The Blood Runs Cold

by Catherine Maiorisi

  “What surprise?”

  He grinned and made a zipper motion across his mouth, but his eyes were sparkling.

  She glared at him, then shrugged.

  He opened the door.

  He was right. She clamped her mouth shut to keep her jaw from dropping. Standing over Sansone was Louden Warfield III, criminal defense attorney extraordinaire, every cop’s, and for that matter, every prosecutor’s, nightmare. She nodded Parker in and shut the door behind her, nearly catching the uniform’s head, and not at all sorry about it.

  Warfield straightened and pinned them with deep blue eyes the exact color of his crisp, long-sleeved shirt. He was tall and slender, and she knew he could charm a jury with a single smile of the kind he bestowed on them. She had never gone up against him in court, but he was known as a cop killer. Blond men often seemed insipid to her, but not Warfield. He was handsome and projected power and confidence.

  Warfield quickly slipped into his jacket, as if embarrassed by his red suspenders, and extended his hand. “Louden Warfield,” he said, his voice deep and mellifluous. “We haven’t met before, Detective Corelli, but I’m an admirer, in awe of your integrity and bravery.”

  Corelli shook the offered hand. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Warfield.” She smiled. “And I’m kind of in awe myself.” No need to alienate him and make something she sensed was going to be difficult even more difficult.

  Parker had already taken her seat, but he leaned over the table and offered his hand. “And you, Detective Parker, a hero, saving that boy in Brooklyn.”

  He’d done his homework.

  Parker hesitated. Corelli held her breath and hoped Parker wasn’t going to explain that Corelli had saved the boy. Parker glanced at Corelli, then clasped his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “I’m glad to see you both in good health after the shooting last night. Are you thinking it’s related to this case?”

  Ha. Trying to divert attention. “It’s still under investigation,” Corelli said.

  She wondered if del Balzo had pulled strings to get Warfield, and just what strings would get him to come here so quickly. It was no secret Warfield was gay. Did the homophobic ambassador and the equally homophobic Sansone know, or didn’t it matter when you needed the best to save your ass?

  Sansone stood up. “Deni, um, Mr. Warfield is my—” He looked at Warfield.

  “Attorney,” Warfield said, sitting at the table. “We should be able to clear up this little misunderstanding quickly.”

  Deni? They must travel in the same upper-class circles.

  “Before we start, is anyone there?” Warfield tilted his head toward the two-way mirror.

  “No. It’s just us,” Corelli said. She took the chair next to Parker. “You wanted to talk to us, Mr. Sansone?”

  “Si, er, yes.” He avoided her eyes. “Andrea, please,” he said, almost mechanically.

  “Detective Corelli, Mr. Sansone tells me he’s under arrest.” Warfield removed a yellow legal pad and a big, fat, black fountain pen from his briefcase and placed them on the table.

  “Not yet. He was brought in for questioning about inconsistencies in his answers to questions with regard to his whereabouts on the night Leonardo del Balzo was murdered.”

  He uncapped the pen and made a note on the legal pad. He looked at Sansone. “Andrea, I believe you want to explain.”

  Sansone glanced at Warfield and straightened. “You are correct. I did go to Nardo’s apartment that night. Ambassador del Balzo asked me to try to talk some sense into Nardo, to keep him from doing anything to endanger his bid to be prime minister. We argued, Nardo called me a coward, and I walked out. But Nardo was alive when I left. I swear. He was my little brother. I could never hurt him.”

  Sansone flicked his eyes over to Warfield and was rewarded with a pat on the hand and a smile.

  “Do you know what Nardo and the ambassador argued about? What he threatened the ambassador with?”

  “No. He would never tell me why he was so angry with Leonardo, why he acted so, so girly when Leonardo was around. That was not how he was usually. That’s what we argued about. After he accused me of being a coward, he cried and said he’d decided to be done with it. Then he threw me out.”

  “And what did you do then.”

  “I walked for a while to calm down, and then I called Leonardo at home, as he asked, but I got the machine so I left a message that Nardo wouldn’t listen.” He put his head in his hands.

  Warfield patted Sansone’s arm. “And then there’s the matter of where he went afterward. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  They waited. Corelli stared at the men, one more gorgeous than the other, and felt not a glimmer of attraction to either. Did Parker?

