“Agreed.” Derek paused. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” Sloane wasn’t about to give in to her personal feelings. Not now. “How do you want me to handle this?”
“Give me a half hour. Then call your father. Tell him only the facts. That Phil was killed. That Phil’s bookie is in custody. And that we’re investigating the murder. Your dad can notify his partners.”
“Why a half hour?”
“Because I’m on my way over to Martino’s factory. I want to be the one who breaks the news to him—face-to-face. I plan on finding out every detail about the meeting he and Phil had with Xiao Long. Martino’s going to tell me why Xiao wanted Phil dead.”
“Call me when you’re done.” Sloane had already jumped to her feet and was gathering up her archery equipment. “I’m driving into the city. That’ll give you more than enough time to grill Ben, and me the chance to tell my dad about Phil in person. This news is going to hit him hard.”
Martino was walking the factory floor when Derek strode in
.
He didn’t see Derek right away. He was pointing something out to one of his Chinese employees at her sewing machine. She seemed to have understood his gestures, because she nodded and went back to work. Martino turned, and Derek got his first good look at him.
He looked like death warmed over. Bloodshot eyes, disheveled clothing—probably the same clothes he was wearing last night—and a haggard expression. He was a trifle unsteady on his feet, but definitely not staggering drunk.
His expression turned even sicker when he spotted Derek, who motioned for him to join him in the front office.
It took Martino a few minutes to make his way up front. But when he finally did, he glanced nervously at Derek and shut the door behind him.
“You’re back,” he said, his gaze flickering to the newly opened bottle of whiskey on his desk. “Did you come up with more questions for me overnight?”
“I didn’t have to. They came up on their own.” Derek jerked his thumb in the direction of Martino’s gaze. “Go ahead. Get it. This is one drink you’re going to need.”
“I’m all right.” It was a bald-faced lie, and they both knew it. “What’s this about?”
“Did you have a productive meeting last night?”
Martino started. “What?”
“Your meeting with Xiao Long. Did it go well?”
Martino’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out.
“I sure hope so,” Derek continued. “Because the price was steep.”
“Price? What price?”
Derek stared him down. “Your partner, Phil Leary, was shot dead last night.”
Martino sagged backward, every drop of color draining from his face. “Phil’s…dead?”
“Very. Whoever did it was thorough. They used submachine guns.”
“Oh my God.” In a trancelike state, Martino reached over and grabbed the bottle of whiskey, tipping it back and gulping at it. When that didn’t help, he stumbled behind his desk and dropped into the chair, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God,” he repeated over and over. Tears seeped down his cheeks and between his fingers. “I was just with him…” he managed. “When…?”
“Some time between when the two of you finished arguing outside the gambling parlor and five a.m.” Derek couldn’t help but feel sorry for Martino. He was a scared, weak man, and any guilt on his part stemmed from that fear and weakness. But he had a heart. He cared about his friends. And he was crumpling before Derek’s eyes like a demolished building.
“It happened in his office,” Derek continued. “Apparently, he went there directly from your meeting with Xiao.”
“He was probably afraid to go home.” Martino was babbling aloud, half to himself. “I knew he might recognize Xiao Long…but I so hoped…and I never expected Xiao to confront…but if I’d known Phil’s plan sounded like blackmail…” Martino broke off, choking back a sob. “I should have told him. I knew he needed money. But he was also trying to help me. I should have told him. If I had, he might have walked away. He might still be alive. I got him killed.”
Derek was trying to assimilate the bits and pieces Martino was spewing. “In other words, you never told Leary that Xiao Long was the person you were meeting with, or that he owns the employment agency you get your help from.”
“I tried. I couldn’t. But I told myself it’s been fourteen years. I hoped. And I prayed.”