Body Of Truth

by Deirdre Savoy

  Rossi leaned back in his chair. “Sorry to take so long to get back to you, Detectives, but my wife and I were at our country home in the Hamptons. I’m not really sure what I can do to help you. You’re investigating Amanda Pierce’s death, right? I never met the woman.”

  “You were involved with the Trinity project that Father Malone was a part of.”

  “We were both on the board of directors.” Rossi looked from him to Mari and back. “That’s what you want to know about? That happened twenty-five years ago.”

  “Ms. Pierce was investigating the events surrounding Father Malone’s death when she was murdered.”

  “Why? Brendan’s death was an accident. That’s what the police said at the time. I’m sure that was in the report.”

  “There were also rumors that Malone might have been killed because he was cheating his business partners, namely you.”

  “Right. Let me tell you something about Brendan. We grew up in a tough neighborhood. We were tough. We had to be. East New York is no place for sissies. Brendan got straight in the can. I didn’t. But so what? He was like a brother to me. I would have done anything for him.”

  “Including splitting whatever you were skimming off the project?”

  “Hey, I wasn’t skimming anything.” He sighed. “But Brendan found out I was taking kickbacks from some of the unions working on the job. Force of habit.” He shrugged. “But Brendan was worse than a reformed smoker. You know once they give it up they expect everybody else to do the same. He guilted me into building that playground that’s in back of the place with my own money. If I’d wanted to kill him I would have done it then.”

  “Sounds like a real saint.”

  Rossi laughed. “Yeah, for the most part. Even when we were back in the neighborhood he wouldn’t stand for anybody picking on somebody weaker than them. But here’s something nobody really knew about him. He used to bet on the Catholic school teams, you know, basketball, football. I used to call them in to a . . . a . . . friend for him. And as for the priest’s vow of sobriety, I think Brendan skipped class the day they taught that at the seminary. He could drink the best of them under the table. Always could.”

  These were qualities in a priest to be celebrated? Maybe not, but it did make Malone seem more human. His utter renouncement of the life he had known had always rung false to Jonathan’s mind. And there was no mistaking the fondness in Rossi’s voice as he talked about him. It would be hard to imagine many men who would kill a friend they regarded so highly, but Rossi wasn’t like most men. “Where were you the night he died?”

  “At the opera, with my wife. We’d gone out as a foursome. The soprano was bad and the couple were dead bores. I was thinking that my night couldn’t get any worse until I got the call telling me that Brendan was gone.”

  “We’ll need to check that out with your wife.”

  “Sure.” He pressed a button on the phone on his desk and the sound of a dial tone filled the room. He punched another number, which connected to, Jonathan presumed, the house in the Hamptons. Soon a woman’s voice came on. “Hi, honey. I’ve got those detectives here I told you about. What were we doing the night Brendan died?”

  Without hesitation, Mrs. Rossi answered, “We were at the opera with some horrible couple. I don’t even remember their names. Why?”

  “It’s nothing. I’ll be home tonight.” He disconnected the call and sat back in his chair. “Will that do?”

  Jonathan scanned the other man’s face. Aside from his wife’s convenient memory, there was something disingenuous in his countenance, something he held back. Jonathan was sure of it, though he couldn’t imagine what.

  Mari took care of it for him. “You say you never met Amanda Pierce? She never came to you seeking information about her uncle’s past?”

  “Yeah, but I blew her off. She didn’t say what she wanted to talk to me about. I knew her reputation. I was worried she wanted to write a book about me.”

  As they drove back to the city, Mari asked him, “Do you believe that nonsense about him thinking she wanted to write a book about him?”

  “No, I don’t.” Not only wasn’t Rossi the type of subject she preferred, but if he had so much loyalty for Malone, why wouldn’t he have met with the man’s niece, regardless of the situation? “Why don’t you?”

  “Did you notice the color scheme in Rossi’s place is almost identical to the one in Pierce’s place?”

