Lady Killer

by Lisa Scottoline

  “I won’t mind if I never see another crime scene. I think they’ll find Trish, though.”

  “Why? How do you know?”

  “They learn so much from the body, like Detective Brinkley said. They’ll find clues as to where she is.”

  They’re doing the autopsy right now. He’s on a metal table.

  “Brinkley seems pretty damn competent to me.”

  “He is. Still it feels so selfish to be sitting here. I should be doing something.”

  “You’ve done enough. You’re the one who gave them the tip tonight. You helped them find the body sooner rather than later. As you said, that matters, in terms of finding Trish while she’s still alive.”

  “If she’s still alive.” Mary heard herself say it out loud, for the first time, the wine loosening her tongue.

  “She is. You have to have faith, and you did an amazing thing tonight, tipping them off.”

  Mary couldn’t hear it. “That’s not why I said it, for you to tell me how great I am. I know when I mess up and I messed this up to a fare-thee-well.”

  “You can’t feel responsible for what happens to Trish.”

  “Let’s not make this about me, okay?” Mary drank more wine, hoping to speed its effect. “There’s a woman missing, and she’s who it’s about. Not me.”

  “Okay. Fair enough.”

  Mary tried to get back in emotional control, glad of the darkness.

  “Fine.” Anthony cocked his head, with a smile. “Is this a fight?”

  “No.”

  “Good. In any event, I would worry if you got any more involved in this case. You made an enemy in Ritchie Po tonight, and he’s a scary dude.”

  Mary shuddered. “You afraid of the Mob?”

  “Damn straight I am.”

  “Me, too.” They laughed together, and Mary could feel the alcohol bringing a welcome fuzziness to her thoughts. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She could still taste the locatelli, salty and grainy on her tongue.

  “I told you I’m researching Carlo Tresca’s murder, didn’t I? He was shot dead in the middle of Little Italy, and the case was never solved. It’s the Mob, only the names and the places have changed.” Anthony chuckled ruefully, then it died. “The cops know what to do, and if Brinkley wants to reach you, he’ll call.”

  Mary shook her head, and her brain sloshed from side to side. “I should have told him. I didn’t get the chance.”

  “Told him what?”

  My secret. But Mary wasn’t drunk enough to give that answer. She felt so tired suddenly, burdened with all of it. With what she had done, with what she hadn’t done. With lives lost tonight, and before. “I’m a widow, you know.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “My husband died.”

  Anthony nodded, and Mary heard how stupid she sounded.

  “Sorry, I sound dumb,” she said.

  “No, you’re just beat.”

  Mary took another sip. “I knew him, I guess you heard Ritchie say that.”

  “You knew who?”

  “The deceased.”

  “Your husband?”

  “No.” Mary’s thoughts caromed off the walls of her skull. “The man in the body bag. I dated him in high school.”

  “I heard Ritchie. I didn’t know if it was true.”

  “It was.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “No one did. It didn’t last very long. He thought I dumped him, apparently.” Mary was remembering what Rosaria had said, on the bench in Brick. “It was a misunderstanding.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Were you in love?”

  “Yes.” Mary didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t love, like with Mike, but it qualified. It was first love.

  “Was he?”

  “In love? I didn’t think so, until recently.”

  “Sorry then, about your loss.”

  Mary blinked. It was her loss, wasn’t it?

  Anthony said, “That explains a lot.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve survived two men you loved, already. That’s odd, for our age. It’s a lot.”

  Mary absorbed the observation. It hadn’t occurred to her before. But he wasn’t exactly right. “Actually, it’s three, with my friend Brent.”

  “That’s three too many.”

  It’s four, all told.

  “No wonder it’s hit you so hard.”

  Mary felt like she wanted to tell him. That she had to tell somebody. She wanted to make a confession, without a confessional. At least it was dark and maybe it was time. She’d held it in for so long. Nobody knew, not even Judy and certainly not her family. She set down her wineglass. She asked, “What happens to a Goretti girl who gets an abortion?”

