Death by Chocolate

by Steven Henry

  “I… I don’t… I don’t know,” Amber managed to say between hiccupping sobs. Then she lost whatever was left of her self-control and became useless from a police perspective.

  Erin cocked her head to Webb and Vic. They stepped into the hallway just outside the examining room.

  “What do you think?” Webb asked his two detectives.

  “If she’s a murderer,” Vic said, “I’ll field-strip my gun and eat it, one piece at a time.”

  “I’m with Vic,” Erin said. “I don’t even think Ridgeway was the intended target.”

  “It does seem like a pretty iffy way to kill someone,” Webb said. “You think it was meant for Miss Hayward?”

  Erin nodded. “If she’s telling the truth, and Rocky gave them to her…”

  “Then Rocky’s got some explaining to do,” Vic finished for her.

  Chapter 2

  Rocky Nicoletti’s address was in Little Italy, in one of the nicer apartments in the area. Webb had looked him up on the way over. What he’d found was a little surprising.

  “He’s connected,” Webb said.

  “To whom?” Erin asked.

  “The Lucarellis.”

  Vic whistled. “I didn’t know we’d be tangling with the Mafia when I got out of bed this morning. I’d have worn my good suit.”

  “The Mafia?” Erin repeated. “Seriously?”

  Webb didn’t look like he was joking. “This kid’s got a jacket,” he said. “Mostly small-time, but he’s a known associate of some heavy hitters. His uncle is Marco Nicoletti, alias Broken Nose Nicky, otherwise known as Nicky the Nose.”

  “I don’t know him,” Erin said.

  “Neither do I,” Vic said. “But I bet I could pick him out of a lineup.”

  “Your nose is broken, too,” she reminded him.

  He put a hand to his face. “Yeah, but if I had a Mafia nickname, I’d be ‘Vic the Russky,’ or some shit like that.”

  “Nicky the Nose is a leg-breaker for the Lucarelli Family,” Webb explained, trying to pull them back on task. “He’s currently doing a dime upstate, attempted murder.”

  “What about the kid?” Erin asked.

  “Rocky Nicoletti,” Webb recited. “Birth name Rocco, age twenty. Did a stint in Juvie, arson. Set fire to his junior high school bathroom, nearly burned down the school. Got expelled, as you might expect. He’s been in and out of trouble since. Lots of petty theft, harassment, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds like a real solid citizen,” Vic said. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s haul his ass downtown.”

  “He may not even be home,” Erin said.

  “Won’t know until we try,” Webb said.

  * * *

  The detectives lined up at Rocky’s eighth-floor apartment. They weren’t serving a warrant, and there was no reason to expect trouble, but Erin and Vic both had their hands on their sidearms when Webb knocked on the door. If Nicoletti was a mobster, there was no telling who might be inside, or what he might do when the cops came calling.

  “Hey, Rocky Nicoletti!” Webb shouted. “This is the NYPD! Come on out. We want to talk to you.”

  There was no answer.

  Webb gave it a few seconds and tried again. “Nicoletti!” he called, a little louder than before.

  “The hell do you want?” a groggy voice mumbled from the other side of the door.

  “Open up. It’s the NYPD.”

  The voice suggested something Webb could do with his mother.

  “You coming out, or are we coming in?” Webb retorted. It was a bluff. They didn’t have a warrant or probable cause. If the Lieutenant broke the door down, he’d also be breaking the law.

  Erin suspected Rocky knew that perfectly well. But either he was too sleepy to think straight, or he didn’t think he had anything to fear, because the door opened a few inches. An unshaven face peered out at them with bloodshot eyes.

  “Who the hell are you?” the guy demanded.

  Webb held up his shield. “Lieutenant Webb, NYPD. You Rocky?”

  “Goddamn cops,” Rocky muttered. “I didn’t do nothin.”“

  “We just need to ask you a few questions,” Webb said. “It’s about your girlfriend, Amber Hayward.”

  “I told you, I didn’t—” he began, then stopped. “What about her?”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?” Webb asked.

  Rocky’s eyes cleared a little. Erin could see him waking up, becoming wary. “Why you wanna know?”

