The desk drawers were unlocked and contained only a letter from the East Side Girls Academy, a private school, informing Winter that Aphrodite would be asked to leave unless she made up all missed tests by October 31.
Corelli replaced the letter. “Is there a safe in the house?”
“Never seen one.”
It appeared that anything of significance would be in Winter’s office.
“We’ve heard Ms. Winter was difficult. How did you manage to hang on for so long?”
“We did all right. She paid me a lot of money, let me run the house, and mostly she was nice to me. She could be unreasonable, but we worked it out.”
“Is there anything you think we should know?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know if it’s important, but they all was in a tizzy last week. Her wanting to send Gussie to military school upset the kids and they kept nagging her about it. Then Friday morning I was cooking breakfast and Ms. Winter and Aphrodite had words at the table, something about money. That never happened before. And, Friday, Gus came in all steamed up after work, slamming doors and cursing anything that got in his way, like rugs and furniture.” She thought for a moment. “And you should talk to Gertrude. There was no love lost between those two. Gertrude was always going on about Ms. Winter to Gus, even in front of the kids, even if Ms. Winter was in the next room. She’s a mean-spirited woman and can be nasty. Maybe she did it.”
Chapter Eleven
The bright sunshine and even the high humidity were a welcome relief after that cold, dark, smoke-filled house. Parker got in the car but Corelli strode to the guard house and banged on the window. The dozing guard jerked to consciousness, arms and legs thrashing, momentarily disoriented. After he figured out he was not home in bed, he noticed Corelli, and unfazed at being caught sleeping on the job, stretched and yawned. His behavior didn’t fit with what she knew of Winter. Wouldn’t someone obsessed with security, someone who always wanted the best and insisted on professionalism and attention to the job want real security?
The guard slid the window open and mumbled something.
Did that lazy ass just call me Mata Hari? Corelli leaned in the window. “What did you say?”
He paled and backed away. “Nothing. What do you need?”
“How much coverage do they have?”
“Twenty-four by seven.”
“Who was on duty Friday night?”
“Me.”
“Did anyone go in or out?”
He opened a notebook and turned a couple of pages. “Gus Jr. in at four, Aphrodite in at six. Mr. Gianopolus in at six ten, the maid out at six twenty, Mr. Gianopolus out at six thirty, in at eight twenty-five and out nine-oh-five. That’s it.”
“You watch the side entrances too?”
“Yeah, we have cameras,” he said, pointing to the two screens in the corner.
“Aphrodite visited her aunt about eight p.m. You didn’t see her come or go?”
He shrugged. “I’m not paid to babysit. Brat musta sneaked in and out when I was busy.”
Corelli shook her head. Whatever she was paying, Winter wasn’t getting her money’s worth. Parker had pulled up next to her. She slid into the car. The guard raised the gate and they pulled onto Sutton Place. At the same time, Aphrodite in red bicycle regalia and Gus Jr. in blue, rolled their bicycles through the side gate behind their house. At least Ms. Sophisticate wasn’t driving yet.
Corelli stared out the window as Parker followed her directions to Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, where Rino Martucci, the chauffeur, lived. That exchange with the guard bothered her. Not only his expression when he recognized her, but she was sure he had called her Mata Hari. Her friend Jimmy McGivens had called her Mata Hari when she arrested him.
She put her head back and closed her eyes. Immediately images of Cummings—smiling confidently, touching her face, holding her hand—burst into her consciousness. And with the images came the heat and the memory of her sultry voice shimmering through her. Feeling betrayed by her body, feeling she was betraying Marnie, she sat up and fiddled with the air-conditioner. She pretended not to notice Parker’s gaze flicking back and forth between her and the road. Where were these feelings coming from? Her body, no, her whole being, was out of kilter. It was making her cranky. Even the sun glinting off the river annoyed her. She reached for her sunglasses and found them and a bag of mixed nuts and raisins that she didn’t remember she’d put in her pocket. She offered the nuts and raisins to Parker and for a few minutes they munched in silence.
“What do you think?”
