Blood Runs Cold

by Catherine Maiorisi

  “And what the hell is that?” Parker tilted her head at the kittens cavorting on Corelli’s back. “Playing with kittens while somebody’s trying to kill you?”

  “Get them off me, please,” Corelli said, crawling closer. The kittens’ needle-sharp claws dug into her but she didn’t want to hurt them by knocking them off. They must have thought she was playing when she rolled into the shrubbery.

  Parker took the two fuzz-balls in one hand and extended her other hand to Corelli. Corelli crawled out of the shrubbery. She grabbed the hand Parker offered and pulled herself up. Suddenly lightheaded, she swayed. “Sorry, I’m a little dizzy.”

  Parker held on to her and handed her the kittens. She brushed Corelli off and waved over one of the EMS guys just arriving.

  “Whoever it was did a job on my lobby,” Corelli said. “All the windows are out.”

  “Where are you hit?” the EMS guy asked.

  “I’m not hit. I was under there.” She pointed to the glass scattered around the doorway to her building. “It must have cut my face and scalp when it shattered.”

  He took her arm. “Come sit in the ambulance. Let me take a look.”

  She sat, holding the now sleeping kittens. If it wasn’t—

  “Hey, Corelli, anything for a little attention, huh?”

  She looked up. “Thanks for your concern, O’Malley. No, I wasn’t hit by a bullet, just some flying glass.”

  “Well, your luck is holding. Be glad it’s me here. Anybody else might have taken advantage of the situation and put a bullet in you.” She turned to Parker. “And, you, I presume, are the babysitter, Detective P.J. Parker?”

  Parker nodded.

  “Detective Erin O’Malley,” Corelli said, introducing them.

  “Let’s talk while he cleans you up.” O’Malley rubbed the kittens. “You always carry your pets with you, Corelli?”

  “These guys saved my life. If I hadn’t crouched down to pet them, the first shot would have shattered my head instead of that window.”

  “Ah, I understand your attachment. Didn’t the shooter follow you down?”

  “I rolled into the shrubbery, there, near the entrance, and crawled behind the tree. There were more shots, a couple came close, but I don’t think he could see me.”

  “Did you return the fire?”

  “No. The glass nicked me and the blood blurred my vision. I held off because I couldn’t track him. It happened really fast. I heard Parker shouting ‘officer down’ and right after that the sirens, then the shooting stopped and you guys arrived. When it was safe, naturally.”

  O’Malley ignored the dig. She turned to Parker. “You thought she was shot?”

  “Yeah. It happened so fast. I heard the bullet, I shouted, and she went down, glass flying all over the place. I saw blood so I thought she was hit. But she crawled away so I knew she wasn’t dead.”

  “What about you, Parker, did you return the fire?”

  “By the time I figured which building it was coming from, there were people standing in a lot of the windows and I was afraid I’d hit a civilian. Then I heard the sirens close by, and I figured the shooter would hear them too.”

  “Neither of you fired a shot. That makes it easier.”

  The EMS bandaged the cuts on Corelli’s forehead. “You’re all right. Like you said glass cuts. I picked out as much as I could. Comb and wash your hair to get the rest out, but be careful. Dab with peroxide if you start to bleed.”

  “Did you check her back and the back of her legs?”

  Corelli gave Parker a dirty look. “I’m fine.”

  “Let me take a look.” He helped her get her jacket off and lifted her shirt. “Nothing. Good thing that glass is the kind that shatters into little pieces or you might have been stabbed.”

  “My legs are fine too.” Corelli turned to Parker. “What about you?”

  “Just a scrape on my hand when I rolled under the car.” She held out her hand.

  The EMS guy examined it, cleaned it, and put a bandage on. “Anybody else?”

  “Just us,” Corelli said, standing.

  “Take good care of those kitties, Corelli, you owe them.” O’Malley checked out the group of officers huddled in the street. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to see if I can get this show on the road.” She started to walk away.

