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Book 7: The Tony Valenti Thrillers

by Neil Turner

Genres: Legal Thrillers; Book 7 of the Tony Valenti Thrillers

Synopsis

In the seventh novel of the acclaimed Tony Valenti Thriller series, Tony battles to save his girlfriend’s recently orphaned nephew from the jaws of injustice. Will fifteen-year-old Kevin Tyler be ripped away from the only home he’s ever known? The ensuing legal battle sets the courts of Texas and the Canadian province of Alberta on a collision course.

Tony and his partners are up against the Texas Tylers, who have money, connections, and what appears to be an idyllic home in a gated community. But all is not as it seems. The increasingly vicious fight over Kevin’s future escalates, threatening to explode into an international incident.

When a desperate Kevin takes matters into his own hands, he unwittingly sets off a life-and-death struggle no one saw coming. With danger threatening from all sides, Tony scrambles desperately to rescue Kevin before it’s too late.

Release date: May 16, 2023

Publisher: Neil Turner Books

Print pages: 407

Sample

CHAPTER 1

 

Kevin

 

The strident ring of the classroom phone jars fifteen-year-old Kevin Tyler out of test mode. Glancing up from his Grade 11 biology quiz, he finds Miss Waters staring at him, the handset of the phone dangling from her fingers. She sets the phone back on its hook, then gestures for him to follow and walks out of the classroom. Miss Waters’ glassy eyes and woebegone expression sends a sliver of ice snaking through his gut.

A call from the office and Stormy Waters on the verge of tears. This can’t be good news, Kevin thinks. Reluctantly, he flips his answer sheet over, wondering what will become of his almost completed test. He studied like a dog for the frigging thing and thinks he’s got it aced.

Best buddy Ben Mohsen, seated at the next desk, smirks behind his hand. “What did you do, Kev?”

Kevin shrugs as he gets up and follows his teacher into the hallway, his sense of trepidation growing with every step.

“They want you in the office, Kevin,” Miss Waters says when the door closes behind him.

“Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

 “I know.”

If nothing’s wrong, why am I going to the office?

She pauses, as if she’s about to blurt something before she thinks better of it. “Go on, Kevin. Principal Armitage will explain everything.”

“What about the test? I’m almost done. Am I going to have to take it again?”

“Just go, Kevin. Don’t worry about the test. I’ll take care of it.”

Bewildered, Kevin turns and shuffles down the long, empty hallway leading to the front of Western Canada High School, the only sound the squeak of his Skecher sneakers on the gray linoleum floor and the thumping of his heart. Principal Armitage is pacing the hallway outside the office, accompanied by an enormous cop whose shaved head glows under the overhead lights. The cop’s presence eases Kevin’s mind. He picks up his pace, secure in the knowledge he hasn’t done anything of interest to the cops—never has, so this is clearly a misunderstanding. He almost cracks a grin:Wednesday, January 25th. My first brush with the law. He’ll straighten this out and be back to class in plenty of time to finish his test. The newfound bounce in his step falters when he sees the same forlorn look in the principal’s eyes that was in his teacher’s. Even the cop seems bummed out.  What’s up?

As Kevin walks up to them, the principal nods at the officer. “Kevin, this is Constable Jenkins."

The cop meets Kevin’s gaze. “Hi, Kevin.”

 “Hey,” Kevin replies. Geez! This guy’s huge. Color him green and there’s the Incredible Hulk, right here in my school.

 Principal Armitage takes Kevin’s arm and steers him past three or four desks. “Let’s talk in my office.”

 Kevin eyes the administrative staff uneasily as he passes by. Even they have the look!

They troop into her office. The principal closes the door and adjusts her ruby-red designer glasses. Bug eyes, the kids call her when she gets angry. Instead of her usual hard-assed self, Armitage seems more like a kindly aunt this afternoon. She points toward a well-worn plaid sofa across from her cluttered desk. “Please sit down, Kevin.”

The principal pauses, as if she’s at a loss for words. Whatever is happening, Kevin wants no part of it. His patience wanes as the silence stretches to several seconds. You called me down here and messed up my test to stare at me?

