by Ronnie Allen
“Mine?”
“We found your Park Slope brownstone. Yeah. We know you wiped the hard drive clean. Our guys retrieved it.”
“Big whoopee for them.”
“I need you to answer some questions.”
“Why?”
“For your defense.”
“I didn’t do anything.” She whined.
“AriellaRose, we have enough evidence against you to put you in prison for life without any chance of parole. That’s a lot of years.” Her eyes narrowed, fearful. He pulled a chair over, next to the bed. “Listen to me. I need you to talk to me so you get a fair trial. No matter what that would entail.” He reached out and clasped her hand. She was ice cold.
She yanked her hand away and pouted like a defiant child. “No.”
‘Okay. You’ve been screaming for me to come for over six hours. Why?”
“Eight hours.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to find out what you’ve been doing. How’s Detective Samantha?” Her tone was childlike but insinuating.
“Well. This guy Jesus Parvos, who murdered your friends, also broke into her house and tried to kill her.”
She looked at him for the first time. “Did he?”
“No. He hurt her. She’ll be okay. She killed him.”
“No shit?”
‘Nope. Now it’s your turn to answer some of my questions. Fair?” She nodded. “Good. Very good. In your basement, we found bloodied towels wrapped around knives. Turns out they’re the same type of knives that made the cuts all over Steven’s body. They’ll get DNA soon, but are any of those knives a match to his cuts?”
“What do you mean?” She sounded younger.
“The knives that cut Steven, were they in that pile of towels?”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” she said, trying to be sly.
That’s not going to work. “Okay. So there were many towels in that cabinet. We also found out that for every year you’ve had the business, you had different employees. Why such a quick turnover?”
She laughed as deeply as she could. Phlegm spit out of her mouth and dripped down her chin. Evil spewed from her cold, hardened eyes. “You’ll never find them.” Her face went blank and her vacant gaze turned toward the ceiling.
Oh man, this case is far from over.
“I also want to tell you we arrested your Uncle Timothy yesterday.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re shitting me?”
“Nope. Is that why you did all this? To get revenge on all the people who let this happen without helping you?” She wasn’t in any way mentally astute to express it. Not now, anyway.
She nodded and then broke down crying.
“Then why Meghan Mason?”
She sniffled. “I couldn’t fit into her clothes. No matter how I tried. She deserved it. That skinny whore.”
“All right, AriellaRose. It’s over. No more people have to die. Did Adam arrange the murders of your three friends?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He knew that guy. But how would I know what he did?”
“Did Adam know what you were doing?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“How much did Adam pay him?”
“Ask him. Is Adam in trouble?” Her voice regressed in years.
“I would say so.”
She smiled again. Ear to ear. Again in camera view. “Good. That’ll teach him to get everything.”
“What did he get?”
“Everything. He always got everything. Lollipops. Ice cream. I got nothing cause Mommy said I was fat.” Her voice had regressed to the high pitch of a three-year-old.
Frank realized what he needed to do. He patted her hand, got up and left the room, his lips rolled together, shaking his head.
***
Nick and Sam sorted files on the Larcon case. Her bottom still burned and she shifted in the chair. Nick got up, pulled a pillow from the couch and handed it to her. She took it, laughing.
“Sit on it,” he said.
She laughed.
“Seriously, he hit you hard. Harder than I’d ever spank my kids.”
“You spank?”
“Very gently, but my son likes to make me feel bad so he carries a pillow around.”
“How old is he?”
“Five.”
Frank came in and, unlike Nick, he wasn’t humored by her sitting on the pillow. He patted her on the back of her head. “How are you doing?”
“Okay. Finalizing all this to go to the DA. Forensic reports will go directly to them. There’s enough here to indict AriellaRose for murder. What happened at the hospital?”
He sat and clarified. “I didn’t ask about the case. I asked about you.”
She picked wisps of hair off her face and put them behind her ears. “It was scary. Not something I’d want to do every day. Or ever again. What happened at the hospital?”
“Changing the topic?”
“Frank. Stop. I can’t talk about it right now. I have to process it myself. Let me breathe. Okay?”
“No. You need to talk about it. Nick told you that, too, very clearly. You’re going to have to dig deep. Into real emotions. Not witty sarcasms that pop out of your mouth without thinking. The real you, Sam. You have to let out the real you.”
She looked down at a file, not seeing anything. Doubt riveted through her.
Am I cut out to be a detective?
Nick’s cell rang. He answered on the second ring. “Valatutti...Good...No problems?...Excellent...Thanks.” He disconnected. “It was the precinct in the Hamptons. They had picked up Adam and charged him with conspiracy to commit murder and hiring a hit man. He’s being booked now. Okay. Got to take care of this. See you guys later.” He patted Sam on the shoulder and nodded to Frank.
“Before you go. AriellaRose told me, actually admitted a lot. May have been more murders she had initiated. Don’t know if it’ll hold up in court. She had regressed to a three-year-old child. I left orders for the psychologist to administer a battery of tests.”
“All right, good. I believe we have enough without it, though.”
“Not so fast. I have to determine if she’s mentally able to stand trial. The grand jury will indict her, but I don’t know for sure that I want her in a prison environment. It’s my call.”