  Corelli spotted Karen, her building superintendent.

  “Just a second, O’Malley. Send that blonde to me.” Corelli pointed to a woman in the crowd of bystanders.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Karen ducked under the tape and ran to Corelli. “Holy shit. What happened?”

  “Here.” Corelli handed her the two kittens, one all gray, one all black. “These guys saved my life.”

  “They what?” Karen said, taking the sleeping kittens and cradling them in one arm.

  “I’ll explain later. Where’s your wife?”

  “Rosie is trying to find out what happened from a cop she knows.” Karen indicated a cluster near the shattered door.

  “I need you and Rosie to do a couple of things. Bring the kittens up to my apartment and put them in the gym. Then go around to the all-night market and buy some cat food, kitty litter, and a box to put it in. When the police are done, sweep up the broken glass and get someone to board up the broken windows for tonight. First thing tomorrow, call the glass people and have bulletproof glass installed.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Karen said. She reached over and picked some glass out of Corelli’s hair. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  Corelli and Parker leaned against the building watching the investigative team do its work. She’d thought it was over when they had jailed the upper echelon of Righteous Partners, but it looked like Captain Winfry was right about the threat still being out there. It made her angry. Had she missed someone or was this a disgruntled fellow officer who felt she had betrayed the unspoken pledge to the blue brotherhood? Why become a cop if you didn’t believe that honesty and integrity were more important than misguided loyalty? She sighed. It was complicated. Cops need to know fellow officers will watch their backs, so when someone like her turns on other cops, she can’t be depended on and is a danger. It doesn’t matter that she risked her life for the department and for them. Some cops supported her but wouldn’t acknowledge it openly for fear of repercussions.

  The police were keeping civilians, including her tenants, to one side and herding the media together at the end of the street. Of course, distance didn’t keep the media from calling out questions to get her attention. She was glad she didn’t have to deal with them tonight.

  Parker pushed away from the building to face her. “I think you should call Gian…someone to let them know you’re okay. All these cameras and reporters, it’ll be breaking news and even if they don’t see it, someone will probably call them about it. They might worry.”

  Parker, who she was constantly baiting, was worried about her family. She struggled to suppress the smile threatening. “Thanks. You’re right. And, they’ll think the worst.”

  “Do you want me to call, Gianna?” Parker sounded tentative. She probably expected to get slapped down.

  Ordinarily she would call Gianna, but she was still raw from the betrayal. Simone wasn’t always dependable. “Yeah, that would be good. Tell her I’m okay but if she asks to speak to me, tell her I’m being interviewed about the incident.”

  Parker pulled out her phone and stepped to the side. She spoke for a few minutes, every once in a while looking at Corelli, then came back to stand with her. “All set.”

  As the investigation was winding down, Captain Winfry appeared. He must have come in from home. He spoke to O’Malley, then strode toward them.

  “Are you two okay?” Captain Winfry’s voice thundered.

  “Yessir, just some cuts and bruises.”

  He looked them over. “Good work, Parker.”

  “It wasn’t me, it was—”

&nbs
p; “The kittens. I heard. But I was talking about you keeping your head, waiting it out rather than firing randomly and maybe hitting a civilian. That’s excellent work in my book.”

  Parker blushed.

  Corelli poked her.

  Parker stood straighter. “Thank you, sir.”

  “They tell me the shots came from an empty apartment in that building,” he pointed across the street, “but they found no evidence of the shooter. Of course, they’ll be taking fingerprints, etcetera. You need some time off?”

  They looked at each other. “No sir,” they said in unison.

  He smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

  O’Malley approached. “Captain, we’re ready to talk to the media. Corelli, you want in?”

  “Only if I’m ordered to.”

  “Not necessary tonight,” Winfry said.

  “What about you, Detective Parker?” O’Malley said.

  “No way,” Parker said. “I said what I have to say in my statement.”

  O’Malley shrugged. She looked at Winfry. “It’s just you and me, Captain. And you two are free to go.”