  “It would be best if you explained, Andrea,” Warfield said.

  Sansone flushed. He stared over her shoulder. “I…was with Deni…at his apartment. I…am a homosexual.” His voice cracked and his face flushed.

  Once again Corelli clamped her mouth shut and put on her bland interrogation face, but he had knocked her off balance. She kept her eyes on them, not daring to look at Parker.

  “I went to Deni’s apartment when I left Nardo and stayed the night there.” Sansone took a deep breath. “I didn’t tell you about Nardo because he was the only one who knew about me. We argued about my pretending to agree with the ambassador’s, how do you say, homophobia. I was upset and I went to Deni.”

  “Detective Corelli, I can corroborate Andrea’s story and the security cameras in my building will confirm what we’re telling you. He lied to protect his privacy. He fears the ambassador will reject him just as he rejected Nardo. And he lied to protect me. But, as I’m sure you know, I’m far from closeted. Now, how can we protect Andrea’s privacy?”

  “Mr. Warfield—”

  “Please call me Deni.”

  “Deni. First, Andrea is not off the hook for the murder. We’re in the middle of the investigation and it may be a while before we can clear him. Now, if we can ask our questions and get honest answers, and if you both put your statements on the record, I have no need to publicize Andrea’s homosexuality. I can’t guarantee privacy but it won’t become an issue unless he’s guilty or someone tries to point the finger at him.”

  He looked at Sansone, who nodded. “Okay, we’ll both go on the record. Andrea will answer all your questions and provide any help he can. It doesn’t sound like you have any solid evidence. Would you be willing to release Andrea to me with my guarantee that should you find something that actually ties him to the murder, I will bring him in?”

  Corelli rubbed her forehead. Warfield knew she didn’t have enough to hold Sansone, so he was just being polite. “That would be fine, depending, of course, on how our questioning about his visit to Nardo goes.”

  Warfield smiled. “Let’s get started then.”

  Corelli led Sansone through the events of that evening until she was satisfied they had the truth.

  “Andrea, when we were leaving the del Balzos earlier today, you threatened me. You said, ‘The stakes are high. You don’t understand who you’re dealing with. You could get hurt.’ What did you mean?”

  He shifted, coughed, and cleared his throat. “Carla and Leonardo have worked their whole lives to get to this place and now that they are so close, they will be ruthless about eliminating obstacles to Leonardo becoming the prime minister. Of course, I meant anything legal such as using political clout, going to the press, and demanding your job.”

  Corelli sat back and gazed at him, holding hands with his lover. She couldn’t resist.

  “One more question, Andrea. Why do you join in the ambassador’s homophobia? Why not tell him?”

  Sansone’s eyes filled.

  Warfield draped his arm over Sansone’s shoulders. “I don’t see how this is relevant but Andrea can answer, if we go off the record.”

  His eyes seemed to be scanning her brain to analyze why she needed to know. Lots of luck. She d
idn’t know herself why she needed to know.

  “You’re right. It isn’t relevant but I would like to understand.”

  “Are you willing to answer, Andrea?” Warfield asked, handing him a handkerchief.

  Sansone nodded and wiped his eyes. “Leonardo is the only father I’ve ever known. He found me in the gutter when I was five, took me in, educated me, and treated me like a son. I love him. When Nardo was born, I feared he would forget me but he didn’t. Always it is like I am a son. About the time Nardo started to act out about being gay, I was exploring my own, um, sexuality. When I saw Leonardo’s reaction to Nardo, I felt he must never know, so I betrayed myself and Nardo, day after day. I was the good son. I lived in fear of losing my family.”

  “Thank you, Andrea,” Corelli said. She stood and the other three did the same. Warfield hugged Sansone then turned to gather his papers.

  “So Andrea, what was that drama you acted out with my aunt in Brooklyn the other night?”

  “What drama?” Warfield asked.

  Sansone coughed and glanced at the door. “Detective Corelli seemed to be focusing on Leonardo, so I, um, made a connection with her family to get information about her so I could,” he flushed, “distract her. I told her aunt I was interested in marrying her.”

