Shallow Graves - Jeremiah Healy

by Jeremiah Healy

  Turning to me, Dani had the look of a cat caught drooling at the family canary. He stiffened, saying, "If I were you, Mr. Cuddy, I would not upset my brother's wife."

  I was thinking, funny how "upset" almost rhymed with "covet."

  Dani came all the way into the room, taking the part of the couch that his sister-in-law had used, then shifting his rump a little, perhaps in reaction to her residual warmth on the seat.

  "My brother said you'd like to speak to each of us?"

  "I would, thanks. What law firm are you with, Mr. Dani?"

  "Winant, Terwiliger, and Stevens."

  Joseph Danucci had said that his brother had made partner at an old-line firm. "Old-line" didn't quite do Winant, et al. justice. A hundred and fifty years in Boston, principal tenant of a harborside skyscraper, the firm was one of the five premier hives for attorneys in the city.

  "How long have you been with them?"

  "Since law school."

  "Which was?"

  "Eight years ago." Dani crossed his legs. "Is this line of questioning headed somewhere, Mr. Cuddy?"

  "I don't know. I guess I was wondering why your brother decided to join the family business and you didn't."

  Dani bridled. "My brother has an 'i' at the end of his last name and pictures of Italian-American athletes in his den and that makes him Mafia, right?"

  "Your brother's the son of Tommy Danucci and sends a guy like Primo to see me, there's a presumption."

  Dani's lips auditioned a smile. "Primo said you'd had a year of law school."

  I was impressed. "Primo found out a lot in the time he had."

  "Primo's what my father would call a 'situation guy'. "

  "Maybe he ought to be doing this instead of me."

  "No. No, you send in somebody like Primo to assess things, report back. He lacks what my father would call 'ambition'. "

  "Takes some ambition to aim at Winant, Terwiliger as a target and hit the bull's-eye."

  Dani's lips found the smirk line and held it. "I thought you were looking into my niece's death."

  "I am. What can you tell me about it?"

  "Nothing beyond a profile of the man who did it."

  "I'm listening."

  "Young, poor, probably on drugs, and not well versed in the lore of organized crime."

  Dani seemed awfully cool about Mau Tim's death. Almost detached. "Why is that?"

  "Hitting a building that's 'connected,' Mr. Cuddy."

  "I thought you were one of the trustees, counselor."

  "I am."

  "And you filled out the property report."

  "Yes."

  "I'm wondering about the necklace."

  "The necklace?"

  "The purple one. Made out of iolite?"

  Dani maintained the even expression. "And gold. What about it?"

  "Where'd it come from?"

  Dani watched me for a moment. "It was a gift."

  "From?"

  "After my mother died, my father had a bad spell, Mr. Cuddy. Heart attack, morose. I'd never . . . nobody had ever seen him like that. Tommy the Temper in a state of weakness."

  "And?"

  "And my brother made him comfortable here. I couldn't do that much . . . I was living in a one-bedroom apartment in Cambridge, and my father needed round-the-clock care but didn't want nurses and so on. Claudette was like a slave to him."

  "Which changed his mind about her?"

  Dani's face stayed neutral. "What do you mean?"

  "I was under the impression he wasn't too pleased about his son's War bride."

  Dani sat back, weighing something. "My father saw Joey following him into the business. Claudette . . . clouded that."

  "How?"

  "Mr. Cuddy, my brother loves Claudette. Once my brother gives his love for something, there's no holding back, no . . . tempering of the emotion. He loved her, he married her, he was staying with her. Beyond that, there are some things you really don't want to go into here."

  "Why not?"

  "Let me make it clearer: there are some things you should butt out of."

  More the ring of the streets than the boardrooms. "Okay. Fair to say that Claudette's helping your father changed his mind about her?"

  Dani said, "Yes."

  "Then how come the necklace went to his granddaughter?"

  "Mau Tim helped, too. Before and after school."

  I was thinking that Vincent Dani used her professional name instead of "Tina," when he continued. "Also, my father gave that necklace to my mother on their twenty-fifth anniversary. It matched the color of her eyes." Dani bit his lip for a moment.