  That hadn’t occurred to him, actually. He’d only noted that it seemed familiar somehow. “No.”

  “And the plants. They were all fakes, like in Pierce’s place. Remember, she was an asthmatic? Many asthmatics can’t tolerate plants.”

  “What are you suggesting? That Pierce and Rossi were sleeping together?” If that were true, there was no mention of any birth control method being prescribed by her doctor. Coupled with the m.e.’s speculation that she hadn’t engaged in sex in a long while he’d assumed she wasn’t seeing anybody at the time.

  “Could be. I find it hard to believe that a fairly young, attractive woman like her wasn’t getting any.”

  “Your mind is much more devious than mine.”

  “Don’t you forget it.”

  Mari’s cell phone rang. She answered the call, spoke for a few minutes, about what he couldn’t determine, hearing only her end. When she disconnected the call, there was a big grin on her face.

  “Well?”

  “Some kid just phoned in a tip about where Pee Wee is. Seems he’s holed up in Queens at some woman’s house. They’re going to check it out now.”

  Some kid? If it turned out to be Tyree, he was going to wring that child’s neck.

  By the time they got back to the stationhouse, Moretti was sitting at a desk vacated by one of the older officers when he retired. He was leaning forward, talking on the phone. His body language and hushed tone suggested the call had nothing to do with work. He looked up when they came in, but kept talking, a defiant expression on his face.

  “This way, Stone,” Mari said, waving him toward his own desk.

  Until then he hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking or that his hands had formed into fists at his sides. He knew better than to let an asshole like Moretti get to him. But knowing better and doing better weren’t always the same thing.

  He slung his jacket on the back of his chair and sat. He glanced over at Mari, who was skimming through one of the files. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking through Pierce’s medical file. Maybe there’s something we missed.”

  “Like what?”

  Mari looked up at him. “When are the two times a woman doesn’t use birth control?”

  “When she’s trying to get pregnant. When she’s already pregnant.”

  “Okay, then there are three.”

  “When she can’t get pregnant?”

  “Bingo. I wish I knew what the medical notation for that would be.”

  He thought of calling Dana to ask her. Actually, it wasn’t the first time he’d thought of calling her, but since he had no idea what he’d say to her if he did, he didn’t bother. “What’s her doctor’s number?” As Mari read off the numbers he punched them into the phone on his desk. The nurse who answered the call told him that the doctor was in with a patient and that she’d call back. Jonathan hung up, intending to pass on the message, but Mari was already on the phone.

  “Thanks so much, Mr. Banks,” she said into the phone. “Yes, we’ll keep you informed of our progress. Have a safe trip.” Mari hung up and grinned at him. “I’m right again. According to her brother she couldn’t have kids. Her marriage broke up because of it.”

  “That doesn’t prove she was sleeping with Rossi.”

  “No, but it takes us one step closer. That only means I have to dig deeper.”

  Despite his belief that she was barking up the wrong tree, he said, “Let me know what you find out.”

  “Will do.” She picked up the phone and dialed another number.

  T
he cell phone on his belt vibrated. He looked at the readout to see his brother Zack’s number displayed. He couldn’t remember the last time Zack had called him while he was on duty. He connected the call. “Hey, Zack.”

  “Hey, little brother. You got a minute for me today?”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Why don’t I tell you when I see you?

  “All right. Where do you want to meet?”

  “I haven’t eaten yet.” Zack suggested a restaurant that was equidistant between their two precincts.

  “See you there in about fifteen minutes.”

  When he got to the restaurant, Jonathan spotted his brother sitting at the bar. For the most part the restaurant was empty since it hadn’t yet reached twelve o’clock. As he approached, Zack tipped his head back, exposing the beer bottle he was drinking from.

  “Aren’t you still on duty?” Jonathan asked as he came up beside him.

  “I’m taking the afternoon off.”

  “Then isn’t it a little early in the day?”