Parker looked self-conscious. “The house is cold, like a hotel, or a demonstration apartment. Nothing personal, everything is for show. If it wasn’t for the smell of cigar and cigarette smoke, you wouldn’t know anybody lived there.”
Chapter Twelve
Parker followed the instructions to Emmons Avenue, but somehow they ended up in a quaint fishing village. She eyed the scene, the line of fishing boats bobbing in the water on the right and the line of restaurants on the left. “Are we still in New York City?”
“This is Sheepshead Bay,” Corelli said. “Haven’t you ever been in Brooklyn?”
“What are we supposed to do now? Jump in and knock on boats?”
“Very funny,” Corelli said, checking the instructions. “Turn around. We needed to make a left back there.”
Parker looked around. “Would you prefer I fly over the cars in front of us or those behind us?”
“Stop whining. Use the fucking siren and turn around.”
“You are one nasty son of a—”
“Just do it.”
Parker stiffened. I’m done. You can cover your own ass after today.
It was after five when they found Rino Martucci’s house in a row of semi-detached brick homes a few blocks from the Bay. The sleek, black limousine parked in the driveway seemed out of place in this middle-class neighborhood.
“You interview him. Let’s see how the former ADA does it. Maybe I’ll learn to build a better case,” Corelli said as they walked up the path.
Parker stopped on the first step. “Fuck you. I didn’t sign on to be a nursemaid or a punching bag. You interview him.” One way or another she would get out of this nightmare assignment tomorrow and then savor the thought of Corelli shriveling up behind a desk.
Corelli glared at her. “Afraid?”
“No,” Parker said, her mouth tight. “I may be new to homicide but I’m not an imbecile and I won’t allow you to treat me like one.”
“You gonna report me to Senator Daddy, make an example of me?”
“I hadn’t thought of it, but that’s a great idea.” Parker started down the steps. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Ah, the little lady does have a backbone.” Corelli reached out to stop her. “C’mon, interview him. Do I have to say pretty please?”
“Go—”
The front door opened and a wiry man in his sixties wearing a western shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots gaped at them. “You the detectives? I wasn’t expecting two girls, but, uh, come in.” Brushing his long, dyed-black hair from his ruddy face, the urban cowboy turned and strutted down the hall, the heels of his boots hammering the wooden floor.
Corelli swept an arm in front of her, bidding Parker to enter before her. Parker hesitated. No time for an argument but she wouldn’t say a word. She brushed by Corelli and followed Martucci into the living room, which seemed designed for lovers of salmon—the color salmon. The upholstered sofa, chairs, lampshades and drapes were all the same putrid salmon color. Maybe he got the set cheap. And speaking of cheap, now that she was close to Martucci, an overdose of cheap cologne combined with the stench of smoke and alcohol made her stomach turn. She definitely should have waited in the car. She stepped back to get a little distance and landed on Corelli’s foot.
“Too close.” Corelli breathed into her ear. “Get your own space.”
Parker slid to the side.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Ma
rtucci said, pointing to the sofa. Then, like a hero in a romance novel, he tucked his hair behind his ears and offered what he probably thought was a sexy smile. Parker recognized the type, the kind of guy whose mind hasn’t caught up with his body and believes women find him sexy and desirable. Not women his own age, of course, the younger ones. He was anything but sexy and by the looks of the place, there was no woman in his life.
The pop and crackle of the yellowed plastic covering as they sat was loud in the tense quiet. He took the recliner facing them but remained upright rather than pushing back into the comfortable position. Hands shaking, he picked up his drink and the cigarette burning in the well used ashtray. He took a drag, added the butt to the pile, then cleared his throat.
“Listen, I didn’t steal the limo. I thought I could make arrangements to bring the car back after Connie, er, Ms. Winter, called to fire me. She didn’t have to call the police. After all this time she should know I’m honest.” Neither Parker nor Corelli responded. He squirmed and looked from one to the other. “Really.”
While he fiddled with lighting another cigarette, Corelli elbowed Parker.