  After a minute, Anthony answered, “You tell me.”

  “She keeps it a secret. A big secret.”

  “Really?”

  “I was May Queen, you know, at the special Mass. Wore the white dress, the flower crown. The whole faculty voted for me. I was the one who most embodied her virtues.”

  “Whose?”

  “Goretti’s. You know the fable.”

  “Of course.”

  Then Mary didn’t have to tell him. Maria Goretti was a young Italian girl who died defending her honor, when a man had tried to rape her. She had died to remain a virgin. The irony was too much. Mary swallowed hard, noticing that Anthony didn’t look away from her or seem to judge her. At least she could tell, in the moonlight. Maybe he wasn’t that religious anymore, or he would judge her later, on the way home.

  “Things happen, Mary.”

  “Evidently. I felt like a fraud. I feel like I cheated them, all those teachers, all those nuns, everybody who loved me. Who had confidence in me.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did. I didn’t die protecting my virginity.”

  “So, you’re not a saint,” Anthony said softly, and it comforted Mary a little. But she fell silent and after a moment, he asked, “So was he the father? Trish’s boyfriend, Bobby Mancuso?”

  “Yes,” Mary answered, without hesitation. It felt right to say it out loud, to acknowledge Bobby in public. She couldn’t have confessed the pregnancy to her family, who would have been devastated. Or to Judy, who would have been hurt that she hadn’t been told long ago. Mary sensed that this was her public declaration, and that she was doing it for the baby. Her baby. Their baby, who never made it to the christening, and never got to wear a little white gown.

  “I see.”

  Mary cleared her throat. “I got pregnant in the backseat of a car, my first time ever. How’s that for luck?”

  Anthony groaned.

  “Bobby said he had blue balls, whatever that was, and he sort of guilted me into it, but I admit, I was in love. I wasn’t ready to go all the way, but I did love him. Even after.”

  Anthony fell silent.

  “We saw each other a few more times, but we never had sex again, and I couldn’t even look him in the eye. When I missed my period, I knew. I had the abortion and I didn’t tell anyone, not even him. Especially not him. I was too embarrassed to see him ever again. I quit tutoring him. I thought he was ignoring me, but I was ignoring him. I avoided him. And it, just, ended.”

  “I can understand you not telling him.”

  “Can you?” Mary felt her throat thicken. “I regret it now. I’ve regretted it for a long time.”

  “Why?”

  “I used to regret it because I thought he had a right to know, but that’s an intellectual concept. Abstract. Legal. Now I regret it because things might have been different, if he had known. If I had told him.”

  “How different?”

  “Everything.”

  “You would have been the one who lived with him, and not Trish?”

  Mary considered it, and for the first time, knew the answer. “No, not per se.”

  Anthony smiled. “Now that’s a lawyer’s answer.”

/>   “It’s the what-if that gets me. What if it had been me? Would he have turned out differently, good instead of bad?”

  “I see.”

  “I mean, aren’t there some decisions in your life that are so critical, so central to everything that follows, that they change everything? The whole course of your life, and not only that, the course of the lives of the people around you?” Mary wondered aloud, giving voice to thoughts that had been running through her mind since that first day in the office, with Trish. “If I had told him or we had stayed together, would he have followed the straight and narrow? Would he have gone to college? Would he be alive tonight? And Trish? Would she be safe?”

  “I understand.”

  “What if I had lived with him? Would I have died with him, too?”

  “Good question,” Anthony answered, and they both fell silent.

  Mary set down her glass, leaned back in the soft couch, and closed her eyes. Her body sank into the couch, and she felt her strength ebb from her muscles and her every emotion leach through her skin. She was worried about Trish, but she couldn’t do anything to help her right now. She had to let it go. She had to let everything go, all of her regrets. She thought of Dhiren, oddly, and felt him beyond her, too. All of it, just out of reach. In time, she must have drifted off to sleep, and later, when she woke up, Anthony was gone and the moon had deserted the sky.

