Lady Killer (27 page)

“W
hat’s going on here?” Mrs. Gambone appeared in the doorway. She looked down at the bulletin board on the floor, then up at Trish and Mary in surprise. “Are you fighting?”

“Ma, don’t tell her anything,” Trish said, frantic. “Don’t say anything.”

Mary ignored her. “Mrs. Gambone,” she said, “where is Trish’s opal ring? You had it and the cops found it in the alley, beside Bobby’s—”

“No, Ma, it’s not true,” Trish interrupted, but Mrs. Gambone only blinked in response.

Mary said, “It is true, Mrs. Gambone. Tell me how it got there, in the alley.”

“Ma, no.” Trish wailed and threw her arms around her mother. But Mrs. Gambone stood oddly still, her lined face a mask, and in the next second, her features seemed to surrender, her eyebrows sloping down, her eyelids sagging, and her thin lips drawn at the corners of her mouth.

“I need to sit down,” she said, wearily, and when Trish released her, she walked to the bed.

“Tell me what happened.” Mary pulled up the desk chair, and Mrs. Gambone eased onto the edge of the bed like a much older woman. She folded her hands in her lap, and her shoulders slumped, her chest almost concave in the pink sweatshirt.

Trish sat beside her, her arms around her. “Ma, you don’t have to tell her anything, you know that. They can’t prove anything.”

“Yes, they can.” Mary looked directly at Mrs. Gambone. “They know about the ring. All the girls know Trish didn’t have it. Sooner or later, the truth’s going to come out.”

“No, Ma—,” Trish began, but her mother cut her off with a wave.

“I want to…I just don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning,” Mary answered, her heart beginning to hammer. “That night. Trish’s birthday.”

“No, that’s not the beginning.” Mrs. Gambone shook her head, and Trish seemed to grow still at her side. “The beginning was a long time ago, when Bobby turned on Trish, yellin’ at her, makin’ her miserable. Abusin’ her. That was the beginning.”

“Okay.”

“I couldn’t do anything. Trish couldn’t do anything.” Mrs. Gambone stopped and looked at her daughter with love, then reached out and brushed a stray tendril from her forehead. “Right, baby?”

Trish nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

“It’s okay now. He’s gone.”

Mary felt a chill, waiting, and Mrs. Gambone’s gaze returned to Mary, her manner almost conversational.

“I could see how unhappy she was, but she didn’t complain. Trish was never a complainer. She was always a tough girl, a strong girl, like me. Never asked nobody for nothing’. Always supported myself. Never had a man support me. I’m proud a that.”

“You should be,” Mary said, meaning it.

“Trish’s father, he was the same as Bobby. Nice in the beginning, to sucker you in, then it all turns to crap. He ran aroun’, he drank, he started knockin’ me aroun’. I didn’t take it. I wouldn’t take it. I wasn’t one a those wimps you see on TV. I threw his ass outta here. I made my own money, down at the shop. I didn’t need his.”

“I understand.” Mary did. That Mrs. Gambone had lived a hard life was written all over her face.

“Trish couldn’t do that with Bobby. She couldn’t throw him out, not with him connected. She was trapped and she knew it. So did I.” Mrs. Gambone eyed Mary hard, her crows’-feet deep. “How do you think that feels? A mother, knowin’ your baby’s dyin’ a little, every day? Day by day?”

Mary couldn’t answer. She was in no position to judge. For a minute, she was thinking of another baby.

“So that night, on her birthday, she told me what she was afraid of, and I was afraid, too. I was on pins and needles all week, worryin’ about her, crazy that that piece of garbage would hurt my daughter—maybe even kill my daughter—on the very day I’d brought her into this world. I hated him for that, I hated him deep in my heart for that.” Mrs. Gambone’s features darkened. “That night, Trish was gonna call me to tell me she was okay. I waited for her call, but the phone never rang. When I finally got her message, she was afraid, but I couldn’t hear all of it. The connection was so bad. I didn’t even know where she was.”

Mary remembered. Her cell phone hadn’t worked in the Poconos either.

“I knew her voice, the way she sounded, the tone, from when she was a baby. A mother knows. She was afraid, terrified, for her
life
. The message said Bobby just left the room, and he was gonna be back and she thought he was gonna kill her. Then, next thing I knew I didn’t hear anything else. The phone went dead, and I screamed. I screamed, I couldn’t stop. My friends, they were all here, they couldn’t stop me. I thought, he just killed my baby.”

Mary swallowed, recalling that night at her parents’ house, and Mrs. Gambone’s raw anguish.

“I called the cops, I called the Missing Persons, I did everything I was supposed to do. That’s when I went to your parents, I was beside myself.”

Trish took her mother’s hands in hers.

“After I went home, I told everybody to go, that I wanted to sleep. I needed to be alone. I sent them home, I made them go and I had my house to myself. I was alone, really alone, because Trish was gone.” Mrs. Gambone looked at her daughter again with a profoundly sad smile. Her eyes were dry but Trish’s weren’t, and she continued her story, matter-of-factly. “I went into her bedroom and sat here a long time. Right here. I looked at the desk, and the shelves, and the stuffed animals and the pictures on the bulletin board. I saw all the things she loved in this room.”