  "You've noticed Claudette's . . . eye?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, my father obviously couldn't give a gift with that . . .connotation to Claudette. Through some quirk of the gene pool, Mau Tim's eyes were exactly the color of my mother's. And the necklace was also, I think, like a peace offering. A symbolic way of welcoming them into the family."

  "When they weren't originally."

  "Look, I told you to butt — — "

  "Okay, okay. You listed the necklace as missing in the property report"

  "Why Wouldn't I?"

  "It just seems like the kind of thing the son of Tommy Danucci might leave out to keep him from becoming involved in it."

  The lips seemed to be the only part of Dani's face that reacted in any way. This time they lost their color. "I put the necklace in the report in the hope that it might lead the police to the killer before my brother's contacts found him."

  "Your brother seems to think that police custody isn't exactly absolute sanctuary."

  "If the police arrest the perpetrator, he has a chance. If my brother . .

  Dani didn't go on. I said, "Did you know anything about your niece's life in modeling?"

  He sat back. "Not much. She'd call me from time to time, we'd talk or have lunch."

  "I thought she lived with you for a while?"

  "Brief1y. About a year ago, when Mau Tim first came to Boston. But I think she found that . . . confining?

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well, I put in rather long hours at the firm. When I get home from work, I tend to stay there. I don't have a great deal of time for social engagements."

  "Did you know much about Mau Tim's social life?"

  "No."

  "Boyfriends?"

  "No," again, a little more pointedly.

  "I was under the impression that she might have lived with a photographer for a while before moving to Falmouth Street."

  Dani's lips narrowed. "That is another thing I wouldn't mention to my brother, Mr. Cuddy."

  "All right. How about her life in the Falmouth Street apartment?"

  "Mau Tim was young and attractive. I assume that once she had her own place, she was . . . active."

  "I notice you call your niece 'Mau Tim.' "

  "That was the name she wanted to call herself. I respected her wishes."

  "Why did she change her last name to yours?"

  "You have a problem with people changing their names, Mr. Cuddy?"

  "No."

  "I didn't Anglicize mine, you know. I kept the ethnicity, just changed the . . . recognition factor for professional reasons."

  "That your niece's reasoning as well?"

  "I assume so."

  "She never told you?"

  "Mau Tim was at the age where people rebel against family. I was the one in the family who broke away, who did something different. She wanted to do the same. I changed my name, she changed hers to my new one. Simple."

  Maybe. "How is it you came to be trustee of the building?"

  "Limit the liability. It's done all the time."

  "That's the reason for putting the building into a realty trust, Mr. Dani. What was the reason you're the front man?"

  Dani's lips narrowed again. "My mother asked me to."

  "The 'A and T' stands for?"

  "The Amatina and Thomas Danucci Realty Trust."

  "And
your mother asked you to be trustee?"

  "My father wanted to buy another building. They already owned a number of properties in the North End. My mother thought it would be a good idea to have some things in different parts of the city. So, my father bought the place on Falmouth Street."

  "With you as trustee."

  "Correct."

  "How long ago was this?"

  "Six, perhaps seven years."

  He reminded me of something Claudette Danucci had mentioned. "Just before your mother died."

  "Yes."

  "I thought you said before that you kind of broke away from the family by going to law school."

  "Look, Mr. Cuddy — "

  "I'm just wondering, why did you decide to be a trustee of a family building when you'd already broken away?"

  "Not that it's any of your business, but my mother asked me, and as a son I was happy to do it for her. She wasn't too well. . . . By then, my mother had an idea she was going to die, and she thought my being a trustee of the building would bring my father and me a little closer."

  "Did it?"

  "I've told you twice there are some things you shouldn't look into, Mr. Cuddy. Let me give you an answer that might save you some pain later on. My brother and I get along fine. Despite what you think, he runs a legitimate business enterprise and I represent him legally on it. My father and I are oil and water. Have been for a long time, no hope of reconciliation. That's family business, not yours, and if I were you, I'd stay out of it."

