“I’d like someone to check out Andrea Sansone, he’s Chief of Security at the UN and he seems to be in the ambassador’s pocket—or maybe it’s Carla del Balzo’s pocket, but I get the feeling he does their dirty work. Who knows? Murdering their son might fall into that category.”
“One more thing,” Dietz said, speaking over the laughter. “We got a witness, one of the vic’s neighbors. Forlini, you wanna report?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Corelli smiled. “Forlini.” According to Dietz, Detective Joey Forlini was one of the unsung heroes of the squad. He enjoyed the grunt work of canvassing to sniff out witnesses and the detailed preparation and analysis of the reports generated during an investigation to ferret out the few kernels of significance. People of all ages and economic and social status responded to his gentleness and compassion, and he often got information that others missed.
“Got a gay guy lives next door to Nardo. Said he was goin’ down his steps Monday about seven and Nardo opened the door to a sexy guy in a suit. Said he was trying to look like he wasn’t looking so he didn’t see much. Described the visitor as slender, shorter than Nardo, with shoulder-length brown hair.” He glanced down at his notes. “By the tone of Nardo’s voice, he was surprised to see the guy. Guy’s name was Emilio.” He looked up. “That’s all I got so far.”
“Parker. What do we know about Emilio?
Parker cleared her throat. “Emilio Ottaviano is Nardo’s brother-in-law. He told us he hadn’t seen Nardo in a year.”
Corelli exchanged a look with Parker. “Make a note to talk to him again.”
“Good work, Forlini.” She glanced at her watch. “If you leave right now, you might catch some of del Balzo’s neighbors before they go to work.”
“I’m on it,” Forlini said. He gathered his papers and left the room.
“Okay, guys, we need to move quickly. Dietz, get somebody checking parking tickets Tuesday night around the area of del Balzo’s apartment. And contact the taxi companies; let’s see if anyone was dropped off near Nardo’s apartment.”
“Let me remind you,” Corelli said, making eye contact with each detective in the room. “You were chosen for this case because you’re damn good detectives, because you know how to handle people, and because you’re discreet. Remember, it’s not unusual for parents and children to argue, but they don’t usually kill each other. We have a lot of digging to do before we seriously consider the ambassador. So any discussion of the argument and threat stays in this room. Right?”
Every head went up and down.
“I can’t hear you.”
A dutiful chorus of yeses brought a smile to her lips.
“One more thing. You may have noticed the crowd of reporters outside. I know it makes it difficult for all of you and I apologize.”
The groan was louder than she expected.
“I’m with you on that. But let me remind you that being discreet is even more important with all those ears and mikes around. If you can, avoid the press totally. If they shove a mike in your face, no comment is the safest bet. Need I mention some of our brethren would like nothing more than to discredit me and the investigation, so please only discuss the case with the members of the team, in this room, with the door closed. Any leaks on this case may have disastrous consequences. Any questions?”
She stood.
“Charleen, sit in on the autopsy with Ron. Dietz, assign somebody to dig into Leonardo and Carla del Balzo. Also, let’s trawl the gay bars again, see what we get.”
The detectives began collecting their things, chatting with their neighbors.
“Parker and I are flying to Italy this afternoon,” Corelli said in a loud voice.
“What?” Parker said, panic in her voice.
The room went silent. Everyone turned to look at Corelli.
“Just wanted to get your attention. I wasn’t finished. Parker and I are going to verify the ambassador’s story. See you all tomorrow morning, but please, let Dietz know the minute you think you have something. Parker, please brief Dietz on Sansone and give him the info on Sansone’s alibi. Dietz, get someone on it right away. I’d like to confirm his alibi before we see him.”
Chapter Twelve
Thursday – 8 a.m.
Traffic was slow. Parker drummed her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, her mind racing. Watkins and Greene looked pretty cozy this morning, probably got it on last night. He had the nerve to ask why she’d left so early. Does he expect her to fall all over him just because he plays in a band? Well he sure didn’t waste a lot of time after she told him she wasn’t ready for a relationship.