“We have unfortunate news, Kevin,” Armitage stammers before shifting her gaze to Jenkins.

The cop nods and settles into a chair in front of the principal’s desk, then hitches it closer, his eyes never leaving Kevin. For such a behemoth, he has an almost kindly manner. Still, he’s a cop. Kevin can’t let his guard down.

This touchy-feely stuff isn’t how suspects are supposed to be questioned. Kevin has seen plenty of cop shows; this definitely isn’t how things go down.

“There’s been an accident,” Jenkins says.

“An accident?”

“I’m afraid so, son. A car accident.”

Kevin waits, wondering what’s wrong with these people—he doesn’t even have a driver’s license yet. What are they accusing me of? Do I need a lawyer?

Jenkins shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Kevin. Your mother and father were killed."

The cop’s lips keep moving, but Kevin doesn’t hear a word as he grapples with what he just heard. It’s a mistake! Mom and Dad are at work! We’re going out for pizza tonight, then to see the new Star Trek movie—number two hundred fifty eight or whatever it is. Dad loves the stupid things. This doesn’t happen in real life. Not in my life, anyway. It happens in movies, on TV, in the news. They’ve made a mistake. It’s not true!

“They’re at work today,” he says matter-of-factly.

Jenkins shakes his head slowly.

“They are!” Kevin insists. “When did this supposedly happen?”

“Just after one o’clock,” the cop replies.

“Where?”

“On Seventeenth Avenue, in Killarney.”

Kevin is getting pissed. Don’t these idiots understand? There’s no way this could have happened? Be patient, he tells himself. They’re adults.

“My dad works downtown, and Mom works near Chinook Centre. Neither of them would have been in Killarney.”

Jenkins stares back impassively. “Maybe they were meeting for lunch?”

Oh crap! Today’s their anniversary. That’s why we’re going out tonight. Mom and Dad were all lovey-dovey this morning and mentioned meeting for lunch at Spiro’s, which just happens to be on 17th Avenue in Killarney. It’s where they had their first date or something.

The fight drains out of Kevin as reality sets in. He pulls his feet up onto the sofa, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around them, head spinning as his eyes burn with tears. Random thoughts ricochet through his mind: Where will he get money to buy food? What about the hockey game tomorrow night? He’ll have to walk the dog every night by himself, no more conning Mom or Dad into it. The enormity of the situation crashes down on him. He needs to get out of here to think.

Principal Armitage’s voice penetrates the fog. “I’m so sorry, Kevin. This is awful. Do you have any adult relatives in town you can stay with?”

“No. They all live in the States,” Kevin mumbles. “Dad’s parents are dead and his only brother lives in Texas. Mom is originally from Chicago. Her sister, Aunt Pat, and a few other relatives live there.”

“We know this is a terrible shock, Kevin,” Jenkins says. “Social Services will send someone to take care of you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Kevin is suddenly on high alert.

“They’ll send a social worker to help get you settled.”

“Social worker?”  No way! Social workers are for kids in trouble, kids with no parents, kids without a home.

“You’re a minor, son,” Jenkins explains.  “Everything will be taken care of. Don’t worry.”

 Terror begins to constrict Kevin’s chest, as if it’s caught in a massive vise. He aches to go home and hole up in his room to sort this out—no social workers, no teachers, and definitely no cops. He fights back the urge to scream and asks, “Do I get any say in this?”

“Everyone will do their best for you,” Principal Armitage replies.

So, no.

They fall into an uneasy silence, Jenkins furtively glancing at the door as if he’s eager to leave. Kevin retreats into his thoughts. This is too big. Too crazy. Too much! He glances at the door. He needs to get out of here before a social worker comes to take him away.

A plan begins to form in Kevin’s mind. “Can I get my backpack and stuff?"

Armitage forces something resembling a smile onto her face. “That’s a good idea. I’ll have Miss Waters send someone to the office with your things.”

“Can I get it myself?” Kevin asks. “Please?”

“Why yes, if you’d like, Kevin.”