  When a lawyer like Vincent Dani tells me some things aren't my business, and especially when he tells me three times, I wonder why he explains things at all.

  "After your mother died, how come you stayed on?"

  "What?"

  "After your mother died, why didn't you resign as trustee of the building?"

  "Because she'd wanted me to serve. Besides, it always seemed like a sleeping dog."

  "Until now."

  Dani's lips glared at me and left the room.

  -11-

  "THIS ONE HERE'S CALLED SHADOWFAX."

  The music came over the Lincoln's stereo system in a series of sounds, each from a different instrument until all had blended into chords I'd never heard before and couldn't even characterize. There was something about it that made you want to merge into the upholstery. Then I thought that might be why Zuppone was playing it for me.

  I said, "How come you're not checking to see if we're being followed?"

  Primo turned to me, then glanced at all the mirrors to be sure he was still aware of his car's position on the highway back to Boston. "Who'd be tailing us?"

  "The FBI?"

  That got a grunt. "The Feebs, I'll tell you something, they signed off on us a long time ago. Oh, they still root around, accountants and tax guys mostly. But once that task force busted the Angiulos and got their citations and all, they started looking for other fish to fry. Besides, they can't push their luck too far, asking for too many taps or warrants. Sooner or later, some judge starts adding up how many times he signed his name and starts thinking, 'Hey-ey-ey, no more for a while, okay?' Naw, the Feebs, they ain't a factor anymore."

  "What is a factor?"

  The toothpick rolled from port to starboard. "What do you mean, Cuddy?"

  "Before you picked me up this afternoon, you checked me out pretty thoroughly. In the. week since Mau Tim died, you've been doing the same thing with the people in her life, right?"

  A sleepy smile. "Coupla guys said you was pretty smart."

  "What did you find out?"

  Zuppone thought for a minute. "I didn't do nothing like you're gonna do. Go talk to everybody, I mean. I checked a few things here, a few things there. Spread the word."

  "About the necklace."

  "Yeah. Somebody tries to fence it, we get a call."

  "But no calls yet."

  "Right."

  "Kind of a long time for a junkie to sit on a piece of jewelry."

  "Kind of."

  I stretched my neck against the headrest. "Somebody told me tonight you're a situation guy."

  "Somebody was right."

  "What does a situation guy do?"

  "What it sounds like. I go in, look around, let people know what's what."

  "You checked out the modeling agency before Mau Tim went to work there."

  "Yeah, but lemme give you a tip, Cuddy."

  "Sure."

  "You're around the family, her name wasn't 'Mau Tim.' It was 'Tina,' right?"

  "Thanks."

  "Don't mention it."

  Zuppone put on his turn signal and pulled out into the fast lane to go around a garbage truck. As soon as we were by it, he used the signal again and tiptoed back into the middle lane, reducing his speed.

  "You're a careful guy, Primo."

  "Pays to be."

  "About the modeling agency?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What was your read of the situation?"

  Another migration of the toothpick. "Year ago they were clean. Otherwise, the family don't let Tina work for them, I don't care what she wants to do."

  "How could the family stop her?"

  "Simple. I pay a visit to the agency, and they all of a sudden decide to call her and say, 'Sorry. Turns out, we don't need you after all.' "

  "What did you think of the people there?"

  "I didn't talk to them direct-like."

  "What did you find out about them?"

  "The first name — Lind-something?"

  "Lindqvist."

  "Yeah, that's how somebody told me she says it. How do you spell that?"

  I went through it.

  "That's not the usual thing, right? I mean, usually you put the 'u' after the 'q,' right?"

  "Usually in English. I don't know much about Swedish."

  "Swedish, huh? She don't look good enough to be what I'd call Swedish."

  "I thought you didn't talk to them."

  The half-smile. "I sat in my car outside there a coupla days. Watching the door, making sure it looked legit. Kinda surprised me how tall and plain the model broads were. Out of their war paint, I mean."

  "What about Lindqvist?"

  "I got the impression she was the pants, with the guy — Yulin?"

  "Right."

  "With the guy Yulin kind of a second banana."