Corelli pulled out her cell phone and keyed in her password. Either the volume was up really high or she had it set for speakerphone, because Parker could hear Miranda Foxworth’s breathy voice as clear as if her ear was to the phone.
“Sorry to call so early, detective. I thought and thought last night, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember who referred me to Nardo, but this morning I was brushing my teeth and the name just popped into my head. It was Nelson Choi.” Corelli jotted down the telephone number and address Miranda dictated, then keyed it in. The busy signal filled the car.
“Did you get that, Parker? Swing over to the Westside, Seventy-Fifth between Columbus and Central Park West. Let’s see if we can catch Choi before he leaves for work.”
“First east, now west, then back to the east side. This is crazy.” She could feel the rage filling her. Corelli couldn’t care less; she wasn’t the one driving in all this traffic.
“Did I miss some special training at the academy that said we use traffic patterns to decide the order of interviews? Or is it my decision to see Choi first that you’re questioning?”
“So where do you want me to turn?” Parker asked, not hiding her anger.
“You’re the driver, you figure it out.”
They rode the rest of the way in not-so-friendly silence. Parker felt bad about being crabby but then Corelli didn’t hesitate to dump on her, and she was much nastier. She willed herself to relax as she double-parked in front of No. 23, a brownstone, similar to the other brownstones on the tree-lined street.
Corelli made no move to get out.
“Okay, Parker. What’s going on?”
“Just the traffic.”
“We’ve hit traffic before. You’ve been sullen and withdrawn this morning. What’s bothering you?”
“I’m okay.”
Corelli studied her, then shrugged. “Stay that way.”
They walked up the curved stone staircase to the heavy wooden door and rang the bell. They waited, rang again. Nothing. Corelli hit redial on her cell. A machine picked up after one ring. “Hi, it’s Nelson. I’m not in. Leave your name and number and I’ll call you later.”
She turned to Parker. “We missed him.”
A woman maneuvered a stroller out of the neighboring brownstone. She paused to check them out, then started down the steps, struggling with the double, side-by-side baby stroller. Parker dashed down and over to help. Once on the sidewalk, the woman smiled and pushed her hair off her face. “Thanks. Can I help you?”
“Yes. We’re looking for Nelson Choi,” Parker said, displaying her shield. Corelli joined them and offered her identification.
The woman took her time. She compared their pictures to their faces, then dug into her bag, retrieved a pen and a small notebook, and copied their names and shield numbers before giving them her attention. Smart lady. “Has Nelson done something wrong?”
“No. We need his help. A friend of his has been killed.”
The woman busied herself tucking in the blankets and cooing to the two blue-eyed, blond infants. Hard to tell if they were girls or boys since they were dressed in yellow and green.
“He’s not home.”
Corelli smiled. “Yes, we see. Do you know where he works?”
“Wall Street. But I don’t know which firm. Anyway, he’s probably not there. He flew to Chicago Saturd
ay and he wasn’t sure when he would be home because he planned to spend some time with his partner Jeremy in East Hampton.” She smiled. “Sorry. I don’t know Jeremy’s last name or anything helpful.”
Corelli thanked her, handed her a card, and got back in the car. While Parker drove down Central Park West to get to the Sixty-Fifth Street Transverse and cross to the East Side, Corelli called Miranda but she didn’t pick up. She called Dietz.
“Dietz, Miranda Foxworth gave me Nelson Choi as the friend who referred del Balzo to her, but he’s not at home. Find her and if she knows where Choi works, send someone to talk to him. If she doesn’t know, put somebody on finding out ASAP. I think it’s a Wall Street firm.”
She listened for a minute. “Yes, I know. Get somebody. It’s important.”
Chapter Thirteen
Thursday – 9 a.m.
