“No, that’s not the main reason.” There was a pause, and Jenna heard him exhaling into the phone.
“This part has to be strictly confidential, just something I want to get off my chest, but between you and me and no one else.”
“Agreed, Mr. Karp.”
“I don’t know whether you’re right or not about who was responsible for what happened to Cardella, but I agree with you that he was the target. The other guy, the bookie, was the one in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s what I’ve thought for a while already. It’s important for me to say that if the Tarantino family had anything to do with it, I never heard a word about it ahead of time. Believe me, I would have called the police if I did.” Karp paused again. “That’s what I wanted you to know. What I told you about the finances was just to give you something else to go on in case Tarantino or Fiore was involved at Chi-Chi’s.”
“I understand. I’m glad you told me that, Mr. Karp. It helps a lot to know you feel I’m on the right track. Please don’t hesitate to call me again if you’d like.”
86
THE REST OF THE week went by slowly, and each day Carol Singer waited for the other shoe to drop.
There was no doubt that she and Fiore made love in Room 606. The day after Bruce told her about the tapes, she walked over to the Biltmore to check the location of the room. She recalled that it was not directly on the corridor, but required her to step into an alcove before reaching the door. Carol took an elevator to the seventh floor and walked down the hallway to 706. It was just as she remembered, and Room 506 was in the exact same location, two floors below.
That meant, she realized, that as Bruce continued to listen to the tapes, he would suddenly recognize her voice along with Fiore’s. He would hear her sighs and her moaning with pleasure as the two lovers engaged in whatever it took to satisfy each other. Carol anticipated her husband’s shock and then outrage at the words and sounds burning his ears. It was impossible to avoid vividly picturing the confrontation that would take place between them.
Carol had already mentally rehearsed the response she would give him any number of times. The scene with Bruce permeated her consciousness at all hours of the day or night but it never came out the same way twice. At times she saw herself breaking down and begging for forgiveness. At others she defended herself and blamed him. He was at fault for pushing her into an affair by constantly neglecting her in favor of politics and his law practice. Depending on her mood, there was a different scenario for the inevitable encounter that would occur.
But there was no doubt in her mind that Bruce’s awareness of her infidelity meant the end of their marriage. It troubled her deeply when she considered the total amount of pain she’d inflict on him were he to lose the election to the man who was sleeping with his wife.
Carol was also distressed about the situation with Fiore. She felt betrayed by his carrying on another affair at the same time, one she had no inkling of whatsoever. It forced her to wonder about the kind of man who needed more than one mistress. When they discussed their sexual fantasies one night, he told her that he always wanted to see what it was like to make love to two women at the same time. Carol wondered now whether his becoming a lover to both of them was a prelude to his thinking about bringing both Pat Hanley and herself into bed with him.
She had no idea when Doug’s relationship with Hanley began. She thought that perhaps it was after she stopped seeing him, when he became a candidate for governor. If that’s when it happened, Carol had only herself to blame for giving him that opening. He had every right to believe that their affair was over and that he could look for someone else.
But if he started an affair with another woman, why didn’t he just leave Carol out of his life? Why couldn’t he walk past her in the lobby of the Biltmore that night without saying a word? Why did he stop to speak to her and invite her up to Room 606?
Did she want to have anything more to do with Doug Fiore? Would she meet him again if he called? Carol wasn’t sure of the answer.
87
RICHARDSON’S NEXT COLUMN APPEARED on Tuesday, a week before the election. It summarized the additional information she gathered since articulating the view five days earlier that Cardella was stalked and murdered.
She noted that a spokesman for the Tarantino family—a lawyer from the firm of Fisher & Lovett, specializing in criminal law—issued a statement adamantly denying that his client had anything whatsoever to do with a plot to murder Richie Cardella, if in fact one existed. The police, Jenna pointed out, had neither arrested anyone from the Family nor charged it with any wrongdoing since the shooting occurred. She also indicated that her efforts to reach Salvatore Tarantino or his son were unsuccessful, and that no one from Fisher & Lovett was willing to answer any of her questions.
“I have learned from ‘a source claiming to have ties to the Fiore organization,’” she wrote, “that the Tarantino family has allegedly funneled large sums of their own money to the candidate through other individuals whose names appeared on the lists of contributors. If that’s true, it would be a violation of the Act governing campaign contributions and subject to criminal penalties. The Tarantinos are apparently working very hard on behalf of Fiore’s election, and if he does succeed John Sacco in the governor’s office, they are no doubt counting on his being ready and willing to veto any legislation authorizing State government to get into the casino gaming business.”
In the limited amount of time Jenna had to review the different lists of contributors to Fiore’s campaign and to make follow-up phone calls, she was unable to make a definitive case for the information given her by Lester Karp. In fact, she hadn’t yet scrutinized the latest list she was able to obtain from the Secretary of State’s office. But she pointed out for her readers that a number of individuals from different families around the State, entire households in some cases, were each documented as having made the maximum contribution to Fiore. She went on to infer that such a pattern of giving was unusual at best, and that further investigation was necessary on this aspect of the campaign.
Jenna brought her column to a close by calling on the police to do everything in their power to try and solve the Cardella killing before the election, just seven days away.
