A Matter of Blood

by Catherine Maiorisi

  She sat and they continued reading the entries Winter had made sporadically through her childhood. It was clear that as she got older she was obsessed with her needs and getting back at those who hurt her.

  “Here it is,” Corelli said. “What she did when she left Hope Falls. Listen to this.”

  June 1, 1970. Arranged a room in Charleston. Told principal I’m moving to Atlanta to be with my aunt and got a copy of my school records. As soon as school is over and I get the week’s money, I’ll take the bus. What a surprise for him and the boys. I hope they’ll be hungry. I need to keep it a secret, so I’ll write to Miss Lipkin later to explain.

  June 25, 1970. Charleston. Got a job as a waitress in the Charleston Family Diner. I can work days until September and if I’m a good worker they’ll let me work nights while I go to school.

  July 23, 1970. I flatter the chef and he gives me food so I can save more money for New York. How can a fat old fart like him believe I think he’s smart and wonderful? Men. Yuk.

  June 30, 1972. NEW YORK FINALLY. Found a job at Grodine Brokerage Services in the secretarial pool. I’m happy about working on Wall Street where the big money is. Hope.

  July 30, 1972. Love the job, trying to learn as much as possible. Found out I can take courses to learn about the business. Plan to enroll in September.

  September 20, 1972. Staying late to read stuff on everybody’s desk so I know what’s going on.

  July 1, 1973. Promoted. Now I’m Mr. Grodine’s assistant. I’m on my way. Everybody is jealous. No one talks to me. They’ll be sorry. Someday I’ll own a brokerage firm, bigger than this but first I’ll learn everything Richard knows.

  November 15, 1977. Richard giving me more responsibility, more money. Getting dependent.

  February 9th, 1979. Have a plan. Richard is cooperating. Won’t he be surprised.

  July 1, 1982. Winter Brokerage Services opened today. I did it.

  “That’s the last entry. What a cold fish.” She tossed the book on the desk. “Anything else, Watkins?”

  “That’s it.”

  Corelli opened her notebook. “I have some items that need follow-up.” She glanced at the list she’d made earlier while waiting for them to arrive. “Rieger and Hornsby should both be in the office today. Ask Dietz to have them picked up about eleven. Maybe an interview at the station will convince them to share.”

  “Call the lab about the blood on the bartender’s shirt.” She checked off the first two items. “The fact that the public street in front of Winter’s house is blocked off and gated has been bothering me. See if Dietz can find out who approved it. Also, ask Edwards for the name of the security firm that provides the guards for Winter’s house and get copies of their invoices for the last year.”

  Watkins jotted the items down. “What’s wrong with her security?”

  “I think it’s worth checking out for a couple of reasons. First, the firm Winter is using seems sloppy and unprofessional and that doesn’t fit with what we know about her. Second, the other day, the guard, a guy I never saw before, called me Mata Hari. Jimmy called me Mata Hari when I arrested him and again last night. Makes me curious about a possible connection.”

  “Last night? Is that why you were in Brooklyn? You talked to—”

  She laughed. “A minor indiscretion of little value. It won’t happen again. See what you can dig up on the firm. Let’s meet at Buonasola around two so we can figure where to go from here. Oh, and get Kim or Filetti to follow up with Richard Grodine. It sounds like Winter screwed him royally. Maybe he’s been waiting for a chance to kill her.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  They drove south on the East River Drive headed for Sheepshead Bay, each lost in her own thoughts. The glint of the sun on the river pulled Corelli’s eyes toward the water. Lulled by the warmth of the sun and the whoosh of the air-conditioner, images of magical summer afternoons at the Bay of Palermo flashed into her mind, taking her back to the happy summers spent in Sicily with her extended family. The saga of the Broslawski-Winter-Gianopolus family contrasted with her experience growing up in a large, loving family on both sides of the Atlantic. She was lucky then and lucky now to have so much love surrounding her. She had failed to protect Marnie but she would protect Simone and her family, no matter the cost.

