Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set by Nanci Rathbun (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📕

the case, but I inadvertently never mentioned Susan to him. He must have thought that Adriana came to me directly from Petrovitch.

Suddenly, an even more basic fact jumped out at me. “Bart, the lawyer sent Adriana to Susan with a list of the accounts and their balances. Why? Why alert her to that? The Serbian Society was a signatory on all but the Milwaukee account. He could have closed the rest and taken off. Why tell her about them?”

“Two reasons that I can think of. One, only an owner can close an account. He could leave a small amount in and take the rest, but the banks would report a large transaction to the IRS and they’d likely make it hard for him to leave the country, if that was his plan. Two, he couldn’t hide the accounts from Adriana forever. Assuming her parents filed an FBAR, sooner or later, the IRS would come looking for the yearly report on the offshore accounts. If they never filed, they might still have records at their home or even in a safe deposit box. We haven’t located one, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. If Petrovitch wanted to stay stateside for any length of time, he had to make her aware of the accounts without revealing too much about how the money got there.”

I thought about the day I went to Petrovitch’s office to review the financials, and his secretary’s dead body on the floor in front of his desk. “Three,” I continued Bart’s list, “Dragana Zupan was Petrovitch’s secretary. I bet you don’t keep secrets from Bertha. What if Dragana knew about the money and made a stink? According to her husband and her priest, Dragana was a kind woman and a good Christian. So maybe she didn’t want to see Adriana shorted. Or maybe she didn’t want to see Adriana involved in dirty business. Whatever the case, I think it’s possible that Dragana backed Petrovitch into a corner, so he told Adriana about the money, but gave her as little information as possible. Dragana wasn’t happy about how he handled things, so Petrovitch offed her. He didn’t have a chance to get the funds and hop a flight to Singapore or the Caymans. Now he’s on the run.”

“It fits,” he said. “There’s only one way to stop this. Get Petrovitch.”

Get, as in put hands on him? Or get, as in permanently remove him? I would not be a party to murder, even of a murderer. “Bart, he must be turned over to the police. I can’t be a party to vigilante justice.”

“Of course not, Angelina. I am hurt that you would think such a thing of me.”

Bart’s eyes were a little too wide, his hand on his heart a little too rehearsed, his language a little too formal. I knew when I was being schmoozed. “My apologies for offending you, Bart. I wanted to make my position clear.” Might as well go the whole way, I thought. “Also, I’m concerned that if we don’t cooperate with the police, we’ll feel the repercussions later.”

“Maybe you will, Angie, with your boyfriend. They can’t touch me.”

He spoke with such assurance that I knew he’d been down this road before, with few consequences. I’d have to try a gentle threat. “Bart, if it comes out later that we knew facts that would lead to Petrovitch’s arrest and we didn’t share them with the police, they could charge you with obstructing justice, right? I’d probably earn some bad will, but you’re an officer of the court. Not only that, we’d look like schmucks—or worse—in the media. You may have a steady income from the Family, but I need other clientele to keep afloat.” I paused, hand to chin, and sighed. “Maybe I should withdraw from this case,” I said in a small voice.

Bart came around the desk to me. “Angie, cara amica, there is no need for us to discuss such drastic measures. I see that you are convinced that informing the police is the right action. So let us sit down together and decide what we will tell them.”

Since when was I Bart’s dear friend? I asked myself. His stylized language signaled that he’d moved into Family mode and I was about to enter into a formal agreement with a Mafia lawyer. Watch yourself, Angie! Matching wits with Bart would take all my concentration.

“I will be happy to discuss this and come to common ground with you.” My formal reply acknowledged that I understood the upcoming discussion. “But first—” I rose, causing Bart to take a step back—“I need coffee. You?”

“Good idea. You know how I like it.”

Indeed I did. “I’ll go to the café next door. Be back in a flash.”

Bertha sniffed as I passed her desk. “Leaving, Ms. Bonaparte?”

“We’re not quite done. I’m going on a coffee run. Can I bring you some, Mrs. Conti? And maybe a pastry?”

“Perhaps a jelly donut.” She opened a desk drawer and withdrew her purse.

I would kill her with kindness. “Oh, please, this is my treat,” I told her as I breezed out. She’d hate to owe me even a small debt.

I contemplated strategy while I waited to place an order. Where would I draw a line in the sand? First, if we got our hands on Petrovitch, he would be turned in to stand trial. No compromise on that. Second, the police needed to know what we knew about his probable whereabouts. Third, since we needed their help with Petrovitch’s banking records, it seemed only fair to give them the information Susan had. It didn’t have to come from Bart. I could let Wukowski or Iggy know to talk with Susan. Fourth, the police needed to know how tightly the Serbian Society was tied to Petrovitch. I suddenly realized that I was using Bart’s listing methodology and smiled. Two could play that game.

After an hour of haggling, Bart and I reached agreement on all my major points. He made copies of the financial records.