Doug lost his smile. “I met her once. Maybe twice.”
“And?”
“She was nice. A beautiful woman.”
“An ambitious woman,” Sherri said.
“That, too.”
Sherri moved in close to him. “Come on, Doug. You’re holding out on me.”
“No, I…”
“Doug, we can go to the station if you want, but I’d rather you tell us about it now.”
Sherri let him mull over it, remaining silent while he decided. Finally Doug shrugged. “It’s nothing really. Just that Bruce is a little…strange when it comes to his sexual preferences.”
Sherri moved closer, flashing a sexy smile. “Can you be more specific?”
He backed up. “I’d prefer not.”
Lou jotted something down in his notepad. “Likes guys.”
“Hold on,” Doug said. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not…” he looked at Sherri with a scrunched up face. “You can’t believe I’m gay.”
She looked him up and down. “That’s what I thought you meant.”
“No way. No goddamn way.”
A smile lit her face. “So tell me what these perversions of his were.”
The guy looked around, then at Sherri. “He likes…threesomes.”
“Two girls or two guys?”
“It didn’t seem to matter.” The guy shot another quick glance to see if anybody was around, then he whispered to Sherri. “One time, he invited me to share his fiancée.”
“Did you take him up on it?”
“No way.”
“As good as she looked? Come on, Doug. I know you wanted some of that.”
“I don’t care who the woman is, I’m not gettin’ in bed with a naked guy.”
“You know anyone who did take him up on the offer?”
Doug shook his head. “I don’t want to get the guy in trouble. He was pretty messed up the night he asked me. She was too. Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“Okay, thanks,” Sherri said and handed him her card.
On the way back to the car she looked at Mazzetti. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s time for me to retire. And I think Stewart has too much money for his own good if he’s got to get thrills by sharing his girlfriend.”
“It could give us a motive,” Sherri said.
“Not the way I see it. The only reason we might have had for him killing her was if he was jealous. If he’s okay with sharing her, why kill her?”
“And it wasn’t about money,” Sherri said.
“Speaking of which, we need to find out where he got his money. The guy doesn’t work.”
“Morreau will have our asses if we piss off his lawyer.”
Sherri got in the car and headed for the station. “I don’t know what we’ve got, Mazzetti, but we don’t have any suspects. Not Benning and now not Stewart.”
“There was a case in Boston where they convicted a guy on circumstantial even though he had an alibi.”
Sherri looked at him with a skewed eye. “How did that work?”
“The jury didn’t like the guy, and didn’t believe the alibi. Six years later they caught the real killer. The cops had interviewed him the first time around and let him go.”
Sherri nodded. “That’s my biggest fear. To have a suspect in custody and let him go. That would kill me.”
“I’m back to Benning,” Lou said.
“You want to tell me how he did it? He was out of town, with his boss, when the joggers were killed.”
“I put a lot of thought into this, Miller. Think about it. The joggers were almost like a professional hit. One shot to the head. Nothing staged. Nothing sexual. And the shooter did them in the park. This was not the same guy.”
“I’m listening.”
“Here’s my theory,” Lou said. “Benning does the others. He knows he needs an alibi, so he pays somebody to kill the joggers.”
“You’re saying the supposed hit man picked them out randomly?”
“It fits. The joggers have no ties to Benning, or anyone else. Think about it. He gives the gun to the hit man, tells him to pick a couple at random while he’s out of town, and bang, instant alibi.”
“I don’t know, Mazzetti.”
“It’s perfect. It establishes an alibi for the joggers, and, by association, for all the murders.”
“So now you’re saying Stewart didn’t do it.”
“I don’t know if we’re crazy or just bad cops, but unless Stewart bought off ten or twelve witnesses, he didn’t do it. And now I can’t see a motive.”
Sherri looked as if a family member died. “God help us, are we completely off base? I was sure he was our guy.”
