Jake had taken Jarod off to meet with Dante, and Sara had used the time to start her own investigation into Special Agent Jarod Webster. An online check verified that he was with the Detroit office of the FBI. Sara had called the Detroit office and had spoken with someone who had worked with Jarod. They only had good things to say about him. Sara had poked a little deeper into his background and had found nothing to substantiate her suspicions. She couldn’t reconcile Jarod’s FBI credentials with her Witchblade visions. And while she might believe that some of her visions were related to undercover work, she couldn’t accept that as an explanation for all of them. Worse, still, was that Sara was certain that he knew more about his mother’s death than he was saying and that it had something to do with him being taken as a boy. When she had tried to get some information about Margaret Charles, she had come up with nothing – no driver’s license, no ID, no federal taxes, no passport. Sara hadn’t found anything about Jarod’s abduction either. She didn’t like being shut out by Jarod, but she absolutely hated that she couldn’t call him out on it because of the Witchblade. Even worse than that, Danny had told her to back off on Jarod which really meant that the Witchblade wanted her to back off.

The phone on her desk rang. “Pezzini.”

“It’s McGrath. The car with Jane Doe’s shooter turned up.”

Sara grabbed a pen, asking for the details.

A few minutes later, as she finished jotting down the information, Jake returned with Jarod.

“Thanks, McGrath. See you in a bit.” She hung up and looked at the boys. “Uniforms found the shooter’s car.”

~*~*~*~*~

At first glance, the crime scene was controlled chaos. Jake scanned the area filing away the details: three police cruisers, two fire trucks, a paramedic rig, the ME van, a NYFD car and several media vans. The press and onlookers were behind barricades; uniforms were talking to a couple of witnesses; the firemen were packing their gear. A group of firemen moved out of the way giving Jake his clear view of the car. Most of the car was burned, and by sheer luck the gas tank had not exploded. He could see a mostly charred body in the front driver’s seat. The paperwork was going to be a nightmare, but hopefully Jarod would get some answers.

Jake, Jarod and Sara cleared a path with their badges towards the car. The car smelled worse than it looked. The odor was a mixture of burnt fabric, that nasty chemical fume smell of burnt plastic and something that smelled vaguely like fried bacon. Jake vowed at that moment never to eat bacon again. An ME in a clean suit who was leaning into the car through the passenger side window slowly stood and turned to them. It was Vicki Po. Jake smiled. He liked her – she was smart and cute. He liked her enough that he didn’t mind being the butt of jokes when she and Sara were together.

“Hey, Vicki,” he said.

Vicki smiled at him but her words were for Sara. “This might be a little too normal for you, Pez.” She cocked her head to the side turning her attention to Jarod. “And why do you always bring company when I look a mess?”

Jarod seemed like he wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, and Sara snorted a laugh. “Special Agent Jarod Webster. Vicki Po.”

“Call me Jarod.”

“Vicki.” She held up her gloved hands. “Can’t shake hands right now.”

Jarod smiled at her, and Jake felt a little stab of jealousy. It quickly faded as Jarod immediately turned his attention to the car and its occupant. He studied the car. “This was no accident. The burn pattern and intensity indicate some kind of accelerant.” He turned back toward them.

Sara’s right eyebrow went up in what Jake called the ‘doubting Pezzini’ look.

“I’ve worked arson cases before,” Jarod explained.

Vicki led them around to the driver’s side, saying, “Cause of death appears to be a broken neck – pre-roasting. The body is not completely burned, but I don’t think we’ll get usable prints.”

Sara was leaning in, her hand on her bracelet. “Is that a tattoo on his neck?”

Jarod peered closer. “It looks like…” He tilted his head. “…a cleaver.”

Sara straightened up. “Giovanni Tagliabue, aka, John the Butcher.”

Jarod turned to Sara, glanced at Jake, then asked, “Do you know him?”

“Just by reputation,” Sara replied. “Hit man. He contracts himself out to the highest bidder.”