  Leaving Mary in total darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It was barely dawn but Mary was awake, showered, and dressed to match her mood, in a black dress with black pumps. Her makeup was light because she didn’t take the time to do it right; her hair fell unprofessionally loose to her shoulders because she didn’t bother to blow it dry. Her eyes had turned red from falling asleep in her contacts, and her face was puffy from the wine. In short, she’d remain single another day.

  She got off the elevator at Rosato & Associates and went straight to Judy’s office, because they’d agreed to meet early for a private confab. Mary needed help and wasn’t ashamed to say so. That was another thing girlfriends were for, especially genius girlfriends.

  “Mary, Jeez!” Judy rose the moment Mary opened the door and came around her desk to give her a hug. The window behind her showed a cloudy sky above the office buildings, and only a few windows were lit at this hour. “You poor thing. You must be so upset.”

  “I’ve been better,” Mary said, feeling vaguely guilty, an improvement over insanely guilty. No matter, she didn’t have time to tell Judy about Bobby and the past. She had to find Trish. “Thanks for coming in this early.”

  “No problem, except I didn’t want to wake Frank up, so I had to get dressed in the dark. Look at these clothes.” Judy threw up her arms. “I’m disgusting.”

  “What do you mean? You look great.” Mary wouldn’t have recognized Judy but for the yellow Danskos; she looked fantastic even without makeup, in brown tailored pants that hugged her slim hips and a beige knit V-neck. The chic neutrals complemented the golden sunniness of her hair, and Mary was dumbfounded by her dismay.

  “I look horrible.” Judy almost wailed. “I’m shades of brown.”

  “Of course you are, your clothes are. That’s how normal people dress.”

  “But it’s so matchy-matchy.”

  “No, it’s color-coordinated. Everything’s from the same color family.”

  “That’s my point. It’s like eating a meal composed entirely of meat. Everything’s from the same food group.”

  “What?” Mary didn’t follow.

  “You wouldn’t eat steak, a side of chicken breast, and pork chops for dessert, would you?”

  “No.”

  “So why is it okay with clothes?”

  “Because clothes are different from meat?” Mary asked uncertainly, thinking that Judy was either really dumb or really smart. She was going with really smart, since she had come to her for advice. She sat down in a chair opposite the desk. “Okay, whatever, we have to talk about Trish.”

  “Whatever.” Judy leaned forward. “Sorry I didn’t call you last night. Frank and I were at a movie, and when I saw the news online, I figured you’d already gone to bed.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “So what’s happening? You barely said on the phone, and this is some story.” Judy gestured at the newspaper on her desk. “They’re talking about a Mob war. It’s all over The Inquirer.”

  “I know. But the bottom line is, Trish is gone, maybe dead, or maybe he locked her in a basement somewhere.”

  “What a nightmare, even for Trash.”

  Mary winced. “We like her now. Get with the program.”

  “Done. Next?”

  “His sister says he has a house somewhere, because he wasn’t always going to stay in the Mob. So all we have to do is find the house.”

  “We?” Judy grinned, brightening. “Yay! We need a new adventure. Lately I’m feeling so brown.”

  “No, sorry, I didn’t mean us. I meant me. You stay and cover my desk. Please, please, please, I beg of you.” Mary slapped her hands together, praying hard as a Communion photo. “I can’t do what I have to do if my desk isn’t covered.”

  “But your desk is even more boring than my desk.”

  “I need you. I’m getting dropped by half my clients as we speak.”

  “I heard.” Judy puckered her lower lip. “Marshall told me you got another cancellation yesterday afternoon.”

  “Great. I liked it better when I was the Neighborhood Girl Who Made Good.” Mary tried not to think about it. “So please, will you cover me for just one more day? I’ll owe you, big-time.”

  “Okay, but you do owe me.” Judy sighed. “I want food.”

  “Fine. What’s your favorite food?”