  “She’s a person of interest in a serious situation,” Webb said. “I’m hoping you can help us clear things up. Can we come in?”

  Rocky thought it over for a second. Erin could practically read his thoughts. He was going through a checklist of what they’d see in his apartment, debating with himself whether he’d get in trouble for any of it. Then he shrugged.

  “Sure.” He caught sight of Rolf. “But not the dog.”

  “Why not?” Erin challenged.

  “I got allergies.” He sniffled loudly and rubbed his nose.

  “He stays with me,” she said.

  “Then you stay in the hallway.”

  Erin sighed. “Kiddo, he’s trained in bomb detection and suspect apprehension. As long as you’re not building pipe bombs or kidnapping people, we’ve got no problem.”

  “Okay, whatever,” Rocky said, rubbing his nose again. Erin was pretty sure she saw white, powdery residue on his nostrils.

  Rocky was half-dressed, in boxer shorts and a wife-beater. His hair was uncombed and he could definitely use a shower. His apartment was a bachelor pad. The most expensive things in it were the gaming console and TV in the living room. Erin scanned the place with an experienced policewoman’s eye. She didn’t see any weapons or obvious stashes of drugs, but she did see the mirror on the coffee table, and she’d bet the residue on it wasn’t powdered sugar. Rocky was definitely a drug user.

  If Webb saw it, he didn’t give any sign. “Tell us about Amber,” he said.

  “What about her?” Rocky asked. “We hang out sometimes. Sure, she was over here. It was Valentine’s Day, you know how it is, man.”

  “I know how it is,” Vic said. “You spend the day with the people you love, holding hands, getting high, eating chocolates.”

  “Hey, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Rocky said.

  “Did you give her anything?” Webb asked.

  Rocky grinned, his eyes going to Erin. “Oh yeah, I gave her plenty.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. For some reason, a female cop made guys like him want to brag about their conquests. But she’d heard it all before.

  “We’re talking about gifts,” she said, ignoring his tone.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I gave her a box of chocolate.”

  Webb showed a hint of surprise. Erin felt the same way. They hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the station with us,” the Lieutenant said.

  It was Rocky’s turn to look surprised. “What for? Chocolate’s not against the law!”

  “No,” Webb agreed. “But murder is.”

  “Murder?” Rocky repeated, eyes going wide. “You’re batshit! I didn’t kill nobody!”

  “I’ve got a dead body in a dentist’s office that says otherwise,” Webb said. He pulled out his handcuffs. “I think you know them already, you’ve sure heard them enough times, but I’m going to advise you of your rights.”

  Erin and Vic tensed, just in case Rocky tried to run or fight. But he’d been through the system enough times to know better.

  “Can I put on some clothes?” he asked. “And shoes?”

  Webb nodded. “Neshenko, keep an eye on him.”

  “You might want to pack a toothbrush, while you’re at it,” Vic suggested. “You might be staying overnight.”

  * * *

  By the time they got Rocky into the interrogation room, he’d had a chance to recover a little of his composure. He wa
s smiling in a cocky way, even swaggering a little. He’d been in plenty of police stations before, and he’d usually walked out of them again. He wasn’t scared, and he wanted them to know it.

  Erin and Webb went into the room with him, while Vic waited outside. Erin had learned that young punks tended to be more talkative in the presence of an attractive woman, and Webb, always pragmatic, was willing to use that for all it was worth.

  “So, Rocky,” Erin said. “You know how to treat a girl. I can tell.”

  He smirked. “You know it, lady.”

  “The chocolates weren’t the first thing you gave Amber,” Erin went on. “What does she like? Is she a jewelry girl? Flowers?”

  “Hey, you know, it’s all sorts of shit,” Rocky said. “The main thing is, you gotta show you’re thinking about ‘em, and you gotta spend money on ‘em. See, the more you spend, the more you care, right? It’s, like, mathematical.”

  Erin nodded, keeping a straight face. “You spend a lot on Amber, don’t you?”

