Author's Note - Here's the next update. I'm also working on my other NCIS New Orleans story "High Season" which is an alternative exit for Christopher LaSalle's character since I really disagreed with how that was handled on the real show. That story diverges from the episode where Chris is waiting the autopsy results while this story is still diverges from the show toward the beginning of Season 4. In this timeline Sonja also had left NCIS but the next installment will explain how she returns to Pride's team after becoming an international FBI agent.
NCIS OFFICE
"So you buy his story?" LaSalle asked as they all left the interrogation room into the open bullpen area. "I think it's a bunch of horseshit." LaSalle passion and his intolerance for crap was certainly showing.
Pride was more measured. "I know he's a prick, okay Christopher, but we need to consider what he said very carefully. Gregorio, with your profiling skills, what do you think?"
"Well as an ex-intelligence agent he's trained to avoid profiling. He's good, I'll have to give him that. We believe what we want to believe. Maybe Prescott really isn't such a saint after all," Gregorio said.
"I really don't know what to believe anymore. None of this makes sense. I do believe deep in my heart that Eddie Prescott was a hero, a good man who loved his country and his city. Remember he chose to serve the community he grew up in. If he was greedy he could have worked for industry full time as a chemical engineer with his qualifications. So someone like this is allegedly corrupted by his girlfriend into stealing trade secrets? And this still doesn't explain who killed him."
"And I still don't his girlfriend, that security guard Kellie, killing him like that, not in all the scenarios I've thought up and tried to simulate. If she were to kill him, she would use a gun, that's the only weapon she really knows, she wouldn't be able to strangle him unless she had him drugged, and all tox reports came in clean. Now she might be involved in all this, yes, but I don't think she's the killer."
"We still need to talk to her," Pride said. "She's the best person who can get us some answers."
"BOLO's already out throughout the Baton Rouge and New Orleans areas, plus Lafayette and the Mississippi coast."
"Good."
"What about him?" LaSalle asked in his Alabama twang, pointing toward the interrogation room.
"Let him relax some more in there. He'll be alright," Pride said. "Now let me go make some more coffee."
CLEVELAND, OHIO
The hostess immediately knew where to direct Brody and Amber as they walked into Luca's, a high-end Italian restaurant in downtown Cleveland with a commanding view of the Superior Viaduct, a relic of northern Ohio's industrial heyday, along with the city's skyline. They were led across a spacious dining area with fresco paintings depicting Italy's seaside villages and mountain vineyards to a corner window booth.
Ettore Carozza, the former Godfather of what used to be one of the nation's most powerful Mafia families, stood up from his table and motioned for the two young women to sit down. A waitress quickly came with an expensive bottle of Tuscan wine and an extra serving of mozzarella sticks and marinara sauce, all from a time-honored family recipe.
"You must be Don Carozza, I assume," Meredith Brody said, making sure to be polite but no overly friendly. She had to hide her distaste for this man.
Carozza's career in organized crime had lasted over 25 years, with an influence spreading across the Great Lakes region. He was finally sentenced to 30 years in federal prison following an FBI sting operation, but his conviction was eventually overturned upon appeal and he was out after a mere 9 years. Yet the Carozza family remained wealthy to this day, having invested some of their profits in legitimate businesses, particularly real estate, including the prime lakefront property they were sitting on this very moment.
"I no longer hold that title. You can call me Ettore." Unlike the stereotypical gangsters in the Sopranos, Carozza spoke in an almost native Great Lakes accent with just a tiny trace of Italian, having come to Cleveland from Sicily as a child. His father had first established the American branch of the Carozza crime family, and inherited his place at the head of the table upon the old man's death.
"You still seem to be doing well for yourself," Brody commented.
"I'm surviving, just like this city. So, what brings you here? Agent Church said you had some business to discuss."
"We in fact want to make sure that you're really retired," Amber said.
"Well you obviously sound like you're not from around here," Carozza said in an amused tone.
"I'm with the Lawrence County Sheriff's Office."
"Where's that? West Virginia?" Carozza said. "Now even if I was still in the game, why would I have any interest in a place like that?"
"Ironton, Ohio," Amber said. "But then I think you know that already and you're just pretending to be ignorant."
"We're part of an interagency task force," Brody said.
"And in our investigation into the drugs flooding into southern Ohio, something called the Carozza Outfit keeps coming up from our sources.
"I've never heard of anything like that. Outfit? Sounds like a bunch of backwoods meth cookers trying to sound tough."