  Reading Winter’s diary had saddened her, but thinking about Gus Jr. and Aphrodite growing up in that loveless environment made her angry. It also brought to mind Parker’s remarks about not being close to her family. She’d assumed that Parker’s family like many black families, was similar to an Italian family—loving, warm and welcoming, with lots of food, drink, and good times. Yet Parker bristled whenever Corelli mentioned the senator and she never mentioned her mother or any other family. Corelli sighed.

  Parker maneuvered the car around the usual traffic jams on the East River Drive with the expertise of a New York City taxi driver. “What?”

  “I was thinking about families, about how children need love, and about how damaged Aphrodite and Gus Jr. must be, having a mother and father who didn’t have love to give.”

  “At least they had Gertrude and Cora Andrews.”

  “True.” Her cell rang. “Corelli.”

  “Hey, boss,” Watkins said. “Thought you’d want to know that the blood on the bartender’s shirt wasn’t Winter’s.”

  “Blood isn’t Winter’s,” Corelli mouthed to Parker.

  “Also, I’m still digging, but the security firm is called RP Security, Inc.”

  Corelli felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “Are you sure?”

  “About the blood?”

  “The name of the security firm.”

  “Yup. Do you know it?”

  “I’ll explain later but I need everything you can find on them. Be careful about asking other police. Ask Rieger or Cummings to pull their invoices and anything else they can find about them. And give Tess Cantrell a call. I’m sure she has some shady PI sources she can use to dig where digging isn’t allowed. Talk to you later.”

  “Here we are,” said Parker. “Maybe Rino can tap a better dance this time.” She touched Corelli’s arm. “What’s going on with the security firm?”

  “I’ll explain later. Let’s get this over with.”

  Rino Martucci was sitting on the front stoop of his trim little house. He started talking as soon as the car doors opened. “The limo’s still here. What’s happening? Should I call Gus or something?”

  He led them through the hallway, his high-heeled cowboy boots clonking on the hardwood floor. He hadn’t mastered the art of walking in heels so his gait was unsteady, and he tripped as he tried, apparently unsuccessfully, to pull a wedgie out of his skin-tight jeans. Corelli’s nose wrinkled in response to the same unpleasant smells, cologne and cigarettes, in the same unpleasant living room. “Gus will call you when I say you’re clear.”

  “Um, whadoya mean, clear?”

  Corelli watched him fidget, eyes flicking back and forth between her and Parker, trying to judge who would lead the assault. He wiped his dripping nose on the back of his hand. Typical cokehead.

  When his eyes darted to the open kitchen door, Corelli shot a question at him in a loud voice. “Where were you between nine thirty and eleven Friday night?” He flinched. His eyes were wild when he turned.

  Instead of responding he lurched to his feet. “Mind if I get a drink?” He dashed into the kitchen without waiting for an answer, but he took the time to close the door. They looked at each other. Corelli crept to the door and opened it. As she suspected, Rino was about to inhale a line of cocaine. Her yell startled him and he exhaled instead of inhaling and the coke sprayed over the countertop. His first instinct was aggressive, but he remembered he was dealing with two cops and swallowed it. His face had paled and he was sweating, but he managed a weak smile and an apology.

  He grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass from the counter and sidled back to the living room. He perched on the edge of the recliner. He placed h
is hands over his crotch and stared into Corelli’s eyes. She knew he was setting her up for the first lie.

  “I…I was with this woman I see. She’s married, so I can’t give you her name.”

  Corelli leaned in. “If you don’t answer the questions, we’ll go down to headquarters and book you for possession.”

  “I answered.”

  “You get no points for lies. Listen Martucci, this is a murder investigation. Right now you are a prime suspect and you have no alibi for the time of the murder. So give us the woman’s name or the truth about where you were. Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as a murder charge.”

  His hand moved to brush back an invisible hair. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his wrist. His eyes filled. “I didn’t do nothing. I told you, I felt like killing her, but I didn’t.”