“So he was a loose end? Whoever hired him killed him?” Jake asked.

“Looks that way.” Sara shrugged, still looking thoughtful. “Weird, though. If they could take out someone like Tagliabue, why didn’t they kill…” She glanced at Jarod and saw his jaw tighten. “…why didn’t they do the job themselves?”

“Convenience?” Jarod said. “The victim was in New York so they called in a local to do their dirty work for them. Then they came to get rid of any connections to themselves.”

Jake added, “And they would have succeeded if the fire department hadn’t gotten here so quickly. If the gas tank had blown, there wouldn’t be much evidence.”

“Jarod,” Sara said, “why don’t you talk to the firemen and the arson investigator? He’s around here somewhere. We’ll get statements from the witnesses.”

Jarod nodded and went off to talk to the firemen.

Jake noticed Vicki smiling her mischievous pixie grin, Jake’s personal favorite. She said, “That’s one special agent, Pez.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, Jake.”

After talking to the forensics folks, witnesses and firemen, Jake realized that they didn’t have much – only an unconfirmed id for a freelance hitman. They returned to the precinct and dug up Tagliabue’s personal and criminal records. There was nothing surprising there, but there was an address in Little Italy, which may or may not be current. Jake, Jarod and Sara agreed to check that out first thing in the morning.

~*~*~*~*~

It was only early evening when Jarod arrived back to his apartment, but he was exhausted. He wanted to rest, but there were a few things he had to do. First was doing a background check on Detectives Sara Pezzini and Jake McCartey. Jarod smiled a little. Perhaps it was destiny that put Detective Sara “Pez” Pezzini in charge of his mother’s case.

Jarod felt a little guilty for not explaining his situation to the detectives, but he really didn’t want to endanger their lives. He was fairly certain that Detective Pezzini knew he wasn’t telling them everything – she had probably done a thorough background check on him which no doubt would eventually bring The Centre here. He hoped he would have enough time before they arrived to confirm who from The Centre was behind his mother’s murder. And if the cleaners had done their job properly,the detectives would have found very little, if anything, to go on and the case would remain unsolved.

Jarod suddenly had an urge to call Sydney or Parker, but not for sympathy. He wanted to tell them what happened to his mother, to unleash his anger for The Centre at them, to blame them for what happened to her, to blame them for not warning him that she was danger... He knew, rationally, that was petty and spiteful, and he also knew, irrationally, that he really blamed himself as much as he blamed The Centre. He had been “special,” forcing his family to live on the run. Although Alex had warned him that they would never let him find her, he still looked for her and had been so, so close to reuniting with her… He forced himself to stop that train of thought. He had too much to do.

He checked his watch. His father and Emily were in Europe following a lead on the scrolls, and it was the middle of the night there. Jarod debated whether to leave them a message to either return to New York or even about what had happened to his mother, but in the end he decided against it. He wanted to talk to his father about it, and Jarod knew that Emily, who was the closest to their mother, would want to talk to him. He didn’t want to wake them – a few more hours wouldn’t make a difference. That’s what he told himself. He turned on his laptop and soon was engrossed in his research.

Sara’s past did not take long to dig up. She had entered the force as soon as she could; she was good and within a relatively short amount of time had made detective. Her mother had died when she was very young; her father was a cop who died in the line of duty when she was a teenager; her partner (and longtime friend from the academy) had been killed in the line of duty just a few months ago. That last report was a little sketchy, but the board of inquiry had accepted it. Her hot temper had gotten her into trouble now and then, but everything he could find indicated that she was a solid cop.

Jake’s past, however, was a little too neat. Jarod couldn’t quite identify what wasn’t right about it, but he knew Jake was not who he claimed to be. It took a couple more hours, but eventually he discovered that Jake was, in fact, an FBI agent investigating corruption in the NYPD. James Pezzini, Sara’s father, had tipped the FBI off about these bad cops shortly before he was killed. There was nothing to indicate that Sara knew who Jake was or why her father had been murdered.