"They claim they're connected to the Italian Mafia."
"I must plead the fifth on that," Carozza said.
"Are you sure? Because someone's certainly sending drugs into the Tri-State area, including Ironton and Portsmouth, at unprecedented rates. Prescription drug abuse is rampant these days. All this money must be tempting, isn't it?" Brody asked.
"Tempting enough to get back in the game?" Amber pressed. "You never gave a damn about your own neighborhood and the lives you destroyed here, so why would you care about a bunch of toothless hillbillies?
"First of all, my family's the reason Little Italy hasn't gone to hell. When times were at their worst in this city, it was us who helped our people, while you fucking clowns in the federal government were busy sending our jobs to China. And like I said, I'm happily retired. The end goal of this business was to get out of it. My family owns over a dozen pieces of prime real estate throughout the Cleveland metro area, including where we're sitting now. All starting from a little rowhouse in Little Italy. I like to sleep at night. Drugs are the hillbillies and colored folks game now. The Mexicans too. But above all, maybe you need to look at those doctors and drug companies purposely getting people hooked on pills."
"And none of your people have gone to southern Ohio?" Amber pressed. "Maybe people who still want a taste of the glory days. Even if they're not following your orders, they might have branched out independently."
The waitress came out with a sizzling plate of pasta alla vodka in a rich homemade pink sauce.
"You really think I'm able to keep track of each and all of your former associates? Do you know the current details on everyone whose retired from the sheriff's office? Whatever is happening in Southern Ohio has nothing to do with me."
"If there is something, we'll find it," Brody said, "But one reason that we're suspecting you of getting back in the game is because of this." She placed a picture of a man in a fancy suit, then crime scene photos of the same man's dead body."
"Michael McAndrews, yes, he was one of our lawyers. I haven't spoken to him since you people had me wrongfully imprisoned," Carozza said. "Besides he worked for my consigliere. I hear he also retired years ago. Agent Brody, why are you here digging up the past when there's nothing to be found? Is it some kind of nostalgia, being away from Cleveland for so long?"
Brody wasn't even going to argue about his imprisonment, and it was a different lawyer who got him released from the federal penitentiary. "Yes, McAndrews represented your consigliere, Tommy DiMartino. We know that Mr. DiMartino took a trip to St. Clairsville shortly before McAndrews was killed. Before you try to deny it, he was caught on a security camera at the Pilot truck stop down there buying scratch-off tickets. Big fall from grace, if you ask me, from fixing horse races and running underground casinos to playing the Ohio Lottery."
Carozza sighed. "The life of an honest man. And yes, he went out to the sticks because he did have some business to discuss."
"Care to elaborate?" Amber asked. "Besides it's interesting that Tommy himself couldn't make this meeting and didn't even give a reason why."
"I was informed that in addition to living the quiet life out there, McAndrews was interested in publishing a book about his law career, a big chunk of it focused on the inner workings of my former organization, though after I went to prison he also worked for a number of shady people, including the Mexican cartel guys. He was a money grubbing piece of shit. Didn't care about attorney client privilege anymore as that book would make him far more money."
"Afraid of what he might reveal?" Brody pressed. "Is that why you had him killed? Some secrets that you still want to take to the grave with you?"
"Look I know all about double jeopardy, there's nothing McAndrews could have revealed that would have taken away my freedom, and besides some unsubstantiated bullshit from a sleazebag lawyer isn't entirely admissible in court. Now I admit, we were riled up over this, to be sure. If I wanted my story told, if I wanted my family's story told, I would be the one telling it, on my terms."
"And the book sales to you too, naturally," Amber commented.
"Yes, we were pissed, okay? So yes, Tommy drove out there to the hills and confronted McAndrews about it, and McAndrews denied he was going forward with his book, even though he'd been considering writing this book for a very long time now." Carozza held the Catholic cross on his neck. "I swear on my life. Even if he did write that book, I wouldn't have had him killed."
"The medical examiner's office out there has estimated the time of death to within a 7 hour window of DiMartino's picture being taken at that gas station," Amber said.
Then Brody took a final picture out on her phone and showed it to the Carozza, one of Franz Guttmacher in New Orleans. "Would this happen to be the man who told you McAndrews was going forward with his book?"
Carozza's eyes went wide. "Yes, yes it was him. You know about him?"
"He's a former German spy, now an international assassin. You're saying he came to you, and asked if you wanted to have the lawyer killed, and….."