Mazzetti nodded. “I know. But I keep thinking how I knew it was Benning, too.”
“So what do we do?”
Mazzetti put a smoke in his mouth, sucking on a dry cigarette. “You’re not going to like it, but I think we need help.”
“Shit, I’m not proud. If you think Morreau will give us help, get it. Beg for it.”
Lou reached over and turned off the radio. “Pull over.”
“What for?”
“Humor me. Pull over.”
“I can drive and talk at the same time. What’s so important?”
“I’m not talking about help from Morreau.”
She sat up straight, shaking her head. “Don’t even go there, Mazzetti. If you’re even thinking about using that…killer, to help us, you’re nuts.”
“You have a better idea?”
“What can he do that we can’t? He’s not a damn cop.”
“He can do everything we can’t. He can get evidence we’d need a warrant for. He can follow him night and day. And if necessary, he can beat the fuck out of him to get a confession.”
“A bullshit confession.”
“I didn’t say it would be one we could use, but right now we need to know if he’s guilty or not. We need to know if we’re on the right track.” Lou rolled down the window and lit his smoke. “We need Fusco, and I’m calling him. If you’re not in, ask for a transfer.”
Sherri slammed on the brakes, stopping in the middle of the street. “You’d do that—to me?”
“It’s not about you. It’s about Donovan. Somebody stabbed our friend, our partner, and we need to find out who it was. I’d hire a hit man myself if I had no other choice.”
Horns beeped behind her. She flipped them off then hit the gas hard. “From what I understand that is exactly what you’re proposing.”
“Think about it and let me know.”
“What choice do I have? Go along or get a transfer? And what do I do when Morreau asks why?”
Lou gritted his teeth. “Tell him you’ve got the hots for Donovan and you can’t control your urges.”
Sherri drove the rest of the way in silence. Every block or so she turned to glare at Mazzetti. She pulled into the station lot, slammed the car into park, and sat there. Mazzetti didn’t move to get out. After a moment, she said, “I’m in. I don’t like it, but I’m in.”
He opened the door. “I’ll call him.”
On the way into the station she grabbed Lou’s arm. “What you said back there. That was wrong. You had no right.”
Lou looked at her. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
She started for the station. “Don’t call him from your phone. Nothing that can be traced.”
Too late for that, Mazzetti thought.
CHAPTER 48
A Special Assignment
Dominic Mangini sipped his espresso, then stabbed a piece of honeydew melon and let it loll around in his mouth. He loved the contrast of the sweet melon and the bitter espresso. Gone were the days when he took his morning fruit with a scoop of ice cream and then another dollop in his cappuccino. That habit disappeared with his first heart attack. He learned to appreciate this new, healthy way of eating, as long as it came with solitude.
Every morning should be st
arted the same way: espresso, fruit, and then a cappuccino to savor while he read the papers. The Giornale di Sicilia, Sicily’s daily newspaper, came first. That, he read for pleasure, and to keep abreast of events back home. The New York Times came with his second cup of cappuccino and signaled the start of the business day.
A knock on the front door was followed by the sound of Zeppe’s footsteps across the hardwood floors. He got a cup from the counter, poured espresso, and took his seat by the window, basking in the sun. “Good morning, Dom.”
Dominic’s eyes never left the paper. “Buon giorno, Zeppe.”
A few minutes later Dominic set the paper aside and finished his cappuccino. “Have you spoken to Fabrizio?”
“He’s outside, waiting for you to finish.”
Dominic wiped his mouth and set the napkin to the side. “Avanti, Fabrizio.”
Fabrizio entered, gave a slight nod, then stood behind the chair between Zeppe and Dominic. “Buon giorno, Signore.”
“Sit, Fabrizio. Tell me what you have learned about our friend.”
“Last year the detective—Donovan—was in trouble in his hometown. It appears that Carlos Cortes was involved. Fusco helped him.”
“How did this…help, arrive?”