Parker turned the car onto East Fifty-Fifth Street, toward the del Balzo residence. This time the street was lined with TV vans and the sidewalks with reporters smiling brightly into cameras and speaking earnestly into microphones as if they had real news to report. The morning TV news in action.
“Here we go again,” Parker said.
“The uniforms are keeping them behind barricades and they’re all focused on their reports, so maybe we can get in before they notice us.”
They ran up the stone steps. Corelli flashed her badge at the young officer stationed at the door. He rang the bell for them and stepped aside. Were the chimes so cheerful yesterday? Corelli hadn’t noticed. Someone called her name. She remained facing the closed door and ignored the questions shouted at her back. She marveled at the lack of interest shown by the del Balzos’ neighbors. Nine o’clock on a warm August morning in midtown New York City, every TV, radio, and print news organization camped out on their street, and not a person in any of the surrounding brownstones was peeking out the window or standing outside gaping. The del Balzo residence appeared to be uninhabited.
She was about to ring again when the door swung open. The look of irritation on Leonardo del Balzo’s face passed quickly but made it clear they weren’t welcome. “Now what? Can’t this wait until tomorrow’s official reception?”
“Sorry sir. It’s important we talk to you and Mrs. del Balzo now.” His reluctance made Corelli want to push.
He hesitated. “Can’t you get rid of those…people?”
“Freedom of the press. All we can do is keep them behind barricades.”
Good thing they weren’t vampires, because without inviting them in, he turned and walked to the back of the house. “Make it quick. My wife, um, we’re trying to deal with this tragedy.”
They followed him to the same glass-enclosed room. Nardo’s mother sat in the same chair, her face bathed in the early morning sunshine streaming through the wall of glass.
“It’s those detectives again, Carla,” he said, not hiding his annoyance. “They have questions that can’t wait. They promised to be quick.”
They had made no such promise, but Corelli didn’t correct him.
He picked up his coffee and sat near his wife, facing the two standing detectives. As far as Corelli could see, neither of them looked particularly broken up, but she knew people reacted differently. She realized it would be harder to judge their expressions while towering over them. “You know, I think we will sit,” she said, even though they hadn’t been offered chairs. She pulled a chair around so she was eye to eye with them. Parker followed her lead.
He seemed fascinated by the contents of his cup, while his wife gazed at them with suspicion.
Corelli watched them while Parker readied her pad and pen, then remained silent for another minute, hoping to make them uncomfortable.
“Ambassador del Balzo, what did you and Nardo argue about Monday?”
He straightened, surprise on his face. “Who told…?” He caught himself and sipped his coffee, tamping his anger by tapping his fingers on the cup. After twenty seconds, the diplomat emerged, his face guileless as he smiled. “It was personal, Detective, not pertinent to your investigation.”
Good try, but the anger seeped out and his tone warned her off.
He opened his mouth to continue, but his wife put her hand on his thigh, silencing him.
“Did Nardo threaten to derail your bid to replace Berlusconi?”
Carla leaned forward. “Why do you persist with these rude and disrespectful questions when we are mourning the death of our son?”
Leonardo ignored Carla. “Who said Nardo threatened me?”
“Was that it?” Corelli asked.
“He had some fantasy story, a pack of lies. No one would ever believe it.”
“His friend said the argument really upset Nardo.”
Mrs. del Balzo choked and straightened up.
“Are you all right?” he asked in Italian.
She nodded, then asked in Italian, “Which friend?”
He ignored his wife’s question. “What did this…friend say?”
“I’d rather hear your version.”
Carla repeated the question. “Quale amico?”
He waved her question aside. “As I told you, the argument is not relevant to your investigation.” He stood. “Now is there anything else before you go?”
“Yes.” She remained seated. “Tell me what you did Tuesday night. In detail, please.”
