Blood Runs Cold

by Catherine Maiorisi

  “Nardo was a senior staff member, one of eighteen, and he worked closely with the other senior staff on major issues and with other delegations.” She took a deep breath. “Six people have been at a conference in Geneva for the last week and two others have been in Italy for ten days, so only seven others plus the ambassador and I are actually in the office. As far as I know, Nardo was friendly with everyone.”

  “Do they know he’s dead?”

  “No. I didn’t have a chance…Everybody was out when Ambassador del Balzo called.”

  “I’ll tell them. Please ask whoever is here now to come into the conference room.” Corelli walked Ms. Frascetti to the door and opened it. A man, standing with his hand lifted to knock, stepped back, surprise on his face. He used his lifted hand to brush his hair back, out of his eyes. “You must be Detective Corelli.” He peered over her shoulder. “And that must be Detective Parker. So happy to meet you.” He moved closer, close enough for Corelli to get a whiff of his musky aftershave.

  “And you are?” Corelli said. He looked like a romance-novel hero—tall, well-built, wavy black hair pulled back into a ponytail, pale skin, blue eyes, and straight white teeth. It was no accident, she was sure, that his black attire emphasized all his best features. He flashed a killer smile that probably reduced most women to a puddle of mush. But she wasn’t most women and felt no need to respond.

  “Oh, Andrea, I’m so sorry,” Ms. Frascetti said. “I’ve been so upset that I forgot I was supposed to wait for you. Detective Corelli, this is Andrea Sansone, the UN Security Chief.”

  He made a half-bow, then extended his hand.

  Corelli ignored the hand. “This building isn’t part of the UN’s sovereign territory.”

  “True. I have no official role, but the ambassador asked as a special favor if I would assist you with your inquiries. Perhaps you need help with the Italian?”

  “Actually, I speak fluent Italian, so your offer is appreciated but not necessary.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “Ah, well, since I’m here, I’m sure you won’t mind if I sit in. I don’t want to disappoint Ambassador del Balzo.”

  She knew he was here to report to del Balzo. And the people they interviewed would know it as well, so they would get the party line. It would mean double work but better to go through the charade and re-interview them later, than to risk a power struggle and maybe a complaint from the ambassador.

  She took her time answering.

  “All right, you can observe but we’ll do the questioning.”

  He bowed his head, signaling acquiescence.

  “Are you referred to as Security Chief Sansone or just Chief Sansone?”

  “Andrea will be fine. And how may I address you?”

  “Detective or Detective Corelli will be fine. Please take a seat,” she said, waving him into the conference room.

  “Certo, certainly,” he said as he moved past her into the room and pressed his full body against hers. She whirled, hands fisted, ready to sock him. He smiled innocently as he pulled a chair from the table.

  Rosina Frascetti grabbed Corelli’s fist and pulled her into the hall. “Ignore him,” she whispered. “He does that all the time. He thinks it’s sexy.” Corelli nodded. Frascetti went to invite the troops into the conference room. Aware of Parker’s amused gaze, Corelli sat at the table next to Sansone, with Parker on his other side. She leaned in close to the offensive prick. “Try that again and I’ll squeeze your balls ’til you pass out.”

  The cocky smile was replaced by shock. “I…what?”

  Coughing to cover her laugh, Parker interrupted. “Chief Sansone, I need some information from you.”

  He turned to Parker with a smile. “Of course. How can I help?” He pushed his chair back, put his feet on the edge of the table, and trained his eyes on the door.

  “Please spell your name and give me your address and phone number.”

  He avoided looking at Corelli as he answered.

  Three women and four men filed in, greeted the security chief by name, and then took seats. Ms. Frascetti introduced Corelli and Parker and left. Wary but not unfriendly, the group eyed the detectives.

  “I have some bad news,” Corelli said. Everyone sat up. There was some clearing of throats and coughing. “Nardo del Balzo was murdered last night.”