“At least eight, perhaps ten of Carlos’ men died. No one was ever caught, but information from Chicky says it was Fusco.”
A smile lit Zeppe’s face. “You see that, Dom? I told you he was all right.”
Dominic shook his head slowly, but he smiled. “Fabrizio, I am glad that you learn from my brother’s mistakes. He never knows when to be silent.”
Zeppe took his cup to the sink. “You want espresso, Fabrizio?” Then to Dominic, “I say we let Nicky go.”
Dominic looked to Fabrizio. “And you? What do you think? He is an enemy of our enemy. Should we keep him alive?”
“Farò quello che vuoi, Signore.”
“I know you will do what I want, Fabrizio. I asked what you thought.”
“If the detective were my friend, I would have done the same thing as Signor Fusco.”
Dominic nodded. “I thought you’d say that.”
Zeppe said, “Hey, Dom, remember what happened to Tito and his men?”
Dominic took his plate and cup to the sink. “A man who is afraid to act based on fear has ceased to be a man.”
“Yeah, well, you can have all the sayings you want about fear, but I remember what Nicky did to Tito. I ain’t goin’ to hell with a spike up my ass.”
“You are getting too old for this business.”
“I told you that ten years ago. Besides, Nicky did the right thing coming here to get your permission and all.”
“He did that only because he knew I would find out.”
“You don’t know that. He’s old school.”
“If he were old school, he wouldn’t have killed Tito.”
Zeppe pushed in his chair and cleaned the table. “I gotta go, Dom. I’m picking the kids up.”
Dominic waited for Zeppe to leave. He looked at his watch. “It is almost time.”
“Si, Signore.”
“Remember what I told you, Fabrizio.”
“Si, Signore. He is a dangerous man.”
“A very dangerous man.”
Fabrizio got up, put his gun in the back of his waistband, adjusted his shirt to cover it, then headed out the door.
CHAPTER 49
Seeking Permission
By the time I got back to my car, sweat had soaked the back of my hoodie and my hair was drenched. I drained the last gulp of water and started the car. I didn’t know whether to try to find Stewart or go back to his house and sit on it. I decided to call Angie instead.
The phone rang seven or eight times. “Come on, Angie. Pick up, goddamnit.” A rotten feeling in my gut gnawed at me. Not much bothered me, but having Angie upset with me was one of them. I popped a few more Tums into my mouth, wishing I had some water to wash down the chalky flavor. She had no goddamn right to be upset with me about this. Bugs was my best friend. Besides, I told her I wouldn’t do anything.
Even as I said it to myself, I knew how stupid it sounded. She knew me better than I knew myself. I came to New York to get even, avenge what someone did to Bugs. She knew it before I left. I tried convincing myself I wouldn’t do anything but I brought a gun. Two guns. If I wasn’t going to do anything why bring a gun? I was like an alcoholic who swears he won’t drink—after this last bottle. Or the smoker who vows to quit—but buys one more carton. I had to get my shit together because if I didn’t watch out I was going to lose my family, and that was the only thing that mattered.
I remembered what Sister Thomas told us in school, how we didn’t have much time on this world, so we better make the most of it. If I planned on enjoying life with Angie and Rosa, and now Dante, I figured I better get busy, because God knows I wouldn’t be with them in the afterlife. Angie would be up there with Mamma Rosa and Sister Thomas. Me? Unless God intended for me to be an avenging angel, I’d be with Pops and Doggs and Tony—burning in hell.
My phone rang. The caller ID said it was Rosa. Thank God.
“Rosa, is everything all right?”
“Where are you?” she whispered.
“I’m in New York. Where’s your mother?”
“We’re staying at Diana’s house. You know, Mom’s cousin up on Bancroft Parkway.” She was still whispering.
“What’s going on? Why isn’t she answering the phone? And what the hell are you doing at Diana’s?”