"Nothing like that! He claimed he was a freelance journalist from Pittsburgh collaborating with McAndrews in this book, and he knew to find me and Tommy cause we have this same workout routine at least once a week, so he came to Cleveland asking to confirm some stories from this book, and we told him we weren't interested in talking to him and that was that."
Brody's mind was spinning. Carozza didn't have McAndrews killed, and they would have to look for other avenues.
"Looks like you're in the clear for now, at least about McAndrews murder."
"Well, I could tell I was of great assistance to you. So you fine ladies staying for lunch? It'll be on me, cause, after all, even if its on you it's still on me in the end since I'm an honest American taxpayer, you know?" Carozza said wryly.
Brody got up but handed him her DEA business card. "We're still not done investing any connections you may have to the Carozza Outfit. But I guess its best to have an open line of communication, just in case in the future you decide you have something to tell me. Buon appetito."
Amber got up too, though Brody could tell she found the delicious Italian food very alluring. "We'll be in touch, and Tommy boy too."
INTERSTATE 77, CLEVELAND – SOUTH OF DOWNTOWN
"We need to look long and hard at this Carozza Outfit the moment we're back in Ironton," said Amber as she drove southbound with the thinning post rush hour traffic. "There's gotta be a connection somewhere. Somebody is supplying them with their product. We need to widen our focus beyond just Detroit and Chicago."
"You're right, just one more mystery after another. But at least we were able to help my friends in New Orleans with their investigation. The assassin was a faster at false flag operations, someone other than the Carozza crime family wanted McAndrews dead and wanted the authorities to think he did it."
"I can make some calls to St. Clairsville, see if we can get more records on McAndrews and any other enemies he might have had. I can see why your friends down South find it interesting that somebody would send an assassin all the way from Germany for a hit in a small town like that, though if Carozza or DiMartino are trying to rebuild their organization and want to stand a chance against the new gangs, hiring mercenaries is the quickest way to get soldiers."
That was more conversation out of Amber than Brody had ever gotten before outside of a briefing. She could tell the young deputy respected her because she had to as her superior, but deep down resented or even despised her. Brody was starting to now question her decision to leave NCIS, where she had a real family at work, with Pride more of a father than a boss.
"Carozza did seem pretty happy with his retirement," Brody said. "He sees himself as a legitimate businessman, even a city father now. You watch enough movies that's the end goal of being a Mafia boss, to go legit and live the kind of life the Carozzas have now. But yeah, if you're able to get any more information about what else might be going on with McAndrews, I'll greatly appreciate it. And thanks for coming along."
"This is a whole different world than Lawrence County, sometimes it feels like we're in a whole different state," Amber remarked as they cruised down southbound Interstate 77, the bright lights of downtown's office towers giving way to much more humble neighborhoods and industrial zones. Many of these used to be proud, tight knit communities populated by a diverse mix of people drawn here by the steel and automobile industries, but now there was neglect and decay everywhere.
"I know," Brody said. "I've been guilty of that too growing up in Akron. Before this operation I never even though much about Ironton or anything down there, like its just Kentucky or something. I'm not saying that was right. I never understood that till I lived in Louisiana and learned what it was like to be forgotten. Even after Katrina, the federal government never cared one bit. In 2016, when the floods hit Baton Rouge, President Obama didn't even care to visit because he was too busy playing golf on Martha's Vineyard."
"People still invest in this part of the state, as bad as the news makes it sound," Amber said. "When the plants closed here, there were still at least some other places to work, maybe not good work, but still an honest living."
The massive hulk of the ArcelorMittal steel mill, once one of the largest in the country but now a shell of its former self, rose beside them as the highway curved to the south. Two bright flares from its tall smokestacks burned brightly in the gray sky.
"It's really not like how it used to be," Brody said softly. "See that?" she said, pointing toward the massive steelworks. "When I was growing up, that plant was still American owned, and we'd see the glow at night from miles and miles away, over ten of their units working. Now we see two. They talk about how Cleveland's a Rust Belt success story. They look at all those shiny new buildings downtown, seems impressive, but this city is half the size it used to be. So many families have had to leave this area to find work, people who have lived here for generations, and they're never coming back All those new high-tech jobs they're attracting, its all filled by out of towners. You think its easy for a laid off autoworker to just go get a bachelor's degree and be a computer scientist?"
She paused for it. "I'm proud of our area, but Carozza's right about one thing. Cleveland isn't a success story, it's a survival story. There are no real success stories in the Rust Belt."
Amber said. "Where I'm from, survival's all we're asking for."