  “I don’t have a favorite food. Food is my favorite.”

  “Okay, I’ll take you out for food. Meantime, I made a list of my matters today.” Mary got the paper from her purse and gave it to Judy, but she set it down.

  “Hold on, I have a more important question.” She picked up one of the newspapers from her desk, and it showed a picture of Mary, her head down as she left the Roundhouse. Anthony was looking at her, his hand on her arm. “Who’s this hottie?”

  “The guy I told you about. The not-gay one.”

  “How’d he get invited and not me?”

  “Pure bad luck.”

  “Hmph.” Judy eyed the photo. “Check out the way he’s looking at you. He’s got the look of love, girl.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mary said, but felt herself flush. Anthony had washed their wineglasses and cheese plate, which raised new questions about his sexuality.

  “Are you two dating?”

  “We could have been, but I blew it, which isn’t what we need to talk about right now.”

  Suddenly there was a noise outside in the hallway, then footsteps, then humming, and Mary and Judy locked wide eyes. They both knew what it meant. The boss.

  “What’s she doing in so early?” Judy whispered.

  “Damnit!” Mary whispered back. “Now I’ll never get out.”

  “Think she’ll cuff us?”

  “Not funny.”

  “Calm down. She’s on trial. She won’t have time to talk. She’ll stick her head in to say hi.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Say hi.”

  In the next minute, Bennie materialized at the threshold in her trenchcoat, her hair drying in a wide tortoiseshell barrette. She held a Starbucks venti, which was when Mary realized that Bennie was a Starbucks venti.

  “Hi!” Mary and Judy said, in unfortunate unison.

  “Well, gee, hi, ladies.” Bennie’s eyes widened slightly, and she smiled. “How did you two beat me in?”

  “We’re younger,” Judy said, and Bennie laughed.

  “You look different, Carrier. What’s different about you today?”

  “I’m very brown. Shades of brown, from the same brown family. Basically, I’m wearing meat.”

  Bennie
laughed again, then eyed Mary. “DiNunzio, I’m seeing you everywhere and getting calls from all quarters. You at the Roundhouse. You on TV and on the front page. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been a little busy, I guess.” Mary told herself to act natural, or failing that, less nervous than natural.

  “Is this a criminal matter?”

  “Yes. And, no.”

  “Two matters, huh?”

  Uh, no.

  “Whom do you represent?”

  Mary stalled. She couldn’t lie. It was wrong, and also she sucked at it. She decided to shade the truth, which would consign her only to purgatory, at least until that went out of business, too. “Trish Gambone. She came to me for a restraining order against her boyfriend. She’s the woman who was kidnapped.”

  “That’s terrible.” Bennie frowned, alarmed. “So the restraining order didn’t do any good?”

  “Uh, well, I didn’t get one.”

  “You lost?” Bennie frowned, more deeply.

  “No, as it happened, we didn’t go to court. This is from the other day. Those girls who came in and started the fight, remember?”

  Bennie snorted. “I should have known. So why were you at the Roundhouse?”

  “I had to give information about Trish to Reg Brinkley, if you remember him. He sends his regards. He’s that detective from the Newlin case, who helped us out.” Mary hoped that if she kept talking, she would use up the two seconds Bennie usually allotted for small talk. “He was the tall one, he’s black, and he loves jazz. In fact, he was telling me to say hi to you when I—”

  “I remember Reg,” Bennie interrupted. “I read that the boyfriend, Mancuso, was found dead last night. He was connected?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re talking about retaliation from within the Mob. None of this bodes well for your client. Our friend Reg has a tiger by the tail, trying to find her.”

  “Luckily, he’s the man for the job.”

  “Yes, he is. It’s not your problem, correct?” Bennie eyed her meaningfully as she sipped her coffee, and Mary shuddered. Being cross-examined by the boss was bad enough, but on espresso, it could be lethal. Judy looked like she was holding her breath, and Mary shook her head.