  “I should arrest you for that, for getting my aunt all riled up, for giving her hope I was finally going to toe the line,” Corelli said. “For your penance, you may have to go back and tell her I’m a lost cause, and she should forget about ever marrying me off.”

  Sansone looked confused. Warfield laughed, then Sansone and Parker joined him.

  “Sounds like justice to me,” Warfield said.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Friday – 8 p.m.

  They stepped out of the car, drew their weapons, and back-to-back scanned the street and the nearby buildings. “Clear here,” Parker said, without turning.

  Corelli walked briskly toward the building. “See you tomorrow.” The windows and door to the lobby were still boarded up. Karen, her super, had called earlier to say the glass company would install the bulletproof glass tomorrow. She put the key in the door.

  “Chiara?” The voice was tentative.

  Corelli stiffened. Gianna stood in the shadows. Corelli spun to look at Parker, fearing she would mistake Gianna for someone wanting to hurt her.

  Parker was watching with her gun in hand. “I see her.”

  Corelli flipped Parker a two-finger salute, then faced the door.

  Gianna spoke to her back. “Chiara, please, can we talk?”

  She turned the key and pushed the door open.

  “Please, you haven’t responded to any of my messages. I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me. And I’ve been so worried since last night. Suppose you were killed and you were still mad at me? What would I do?”

  The pain in Gianna’s voice knifed through her. Gentle, loving Gianna would never purposefully hurt her. But she had. Corelli stepped aside. “Come in.”

  They were silent in the elevator, unable to look at each other.

  In the loft Corelli headed for the bedroom to get rid of her weapon and wash up. “Pour me a glass of wine and help yourself to espresso or whatever.” She let the kittens out of the gym and, as usual, they tumbled after her.

  She splashed cold water on her face and looked in the mirror. She’s your sister and you love her. Your anger is hurting both of you. Don’t be so hard on her. She dried her face and went to the living room.

  “Are these the kittens that saved your life?”

  Corelli picked them up and sat next to Gianna on the sofa. “Yes.”

  “Are you keeping them?”

  She rubbed them gently and was rewarded with stereophonic purrs. “I’m not sure I can be trusted to take care of them properly.”

  She shifted on the sofa so she could see Gianna’s face. “I’m sorry,” they said simultaneously.

  Gianna put her arms around Corelli. “Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I had no idea what Patrizia and Zia Marina were up to when they came over. Besides, I know you’re a lesbian and you’re attracted to Brett Cummings not Sansone.”

  Corelli’s jaw dropped. After thirty-five years she still underestimated Gianna.

  “Oops.” Gianna put her hand over her mouth. “Open mouth, insert foot.”

  Corelli struggled to keep her face bland.

  “Don’t deny it. You have feelings for her.”

  “What do you mean ‘feelings’?”

  “Chiara, you’re not the President of the United States and you’re not on trial here. I know it’s true.” Gianna reached out and touched Corelli’s cheek. “It’s all right, sweetie. Marnie would be happy for you.”

  She squeezed Gianna’s hand. Why was this so hard? She loved Gianna and trusted her more than anybody else in the world. Why not get it out? Parker had witnessed…it. But what “it” was Corelli still hadn’t worked out.

  “You could say I have feelings.” She flushed. “I’ve never felt such an intense attraction in my life. The first time I saw her, I almost passed out. I was electrified. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare. If it weren’t for Parker, I’d probably still be standing there, gaping.”

  “And she?”

  “The same, I think. We kept locking eyes and blushing. Then the next day we were alone in her office and she told me she had only felt that kind of attraction once before in her life, that we were soulmates and she wanted to get to know me. I told her to forget it but she said she was patient and would wait.”

  “Knows what she wants. So what happened?”

  “She was a suspect and I was so intent on proving I was objective that I lost my objectivity. When the case was over she left a message telling me she understood and she forgave me. She asked me to call her to talk.”

  She’d listened to Brett’s message hundreds of times and each time she felt the same surge of heat and an intense longing.

  “So why haven’t you called her?”

  The anger burst out. “I’ve told you before, it’s too soon. I can’t forget Marnie.”

  “And, I’ve told you, you’ve been alone way too long. Marnie is dead. And she, of all people, would want you to live and love. You need someone. If you’re attracted, I say go for it. At least call her. Go for a walk, have a cup of coffee, go to a movie. You don’t have to get married, at least not right away.”

