Page 39

“Yeah. His court case was fascinating. But at the time, the hotel didn’t mean anything to me,” Vic agreed. “Then his name showed up in the research I was doing, and I made the connection, 'bada bing, bada boom’ as they say in those old Mafia movies.”

“You’re going to have called in a lot of markers by the time this is over,” Ross noted.

“Beats having the whole town go up in flames.” Vic finished his coffee, set the mug back on his desk, and stood. “See you later.”

Long-term prisoners were transferred from Myrtle Beach’s jail to a detention center in nearby Conway, so Vic had a half-hour drive to think about how he wanted to approach his next potential witness.

Frank, “the ferret,” Ferretti had a rap sheet longer than Vic was tall, everything from illegal gambling and money laundering to extortion, smuggling, trafficking, and witness tampering. He had managed to wiggle out of legal trouble until last year, when a new prosecutor made it his mission to nail Ferretti’s ass to the wall.

Considering that Ferretti was over seventy before he went behind bars, Vic thought the guy got a good run.

Although Vic hadn’t been personally involved in bringing Ferretti to justice, he had followed the case closely, intrigued by its more sensational ties to the Dixie Mafia, even before the connection to the Ocean Visions case.

“Mr. Ferretti has waived his right to have an attorney present,” the warden said when Vic arrived.

Since Ferretti had a life sentence, that stood to reason.

“We promised him extra desserts for a week if he cooperated,” the warden explained. “He seemed to think that was a fair deal.”

“Thank you for arranging this,” Vic told the man. “I’ve had a new case surface, and while I don’t think anything about it will implicate Ferretti, I’m counting on there being connections to people he knew.”

“Watch your back,” the warden warned. “Lots of those guys are still out there. Be happy to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Warning taken,” Vic replied as they walked to the holding room.

“Mr. Ferretti,” Vic said to the old man shackled to the metal prison chair on the other side of the interview table. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Detective D’Amato. Why are you here?” Time had gone hard on Ferretti since he had been locked up. He looked even older than his mug shot, ancient and emaciated for a man in his early seventies. But his eyes still held the quick-witted glint that had earned him his nickname, and Vic knew better than to underestimate even a weakened version of the man who had run circles around South Carolina law enforcement for decades.

“I want to know about the casino and gambling at the Ocean Visions Hotel, back in the day.” Vic sat in the chair across from Ferretti. “Rumor has it you were the big man on campus.”

Ferretti snorted. “I ain’t confirming that, but let’s just say I heard a lot of talk.” Years of cigarettes had roughened his voice and given him a cough.

“Good enough,” Vic replied. “Did the Dixie Mafia protect its people and projects with witches?”

Ferretti’s rheumy eyes widened. “Jesus. God. Where did that come from?”

Vic shrugged. “If you would, just please answer the question.”

Ferretti looked genuinely surprised. “My mother and grandmother believed in that kind of stuff. The men in my family relied on guns and fists, but they weren’t beyond asking for curses and hexes against enemies or wanting protections for themselves.”

“Did you know something of the supernatural before you went to the hotel?” Vic knew that for Ferretti, the dance of teasing out information was the most entertainment he was likely to get for a long while.

“It’s always been around. In the Mob. In the church. In the community. It’s like an insurance policy.” A coughing fit interrupted Ferretti for a moment. “Did I believe?” Another shrug. “Let’s just say that I saw stuff I couldn’t explain any other way, and I tried my damnedest not to get on the bad side of the stregas.”

Vic recognized the Italian word for witch. Back in Pittsburgh, where he grew up, such things were an open secret.

“Did the witches keep the ghosts at bay?” Vic asked.

Ferretti chuckled. “Are we on one of those hidden camera reality shows? Since when do the cops care about ghosts?”

“Did they?” Vic pressed.

Ferretti’s humor vanished, and he crossed himself. “Ocean Visions is haunted as hell. Not just with ghosts…there were other things that wandered around the grounds or came out late at night. None of us, not even the bodyguards, would go into the basement after dark.”

“What kind of things?” Vic asked.

“Regular ghosts, sure. I mean, the hotel had been there for a long time. Anything old is haunted. We saw men and women who vanished if you got close. There was a ghost in my attic in the house where I grew up. It didn’t bother anyone. But at the hotel…”