* * *
A separate article in that morning’s Herald contained the results of a poll taken by WPRI-TV, in conjunction with the Alpha Research Associates polling firm during the 72-hour period ending at noon on Sunday. It indicated that Fiore’s lead over Singer slipped to a mere percentage point. Considering the margin of error of two percent, plus or minus, in the poll itself, the race was a virtual dead heat.
Cyril Berman knew that the latest tracking numbers were all Jenna Richardson’s fault. Based on his past experience, he assumed the race would tighten up in its final two weeks, but never considered that some external event would suddenly put Singer in a position to win. He didn’t know what Richardson had in mind for the coming week, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to threaten her employer with a libel action for her unfounded insinuations. Maybe that would at least slow her down.
88
ON TUESDAY AFTERNOON, THE third day after the end of Daylight Saving Time, it was already dark outside by 4:30. Sandy Tarantino stood by the window of his office, sipping a cup of espresso he ordered from the café downstairs. He was watching the traffic pick up on Atwells Avenue, most of it heading toward the Interstate just blocks away where it would divide north and south. Behind him, he heard the ringing on his fax line. Moments later, he was aware of the humming sound made by the printing element as the machine began to accept a message.
Tarantino was thinking about the Family’s chances of keeping a casino gambling bill from getting through the State legislature in the event Doug Fiore lost the election. There was no doubt in his mind that the momentum was now with Singer, thanks to Jenna Richardson’s reporting, and he figured that Singer’s latest TV ad would keep things moving in his direction. It was powerful, reminding th
e voters that he fought in Vietnam while Fiore avoided the conflict through the influence of Rhode Island’s notorious Buscatelli family.
Tarantino spoke to Cyril Berman by phone earlier that afternoon while Fiore was making a speech in Glendale. He hoped to hear that Berman had uncovered one or two bombshells he could use against Singer in the final days of the campaign. The news in that regard was disappointing.
“What we’re down to now, Sandy, is that Doug has to do a fantastic job in the debate Thursday night. A lot of people are going to be tuned in to that one. And we’ve got to hope like hell the Herald gives him its endorsement for governor on Sunday.”
“What are our chances of that?” Sandy asked.
“I’d say it’s at least fifty-fifty,” Berman offered optimistically. “I’m going on the fact that Fiore’s position on gambling is consistent with what’s appeared in the Herald’s editorials on that subject, and they feel pretty strong about it.”
In Berman’s view, there was no reason to conclude that Singer would get the paper’s backing. He didn’t think that was an automatic just because Richardson raised the possibility of the Tarantinos being responsible for Cardella’s death. Her view was pure speculation, with nothing to back it up. He had a strong feeling that under those circumstances the senior editors at the Herald would choose not to give it any weight in their endorsement decision. “Hell, this is still America, Sandy,” he said, “the presumption of innocence and all that.”
Berman told Tarantino that he had an appointment to meet with Dan McMurphy on Thursday afternoon. “He’s the editor Richardson reports to. I want to talk to him about the crap she’s been writing and make a case for them giving their editorial support to Fiore. Maybe I can convince McMurphy that they owe it to us after all the slime ball stuff she’s been putting in the paper.”
* * *
Sal Tarantino came into his son’s office through the adjoining door. “I’m getting out of here, Salvy,” he said. “Maybe if I go home and lie down, I’ll feel better.” As he finished speaking, a single beep from the fax machine indicated that it completed its receipt of the incoming transmission. “You’ve got something on your machine there,” he added, pointing toward the fax.
“I know, Pop, I was just waiting for it to end.” Sandy went over and removed the two sheets of paper from the tray. He crumpled the cover page in his left hand and flipped it into the wastebasket as he looked at the letter addressed to his father.
“It’s from Dave DePaolo in Cleveland. It’s for you,” Sandy said, extending the paper toward him.
“What does he want?” Sal asked.
Sandy read the letter. “It looks like he wants you to start feeling better right away. He says the man we’ve been looking for will be in Providence tomorrow morning.”
Sal sat down, took out a cigarette without removing the package from his shirt pocket, and lit it. “That’s good news. How do we get hold of him?”
Sandy looked at the fax. “He’ll be on US Air flight 170, scheduled in at 9:52 in the morning. His escort wants to hand him over and go right back to Cleveland. DePaolo says we should have someone standing there holding a sign that says MR. CARTER-EXPRESS, so the escort will be sure he’s giving him to the right person. Here, Pop, I think you ought to read everything he says.”
Sal Tarantino scanned the letter. “Tell Rocco and Al to meet me in front of the Dunkin’ Donuts near the airport at nine in the morning, with that sign you just mentioned. After we see this guy, I’ll call you here.” He dropped the fax back on his son’s desk. “It’s going to be hard waiting until tomorrow,” he said.
89
FIORE’S LAST APPEARANCE ON Tuesday night was in Pascoag, in the northwest corner of the State. It was the last time they would do any personal campaigning in that area, and Cyril Berman scheduled a day full of meetings and speeches. They started in Chepachet at 8:30 that morning, at a businessman’s breakfast, and made stops in Mapleville, Glendale, Slatersville and Bridgeton before winding up the evening in Pascoag at a Chamber of Commerce dinner. Berman told Doug to stand around and shake hands with everyone in the VFW hall who wanted to meet him. He knew they needed every vote they could get.