NCIS OFFICE
"We just got more info that confirms our suspicions," Sonja said. "It…it comes from an expected source."
"Who?" Sebastian asked.
"The lawyer in Ohio that we suspect Guttmacher killed? His death had nothing to do with his former Mafia clients. He retired to St. Clairsville because his family owned a farm out there. And guess what? Their cornfield was adjacent to a Wiesbaden Polymers manufacturing plant and its suspected that toxic chemicals were leeching across the property lines and affecting their crops. McAndrews was trying to file a complaint with the Ohio Department of Environmental Protection."
"They must have collected intel on him and his troubles with the Carozza crime family to make it appear the Carozzas carried out a hit on him. Sounds perfectly familiar, doesn't it?" commented LaSalle.
"Yes. I reached out to Ettore Carozza, the former Cleveland godfather, through intermediaries. The family isn't what it once was, and even in the old days they wouldn't trust a foreign contract killer. But there's more. Patton will tell you all about it.
"Just as the Ohio DEP were setting up an investigation into the St. Clairsville Wiesbaden plant, those resources were diverted after a explosion at a natural gas pipeline near Dayton. I had Patton run some checks off the books and Guttmacher was caught on security camera throughout the Dayton area, including within 2 miles of the pipeline explosion site. Guttmacher's been doing sabotage and all kinds of misdeeds for Wiesbaden for some time now, including murder."
"We need to make sure Guttmacher stays in our custody until he reveals the full scope of everything that's going on," LaSalle said.
At that moment, Pride's phone buzzed and he looked at it, frowning. "I'm afraid that's not possible anymore, Christopher."
"What do you mean, King?" LaSalle asked. "We now have this scumbag linked to two murders on American soil, and it's not like he has diplomatic cover anymore, so the German consulate can kiss my ass!"
"I know, but these orders came straight from headquarters. Director Vance doesn't like it anymore than me, but there are forces above all of us."
LaSalle frowned as he walked over to the interrogation room and opened the door angrily.
"I assume my consulate has demanded my release?" he asked in his curt German accent. "They've corroborated my story about being a private investigator for my company?"
"Something along those lines."
"Let me know if you would like to share information about our mutual suspects," Guttmacher said in an amused tone.
"We'll be fine without you. Now get out of my city."
"In that case you don't accept my olive branch. I told you I have very powerful friends," he said with a haughty smile, staring Pride right in the eye. "And they will not forget the way you and your people treated me. You will regret this, Special Agent Pride."
Pride sighed as Franz Guttmacher walked out of the room and onto the street.
"Got another lead!" Patton said, looking up from his computer. "We got a hit on Kellie Ann Matthews, the girlfriend. She's at the airport trying to skip town. Her Regions Bank debit was just used at the Southwest Airlines counter to buy a ticket to Las Vegas."
"How long we got before departure?"
"An hour."
"Good, do not delay the plane, notify airport police or anything, we don't want her spooked."
Patton looked confused. "Why not just have airport police pick her up now, transfer her to our custody?"
"We don't want to treat her as a criminal. We know everything Guttmacher said about her is probably false, if anything we need her help."
"How do we know we can trust this girl?"
"Gut feeling," Pride said, "Remember like I've been saying, something we have to trust our instincts. Look, I know what Guttmacher said about her being recruited by Prescott in some intellectual theft or sabotage scheme and y'all think maybe she wanted out and tried to cover her tracks by killing him, but it doesn't add up in my mind. She's not some assassin or conspirator, just a young woman caught up in events way beyond her control."
Sonja nodded. "I agree. I'll come to the airport with you."
LOUIS ARMSTRONG INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
"I do kinda miss the old terminal," Pride said nostalgically as they drove down Loyola Drive toward the newly remodeled airport. "It was very atmospheric."
"It was just old," Gregorio said as the new glass terminal building came into view. "Looks like Louisiana's finally trying to join the 21st century."
"Hard to understand if you're not from here originally," Sonja said, "But I'm sure you'll learn to love this city someday, or it will just drive you crazy." She didn't mention the irony that as much as Gregorio seemed to hate New Orleans, it's the place in the South that's the most easy for a Yankee to fit in. LaSalle had mentioned that taking Gregorio to Alabama would totally blow her mind.
They parked and the team quickly went through the new building past the expanded food offerings lacking at the former airport, including new locations of Emeril's and Café du Monde, both packed with tourists seeking their last taste of New Orleans.