“Mom’s pissed. I mean really pissed. I never saw her like this. And she’s been crying every night.” There was a pause. I thought I heard a door close, then, “Dad, what’s going on?”
I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. I wasn’t good at discussing feelings and emotions. “Just tell your mother I called. Tell her nothing’s wrong. I’m with Uncle Mario, and I’ll be home in a couple of days.”
“How is Uncle Mario? Is he okay?”
“He’s still in ICU. He hasn’t talked yet.”
“Tell him I’m praying for him. And Sister Thomas is too.”
“That’s good. Tell Sister Thomas I said thanks. And…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were going to say something. What?”
“Tell your mother that I love her. And everything will be all right.”
“I will. I love you too, Dad. Be careful.”
“Thanks, Rosa. I love you.”
I hung up. It broke my heart when Rosa said Angie had been crying at night. “You’re a dumb fuck, Nicky Fusco. A real dumb fuck.”
I got out of the car and walked back to St. Thomas’. I had no idea why, but at some of the worst times in my life, God had helped me. That was a puzzle I hadn’t put together yet. Why does He help me, when there are so many good people in the world?
Traffic had picked up on Ninth Street, both cars and pedestrian. I continued my slow pace toward the church, wondering what I’d say once I got inside. Navigating through a small crowd, I almost turned back when I reached the short wrought-iron fence, but then I went on, entering the church under the Gothic arch.
I blessed myself but didn’t use the holy water, not wanting to tempt the fates. The church was empty, although Sister Thomas taught us a church is never really empty.
God is always there, she used to say.
When I was young I didn’t believe her. Now, I wasn’t sure.
I opted for a seat in the back, and, for a few minutes, I sat and stared at the altar. I don’t know what I was expecting, sure as hell God wasn’t coming down to greet me. Three times, I got up to leave, but something made me stay. That something was the fear of losing Angie. After another minute or so, I got down on the kneeler and folded my hands.
I don’t know what you want me to do, God. I know what Angie wants, and I know what I promised both of you. But this nut is killing good people, and he’s going to kill again unless someone stops him.
; I closed my eyes and waited. For what, I didn’t know. After another minute passed, I went on.
I know it’s not my job to stop him, that it goes against the law. The problem is, I don’t know if these are your laws, or if somebody made them up and said they were yours. But I don’t think you’d want a guy like this hurting innocent people. People you care about. People who care about you.
I know sometimes you get other people to do your work, like cops and soldiers. So the way I figure it is maybe you put me here to help you do some of the things they can’t; the kind of things you might not want to get your hands dirty on. If that’s the case…well, count on me getting it done.
I opened my eyes. I didn’t have a direction yet, but I felt sure it would come to me. I stood and headed for the door, then went back and knelt again.
God, I have one more thing to ask. I know I ask a lot, but please…please don’t take Angie away from me.
I blessed myself, stood, and walked out the door. As I walked back to the car, my thoughts became clear.
I climbed into the car, slammed it in gear, and hit the gas. I decided to go to Red Hook and wait on Stewart, but first I had to get something to eat. I had made up my mind about another thing; if Stewart didn’t do something soon, I’d have to force his hand. One way or another that fucker was going down, because in less than six hours a dangerous Sicilian named Fabrizio would be all over my ass.
CHAPTER 50
Back To Life
Kate sat in the chair in the waiting room, Alex’s head resting in her lap. She wiped the sweat from his brow, holding back tears. As sorry as she felt for Frankie, and for herself, she felt worse for Alex. First he lost his mother, a crackhead whore who made him grow up way too fast, and now he faced the possibility of losing the only person he loved in this world. She had no doubts he liked her a lot, maybe someday that would turn into love, but he already loved Frankie Donovan. For all his faults, and there were many, he was a saint when it came to kids.
She called the office. Dave picked up on the first ring. “Dr. Shu.”
“Dave, it’s Kate.”
“Everything okay? How’s Detective Donovan?”
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