Their record for closed cases was pretty good, considering the decidedly offbeat cases they often got. In a way, Jarod was relieved. His instincts had told him to trust the detectives, and he knew they sincerely wanted to bring his mother’s murderer to justice. On the other hand, Jarod was sure The Centre was behind her murder, and that meant the detectives were unlikely to close this case.

Jarod was surprised to notice that the sun was starting to rise. He would call his father, take a short nap, then get ready to meet the detectives.

~*~*~*~*~

Jake, Jarod and Sara entered Tagliabue’s apartment building and followed the signs to the manager’s office. Sara knocked on the door and after a few seconds, the door opened. The manager was in his sixties and spoke with a mild Italian accent. He didn’t want to let them in to Tagliabue’s apartment (at least, not without a warrant). Sara wasn’t sure whether the man was being so adamant because Tagliabue had paid him off or because he was, as her dad would have called, “insular Old World” Italian. It was then that Jarod had started talking to him in perfect, rapid-fire Italian. Sara’s Italian was limited at best, and she barely understood one word in ten that they spoke. But in the end, Jarod had convinced the man. The manager had led them up to the apartment and let them in. Jarod had done it. Again. Starting with the barista at the coffee shop first thing in the morning, then the desk sarge on duty at the precinct, and now the apartment manager, Jarod had left a trail of good will and smiles that put Santa Claus to shame. And the kicker was that he seemed so damned sincere. It wasn’t suave charm, but a guileless friendliness Sara thought was only found in children and puppies. It was really starting to get on her nerves.

Jake, Jarod and Sara spread out in the apartment, each taking a different room. Jarod stayed in the living room, Sara went to the bedroom, and Jake went to the kitchen. Sara looked through the drawers of the beat up mirror chest and found nothing unusual. Jarod called to them and Sara went back to the living room. He held up a paper. “Old cell phone bill. Can we get the numbers he called recently?”

“I know, I know,” Jake said with a small grin. “Rookie grunt work.” He took the paper, pulling out his own cell phone, and headed back to the kitchen for a little more privacy.

Jarod quirked an eyebrow at Sara. “He’s…well-trained.”

Despite herself, Sara smiled a little. “He’s getting there.”

She was tempted to ask Jarod some questions, but continued her search in the bedroom instead. She opened the nightstand drawer and searched it. Again, nothing. Sara searched through the closet and when she touched a shirt, her vision blurred, but the vision came and went before she could make it out. She tried to force the Witchblade to show her, but it remained silent. She continued looking through the closet, but only found clothes, shoes, a few clips for a 9mm and a couple boxes of ammo.

She headed back to the living room to find Jarod replacing cushions on the couch. “Bedroom’s clean.” She frowned. “Well, not clean, but you know what I mean.”

Jarod smiled. It was a nice smile, Sara thought, and found herself grinning back. She felt warmth from the Witchblade spread throughout her body. Refuge. Her cell phone rang. She didn’t need to check the caller ID to know it was Nottingham. “Pezzini.”

“There are Pretenders among us.”

Sara walked over to the window and put her free hand on her hip, restraining herself from making a “Brass in Pocket” reference she was sure Nottingham wouldn’t get. Instead, she asked, “Meaning?”

“Your new partner…he’s not who he says he is.”

She glanced over at Jarod for a moment then pushed the flimsy curtain aside, surreptitiously looking out the window for Nottingham. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“The key is right behind you.”

“The key to what?” She looked over her shoulder, making sure Jarod was still out of earshot.

“Your past.” And your future, if you so choose. She had heard Nottingham’s voice in her head – it was whispered, faint, with a hint of sadness.

Harshly, she whispered into the phone, “I know everything I need to know about my past.”

“You only have the fragments your father left you and the little the Witchblade has shown you.”