  “Who are you? Carrie Nation? Kill the lecture and have a seat. If it makes you feel better I’m heading home after this. The only reason I stuck around is to talk to you.”

  Jonathan gritted his teeth. On the rare occasions when Zack got in a mood he could be a royal pain in the ass. Jonathan was tempted to walk out, except then he wouldn’t know what was so important that Zack got him out here in the middle of the day. He slipped into the seat in front of him and rested his elbows on the bar. “So talk. What did I do to merit the displeasure of your company?”

  “It’s Joanna. I got picked as the designated talker-to. It seems she’s not too pleased about you shacking up with her friend.”

  Jonathan let out an exasperated breath. He should have known. “We are not shacking up together. I have her with me for her own protection. You might try reminding Joanna that someone tried to kill Dana twice. I’m hoping to prevent the third time being a charm.”

  Zack took another swig from his bottle. “Whatever. I’m just the messenger. I think we can both agree that I’m the last person who should be giving anyone relationship advice considering I’m the owner of a freshly minted set of divorce papers.”

  He’d wondered what had brought on Zack’s morose mood. He figured he’d just found out. “I’m sorry, Zack.”

  “Don’t be. It was over a long time ago, except neither of us made it official.”

  “Why now?”

  “You can’t marry one guy when you’re still married to another.” Zack scrutinized his face. “You thought I started this?”

  Jonathan shrugged.

  “You know what, we made a mistake. That’s all there was to it. A mistake. But I’m the bad guy because I was willing to admit that.”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t stepped out on her no one would have blamed you.”

  Zack put down his beer and glared at him. “You ever try to get rid of a woman who thinks she’s going to ‘save you from yourself’? Reasoning with that kind of woman is futile. She needed to get knocked in the head a couple dozen times with the fact that I wasn’t worth saving, not the way she meant it. Why do you think it took her so long to file the damn papers? Even after she left me she was still hoping I’d come to my senses.”

  And now, if she were waiting to marry another man, she must have given up. “Don’t look at me to have anything to say about that. I’m not exactly the poster child for domesticity, either.”

  “What’s your excuse, little brother? You can’t make the same claim to faithlessness I can.”

  He shrugged again. “How about the most dreaded question in the English language? ‘How was your day?’ How the hell are you supposed to answer that? ‘Oh, today I saw someone who’d had their face shot off or they dragged a floater out of the river after some fish got to her. You know they go for the eyes first?’ So you say nothing or tell them some stupid joke you heard.” Or in his case, he’d made love to her as if the world rather than just him was on fire.

  He cleared his throat. “Then they claim you are emotionally cut off when all you’re really trying to do is protect them from hearing things they don’t really want to know about in the first place.”

  Zack raised his bottle in salute. “Try working sex crimes and go home and have a decent sex life with a woman. Half the time I close my eyes and all I see is what some scumbag thought it was fun to do to another human being.”

  Jonathan sighed. “If I had any sense where she was concerned I would have left her alone from the beginning.”

  “But you are sleeping with her?”

  “That’s none of your damn business.”

  Zack grinned. “I’ll put that down as a yes.” Zack clapped him on the shoulder. “If you want my advice, if you make her happy or she makes you happy or you make yourself happy when you’re with her—however it works out—hold on to her. The hell with what Joanna thinks.” Zack picked up the five-dollar bill that rested on the bar top and put it in his pocket.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Zack stood. “Home.”

  “The I’ll call you a cab.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “You think that makes the prospect of you getting on the road any less scary?”

  “I’m fine.” Zack winked at him. “Mood’s over. Thanks for listening, little brother.”

  “When are you going to stop calling me that? I’m taller than you are.”

  Zack stood. “Yeah well, more power to ya.” With a wave Zack walked out of the door.

  The bartender who’d been absent while the two brothers talked came back. With a confused expression on his face, he looked from Jonathan to the empty beer bottle at the place next to him and back again. “That’ll be three ninety-five.”