  One of the women moaned. Another started to cry softly. One of the men took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. A man said, “No, no, it can’t be,” and started to stand. An older man with tears in his eyes put out a hand to keep him seated. “Was it another robbery? Do Leonardo and Carla know?”

  “Yes they know. We’ve just started to investigate so we don’t have a lot of details. We need to get to know Nardo and we hope you’ll help. We’ll speak to each of you separately. And I’d appreciate it if you would not discuss our questions or anything about Nardo until we leave. Can you do that?”

  Seven heads went up and down. She pointed to the crying woman. “We’ll start with you, Signora.” The others shuffled out.

  The woman said, “It’s Signorina, Miss Romano, but please call me Claudia. Oh my god, this is terrible. Poor Nardo.”

  “Please spell your name, and give me your address and telephone number,” Parker said. When she had finished writing, Parker looked at Corelli.

  “What was Nardo like?” Corelli asked.

  “He was lovely. Sweet, lots of fun, always laughing and playing. I’m old enough to be his mother but he made me feel young and beautiful. He noticed everything and was always ready with a compliment or to say something nice, or to help. He was very giving.” The tears welled in her eyes. “It’s too bad his father…” She glanced at Chief Sansone and looked down.

  “What about his father?” Corelli asked, aware of Sansone dropping his feet to the floor and shifting forward.

  Claudia flushed, hesitated, then looked up. She cleared her throat. “Too bad he has to deal with this now, you know, when he’s a candidate for prime minister.”

  Corelli had a strong urge to punch the smile off Sansone’s face, but she continued questioning. “Did Nardo have any enemies?”

  “As far as I know he got along with everyone.”

  “Thank you, Claudia. That will be all for now.” Corelli handed her a business card. “If you think of anything, please call me.”

  Claudia examined the card as she stood up. “Ah, Key-are-ra, a beautiful name.”

  Parker escorted her out and returned with Giorgio Fontani.

  He provided the information requested. He had just started working at the delegation a week ago Monday and hardly knew Nardo or anyone else for that matter. After a few simple questions, Parker walked him out and returned with Franco Ginocchioni, the young man who had cried out when he heard Nardo was dead. His eyes were red and puffy.

  “Tell us about Nardo,” Corelli asked after Parker had taken down his information.

  He cast a defiant glance at Sansone and described Nardo in loving detail.

  “Did you and Nardo have a relationship?”

  “Not sexual. Nardo didn’t want to bring his personal life into the office.”

  “Would you have liked to be more involved?”

  He sniffed and looked down so that his jaw-length hair flopped forward, semi-covering his face. “I, uh, yes, but it couldn’t be.”

  “Did you feel rejected by Nardo?”

  His head jerked up. “No. Well, yes, at first. But then we became friends, you know, ate lunch together sometimes, or once in a while we had a drink after work. He didn’t want what I wanted, but he was careful to include me in his life. He went out of his way to avoid hurting me.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  He sat up straighter. “Home.”

  “All evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anybody with you? Did you talk to anyone?”

  He chewed his thumbnail and considered the question. “No. I was alone. No one called.”

  The next three interviews adde
d little information.

  Parker brought in the last of the seven, Mario Derosa, the older man, the one who had asked the questions. He sat with his hands folded on the table.

  “I can’t believe the boy is dead. He was so vibrant, so present. A truly wonderful young man who would have gone far. He was easy to work with, down to earth, very, very intelligent, and willing to do anything that needed to be done. No airs about him.”

  Sansone straightened. Derosa’s eyes swiveled to him.

  “Who has airs?” Corelli asked. Other than Chief Sansone who’s wearing cowboy boots.

  Derosa shifted to look at Corelli. “Sorry, I meant Nardo had no airs. He was down to earth.”

  “Did you know Nardo was gay?”

  He scratched his head and pulled on his mustache. Then he shrugged. “Yes.”

  “How did people in the office react to him? Any problems?”

  He looked Andrea in the eye. “No, no problems. He was so personable and charming and unassuming that everyone,” he hesitated, “all his co-workers, accepted him for who he was. This is a very sad day,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him.”