It was almost 10:30 when Fiore, Berman and Walsh emerged from the building and climbed into Karp’s Lincoln. Karp moved the car out of the parking lot ten minutes earlier and was waiting in front, the heat turned up against the chilly, early November night.
“What a day,” Walsh said from the front seat, not looking at anyone.
“It’s almost over … it’s almost over.” Berman seemed to let the words out with a sigh. “Six more days and that’s it. You feeling okay Doug?”
Fiore sat in a far corner of the back seat, his body slack, his legs stretched out in front of him. He was in a bad mood all day, saying very little while they were on the road, and moving off by himself whenever they stopped to take a break. It was as if he found it necessary to save all his energy for the next speech, the next receiving line. And he performed well in front of every audience, so Berman told the others not to bother him, to speak only if they were spoken to.
“We’re going to lose this fucking thing, aren’t we, Cyril?” Fiore’s eyes stayed closed when he asked the question.
Berman was surprised by Fiore’s use of the expletive. He couldn’t recall hearing him swear once in the time they spent together. “It’s too close to call, Doug. They give you a one point lead in the polls. That’s better than being down a point. Singer would be happy to trade places with you. He’s had the momentum lately but that can change fast. You’ve got to come on strong in the debate Thursday, and I think we’re a shoo-in if you get the Herald ’s endorsement this weekend.”
“It would help more if someone pushed Jenna Richardson off the Newport Bridge, that bitch.” Doug said.
Both Walsh and Karp laughed out loud in the front seat.
“Where the hell did she get that stuff about the Tarantinos putting up a lot of money? Who’s the ‘source’ she’s talking about? I thought we were the only ones who knew what was happening.” Fiore’s frustration was evident.
Karp felt some tightening in his chest. He thought Richardson did a good job disguising the basis for her story, but he didn’t trust himself to get into a conversation about it. He was relieved to hear Berman say that anyone studying the lists of contributors carefully could speculate that some individuals were probably being helped to give to the campaign by others.
“The information could have come from any number of people,” Berman added. “That includes personal friends of the Tarantinos who were hit up for money and knew exactly how it was being spent.” He didn’t suspect for a moment that Richardson was enlightened by either Karp or Walsh. “There are always people around who talk too much to a reporter without realizing what they’re saying,” Berman told them. “Not everyone out there with a Fiore sign on their lawn has smarts, Doug. And the only way you can try to get a reporter to name a source is to sue them if you can show damages. Forget about it.”
They rode along in silence for a while. Fiore loosened his tie and then took a granola bar out of his briefcase. When he finished eating, he turned to Berman. “I think we’ve got to find something negative to say about Singer. The Herald ’s not going to throw its support to me after those columns by Richardson. It doesn’t figure. They’d be cutting her heart out if they did. We’ve got to come up with something that hurts Singer really bad, even if we have to fudge the facts. Otherwise, we’re going to lose this thing. You know I’m right, Cyril.”
“I don’t think we can do that,” Berman replied quickly. “It’s been a clean campaign on both sides. All the papers have said that you and Singer deserve a lot of credit for that. If you suddenly go negative, especially with stuff that turns out to be only half true, there could be a backlash in your direction. The media will pick up on it right away, and they’ll be all over us in the press and on TV. I told you I’ve checked Singer out totally. He’s a good family man, and he do
esn’t drink or chase other women. When he was lieutenant governor, he never asked for a kickback on anything or took one if it was offered. You ask anyone at the Statehouse and they’ll tell you he didn’t put five cents in his pocket that didn’t belong to him. Believe me, Doug, he’s squeaky clean. You’re going to have to beat him on the issues, and you can do it.”
Fiore closed his eyes again. “You may be right, but it was easy to go with a clean campaign while we were ahead. There was no pressure then to go after Singer with anything we could dig up, but there is now. I haven’t gone through a half year of this shit to lose. I’ll do whatever it takes to beat him, and if we can come up with something sensational, that’s what everyone will be talking about. No one will be shedding tears about the end of a clean campaign. Just go to work and get something on that bastard fast while there’s still time to do some damage. If we get the facts wrong, we can always apologize after the election.”
Walsh and Karp looked at each other in the front seat. Both were aware of the sudden metamorphosis in Fiore’s character as evidenced by his foul language and his declared willingness to do anything to win the election, even if it involved lying about his opponent. Their faces showed their concern with what was happening. Berman turned away from Fiore and was looking out the car window as it sped toward Providence. He knew there was nothing negative he could come up with about Singer, and even if he could, it would have to be the truth. He didn’t believe in doing anything it took to win.
90
THE WEDNESDAY COLLECTIONS WERE over for Tommy Arena before noon. He counted all the money he was given by the freight deliverers, divided it in half, and put equal amounts in separate manila envelopes. The envelopes went back inside his briefcase, and he hollered “Ciao” to the restaurant owner as he left the store.
My Honorable Brother Page 41