Before she could respond, Nottingham added in a gentle voice, “We all want to know where we come from, Sara. The Witchblade will guide you to the missing pieces. The real question is whether you are prepared for what you will discover.”

The faint traffic noises coming over the line were suddenly silent, and Sara knew Nottingham had hung up. As usual, he knew more than he was telling. “Son of a…” she muttered as she slapped the phone shut.

Sara turned away from the window to find Jarod looking at her curiously. She asked, “Did you find anything else?”

Jarod watched her for a moment more before answering. “No.”

At that moment, Jake walked in from the kitchen. “Kitchen was clean. No cleaver, by the way.”

“And the phone records?” Jarod asked.

“A few days before the murder, he had several calls from payphones around the city. But the most common number dialed out is Frankie Franchetti’s.”

Sara sighed. “Makes sense.”

Jake explained to Jarod, “He’s a mobster. Let’s just say that an opening came up recently and there have been power plays to see who gets it. Franchetti is the leading contender.”

Jarod said, “Let’s go talk to him. Any idea where we can find him?”

Sara’s vision blurred as the Witchblade showed her…
Francetti entering a restaurant and sitting at table. He picks up a menu for Mama Rosa’s.

“Mama Rosa’s,” Sara blurted out. Jake was looking at her doubtfully as if saying ‘how the hell do you know that?’ while Jarod’s expression fell into the curiously intrigued category. Sara could have sworn that Jarod had glanced at the Witchblade. She added, “I’ve heard he likes to eat lunch there. It’s a place to start.”

Jake started to say something, only to be interrupted by his cell phone. “Sorry.” He answered the phone with a friendly, “McCartey.” He listened then said, “What? Now?” A pause, then “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He disconnected the call and stuffed the phone into his jacket pocket. He looked at Sara. “That was the DA’s office. They want me to come in and go over some testimony. I’ll call dispatch and have a uniform pick me up.”

Sara nodded. “Okay. We’ll head over to Mama Rosa's and try to find Franchetti.”

~*~*~*~*~

Gabriel sat at his computer, eager to check his email and hoping some of his contacts had info for him on the Scrolls. He hoped that if this business with Scrolls panned out, that he would do more business with Jarod (and his generous bank account) in the future. He scanned his email and two subject lines caught his interest: one was “Hatshepsut!” from his old friend Violet and the other was “Cryptkeeper’s Family & Scrolls” from an acquaintance in Scotland. Violet was out on a dig in Egypt, and he heard from her pretty regularly. He vaguely recalled Hatshepsut from the one course he took on ancient Egyptian civilization before he dropped out of college; he had met Violet in that class and passed it only because he had been trying to impress her. He clicked on her email first.

Gabriel!
It’s still hot. I’m still dusty. We’re still working on that tomb in the Valley of the Kings – we discovered a chamber behind a wall of rubble. Guess what was in it? An undamaged image of Hatshepsut! It’s amazing and, of course, made me think of you. Attached is a pic.
--V.

Gabe opened the email attachment. The picture was of Violet, sweaty and dusty and still adorable, standing in front of a wall with hieroglyphs and other images. She was pointing to a female figure on the wall. Gabriel zoomed in, hoping to see the cartouche, but found himself leaning forward to get a better look at the image. There, on Hatshepsut’s right wrist, was the Witchblade. “No way.”

~*~*~*~*~

Mama Rosa’s was the kind of Italian restaurant with the red-checked tablecloths and dark woods that tried too hard to be authentic. Sara and Jarod stood next to the “Please Wait to be Seated" sign waiting for the hostess. She looked around the small dining area but did not see Franchetti. Jarod tilted his chin toward the back wall and Sara noted the door labeled “Private Dining Room”.

Sara took a step forward but Jarod grabbed her arm to stop her. “Let’s find out if he’s actually there first.”