He glared at her then picked up his coffee cup. He stared out the window, sipping his coffee. “I worked until about six thirty, came home, showered, changed into evening clothes, and had a drink with Mrs. del Balzo. Then my driver took me to the UN for a formal dinner meeting which ran until eleven thirty.”
“We’ll need the names of the people at the meeting.”
Carla reached for his hand and said in Italian, “They think you killed him. That could be a problem.”
He patted her hand and smiled. “My wife says you think I killed my son. Is that true?”
Carla’s eyes drilled into her but Corelli didn’t flinch. “Just routine, sir. We have to account for everyone in an investigation.” She answered in what she hoped was a neutral non-threatening voice. No use upsetting them. Yet.
Carla switched her attention to the ambassador. “Well, I have nothing to hide,” he said. “Ask my assistant about the meeting. She’ll give you the details.”
“That would be Ms. Frascetti?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did your driver wait for you?”
“No. I told him not to wait. It was a nice night, so I thought I’d walk. I got home about midnight.”
“Was Mrs. del Balzo with you?”
“No. It was a business meeting. She was upstairs in bed when I got home. I fell asleep reading in here, and then about two I woke and went up. Carla woke up when I got into bed.”
“So no one saw you between eleven thirty and two?”
“That’s correct. Are you insinuating…?”
“No sir, as I said, just routine. And you, Mrs. del Balzo?”
“I…I was alone, here, all evening. You don’t—”
Corelli smiled. “We have to account for everyone. We’ll let ourselves out.”
The tall, skinny officer tried to warn her as she brushed past him, but she was distracted. She stopped short and took an involuntary step back onto his foot at the sight of the pack of howling reporters. She pivoted. “Where the hell are the uniforms who are supposed to be managing the crowd?”
He pinked, coughed, and flicked his eyes to the right. Three of them leaned against a squad car, watching, smirking. “Get your asses over here,” she yelled, trying to be heard over the racket. One of the cops cupped his ear as if he couldn’t hear what she said. Bastards. She looked around. This time there was no backdoor so they had no choice but to make a run for their car.
“Let’s go, Parker.”
They locked arms and dove into the pack. But she had underestimated the size of the crowd and the intensity of the need. Bodies pressed in on them as they pushed toward the car. The pr
essure on their arms forced them apart and the crowd surged between them. Like a school of piranhas attacking their prey, they assaulted her, screaming questions, grabbing her where they could, and pushing microphones and cameras in her face. Her bag was torn from her shoulder along with the sleeve of her jacket. Lights flashed. People screamed. Things exploded in her face. She tried to cover her ears and her eyes but she couldn’t move her arms. She was hit, her blood sprayed. She tried to scream for Marnie to help but couldn’t get the sound out. Pressure on her chest. She gasped for air but there was none.
A sudden lessening of the pressure allowed Corelli to breathe and to notice her surroundings. She blinked. Not Afghanistan. A flashback. But she was trapped by a screaming mob pulling at her, poking her, shoving things in her face. She went down on her knees, put her hands over her face and tensed waiting to be trampled. A sudden wind at her back, then at her sides, and she was lifted to her feet. Somebody moving behind her propelled her forward. She turned to swing at whoever was there, but she saw only the blue-gold-buttoned chest of a uniform whose arms were flapping at her sides like some crazed angel clearing a path for her. The crowd parted and her angel herded her between beating wings to a car. One long blue arm pulled the door open, the other eased her in. She grabbed the dashboard to still her shaking. She took a deep breath, then another. She noticed the blood dripping, yanked a handful of tissues from the box near her, put her head back, and pressed the tissues against her nose to curtail the bleeding. She breathed deeply to still her heart and steady her hands.
Peering around the blue-clad legs standing guard at her door, she watched Parker knock reporters out of her way as she moved around to the car. Another uniform, an officer, moved through the crowd, ordering them to disperse, then stomped over to the patrol car. The media horde broke into a run toward the vans parked along the street.
Blood Runs Cold Page 8