“I would. Thanks.”

The relief Kevin feels after leaving the office evaporates in the face of the horror of the nightmare he’s fallen into. But he can’t think about that now—he has to escape before they drag him away to who knows where. He squares his shoulders and reaches for the doorknob of Stormy Waters’ classroom. Stay cool, he tells himself as he swings the door open. Just grab my stuff, snag Ben, and get out of here.

Miss Waters offers Kevin a tight smile when he walks in. Twenty-three teenage faces study him, collectively wondering what kind of trouble he’s in. He tries to smile reassuringly at Stormy, then keeps his eyes down as he marches to his desk.

“Come on,” he mutters to Ben Mohsen.

“What?”

“You’ve gotta come with me.”

“What’s going on?” Ben whispers.

Kevin shoulders his backpack and takes a step toward the door. “Just come!”

 Miss Waters nods her approval. Ben pops up, grabs his backpack, and hustles after Kevin.

“What’s up?” Ben asks as the classroom door clicks closed behind them.

Kevin keeps his head down as he leads the way. “Turn your phone off. I’ll explain on the way.”

They trot down the hallway and slip out a side door. This isn’t the last time Kevin will find himself on the run in the days and weeks to come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2

 

Pat

 

Pat O’Toole inches her eye open to glare at her ringing cell phone. She knocked off work early this afternoon after a hectic week as a local beat reporter for the Chicago Tribune. She ran a couple of invigorating circuits around the two-mile jogging path in Humboldt Park, which was deserted due to a winter storm slamming Chicago. After a quick shower, she decided to take a nap to rest up for date night with Tony and was just nodding off. She snaps the phone off the coffee table. “Hello?”

“Aunt Pat?” a familiar young voice asks.

She glances at the Caller ID: Calgary, Alberta. Why on earth is her nephew calling? “Kevin?”

“Yeah, it’s Kevin … Tyler."

As if she needs his last name to identify him. She laughs, sits up, and tucks a foot beneath herself. “I know which Kevin. This is a pleasant surprise! How are—”

A stifled sob cuts her off. “I—I…”

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Mom and Dad were in a car accident.”

“And?” she whispers as a chasm of fear cracks open in her chest.

“They’re dead.”

Pat’s hand shoots to her mouth. “Oh my God, no!”

“Yeah.”

This can’t be! “Oh, Kev.”

“I know.”

The faces of Pat’s little sister Jan and brother-in-law Dave Tyler flash into her mind’s eye. After a moment of stunned silence, her thoughts jolt back to her newly orphaned nephew. Pat hoists herself up from the sofa and staggers toward the fireplace. “Where are you?”

“At home.”

Pat pauses and lifts a pewter picture frame from the carved mahogany mantle above the fireplace. The photo of Jan, Dave, and Kevin quickly swims out of focus as her eyes mist over. One of her favorite families has been irretrievably shattered.

“Is someone with you?” she asks.

“Yeah, Ben’s here.”

“Ben?”

“My buddy from school.”

Right. She’s met Ben a few times. Good kid. But. “No adults?”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not alone,” Pat replies, wishing Kevin had someone other than another teenage boy with him. She carefully sets the picture back on the mantle and walks to the kitchen. “Didn’t the school or the police send someone home with you?”

“Well…”

“What?”

“They, uh, don’t exactly know where we are.”

“What’s going on, Kev?”

Pat puts the kettle on to boil for a cup of tea while Kevin tells her about his visit with the cop and the principal and their mention of social workers.

“I don’t want to be sent to a group home or some place for orphans,” he concludes.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that. You need to speak with those people.”

“I need time to figure things out, so me and Ben took off and are hanging here.”

“Without telling anyone where you were going?” Pat’s brow creases in concern. She drops a Chai tea bag in a royal blue Tower of London mug the size of a small pail. Tea calms her.

“Nah, they probably would have made me stay at school.”

“Possibly, but I’m sure your teachers are worried about you.”

“Yeah, I guess so. They’ve been calling. We haven’t answered. The cop has been by the house, too. We’re in the basement so he can’t see us through the windows.”