  “Thank you,” Corelli said, handing him a business card. “Please call if something comes to mind.”

  They were silent as Derosa left the room.

  “Any chance I can get a card, Detective Corelli?” Sansone smirked. “I’ll give you mine, if you give me yours.” He handed her his business card.

  “Sure,” she said, tossing her card on the table and pocketing his. “How well did you know Nardo?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve been close to the del Balzos since I was a boy. I’m seven years older than Nardo so I was like an older brother when we were younger. And before you ask, yes, Ambassador del Balzo recommended me for the job of Security Chief.”

  Surprise, surprise. What an arrogant creep. “Where were you last night?”

  “Me?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes, Chief Sansone, you.”

  “Why would I, how could you think?” He stopped sputtering and smiled at her. “You make a joke, yes?”

  She met his eyes. “No joke. Can you account for your time last night?” She was enjoying his discomfort. Too bad only she and Parker were seeing it.

  “Well, I, uh, it’s a private thing, you know.” He seemed very interested in his fingernails. “With a woman. We had dinner and, uh, slept together.”

  He licked his lips and grinned as if to say, “I can’t help it if I’m so attractive.”

  “Now that wasn’t so hard was it? Please give Detective Parker her name, address and telephone number and we’re done.”

  “Well, I don’t really want to bring her into it. As one professional to another, I give you my word that I have no reason to kill Nardo.”

  Parker put her pen down and followed the discussion with a little smile on her face.

  “As a professional, you must know that it’s routine to verify everyone’s whereabouts at the time of the murder. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I made an exception for you. The information, please.”

  He pulled a small address book from the inside pocket of his jacket and made a show of thumbing through it. It appeared to her he was trying to decide which name to give. Finally, he looked up with a smirk and dictated the requested information.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Chief Sansone,” Corelli said. “Since you’re not the killer, perhaps you can tell us if you know of anyone who would want to kill Nardo?”

  “You heard the testimony. Everyone loved him. This can’t be the work of someone who knew him. It has to be a stranger, perhaps someone he picked up and brought home. You know these gays.”

  The derogatory tone of his voice screeched through her body, as if he had run his fingernails over a blackboard. She stood and leaned closer to him. He looked up smiling but the smile faded when he saw her face. “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t have the remotest idea of what you’re talking about.”

  “But I—” He stood, nearly clipping her chin.

  “Forget it. Let’s go Parker, I think we’re finished. I’ve had all I can take.”

  “Wait. Let me explain.”

  “Explain it to your boss. He’ll understand.”

  Chapter Five

  Wednesday – 4:30 p.m.

  Parker walked fast to keep up with Corelli. “I thought you were going to deck Mr. Blazing Teeth.”

  “I thought about it but he wasn’t worth the trouble. Pain in the ass sure put a damper on things.”

  “You can’t blame them for not talking in front of the boss’s snitch.”

  “Some would say I shouldn’t talk in front of you, Parker. Things could get back to Senator Daddy.”

  Parker grabbed Corelli’s arm. “If you think I’m a snitch, why am I here?”

  “Because I’m a pushover? Nah, just kidding, Parker. I’m almost sure, but not a hundred percent yet. I need more time.” Damn, I should be reassuring her, teaching her, not undermining her. When did I become this abusive person?

  Parker’s face darkened. “Maybe, I should leave—”

  “Forget it.” As much as I hate to say it, I need you with me.

  Parker dropped Corelli’s arm and walked away. She slammed the car door and started the motor.

  Corelli slid in next to her. “I tagged Claudia Romano, Franco Ginocchioni, Mario Derosa, and Rosina Frascetti, the ambassador’s assistant, as hiding something. You see anybody else?”

  Parker took a deep breath. “No.”

  Corelli pulled a notebook out of her pocket and peered at what she had copied from the business card in Nardo’s wallet. “Next stop, Lexington Avenue and Fifty-Seventh Street. Maybe we can catch up with Scott Sigler, attorney.”

