What the fuck? I pulled out the brief and thumbed through it. There was no mention of Agent Cesare being assigned to work undercover at Valentini. In fact, there was no mention of her at all.
I set the brief aside, rested both hands on the conference table, and leaned forward. “Why wasn’t I informed of Agent Cesare’s involvement?” I asked the question of Matteo, but didn’t take my eyes off Lucia.
“She is not working this investigation,” he responded.
“Then, what is she doing at Valentini?”
“The reason is unrelated.”
“The reason?”
“That Agent Cesare is undercover.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t work that way. You tell me why she’s there, or again, your involvement ends now.”
“That information is classified.”
Without another word, I picked up the brief, shoved it in my bag, and walked out. I knew, without question, that Doc would back me on this. There was no way I could be working this op from Valentini when another investigation was occurring simultaneously. That they hadn’t shared anything about it, made it exponentially more dangerous for me.
I was almost to my car when I received a text from Matteo, telling me he’d received authorization to read me in.
“That’s better,” I muttered under my breath, turning to go back inside.
When I left thirty minutes later, I wasn’t any less pissed off than I had been when I walked out. I was bypassing Striker, and I didn’t give a fuck. Something was up, and my gut was telling me it was above my former boss’ pay grade.
“Hey, Doc,” I said when he answered my call.
“Halo.”
“There’s a situation with AISE I need to discuss with you.”
“Go on.”
I relayed the chain of events of my meeting with Agents Casavetti and Cesare.
“It isn’t uncommon for AISE to have their heads up their asses.”
“There’s more.” I told him what Matteo had shared with me about a string of accidents that had occurred at the Valentini winery over the course of the last few years, including one that almost killed Giovanni Deltetto, Pia’s father. Five years ago, the man had been run over by a forklift and was left paralyzed. Two years later, he died of a heart attack.
“There were other accidents, Doc, but—”
“Why is AISE involved?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Agent Casavetti wasn’t forthcoming with the answer?”
“Negative.”
“Let me see what I can find out.”
“One other thing, the agent who’s at Valentini undercover, Lucia Cesare, her father, who was the head winemaker there for many years, was also a victim of an accident that almost killed him.”
“Another forklift?” Doc asked.
“Negative. This time, it was a faulty ventilation system. He suffered carbon dioxide poisoning.”
I knew Doc was thinking the same thing I was. Neither of these accidents, nor the other minor ones the two agents had shared with me, were at a level that required AISE involvement. There had to be more to the story that neither Casavetti nor Cesare were willing to tell.