“As long as she’s locked up somewhere.” Nick shrugged, nodded, and left the room.
Frank leaned back in the chair and faced her. “Back to you, Sam.”
“Crime Scene called me. They removed my club chair and loveseat from the house, and there was no blood splatter on my carpet, so I can go home tonight.”
“Don’t know if I want you to be alone.”
“Frank. If I’m not home, my parents will be worried sick.”
“How will they know?”
“They live three blocks from me. They drive by and see if my car’s there. I was praying that when Jesus was there, my dad wouldn’t just pop in. The shock would have killed him.”
“I can imagine so. You mean to tell me they just pop in without notice?” He laughed. “That’s intrusive.”
“I’m an only child and they’re not thrilled with my choice of career.”
“What did they want you to do?”
“They would have loved for me to be a doctor like them. My dad’s a neurosurgeon and my mom’s a pediatrician. They accepted teaching but wanted me to work toward becoming a principal. When I went for my master’s in criminal justice, I didn’t tell them in what. They thought it was in administration.”
He frowned. “You’re how old and you’re still lying to your parents?”
“I told them mid-way through,” she responded, as if that made it okay.
“What have you done to make them not trust you?”
She rolled her lips together. “I’m not sure I like your shrink hat.”
“Come on. Spill it.”
“I was very overprotected. But then I went away to college, and I sort of became a wild child.”
�
��And that hasn’t changed. Okay, wild child, how about Italian tonight? I want to ask Carlo some questions. And I want you to meet Frankie. He’ll come with us. He’s been nagging me to meet you.”
“Yes, I was bummed you didn’t wake him this morning. And I have questions for Carlo and anyone else in the Philetano family who’s there, as well.”
***
After Sam had gone home and packed clothes for a few days, at Frank’s insistence, she pulled into his driveway next to his Explorer. She’d leave her overnight bag in the car, not planning to bring it into the house until after Frankie went to bed. She double-checked her appearance in the visor. Minimal makeup to please Frank. Hair flowing straight down. Wearing a T-shirt and chambray jeans to match his casualness. Okay, she was ready to go. Meeting his little guy would be a big step.
She exited her car and stood looking up at his house--much more modern than hers, and larger. She hadn’t had a full view last night. She was still shaking when he brought her here at two a.m. She had wobbled her way up the steps on unsteady legs to his porch that framed the first floor.
She took a deep breath, looked at the steep steps, and slowly walked up, holding the wrought iron banister. Crap, her butt still flamed. She certainly wouldn’t want to schlep up these steps carrying groceries.
She rang the doorbell and waited.
She heard the little voice. “Coming.” His footsteps sounded like he skidded across the hardwood floor. He opened the door and stared at her, wide eyed. “No! Go home!”
He slammed the door in her face before she could respond. That threw her. Her heart fluttered and her stomach felt queasy. Not good, if she planned a relationship with Dad.
She heard footsteps running up a staircase then Frank. “Frankie!”
His stern intonation made her take a step back.
Frank opened up the front door. “Come on in. Don’t know what that’s about. But I’m sure as hell going to find out. Have a seat.” He pointed to a free standing couch in the center of the huge living room. “Frankie,” he bellowed up the staircase.
From the top of the staircase Frankie yelled, “No. She looks just like Mommy. Tell her to go home. I hate her!”
Frank and Sam exchanged double takes. He sprinted up the staircase, leaving Sam, stunned, on the couch. This had started wrong, that was for sure. She got up and tiptoed to the base of the stairs to listen, glad Frank hadn’t closed Frankie’s bedroom door.
“What are you talking about? You’ve been nagging me to get a girlfriend and you wanted to meet Sam.”
“Dad, don’t you see it? She’s Mommy. She came back from the dead. Like on that vampire game.”
“Come here.” Frank’s voice softened. “No one comes back from the dead.”
“She looks just like Mommy.”
“Just her blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“That’s enough.”
“Come on. You’re coming downstairs, and you’re going to be nice. Understand me?” There was a pause. “Okay. Good. We’re going out for dinner, but if you don’t want Italian, I’ll drop you at Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
“No, I’ll go. I want Italian.”
Sam snuck back and sat on the couch.
“Okay, let’s go. Get your butt down the stairs and say hello to Samantha.”
Frankie slowly walked down the steps, making all sorts of facial expressions, contorting his cheeks. He walked over to her. “Hi, Samantha,” he said, pouting. It was obviously something he was doing under duress.
“Hi, Frankie. I wanted to meet you so bad,” she said, lowering her sentence structure to match his age.
He stood there, looking her up and down, and smirked.
Oh my God, he’s a miniature Frank. That’s for sure.
***
They were seated in Carlo Philetano’s restaurant after a ten minute wait. Sam was famished. Frankie had warmed up in the car and had at least spoken to her. He told her all about school and how his teacher was boring, sometimes.
From their table, Sam noticed three suited men, who resembled Carlo, sitting at a table in the rear left of the restaurant. She nudged Frank. “Know them at all?”
Frank looked over and smiled. “Yeah, I do.”