Sara noticed the hostess approaching and relented. At first, the hostess had denied that Franchetti was in the restaurant, but Jarod had again been nice and friendly. Sara seriously did not want or need to know all the details about the hostess’s struggles to pay her way through college. Jarod, however, lapped it up. Sara was amazed that he seemed to genuinely care about what the girl had to say. And there was no flirting involved – just honest conversation. If Jake had tried the same thing (and he would have, though with more flirting, Sara was sure), he would have failed miserably. In the end, they got confirmation that Franchetti was in the private dining room.

Sara and Jarod stood before the door to the private room. She looked at Jarod. “This part, we do my way.”

She grabbed the door and led the way in. She strolled up to the table with a grim smile. “Hey, Frankie! Long time no see.”

Sara instantly assessed the room around her. Franchetti was seated at a table with two cronies in the middle of lunch. Two more goons stood to the side, reaching for their guns. Franchetti waved at them to stand down.

Franchetti looked at Jarod and back at Sara. “Whatever. So why are you here, Pezzini?”

“Giovanni Tagliabue.”

Franchetti shrugged and started eating again. “He’s dead. And it wasn’t my…” he hesitated but finished with “…people.”

Sara’s right hand tightened into a fist in frustration. The Witchblade was not telling her anything, but her gut told her Franchetti knew something. “Look, you know I don’t really care about your business. We just want some information on who hired him. We can do it here or I’ll haul you in for whatever I can think of on the way.”

Jarod chimed in, “How about obstruction of justice? Although,” he leaned forward sniffing, “that pasta putanesca is a crime in and of itself.”

Franchetti threw his utensils down, his eyes narrowing on Jarod before turning back to Sara. “I got nothin’ to say to you.”

Sara stepped closer to Franchetti, her frustration bubbling to the surface, and his goons followed suit. Jarod took a step to stand next to her, showing he was ready to back her up. Sara appreciated that he didn’t step in front of her, trying to “protect” her. She wondered if he’d had a female partner before. If so, Sara thought, she had trained him well.

Franchetti gestured to his men to back to down. “Relax, boys. We wouldn’t want to end up in Detective Pezzini’s custody.”

Sara wasn’t sure what Franchetti was getting at and he must have read that on her face because he added, “We all know what happened to Tommy Gallo.”

“Tommy Gallo committed suicide awaiting trial.”

Franchetti shrugged. “Some say a dark avenging angel threw him out a window. A dark angel who’s looking out for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sara glanced at Jarod. He seemed curious, but was letting her handle it. At least, for now. Sara hoped he wouldn’t ask about it later because she didn’t really want to have to explain Nottingham.

“Fine,” Franchetti said, picking up his utensils again. “As I said, I got nothin’ to tell you.”

“Tagliabue,” Jarod said. “Who hired him?”

“Do I look like his keeper? Look, he only told me his services would not be available for a few weeks. He’d scored a big contract from out of town. That’s all I know.” Franchetti started eating again, effectively dismissing them.

“C’mon.” Sara pulled on Jarod’s sleeve and lead him back outside.

They walked in silence for a half block when Jarod suddenly said, “PEZ?”

“What?” Sara turned to Jarod, to find him holding out a Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer PEZ dispenser.

“PEZ. Would you like some?”

“Uh, no. Thanks.”

Jarod shrugged, explaining, “It helps me think.” He tilted back Rudolph’s head and pulled out a candy with his teeth.

“What were you thinking about?”

Jarod looked at her for a moment then straight ahead. “Do you think Franchetti knows more than what he told us?”

Sara shook her head. “No. It was long shot that he knew anything. At least we now know someone did hire Tagliabue. They are the ones who killed him and who wanted your mother dead.”

Jarod nodded and he seemed lost in his own thoughts again. He stopped and looked around. “There’s got to be some good pasta putanesca around here somewhere.”

Sara tried not to smile. “C’mon. There’s a place around the corner that’s good.”

~*~*~*~*~

End of Part I: The Widening Gyre

to be continued...