  They left the car in a loading zone and headed for Sigler’s office building. As usual, Fifty-Seventh Street was teeming with people clutching shopping bags from Tiffany, Bergdorf, and other high fashion stores in the area, some strolling, some standing eyes up gaping at the skyscrapers, others trying to read guidebooks as they walked. All the while, impatient New Yorkers snarled and harrumphed as they zigzagged past, rushing to somewhere or other. Corelli noted conversations around them in at least six foreign languages. Tourists or new Americans? Hard to say.

  The law offices of Isaacs, Greenbaum and Levitz were in a glass and stone skyscraper that filled the corner of Lexington and Fifty-Seventh. At the thirty-eighth floor they stepped off the elevator into a wood-paneled reception area and faced a receptionist sitting behind a high, ten-foot long wooden counter. An abstract canvas in shades of blue, green, white, and yellow filled the wall behind her. The five or six groupings of sofas, chairs, and low tables reflected the same color scheme. Despite the classical music playing softly in the background and the bright sunlight streaming through the wall of windows, the room felt cold and unwelcoming. They had clearly spent a lot of money, but somehow missed the mark.

  Once Corelli explained they’d come to inform Sigler of the death of a friend, the receptionist’s icy disinterest melted. She summoned Sigler, saying only that he had visitors. When he arrived, she shepherded the three of them to a small conference room right off the reception area.

  Sigler followed them in and closed the door but didn’t move into the room. His eyes went to the gold shield clipped to Corelli’s jacket. “What is this about?”

  “I’m Detective Corelli and this is Detective Parker. Please sit, Mr. Sigler. We have some bad news.”

  He moved to a chair but kept his eyes on them, as if he thought they might jump him.

  “Has my apartment been robbed?”

  “How do you know Nardo del Balzo?”

  “He’s a friend. Why?”

  “I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. del Balzo was found dead in his apartment this morning.”

  He bolted out of the chair, knocking it over, and swayed as if he might pass out. Corelli put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Parker righted the
chair and Corelli guided him into it.

  “I can’t believe it.” He put his hands over his face, his body shuddered as he struggled for control, but the tears came anyway.

  “I just saw him last night.”

  “What time last night?”

  “About seven. I had to work late so we met for a quick dinner at Tre Fratelli. It’s around the corner. He walked me back about eight and said he was going home.”

  He hunched into himself, his shoulders shaking as he struggled with his feelings. There was something awful about men crying. They fought so hard to contain the sobs that it seemed like their bodies would implode. The sounds coming from Sigler in his effort to fight his tears were painful to hear. Corelli glanced at Parker. She looked ready to run. “Do you know of anyone who would want to harm Nardo?”

  He shook his head. “Was it another robbery?” He pushed the words out between gulps of air.

  “We believe he was murdered.” Corelli watched for a reaction.

  His eyes widened and the sobs erupted. When the sobs had softened to an occasional catch in his breathing, Corelli pushed a nearby pile of paper napkins to him. “Scott, we need your help. Can your pull yourself together?”

  He wiped his eyes, blew his nose, then tossed the napkin in the wastebasket. “Sorry. How can I help?”

  “What did you do after Nardo left you?”

  “I signed in downstairs and came back to work. I left about three a.m.”

  “Why so late?”

  He rubbed his temples. “I’m an associate. It’s the job.”

  “How did you get home?”

  “I walked. I live on East Sixty-Sixth Street, between Second and Third.”

  “A doorman building?”

  “No.”

  “Is there anyone who can confirm the time you arrived home?”

  He sat up straight.

  “You think I mur…that I did it?”

  “Just routine, Scott. We have to ask.”

  He twisted his wristwatch and focused inward, trying to remember. “I stopped for a pint of ice cream at the deli on Sixty-Sixth and Third Avenue. The guy might remember. And there was a guy on Sixty-Sixth walking a big black poodle. But I don’t know him and I don’t know if he would remember me. I didn’t notice anyone else.”