“Hey.” Parker gave Corelli a dirty look.
Martucci looked up. “What?”
“Detective Parker has some questions for you.” Corelli smiled and sat back.
Parker glared at Corelli. Damn her. “What makes you think Ms. Winter wants to fire you?”
“C’mon. She musta whined about how I was drunk when she was ready to leave Friday night and how, horror of all horrors, she had to call a taxi. That’s a no-no. Connie don’t go nowhere without her limo…and her chauffeur. I guess she’s pissed I didn’t pick her up this morning, but to tell ya the truth, I hate her nastiness. Better to get fired over the phone.”
“What happened on Friday?”
“Does it matter? The truth is, I was passed out in the car when she was ready to leave.”
“We want to hear it from you. Start from when you first arrived.”
He sipped his drink, ran his fingers through his hair, and wiggled forward in the recliner, struggling to sit up straighter. “Okay. I got to Wall Street about five twenty. Her highness gets pissy if she has to wait, so I always try to get there a little early. I sat fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before Gus and his big-assed sister Gertrude showed up. Gus said Connie was working late so I should drive him and Gertrude home and then go back and wait for her.”
“How were Gus and Gertrude on the way home?”
“Same as usual when they’re alone in the car. Gertrude sticking it to him. Called him a pussy and said he should fight back when Connie makes fun of him in front of everybody.” Martucci put his drink down. “He mumbled something about a pre, uh, you know, the thing you sign before you get married? Then he says, ‘I can’t live on that kind of money. And who else is going to provide limousine service and pay you to do nothing except cause trouble?’ I figure he hit her where it hurts because she dropped it. Usually she don’t stop needling.”
“Doesn’t the limo have glass between you and the passengers?”
“Yeah, I put it up if they tell me, but I’m like the furniture. They don’t see me. Usually I hear Connie and Gus, and then after I drop them off, pain in the butt Gertrude explains it to me.”
“Like what?”
“Like Connie dumped her big shot lawyer after that dinner Tuesday night, you know, where she got that big-deal award? I was wondering, ’cause when he tried to get in the limo, she told him to hit the road and left him and his snooty wife standing there, looking like somebody let the air out of them. Made me happy ’cause I didn’t have to drive them out to the Island. Anyway, Gertrude said Connie fired him on the spot.”
“What happened after you drove Gus and Gertrude home Friday?”
He took a last drag, put the cigarette out, then raising his glass as if asking for permission, he got up to get a refill. He returned with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black and a full glass and placed them both on the small table next to his recliner before lighting another cigarette.
“I got back to Wall Street around seven. It started to pour and I musta dozed because the next time I checked it was nine o’clock. I was pissed. I hadda call my friend Gilly to tell him the bitch was doing it again. The last couple of months she worked lotsa Friday nights and I hadda miss my card game. She could get a taxi or car service home, but she’s such a big shot she has to have her limo. It’s more important to her than her kids. And it don’t matter to her that I have to wait all night.”
“Did you argue over it?”
He laughed, drank some scotch, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a long trail of smoke. “Nah. The one time I mentioned it to her she told me in her little girlie voice, ‘That’s uh, why I uh, pay you the uh, big bucks, Rino. Quit if you uh, don’t like it.’ She knows she has me by the balls because nobody else pays like her. So, I shut up and never brought it up again.”
“What did you do after you called your friend?”
“Like I said, it was nine, and I had knots in my stomach. She treats me like a fucking slave, like I don’t have a life. I think the bitch enjoys knowing she owns me.”
He sipped his drink. “Do you want this much detail?” He swiped his crotch.
“Great, keep going.”
“Anyways, I was starving and I needed a drink. I’m not supposed to leave the limo or drink on the job, but sometimes she don’t come out until two or three o’clock in the morning. I knew when she was ready to leave she’d call my cell so I could move the car right to the door. So I sprinted through the rain to the bar across the street for some peanuts and a few drinks.”
“Did you notice anybody hanging around outside the office building?”
“Nah. It was raining.”
“And what time did you leave the bar?”