  The money on the bar hadn’t been Zack’s change, but his payment. Jonathan pulled his wallet out of his pocket. Yeah, Zack was back to his normal self again.

  His cell phone went off again. He answered without looking at the display. “Stone.”

  “Guess who’s in custody as we speak?”

  “Who?” he said, in response to Mari’s question.

  “They brought Little Big Man in ten minutes ago.”

  So, the tip panned out. “I’ll be right in. Nobody talks to him before I get there.”

  When he got back to the station, he was told the lieutenant wanted him in the observation room off one of the interrogation rooms. He hoped this didn’t mean what he thought it meant. He entered the room to find Mari, the LT, and one of the assistant district attorneys facing the two-way glass viewing Moretti standing over Little Big Man, as Mari called him. Obviously they expected to get something out of him if they got the A.D.A. involved.

  Son of a bitch. “I thought I said I didn’t want anyone talking to him before I got here.”

  Mari said, “The Lone Ranger had other ideas.”

  “Has he gotten anything yet?”

  “Other than a lot of lip? No. The only good thing is Pee Wee hasn’t asked to see a lawyer yet.”

  He could tell Mari was enjoying this, seeing Moretti working himself up and getting nowhere. But since Moretti finally took it upon himself to do his job, Jonathan wouldn’t interfere—unless Moretti put his hands on the other man, which he looked close to doing. Pee Wee looked the picture of calm, while Moretti’s face was puffed with anger and mottled with color.

  As for Pee Wee, dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, he looked more ready to head out to a game of golf than to be in an interrogation room. His calm demeanor served as a counterpoint to Moretti’s hostile attitude.

  “Hey, Moretti, when’d you get the bump to homicide? Last I heard they had you chained to a desk down in the ’hood. I didn’t know they let you out to mingle with the normal people.”

  Moretti moved in a way that blocked the view of Pee Wee. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. We already know you were the one who ordered the hit on Double U.”

  “If you th
ink that, you don’t know shit, man.” Pee Wee leaned around Moretti to show his face to the mirror. “Hey, Stone, you out there?”

  Jonathan pressed the intercom button to be heard in the other room. “I’m here.”

  “You want to get this maricón out of my face and I’ll talk to you. Just you. Off the record.”

  Jonathan wondered what he’d done to earn any consideration from this man, but he’d use it to his advantage if he could. He glanced at Shea, who nodded. Jonathan hit the intercom again. “I’m coming in.” He went to the door of the interrogation room and opened it without knocking.

  Moretti stood where he was, glaring back at him belligerently. For a moment he thought the man would make a scene before leaving. After a moment Moretti stalked out. Jonathan guessed even he wasn’t that much of a fool to pull that.

  After he left Jonathan shut the door and took a seat at the table opposite Pee Wee. “What do you want to say to me?”

  “Let’s just say some dude came to me with a proposition. He heard I might be ready to off Wesley and would I allow him to make it worth my while to take out someone else with him. That nurse. But he wanted it done fast. Next day.”

  “To which you said?”

  Pee Wee spread his arms wide. “Look, I’m a businessman. If some punk don’t want to work for me no more, he’s free to go. And that woman ain’t never did nothing to me. I told him to keep walking.”

  Pee Wee sat back, a smug expression on his face. “Now if some of my boys took the dude up on his offer, I don’t know nothing about that. I didn’t ask and they didn’t tell, but it wouldn’t take much to get that kid outside waiting for someone who wasn’t showing up.”

  And when Dana came out they’d be ready. If it weren’t for the shooter’s poor aim, they’d both be dead right now. Anger welled in him, churning his stomach and making his temples throb. At least he knew some of the why of it, but not the who. “Who was this dude who came to see you?”

  Pee Wee shrugged. “He didn’t give me his name.”

  Which meant Pee Wee already knew who he was or what he was. “Go on.”