, or worse, threaten his kids. Olivo would have him for breakfast.”
“Or gun him down, if it was Junior.”
Nix leaned forward. “Yeah, sure, but like I said, nothing on the street about that. I’ve got feelers out all the time regarding him. We’ll see if they produce anything.”
Ian thanked Nix and headed out of the office to interview Junior’s parents. They lived in a posh area of Forest Park on the west side of the river. Ian had rarely spent any time in that part of the city, so he enjoyed winding up the steep hills with large homes on each side of the road and tried to imagine how the residents left home on the few days when the metro area saw freezing rain or snow. He would want to stay home, but people didn’t quit killing each other because of bad weather, so that wasn’t an option for him like these residents likely had.
Ian pulled up to the Flaggs’s two-story home painted a deep gray. It had multiple roof peaks with shake shingle siding highlighting the front peaks. He parked in the driveway by the garage with carriage style doors and noticed two vehicles inside. Hopefully that meant both parents were home.
He knocked on the front door and stood back to wait. He hated leaving Malone behind, but he’d meant it when he’d said that the fewer people who knew about her connection to Junior’s murder the better. A man was dead. Gunned down. Ian didn’t want that to happen to her. Thankfully, she had the Nighthawk team with her. Protecting her. Otherwise, Ian wouldn’t have been able to leave her house.
The door opened, and Junior’s father stared at Ian as he ran a hand through his thick brown hair that had a tint of gray at the temples. Junior had resembled his father, except Junior’s hair was blond, and he was a good foot shorter. Ian put Gilbert Sr. in his early to mid-fifties, and he was in great shape for his age. A big man, he had muscles that seemed built in a gym and wore a confidence about him that Junior had lacked.
“Detective.” Flagg smiled, not seeming at all worried about the visit. “What brings you here?”
“I have a few questions for you.” Ian tried to sound lighthearted. “Would it be okay if I came in?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.” Flagg stepped back and led the way through a massive two-story foyer with wrought iron railings and gleaming tile floors to a family room with equally tall ceilings. Muted gray paint covered the walls, and various shades of blue accented the room in the furnishings. The place looked more like a magazine picture than a room where people lived every day.
Flagg gestured at a sofa that faced another matching sofa. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” Ian smiled. “If your wife is home, it would be great if she could join us.”
“Let me get her.” He stepped out of the room and called, “Karen. The detective is back and wants you to join us.”
Silence filled the cavernous space until theclip-clip-clipof high-heeled shoes came toward them. Karen wore jeans and a black sweater, both designer. Her blond chin-length hair was immaculately combed, but her mascara was smudged.
She perched on the edge of the sofa across from Ian. It was easy to see that Junior got his diminutive stature from her. “How can I help you?”
“First, let me say again how sorry I am for your loss,” Ian said.
She gave a firm nod, but her chin quivered.
“We appreciate that,” Flagg said, sounding sincere as he leaned against the fireplace mantle.
Ian decided if he could help ease their grief he would. “Before we get started, I wanted to tell you that the autopsy has been completed. The cause of death didn’t change, of course, but the medical examiner learned that Junior had stage three pancreatic cancer.”
“Cancer!” Karen grabbed hold of her blouse.
“But he didn’t say anything.” Flagg frowned.