An image of Jan’s smiling face fills Pat’s mind. Jan, the forty-one-year-old baby of their family. Oh God. How can this be? Pat sighs, pushes aside the grief threatening to paralyze her, and forces her thoughts back to her nephew’s predicament. Jan was an awesome mom. Pat needs to step up for her nephew and get things under control. “I can’t imagine how awful this is for you, honey. I want to help.”

“Thanks.”

“How long do you plan on hiding out, Kev?”

“I dunno.”

If not for the tragedy that prompted it all, this would be a mildly amusing tale of adolescent hijinks. Pat is briefly at a loss. Kevin needs her emotional support, but she can’t countenance what he’s up to. “You need an adult with you.”

“I’m scared. What if they take me away?”

“I think you’re worrying too much. There are a lot of things to figure out, Kev. I’m sure everyone there has your best interests at heart, including your teachers and the police.”

“Are you sure?”

Pat pours boiling water into her mug as she replies, “I’m positive. Let them help you.”

“We were thinking Ben’s folks might take me in.”

Probably not a long-term solution, but might be just the thing for tonight, Pat thinks. She’ll get to Calgary as quickly as she can. “That’s probably a great idea for tonight, honey, and then we’ll see what comes next. Let the adults there help you.”

“I suppose.”

Speaking of relatives and adults. “Has anyone called your father’s brother in Dallas?”

“I haven’t. You’re the first person I called.”

"You should call him.”

“Maybe later.”

“Don’t wait, Kev. I know you have a lot on your mind, but Timothy would want to know.”

“I guess so.”

“Please call him. You need to talk to the police, too. Kev, I know this is hard for you, but everyone needs to know you’re safe. The police can help with that.”

 The line is quiet for a long moment.

“Okay,” he murmurs unconvincingly.

“Promise me, Kev.”

“Okay,” he murmurs again, no more convincingly than the first time.

“I’ll call again later, and I’ll expect to hear that you’ve called Timothy. If you really don’t want to speak with the police and school, call Ben’s parents. They’ll make sure everyone knows what’s going on.”

“That sounds better.”

“I’m going to hang up so you can make those calls. You need to get adults involved. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay.”

Pat ends the call, sets her phone aside, crosses her arms on the butcher block island countertop, and sags forward to rest her forehead on her arms. The dam that’s been holding her grief at bay crumbles. Tears stream from her eyes and sobs rack her body as she gives herself over to the horror of what’s happened in Calgary.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3

 

Tony

 

I’m lounging in my father’s weathered old La-Z-Boy easy chair. My sixteen-year-old daughter, Brittany, is sprawled in my late mother’s sitting chair with one leg tossed over an armrest. We are now the owners of the Valenti family home I grew up in. Papa has returned home to live in Italy.

Brittany and I are doing our best to ignore the Norman Rockwell-esque winter wonderland scene on the other side of the living room picture window. Spending a lazy day with Brittany reminds me of snow days when I was a child, playing Monopoly with my brother, Frankie, and sister, Amy, back before things went all wrong. I, Tony Valenti, am the only surviving child of Francesco and Maria Valenti.

We’re watching one of Brittany’s beloved Harry Potter movies; I can’t remember which one this is. Our dogs, a three-legged former K-9 German shepherd named Dolly and an aging black lab named Deano, are sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace, recovering from a visit to the winter wonderland that is Independence Park. The neighborhood park is at the end of Liberty Street, on which the Valenti home is located. A board game will follow the movie. I plan to cook a couple of New York strip steaks on the indoor grill. Then Brittany will be off to her friend Jocelyn’s for a sleepover. Jocelyn’s father called earlier, offering to pick her up in his monster 4x4 truck. Fine with me. I have a sleepover of my own planned, assuming my girlfriend, Pat O’Toole, can get here through the storm.

“This is nice,” I say to Brittany. “We don’t spend enough time like this.”

Brittany shoots me a smile. “That’s because I’m a teenager living an active life, and you’re a little long in the tooth, Pops. Now be quiet, this is a cool scene.”