  “Last chance. Where were you between nine thirty and eleven Friday night?”

  He sucked down half the glass of scotch, hung his head, and said in the voice of a sulky ten-year-old, “I’m afraid if I tell you, you’ll lock me up.”

  “Maybe, but murder could mean life behind bars.” Corelli took out her cuffs.

  “Wait, wait.”

  She stopped. He emptied his glass.

  “I never drank or did drugs on the job before because that was her rules and she pays so good. But, I was fed up. The bitch pushed me too far, treating me like a slave, like I don’t have a life. I didn’t care if she fired me, so I went to make a coke buy on the Upper East Side. I did some there and then some later in the bathroom at the bar. I got a bloody nose. But I got no proof where I was and nobody up there’s gonna alibi me.” He wiped his nose on his wrist. “You gonna get me on the coke?”

  “You’re not off the hook for the murder yet, but the narcs will want to have a conversation about the drugs. By the way, I see you wear cowboy boots. Do you ride horses or spend time near horses?”

  Rino shifted in his chair and looked away. “It’s, just, you know, a style, but I don’t like horses and never rode one.”

  “Stay put. Don’t try to do a runner or—”

  “I know, I know. I won’t do nothing stupid.”

  “You’re already doing something stupid, combining coke and scotch,” Corelli said.

  “Yeah, I know. I gotta stop.” He followed them to the door and watched them get into the car. “Wait.” He walked to the car. “I almost forgot to tell you. I remembered a guy standing outside the bar when I ran from the limousine. I think he was watching Connie’s building.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “My height but kinda stocky, flabby with big cheeks. He had on one of those Hawaiian shirts, bright green. He looked familiar but I can’t place him.”

  “You believe him?” Corelli asked, as they pulled away.

  Parker thought about it. “Yes. The green shirt corroborates Chip’s memory and the nosebleed would explain the blood he left on Chip’s shirt. We know it wasn’t her blood. You?”

  “I think he’s telling the truth. We’ll give him to Narcotics; they’ll want his source.”

  She shifted to face Parker. “The guy he described could be Broslawski. I’ll bet that’s what he lied about. He was still hanging around at nine and, if Chip is right, he was coming out of the building around a quarter to one, so he could have killed her.”

  “Should I try to get a warrant to bring him up?”

  “It’ll be easier to go down again or get Detective Stephanie Brown to talk to him.”

  PJ laughed. “She could certainly motivate Broslawski to tell the truth.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Jenny Hornsby shifted her attention from the wall as they settled in the chairs opposite her, but her hand never stopped tapping the Styrofoam cup on the table. Her face telegraphed anxiety rather than impatience.

  “Morning,” Parker said. “Hope it wasn’t too embarrassing, the cops escorting the VP of HR out of your office. Did they cuff you?”

  Hornsby shook her head.

  “As you know, we’re here about the murder of Connie Winter,” Parker said. “Please tell us where you were between eight thirty and midnight Friday night and we’ll let you go back to work. Otherwise…”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. I didn’t kill her. What I was doing is private. It had nothing to do with her.”

  “You’re wasting our time, Mrs. Hornsby. You’re a suspect in a murder investigation and if you won’t answer our questions, we’ll draw our own conclusions.”

  “I have nothing else to say.”

  “Think about it for a while.”

  They left Hornsby as they found her, staring at the wall, tapping her coffee cup.

  “Well, well, Mrs. Hornsby has balls. We need to apply pressure,” Parker said.

  “Putting her in a cell might do it, but let’s talk to Rieger. Maybe he’ll confess and we can forget about it.”

  Parker stared at Corelli, surprised at the weariness in her voice.

  “Sorry, I’m tired. We’ll go at her all day if we need to, but I hope not.”

  Philip Rieger sat erect, staring straight ahead, hands clasped in front of him like a schoolboy. His anxiety was perceptible.

  “Mr. Rieger, are you aware that after seven p.m. the only way to get in to 63 Wall Street is by ringing the bell to summon the porter?”