  “Come upstairs, Parker. Give the press time to leave.”

  They rode the elevator in silence for a few floors, then Corelli turned to Parker. “Thanks for thinking of my family and making the call to Gianna. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Corelli turned on the lights in the apartment. “Help yourself. Beer in the fridge, booze in the cabinet by the stereo, glasses there too. I’m going to check to see whether my guests have destroyed the gym yet.”

  “Pour you something?” Parker said.

  “A brandy, thanks.”

  She joined Parker on the sofa. “Looks like Karen went all out for the little darlings. They were snuggled up on a cat bed.” She still felt jumpy inside so she lifted her glass carefully. Good. Hands steady.

  “You going to keep them?”

  Corelli sipped her brandy. “No. I’ll take them to a shelter.”

  “They did save your life. Some shelters kill the animals they can’t get rid of.”

  The kittens appeared, stared at Corelli, then jumped into her lap.

  “Besides,” Parker said, grinning, “they really seem to like you.”

  They watched the two kittens curl up together. “You think I should keep them?” Corelli rubbed their bellies, generating a low rumble.

  “Keep the mice in check.”

  “What mice?”

  “You know, in case.”

  “I’ll think about it.” There was something comforting about their weight and warmth in her lap but having pets meant responsibility.

  She raised her glass to Parker. “You and Winfry were right. I’ll try not to give you a hard time anymore.”

  “Thanks. But it would be better if we were wrong.”

  “And he was right-on about your control. It’s no mean feat to keep your finger off the trigger when somebody is shooting at you. You were very clearheaded, holding your fire when you saw civilians in the windows.”

  Parker stood. “So, we still on for six a.m. tomorrow?”

  Oops, too much praise.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Friday – 6 a.m.

  Parker pressed the button next to Ginocchioni’s name and leaned on the door, ready to push it open as soon as he buzzed them in. But nothing happened. “He’s not answering the phone or the doorbell. Maybe we have another body.”

  “If he doesn’t answer in a couple of minutes we’ll buzz the super.”

  Parker pressed again. Waited. Pressed.

  Corelli called Ginocchioni’s number, and figuring he was screening calls, spoke to his answering machine. “Mr. Ginocchioni, this is Detective Corelli. If you do not respond in two minutes, police officers will use a battering ram to knock down your front door and the door to your apartment.”

  A sleepy, accented voice came through the intercom. “I’m sleeping. Come back later.”

  Corelli spoke into the intercom. “Let us in NOW or we’ll come in and get you.”

  The door buzzed and they pushed through into the hall and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Ginocchioni stood without his glasses, blinking, in the doorway, wearing pajama bottoms. Nice pecs and abs.

  “What do you want?”

  “We’ve been leaving messages for you so you know what we want. We can talk in the hallway or you can let us in.”

  He glanced back into the apartment. Maybe he wasn’t alone.

  “Could we talk outside after I shower and dress?”

  “No.” Corelli raised her voice. “Now. Here or in the apartment.”

  He tried to close the door but Parker shoved her shoulder against it, opening it wider. Corelli bared her teeth. “You know, Mr. Ginocchioni, we can arrest you and take you to the station in your pajama bottoms and then get a warrant to search your apartment. Be a lot easier if you invite us in and we talk here.”

  The door of the apartment across the way opened. An elderly woman stuck her head out. “Everything all right, Franco?”

  “Um, yes, it’s about my friend who was murdered.” He stepped back. “Please come in. Can I make some coffee?”

  “That would be nice,” Corelli said, following him through the small, neat, modern living room to an even smaller kitchen. Also neat. He started spooning coffee into an espresso pot.

  They needed to see the rest of the apartment to find out what he was trying to hide. Corelli dipped her head at Parker.

  Parker frowned, then she got it. “Okay if I use the bathroom?”

  Ginocchioni’s hand hung in midair. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His hand shook and the finely ground coffee drifted to the counter like mutant snowflakes.