  “My emotions are out of control. Maybe it’s just a passing thing.”

  Gianna laughed. “Let’s see, on the one hand, you don’t call her because you think it’s too soon to have a relationship. On the other hand, you don’t call her because you think it’s just a passing thing. There’s faulty logic in there somewhere.”

  Corelli rubbed the kittens’ ears, felt them vibrate with pleasure. “I didn’t choose to feel this attraction.”

  “So why fight it?”

  “There are too many problems.”

  “My warrior sister running from problems? My little sister who faced down a Mafia boss at fifteen, who went to war, who stepped up to the undercover investigation from hell because it was the right thing to do? She who wears a gun and risks her life every day? I don’t think so. The only problem I see is you. You’re afraid to let yourself love again. In fact, you can’t even commit to love the kittens.”

  “Gianna, I watched Marnie die. I can’t go through that again.”

  “Oh, Chiara, honey, you were both at war. I don’t want to minimize your experience; it was horrible, but people watch loved ones die every day. Husbands, wives, children, and parents die of cancer, heart attacks, murder, and many other terrible things. We have no control over death. But we do have control over our lives. Take a chance on your future, Chiara. Loving, finding your mate, is well worth the risk. Go for it, sweetie.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It’s not as hard as depriving yourself of love.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Saturday –
7 a.m.

  Parker stopped in front of the station house a few minutes before seven a.m., leaned on the steering wheel, and whistled softly. “Nice. Not a reporter or camera or microphone in sight. I know the captain said no gauntlet but what’s going on with the media?”

  “Maybe the press sleeps in on Saturdays. Or maybe there was some kind of national disaster they considered more important.” Corelli checked her cell phone to see if anyone had notified her of a disaster. Oops. It was off. She turned it on. Something must have happened. She had twelve texts and three voice mails but before she could retrieve any of them, the phone rang.

  “Darla North here. Have you seen the Post, this morning?”

  “No.”

  “Take a look. You should rebut. I’ll wait for your call.” The phone went dead.

  Rebut? That didn’t sound good. Corelli turned her phone off. She didn’t want any more calls until she knew what was going on.

  “We need to find a copy of this morning’s Daily Post, before the meeting,” she said as they entered the station. No need to search. The headline on the paper the officer at the desk was reading brought her up short: “Detective Accuses Italian Ambassador of Murdering Son.”

  “Uh-oh,” Parker said.

  Corelli braced herself for the cold shoulder. “Can I borrow that, Hutchins?”

  The uniform’s eyes appeared as he lowered the paper and widened when he saw who it was. “Corelli.” He stood, closed the paper, and folded it to hide the headline. “It’s a lousy article. Are you sure you want to read it?”

  Well, well, maybe I’m not ostracized on Saturdays. “Better to know your enemies, Hutchins.”

  “If you say so.” He handed her the paper. “I haven’t finished reading all the dirty details about you, so I’d like it back.”

  “Sure thing.” She opened it, and with Parker peering over her shoulder, read the main article.

  Detective Accuses Italian Ambassador

  of Murdering Son

  Carla del Balzo, the bereaved mother of Leonardo del Balzo, the young man found murdered in his apartment Wednesday morning, took time out from grieving to speak to the Daily Post. Mrs. del Balzo was outraged that Detective Chiara Corelli accused her husband, Ambassador Leonardo del Balzo, of murdering their son. The ambassador is the frontrunner to replace Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi. Mrs. del Balzo said she was stunned and offended by the inconsiderate behavior of the detective at a time when they are mourning the loss of their only son. “This accusation is ludicrous. There is absolutely no evidence to indicate that my husband killed our son because it is a fiction of her imagination. Detective Corelli has not allowed us to grieve; instead she has repeatedly questioned us and hurled accusations. I understand Detective Corelli’s own parents refuse to talk to her or acknowledge her existence, so perhaps she projects her father’s murderous feelings onto my husband. Or, as has been suggested, perhaps Detective Corelli is experiencing post traumatic stress problems, resulting from her investigation of her colleagues, most of whom consider her a traitor and want nothing to do with her.”