  “Oh yeah. Hey, I take her out to a restaurant, it’s not McDonald’s, right? No, we’re talking Angelo’s on Mulberry, shrimp cocktails, salad, main course, hundred-dollar champagne. The good stuff, y’know? I’m spending, like, three hundred there. Cash!”

  Webb gave Erin a slight nod to keep going. As long as Rocky was talking, the interrogation was a success. Erin’s dad had given her some advice about interrogating suspects back when she’d first started on the Job.

  “Everybody’s got a story they tell themselves. Sure, it’s a bunch of lies, but it’s what they say in their own heads. Even the lies tell you things. What you gotta do is, you gotta get them to tell you their story.”

  “She’s a lucky girl,” Erin said, smiling at Rocky. “You give her any special treats like you have at your apartment?”

  A crafty look came into Rocky’s eyes. “Hey, I don’t know nothin’ about that,” he said. “I’m no dealer.”

  “You seeing anybody besides her?” she asked.

  The smirk came back to his face. “Hey, she’s my special girl, but what am I supposed to do? Some hot chick throws herself at me, you know how it is. I got needs, right?”

  “She seeing anybody else?” Erin asked.

  “No!”

  Erin saw the flash of anger, the sudden defensiveness. Webb saw it, too. He sat forward slightly, watching Rocky more closely.

  “You sure about that?” Webb challenged him.

  “Why would she?” he shot back. “Hey, I was giving her everything a girl needs. And I mean, everything. I know how to keep a girl satisfied!”

  “Yeah,” Erin agreed. “All that money, those nice dinners, presents, maybe even a little nose candy. Plus, having a hot guy like you? I don’t know why she’d hook up with her boss. Ridgeway’s not even that good-looking.”

  “No shit,” Rocky snorted. “I dunno what she sees in that asshole. I gave her everything. Everything! And what’s she do? And then, when I found out about it, you know what she told me?”

  “What?” Erin made her face into a mask of concerned curiosity.

  “She said, ‘He knows how to treat a girl!’” Rocky said in disbelief. “Like what I was doing didn’t mean shit to her! That bitch!”

  “So you gave her the chocolates,” Erin said quietly.

  “Yeah!”

  “To teach her a lesson.”

  “Yeah!”

  “Where’d you get the poison?”

  Rocky’s eyes opened suddenly wider. “Poison? What the hell do you mean, poison?”

  “In the chocolates,” Webb said, entering the conversation. “You wanted to kill Amber.”

  “What? No!” Rocky shook his head violently. “No, man! It’s not like that!”

  “What is it, then?” Erin asked, keeping her voice soft and reassuring. Webb was playing bad cop, so she’d play good cop. They’d done it enough times that they didn’t need to discuss it.

  “I saw something online, about how chicks dig the little gestures, right? And I had this box of chocolates, almost full, I thought maybe she’d like them. Maybe she’d see I really like her, y’know? And then she’d ditch that asshat Ridgeway, him and his phony white teeth. You know, I bet he uses whitening strips.”

  Rocky paused for breath, and Erin could see the wheels turning in his brain. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in New York, but he’d finally put two and two together.

  “Oh, shit. Poison? Poison? For real?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Webb said. “As real as it gets. You’re looking at twenty to life, buddy. If you’re lucky.”

  “Oh shit, man,” Rocky said, and all the swagger and smirk slipped away. Erin almost felt sorry for him when she saw the naked pain in his eyes. “You mean she’s dead? Amber’s dead? And I killed her? The candy was… oh, man. Oh, God. And I gave it to her?”

  “It’s a little late to feel sorry,” Webb said remorselessly. “Where’d you get the poison?”

  “I didn’t know!” Rocky said. “Jesus, I ate some of those! It might’ve been me! I loved Amber! I’d never… oh God…” His face twisted and big tears started rolling down his cheeks. He snuffled and wiped at his nose, burying his face in his hands.

  “Amber’s not dead,” Erin said. He didn’t seem to hear her, so she said it again, louder. “She’s not dead, Rocky. She’s fine.”

  Rocky raised his head and looked blearily at her. “You’re not screwing with me, are you?”