  He definitely had something to hide. “Is there a problem, Mr. Ginocchioni?”

  He dropped the spoon and wrapped his arms around himself. He hung his head. “You might as well see it now.”

  “See what?”

  Corelli followed him into the living room and down a short hall with two doors, both open, one the bathroom, one the bedroom. Parker was right behind. Corelli stared into the bedroom. The unmade bed was understandable. The bouquets of fresh flowers, flickering candles, and burning incense, were a surprise. As was the altar on which they were placed.

  “Holy shit,” Parker breathed in her ear.

  Corelli switched on the light. Ginocchioni had constructed a memorial to Nardo del Balzo, a six-foot table with framed pictures of Nardo, a small stuffed bear, a white handkerchief, a half-filled glass, some cigarette butts, a book, a chewed wooden pencil, a theater ticket stub, and a note signed by Nardo. The wall behind the table was covered with pictures. In a poster-sized one a laughing Nardo stood with his arm over the shoulders of the shorter, grinning, Ginocchioni, in others Nardo posed with members of the Italian delegation, most were of Nardo alone and looked candid, taken when he was unaware. There was one of Nardo and Scott Sigler holding hands and smiling into each other’s face in front of Tre Fratelli, the restaurant. Probably the night Nardo was killed.

  She felt a pang of envy. Would anyone ever love her that much now that Marnie was dead? She looked from the altar to Ginocchioni. He was sick. And his love was a sick fantasy. What she and Marnie had shared was mutual. And, real. She shivered. Was she building an altar to Marnie in her heart and mind?

  “So now you know.” Ginocchioni sounded defiant but his body language, arms wrapped around his chest, indicated he was defensive.

  Corelli took his arm. “Can you dress quickly? It would be better to talk at the precinct.”

  While he dressed they strategized about how to get him in the house without dragging him through the gauntlet with them. They agreed Parker would take him in, put him in an interview room, then come back to the car to walk the gauntlet with her. As it turned out, six-forty-five was too early for reporters and for her colleagues to form the walk of shame, so they strolled in and settled in the small interview room. A still teary Ginocc
hioni slumped in a chair, head drooping.

  “May I call you Franco?” Corelli asked.

  He didn’t respond but his shoulder moved slightly.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Sit up,” she said, her voice firm. “Franco, look at me.”

  He raised his head and brushed his hair off his face.

  “How long were you stalking Nardo?”

  “Stalking? What does this mean?”

  “How long were you following him, taking pictures without his knowledge, sitting outside his apartment, things like that? How long have you had an altar in your apartment?”

  He flushed. “I loved him.”

  “How long?”

  “A few months after I joined the delegation I realized I was in love with him. He was very sweet to me but he wasn’t interested. To understand his life, to learn how to get him to love me, I started following him. He was—”

  “How long, Franco?” She was losing patience.

  “Maybe fifteen months?”

  “And the altar?”

  He picked at the cuticle on his thumb. “It just grew. He was so beautiful. I wanted his face to be the last thing I saw at night and the first thing in the morning, so I made the picture of the two of us into a poster and taped it on the wall facing the bed. I liked it so I added flowers and candles and incense, then things that reminded me of him, things he touched, things to honor him. I bought a camera so I could take pictures of him.”

  “You were outside Tre Fratelli Tuesday night?”

  “Yes. I followed him. He was holding hands with a guy when he came out.”

  “Did you follow them after they left the restaurant?”

  “Of course. I needed to know where they went. Maybe get the guy’s address. But they went to an office building and he kissed Nardo goodbye.”

  “It must have made you angry to see him with another man.”

  “I cried.”

  “Were you jealous?”

  “Yes. It hurt,” he said, anger pushing pathos out of his voice. “He was supposed to love me and he never even saw me. But then I realized it was the other guy’s fault for coming between us. Nardo didn’t want to kiss him, he was just being polite. Nardo wanted me.”

  “What did you do when they said goodbye?”