"Attention passengers on Southwest flight 4565 to Las Vegas, we will be starting the boarding process in 5 minutes. At this time we as that all passengers with disabilities, families groups and business select passengers to make their way to Gate B7. In just a few minutes we will be boarding our Group A passengers."
Kelly shook her head and sighed as she looked at the app on the airline app on her cellphone. Time seemed to stand still as she looked at the passengers slowing making their way to the gate. Of course the cheap ticket she bought online last minute didn't allow her to check-in early for an earlier boarding group. No, she didn't know anyone in Nevada, but this tourist flight was the quickest, cheapest way out of New Orleans.
"Miss Matthews!" she heard a voice, then saw Dwayne squeezing by some passengers and making his way over from the concourse walkway. "My name is Dwayne Pride, I'm a Special Agent with NCIS. I think you probably know why we want to talk to you."
"You have no authority to make me stay," Kellie said. "Regardless of what you believe, I had nothing to do with Eddie's murder, its disgusting that you would even think I did. I know my rights, I'm not going to let you railroad me over this."
"Look, you're not considered a suspect at this point, which is why we didn't just have airport police detain you. We just have some questions for you that may help us solve his killing," Pride said calmly. "There are people out there we're investigating that's saying the worst things about Prescott, saying he's a corrupt greedy contractor, that you're involved in criminal activities with him against the plant you two worked at, but that's not the kind of person I believe Eddie was. I understand he really cared about you."
"We cared about each other," Kelly said. "And you're never going to understand. You work for the federal government, which is in bed with the Germans, I don't know that I can trust you."
"I have a badge, yes, but we have nothing to do with the bureaucracy and whatever you think is going on behind the scenes with Wiesbaden."
"C'mon, please just give us a few moments, miss," LaSalle said, using his charm. They went away from the boarding area into a private airport police office, not an interrogation room.
"We know that Eddie's death has something to do with something that happened after Wiesbaden took over the plant from Garner Plastics. We're here to ask for you help, not to accuse you of anything. We heard from some of your friends at Falcon how y'all met."
"I've known Dwayne Pride for a while," Sonja said to reassure Kellie, "He's always on DC's shit list and that don't bother him. For him its always about the truth and finding justice for people who deserve it, like Eddie Prescott."
Kellie sniffled a bit. "Yeah, would have been a cool story. First time he went on one of his consulting visits, I checked him in at the gate and he had to wait a moment to get cleared cause the computer system was acting up, and we just like talked and just kinda clicked. Then on his way out, he just stopped by to talk to me again, and we chatted for twenty minutes. I made him ask three times before I gave him my number though."
Pride nodded. "I know how hard this must be for you. And that's why we're doing everything we can to bring Eddie's killers to justice and punish Wiesbaden for whatever crimes they may be involved in." He held out a picture of Franz Guttmacher. "Do you know this man?"
"I've seen him a few times. He always comes with his own security detail separate from us, a German team. They always call ahead and we're told they're to be cleared immediately. They would always show us who was ultimately in charge."
"I'm going to share this information because we do trust you, Miss Matthews," Pride said. "His name is Franz Guttmacher, formerly a German intelligence agent. He's now an industrial spy, and we believe an assassin and that he's killed people for Wiesbaden on U.S. soil before. Like here, we believe it was a false flag operation where the victim was evidently assassinated by the Mafia, but we believe it was only made to look that way by Guttmacher. False flag operations were his expertise when he worked for the German government."
"Great, now you see why I'm trying to skip town."
"Running away won't make you safe, "LaSalle said. Cooke and Guttmacher and others at Wolfhaussen Polymers will stop at nothing to keep their conspiracy from getting out. They may even be getting support from German diplomats. No matter where you go, those people will track you down. You need to tell us what we know so we can help you."
"So I should trust you?" Kellie scoffed. "Eddie trusted the government, tried to get all that information for them, and look where it got him. And even if I trust that you're not working with Wiesbaden, how do I know you'll be able to protect me, it's just a couple of you no offense."
"We're talking Dwayne Pride and NCIS," Sebastian said awkwardly.
"And that's supposed to mean something?"
"I….um, thought you were aware of our reputation throughout the city."
"Remember I'm from Ascension Parish, not New Orleans, so it means nothing to me."
"Well we're the only ones who can keep you alive." Gregorio said harshly.
"You don't stay alive and on top in New Orleans for so many years unless you know what you're doing," Sebastian said, playing into Kellie's typical suburban image of New Orleans as a rough, gritty city.
"I guess you do have a point there," Kellie conceded.