“When they closed. I had a lot to drink, so Chip, the bartender, helped me across the street to the limo. I didn’t wake up until about five in the morning. I was hoping she might still be there but she didn’t answer her cell. I figured she came down, saw me drunk and got a taxi.”
“You didn’t go up to her office to see what was wrong?”
“I told ya. I knew I was fucked, so I drove home. I’ve been waitin’ for her to call and fire me. I never thought she would send the cops.”
“What’s the name of the bar?”
He took a long drag on his cigarette, pushed some of the butts aside in the ashtray and put it out, before answering. “The Wall Street Oasis. Chip is the night bartender. Why are you so interested in all of this? The limo is outside. I even waxed it.”
Parker sensed he was hiding something, but she wasn’t sure how to push him. Should she tell him Winter was dead? Her leg started jiggling, a sure sign she was nervous, and nasty mouth Corelli would be sure to call attention to it. She needed to make a decision, any decision. Damn Corelli. She’d never felt insecure when she was an ADA.
Martucci concentrated on refilling his glass. The plastic cover on the sofa crackled. Corelli poked her again. Pissed, Parker shifted to face her and Corelli mouthed, “Dead.”
Right. Tell him. “Well Mr. Martucci, we’re not here for the limousine. Actually, Ms. Winter was murdered Friday night in her office.”
He was in the middle of chug-a-lugging and he choked, spraying scotch all over himself. He shivered. His hand shook and he placed his glass on the table with excessive care before using his shirtsleeve to dry his mouth.
“You mean Friday while I…Is that when it happened?”
Parker ignored the question and waited for his reaction.
“Hey, I wouldn’t—” He put his hands up, as if they were holding him at gunpoint. “I’m no killer. I was asleep in the car. Ask Chip.”
“We will.” Parker handed him a card. “Don’t leave town. Call if you remember anything you think we should know.”
He followed them to the door. The swagger was gone and the stink of fear overpowered the smell of perfume, cigarettes and alcohol.
Chapter Thirteen
Parker retraced their route, only now it was rush hour and traffic back to Manhattan was bumper to bumper. She concentrated on avoiding the jerks who thought if they could just drive over her, the road ahead would be clear.
The interview played over and over in the back of her mind. Overall it had gone well, but she shouldn’t have hesitated. She should have known to tell him Winter was dead. She shouldn’t have needed Corelli to poke her. What else had she missed? No matter. Tomorrow she’d tell the captain she’d changed her mind about working with Corelli. She’d lose homicide and go back to being ignored, but it was better than being baited and insulted and treated like an idiot. And Corelli would lose too, relegated to desk duty, because who in their right mind would work with the crazy bitch?
Corelli broke into her reverie. “Good job for your first interview.”
Sure. And Connie Winter was a sweet little thing. Corelli is a fantastic liar. How else could she scam other cops, her so-called friends, for more than three months?
Parker kept her eyes on the road. “Not my first.”
“Right. Ms. ADA has done thousands of interviews. Anyway, Mr. Rino Martucci didn’t seem so cocky when we left, did he?”
“Nope.”
Corelli cleared her throat. “I haven’t been around so many smokers in ages. If we don’t solve this case really fast, we’ll both die from exposure to secondary smoke.”
“How much faster can we go? We haven’t stopped to eat or drink or take a minute to discuss the case, and all you do is attack me.” Won’t you be surprised when I dump you first thing tomorrow?
“Just trying to keep you on your toes. Can’t take a little teasing?”
“It’s not teasing. You’re ridiculing and insulting me. I don’t like it.”
Corelli yawned. “I’m starving. Go to the South Street Seaport, the Buonasola Grill. We’ll eat and figure out where we are. In the case, I mean.”
“Now you’re ignoring me? This might be my only chance to work homicide and you’re making it impossible to work with you. I’m not some uneducated idiot and I won’t tolerate your aggressiveness and your anger. You need me more than I need you right now. Maybe that’s the problem. Well it’s your problem, not mine.”
A Matter of Blood Page 8