  “No, she’s not,” Webb said. “But Ridgeway’s still dead, and you’re still in a lot of trouble.”

  “Hey, man, I didn’t know!” Rocky said. “Hell, the candy wasn’t even mine!”

  “Where’d you get it?” Webb demanded.

  “Paulie Bianchi! He gave it to me!” Rocky froze. “I mean, it was just, like, a spur of the moment thing. Like, he just had them lying around.”

  “Who’s Paulie Bianchi?”

  “Nobody! A friend!”

  Webb smiled grimly. “You sure he’s your friend, Rocky? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks a whole lot like he screwed you.”

  “No way,” Rocky said. “Paulie and me, we’re tight. He’s stand-up.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Webb said. He got out of his chair. “We’re going to take a break. Take it easy, kid.”

  “So, can I go now?”

  The Lieutenant shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Chapter 3

  “Paulie Bianchi,” Vic read off his computer screen. “The Narcs love this guy. He’s been busted four times for possession, twice more for intent to distribute. Felony volume.”

  “What’s the substance?” Webb asked.

  “Cocaine the first two,” Vic replied. “The others were for heroin.”

  “How much time did he get?” Erin asked.

  “Probation,” Vic said.

  “The hell,” she said. “We nail this guy as a drug dealer, twice, and he doesn’t get jail time? For heroin and coke?”

  Vic shrugged. “Guess he had a good lawyer.”

  “Or good connections,” Webb said. “Do you have any known associates?”

  Vic checked the database. “Rocky Nicoletti,” he deadpanned.

  “Besides him.” Webb matched the dry tone.

  “Well, his dad’s old-school Mafia,” Vic said.

  Webb blinked. “You serious, Neshenko?”

  “No joke, sir. Paulie’s old man is Lorenzo Bianchi, AKA Sewer Pipe.”

  “It really say that?” Erin asked, walking to peer over Vic’s shoulder.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Guess he was on a bathroom break when they were handing out nicknames.”

  “What’ve we got on Sewer Pipe?” Webb asked.

  Vic was already looking. “He went upstate for a nickel on some sort of sanitation scam back in the ‘90s. There’s a couple assault charges, weapons possession. Bianchi’s been in and out of prison half his life. He’s a bad guy.”

  “So is his son, from the sound of it,” Erin said. “Let’
s go bring the kid in.”

  “Hold on,” Webb said. “If this boy’s connected, we need to take our time a little. This could get political.”

  “Great,” Vic muttered.

  “Neshenko, I want you to get on the phone with our friends at the FBI.”

  “I don’t have any friends at the FBI.”

  “You know what I mean,” Webb said. “Find out if the Feebies have anything going on with Bianchi. We don’t want to step on any toes. Suppose we haul this loser’s ass downtown and it spoils some big RICO sting. Then the PC calls up Captain Holliday and reams him out, the Captain tears me a new one, and I have to chew you out, and so on down the line. I don’t need the heartburn. Let’s take our time on this, feel things out.”

  “Sir,” Erin said, “this doesn’t feel like a mob hit.”

  “Of course not,” Webb agreed. “The Mafia doesn’t whack people with poisoned candy. They shoot you in the head. But they’re involved, and I don’t like it. Bianchi’s been in the system longer than I’ve been wearing a shield. If we go in unprepared, he and his boy will lawyer up so fast your head will spin. And we don’t have anything on them, yet. Just the word of a junkie whose girlfriend was screwing the victim. You think that’ll hold up in court? We won’t even get an indictment. So we take our time. It’s just about quitting time in the private sector. Go home, see your families, get a good night’s sleep for once.”

  “My family doesn’t recognize me anymore,” Vic said.

  “That’s just since the last time you got your nose broken,” Erin said.

  He grinned. “You should see the other guy.”

  * * *

  That was how Erin found herself leaving the precinct at a civilized hour for the first time in a long while. In the parking garage, she loaded Rolf into her Charger, then took out her phone and dialed an unlabeled contact. It was a call to a burner cell, the sort of disposable phone favored by criminals.

  “Evening, darling,” the man on the other end of the line said in a distinct Northern Irish accent.