  "That's how I read it, too." I stopped. "If it turns out one of them killed Tina, where does that leave you?"

  "Fucked, if I should of seen it." Zuppone pushed a button on his annrest that lowered his window. He spit the toothpick into the night air. "Kind of the pot calling the kettle black, ain't it?"

  "What is?"

  "What you're thinking. Guy like me calling Yulin a 'second banana'."

  "I hadn't thought about it."

  "Yeah, well, I am a second banana, Cuddy. I'm a guy used to not do so good in school there. You know why?"

  "No."

  "I got dyslexia. You know, I see '24' like it's '42' or 'art' like it's 'rat'."

  "Makes the studying tough."

  "Yeah. Only Sister Angelica back in the third grade there didn't call it dyslexia."

  "What did she call it?"

  "Being stupid. But, turns out, I'm not so stupid once I'm out of the books. Real world, I do okay because I ain't got no ambitions."

  "Run that by me again?"

  "Ambitions. Like to be something I ain't. I'm good at situations, sizing things up, sizing people up. I'm not looking to run anything. Last thing you want to be in this business is the guy somebody in charge of an operation sees when he looks over his shoulder, get me?"

  "I think so. It doesn't bother you, the organization you size things up for?"

  Zuppone looked my way sharply this time, having to swerve just a bit to get back in lane. He eased five miles per hour off the speedometer. "You're a college man, right?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Holy Cross, a guy said."

  "That's right."

  "Then you go in the Army, make — what, capt
ain?"

  "Eventually."

  "Guy like you, a corporation welcomes you with open arms. You got a résumé reads like a guy they want to hire."

  "I see your point."

  "Good. 'Cause this is the only corporation that thinks my résumé is just fine. It ends after seventh grade, they don't think that's funny. I can't spell for shit, they don't think that's stupid. I go into a thing, I scope it out, I get back to them with what's what. That's what they care about."

  "How about their views on capital punishment?"

  "Whacking a guy out, you mean."

  "That's right."

  "We don't whack nobody without a good reason for it. These new gangs, the Jamaicans — or the fucking Dominicans? — they're animals. They do a drive-by, waste a fucking street corner full of fucking people, get the one they want. I never heard a one of our contracts wasn't specific, I never heard a hitter did anybody more'n he was told to. I tell you something else, too. You ever see an execution?"

  "A hit?"

  "No, I mean a government one. Like gas or the chair."

  "No."

  "Well, let me tell you. One of our associates, he got himself in a fight down in the Land of Grits. Shiwed some redneck was trying to wrap a tire iron around his head, but that's not how the witnesses saw it. Anyway, the jury decides to puff him, then it takes nine years, nine fucking years for the courts to decide, does he go or not. Finally, they decide he goes, and somebody's got to travel down there, kind of get him through it, you know?"

  "I think so."

  "Well, it turns out I'm it, so I fly down there and rent a car and drive through some of the worst places I ever seen. Shit, the shacks with real tarpaper, outhouses, makes the worst block in Roxbury there look like Beacon fucking Hill. Anyways, I get to the prison early, I pay my respects to our guy. He's in this room, it's maybe eight by ten, with a stainless steel sink and john below it and one fucking bunk. The thing that got me is the colors, though. The bars are powder blue, powder fucking blue like some broad's bedroom, and the bulls are the same way, looking like maybe they got bleached out of the Navy or something. And our guy, he's in this orange jump suit, only he's sweating so bad, he's gotta change his jump suit twice in the hour I'm with him.

  "He gets to me, Cuddy. He asks, can I stay for the show? He says it'd mean a lot to him, knowing there was somebody there he knew. So I tell him, sure I'll stay for it. Christ, like the guy's last request, you know? Then the bulls tell me, I got to go to the viewing room so our guy can get prepped. I say okay, and they put me in this place, looks like something outta a fifties horror movie. Like I'm in living color but seeing all this in just black and white? Well, I sit down on a folding chair, maybe ten other people around me, and they're all making small talk about the weather and the crops and some high school fucking football team ain't won a game yet and I'm the only one in the room can say a sentence in like less than five minutes.