  “Yes.”

  “We believe that Ms. Winter was murdered sometime between nine and two in the morning. As far as we know, only you and Ms. Cummings were already in the building on the thirty-fifth floor, during that time. That makes you a prime suspect.”

  He froze. “It must have been Brett. I heard them arguing.”

  “What were you doing in the office until eleven o’clock?”

  He stared at Parker. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I kill her? I have nothing to hide. I said I would work with any auditor you bring in.”

  “Please answer the question.”

  “I was going over the, um, month-end financials.”

  Parker bared her teeth. “Was there something wrong with them? Ms. Edwards said you and Ms. Winter had spent a good part of the day in her office reviewing those reports.”

  “The financials are fine.”

  “Then why stay until eleven o’clock on a Friday night going over the same reports?”

  He pulled out his handkerchief, swiped at his face, and then carefully folded it and put it back in his pocket. He clasped his hands again and looked down. Parker could hear his foot tapping.

  “I was checking out a few things, that’s all.”

  “We’ve heard you’ve been worried lately, anxious about something. Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”

  He jerked his head up. “Who said that? There’s nothing wrong.”

  “Was Connie threatening to fire you? Did she laugh at you and make you so angry that you lost control and hit her?”

  “No. She was happy with my work. I had no reason to kill her.”

  Corelli stood. “Let’s go. We’re wasting our time.”

  Parker rose. “How about you make all of our lives easier and tell us what you’re hiding, Mr. Rieger.”

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. He chewed his lip. He leaned closer to Parker. “I’m having an affair and the person was there with me. Please, I don’t want to hurt my wife.”

  Parker rolled her eyes, but Rieger was looking down so he didn’t notice. What is it with men? First they fool around then they want to protect the little lady? “We have no need to tell your wife. Give us her,” Parker hesitated, “or his name, so we can verify your story.” She felt Corelli’s gaze on her.

  “I promised I would never tell.”

  Parker stood. “We’ll be in and out all day and night, so ask the officer to let us know when you’re ready to talk. We’ll get back to you when we can.” She moved toward the door.

  He ran his hands over his face. “No, wait. My wife can’t know.” They stood, backs to the door; neither said anything. At last he said, “It’s Jen
ny.”

  Parker couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “You mean Jennifer Hornsby, the Vice President of Human Resources? That Jenny?”

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, you arrested her too.”

  “What happened that night?”

  “Jenny came back after she left the hospital and we had sex in her office.” He looked at his watch. “Can we go now? Gus has asked Brett to run the company, at least for a while, and she’s called a meeting for two o’clock.”

  “We’ll verify this with Ms. Hornsby and then you can both go, but, for the record, we didn’t arrest you, we brought you in for questioning.”

  As they walked to Hornsby’s interview room, Parker shook her head. “I’m amazed. I never would have guessed she had it in her.”

  Corelli smiled. “A good lesson to learn, Detective. Never judge by appearances.”

  Hornsby sat, elbows on the table, head cradled in her hands. She looked up at Parker. “Now what?”

  “Mrs. Hornsby, are you having an affair with Mr. Rieger?”

  Her face reddened and tears filled her eyes. “I know what it seems like, but my husband is dying. I’m lonely and worried. Connie has been giving me such a hard time, and Philip has been so warm and caring. It just happened.”

  Parker cleared her throat. “So, would you like to tell us where you were Friday night between eight o’clock and midnight?”

  She spoke to her hands which lay on the table, palms up. “After I left the hospital at eight thirty, I went back to the office to meet Phil. We wanted to be sure nobody would know we were meeting, so when I came out of the subway, I called and he came down and opened the lobby door. We were in my office until about eleven.” She shuddered. “It’s horrible to think we were making love while she was murdered. My office is on the opposite side of the building, farthest from hers. The door was closed, we had the radio on, and we didn’t hear anything, anything at all. When we were done, Phil left to catch his train and I left five minutes later.”