Frankie perked up, sprinted off his chair, and yelled, “Doctor P!”
Paulie Philetano turned around as he opened his arms and Frankie lunged into them. “Oh, man! Are you getting big!” He ruffled Frankie’s hair.
Frank met him with Sam at his side. They shook hands.
“He looks great, Frank.”
“Thanks.”
“And isn’t this the little lady detective that met my son, Carlo?”
She smiled warmly at the patriarch. “Yes, I am, Mr. Philetano.”
“How’s the case coming? I read about all those horrible murders in the newspaper. How is AriellaRose? My wife and I are so worried about that little angel. I hope you have her protected. I’ve been trying to reach her, to reach out if she needs anything, anything at all, but her phone is not picking up. Not even to leave a message.”
Frank grimaced. “Yes, she’s protected. I have her in the hospital. Brought her in for an episode of asthma. Found out it was pneumonia.”
“Oh thank God.” Mr. Philetano put his hand over his heart. “We love her like a daughter.”
Sam couldn’t believe his sincerity, and it appeared he meant it, but it was time to burst his bubble. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Philetano, the case is almost wrapped up. I’m sorry that Leonardo had to get messed up in it. Along with his current charges, this isn’t good.”
The elder Philetano squinted and flicked his gaze between Sam and his sons. “What do you mean?”
Stephano spoke up. “Uh, Detective Wright. Don’t say a word, please. I hadn’t told Papa yet. I planned to at our dinner. But I can assure you, Leonardo would never order a hit. Especially on a cop. Especially a woman. That was fabricated on that bum’s part. There will be absolutely no evidence to support it.”
“What? What hit? I demand you tell me now, Stephano!”
“Why don’t you three go and enjoy your dinner while I fill Papa in on everything?”
Sam pursed her lips and nodded. “You’re right. This is a sensitive time.”
She turned and walked away. The senior Philetano was about her own father’s age. Any bad news needed to be delivered softly, not like she had done--with a bat, over his head. She regretted what she had said, the way she had said it. Then again, they lived in a rough circle. He should have been used to it. Crap. The thought hit her again. Do I deserve to be a detective?
CHAPTER 33
Monday morning, in a small conference room with the computer set up on the table in front of her, Sam waited nervously for her video conference with Doctor Trenton. Loo hadn’t prepared her much. He only said this was mandatory protocol when a detective had pulled the trigger. She had no idea of what Doctor Trenton knew about the case or if he had seen the video.
Should I be totally open and honest with him?
She would have been so much more comfortable had Frank been allowed to debrief her. But she understood why he couldn’t. She was never one to get nervous meeting people or conversing. She never divulged much personal information, never got much into her feelings.
Yes, she had them. She knew what made her happy, sad, angry. She knew Frank had made her feel more like a woman than any other man she’d been with.
But to tell someone how she felt...well, that didn’t come easy. Especially about her secret she had held in for a few years. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t married, or even looking for a permanent relationship, until recently--like the last week. It had finally hit her. She couldn’t blame her parents anymore. She was isolating herself, period. And that was all there was to it.
When Frank had asked her how she was doing, he’d meant how was she feeling. Her response was to avoid, change the subject. Frank saw right through her and he didn’t like it. One thing she liked about working with cops was tha
t they shied away from talking about their personal lives. No one realized that she was doing that on purpose.
How much longer will I be able to deny my feelings and that I crave love, without it hitting me over my head that I could be alone for the rest of my life?
She got up and checked her appearance in the mirror on the wall. She’d chosen a white silk blouse with a silk sash that she tied into a floppy bow at her neckline. No cleavage showing now. Not in an interview that could be used to determine her fitness for the job. Charcoal gray, wide-bottomed linen pants finished her corporate casual look. In the conference call, he wouldn’t be able to see them, anyway. She smoothed out her hair with her fingers, tucked stray locks behind her ears, and rolled her lips to smooth out her pale pink lipstick, even though the color was already perfect.
She returned to the chair when the video call came through. She accepted it. Doctor Trenton greeted her with a warm smile. His longish jet black hair that covered his shirt collar showed some graying at his temples. His dark blue eyes were bright and attentive.
He dressed corporate casual in a light blue button-down short-sleeved shirt, but way more dressy than Frank. She couldn’t see his slacks but she did notice, right away, that his arms were sans tattoos. And he was built. Smaller than Frank, but built, nonetheless. In a split second, Sam could tell that he was vested in their conversation.
However, she doubted she was.
“Hello, Detective Wright. Nice to meet the face behind the phone call.” His warmth and sincerity came through in his mellow tone.
“Likewise, Doctor Trenton.” She heard her voice shake. He must have, too. “How’s your wife?”
“Vicki’s doing great. Very impatient. We both are. She’s due in five days.”
“You must call us when she delivers.”
“Will do. Tell me what’s going on?”
“Do you know anything about the case?”
“That’s not our focus. Tell me a little about it, what necessitated our interaction.”
She nodded. “Well, Wednesday will be just two weeks that I’m a detective. And I pulled the trigger for the first time two days ago. I was in juvie for four years and never un-holstered my weapon.”