Well.

I think back to the day last week when Brittany received a letter of acceptance from Marquette University for this fall. My little girl is going away to school, and not just any school—Marquette is my alma mater. Alas, even after a growth spurt last year, her five feet nine inches isn’t going to get her the full-ride volleyball scholarship I received, although she might make the team.

I wipe the empty nester thoughts aside and refocus on the movie. Brittany is right, the scene with Harry and Ron in a flying car is outstanding, so I settle back to watch. The car has run afoul of an angry tree when my cell phone chirps. It’s my girlfriend, Pat, a known lover of snowstorms. Yet we manage to get along.

“Hey,” I say cheerfully. “You’re loving this snow, aren’t you?”

“Tony,” Pat says in a cracked voice. “Jan…”

I sit up. “What’s wrong?”

“Jan is … a car accident,” Pat manages to choke out. Then she groans. “She’s dead, Tony. Dave, too.”

Seeing the look on my face, Brittany has paused the movie and is staring at me.

“I’ll be right there,” I tell Pat.

Pat breaks down, sounding broken. “Oh, God, Tony.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Please hurry.”

“I’ll be as fast as I can … but with this storm, it may take a while.”

“Drive carefully,” she says before ending the call.

I sag back in my seat and stare at the phone in my hand. “Jesus.”

“What?” Brittany asks. “What is it, Dad?”

I explain.

“Poor Kevin.” Brittany has a stricken expression. She bonded with Kevin when he visited Pat last summer, and the relationship deepened when we traveled to Calgary with Pat for a visit over US Thanksgiving weekend at the end of November.

I nod. “I feel awful for him. And Pat.”

“Now what?”

“I’m going to Pat’s. I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I say as I hurry out of the living room to collect my wallet and car keys. I have everything else I’ll need at Pat’s: toiletries, pajamas, and some clothes. When I return, I pause and look at Brittany. “Let Jocelyn know you can’t make it tonight. Make sure you feed the dogs and take them outside before you go to bed...”

“Dad—”

“…if I don’t get back tonight, make sure you feed them and let them out again before you leave for school.”

She grabs my elbow. “Dad!”

I stop and meet her intense sea-green eyes. “What?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“But—”

 She hurries down the hall toward her room, calling back, “Wait right there.”

The dogs have picked up on our mood and are nosing my hands, gazing up at me with concern. I drop a hand to each head and scratch behind their ears.

Brittany is back within a minute with her backpack slung over a shoulder. The tip of a toothbrush handle pokes through the partially open zipper of a side pocket. She hands me the backpack and pulls her jacket out of the closet. “Go start the car and get it cleaned off,” she tells me, then walks into the kitchen.

There’s no time to argue and little point doing so. My daughter is in a take-charge mood; she’s coming, no matter what I say. I head outside and start digging my Porsche Panamera out from under a foot or more of snow. I’m almost done when Brittany bursts out the front door with a doggy bed under each arm and a Tupperware container filled with dog kibble.

“We’re bringing the dogs?”

“Duh,” she says with an eye roll.

“I’m not sure Pat needs them underfoot.”

“Deano and Dolly will be a welcome distraction and a source of comfort, Dad."

I pop the trunk and Brittany tosses the beds in before she trudges back to the house. She’s back with the dogs a minute later. Dolly is frolicking, leaping through the snow with abandon. I marvel at how well she’s adapted to her missing leg. I open the back door to let her hop in. Deano lumbers along in her wake, casting a look around at the snow with an expression that seems to say: We’re going out in this? Then he hoists his considerable girth and old bones in behind Dolly. My daughter locks the front door while I finish sweeping the last of the snow off the car. A fresh coat is already undermining my effort. I shrug and climb in. Dog tails are wagging and both mutts sport goofy dog grins. They love car rides. Unfortunately, they fog up car windows like nobody’s business. While Brittany calls Jocelyn to cancel, I confirm the defrosters are cranked to full power, then impatiently wait for the windows to begin clearing before dropping the gearshift into reverse and snowplowing to the street.