Mrs. Gambone paused, her gaze wandering around the room almost happily, and Mary could see her soak in every detail, the times of a child’s life, lost everywhere but in the memory of her mother.

Mrs. Gambone continued, “Then I saw the ring, on the floor next to the night table. I gave it to her for her twenty-first birthday. It was right there, like a sign. I picked it up and I held it and I could almost feel my baby, alive again. I could see it on her finger. I could see her hand. I could even see her face when I gave it to her, how happy she was, and now she was dead. She was miserable for so long, and I let it happen. I stood by and let it happen.”

“No, Ma,” Trish whispered, but Mrs. Gambone shook her head.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t take care of you. I was put on this earth to take care of you and I let you down, all that time. Maybe he didn’t kill you that night, but he killed you a long time ago. You’re not the girl you used to be, light and happy inside, you know that. I knew it, too, and I just watched. Your own mother just watched. I put the ring on my finger, just to have some of you, whatever was left.”

A tear ran down Trish’s cheek, and Mrs. Gambone sighed.

“I went in my room and got my gun, the one Trish gave me. She got it from him, from Bobby. I thought, ‘Good.’ I knew he worked the corner at Kennick, and I knew that sooner or later, he had to go back to that corner to make some money.” Mrs. Gambone looked at Trish. “I didn’t know he was in the Poconos. I just lucked out, he came back to the city. God was lookin’ out for me. I know that sounds strange, that God would help you do somethin’ like that, but he was.”

Trish wiped the tear away, but said nothing.

“So I got in my car, and I drove to Kennick, and pretty soon I saw a pickup truck near the corner. I only noticed it ’cause there wasn’t a contractor sign on the side, and if you’re not a contractor, why you need a big truck like that in South Philly?” Mrs. Gambone smiled, but it faded quickly. “And what do I see next but
him
gettin’ out of it. I didn’t know where he got the truck, but I’d know him anywhere. And he wasn’t with Trish, so I thought he musta killed her. I mean, how could I not? We were all worried about what was gonna happen when she told him no, she didn’t wanna marry him, and after that phone call, I thought I jus’ heard my baby’s last words alive.”

Mary blinked. It was an awful mistake, a horrendous mistake, but she could see how Mrs. Gambone had made it.

“So I followed him, and when he saw me, he was surprised, and we stepped a little into the alley. I asked him, ‘What did you do to my daughter, you bastard,’ and he laughed and he said, ‘She’s gone, that dumb bitch,’ and he kinda laughed again, and that was
it
.” Mrs. Gambone’s eyes flickered. “As soon as he turned his back, I pulled the gun outta my pocket and I shot him in the head, just like that. I wasn’t even thinking. It was like somebody else done it. Then I got outta the alley, back into the car, and drove home. I didn’t remember about the ring. Wasn’t thinking about the ring. It musta slipped offa my finger. And then I heard that my baby was alive.”

Mrs. Gambone’s face changed, coming to life as if from a nightmare, and she looked over, almost confused to see Trish break down. Her voice soft, she said, “Don’t cry, baby. He deserved everything he got, and I shoulda done it a long time ago. I got everything I wanted, all my prayers answered. You’re alive, and he’s dead.”

Mary shuddered, watching Mrs. Gambone cradle Trish tenderly against her sweatshirt. The daughter’s sobbing wracked her body, coming hoarse and deep, from the depths of her, and Mary couldn’t help but feel awful for them both, despite what Mrs. Gambone had done. Not that it was right, but that it was human, a mother protecting her child.

It’s more than I did.

Mary flushed with shame, distinctly unworthy to condemn Mrs. Gambone, as she watched her comfort Trish. Then another thought struck her. Mrs. Gambone had let her grief and her guilt destroy her life, and so had Mary. If she didn’t let it go, it would eat her alive. It was time to put the past back where it belonged. Behind her.

“What happens now, Ma?” Trish sobbed. “What about you?”

“I don’t know, baby.” Mrs. Gambone rocked Trish in her arms. “I don’t know.” Her gaze shifted to Mary. “You’re a lawyer. What do I do now?”

“You have a few options,” Mary answered, shifting gears. “You can turn yourself in and accept responsibility for the murder, and then you can either plead guilty and make a deal or you can go to trial and make them prove their case.”

Mrs. Gambone sighed again, but Trish tilted her face up from her mother’s embrace, her cheeks stained with tears and her glistening eyes hopeful.

“Why, Mare? Why should she say anything? Why does she have to turn herself in? What if she doesn’t tell the cops anything? What if she just shuts up?”

Mrs. Gambone looked over, and Mary blinked, plunged suddenly into a conspiracy of silence. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Mrs. Gambone would keep it a secret.

Trish sat up suddenly, wiping her eyes, and looked at her mother. “Keep it quiet, Ma. The cops don’t know a thing about you. The girls don’t even know, and this, they’d shut up about anyway.”

Mary looked from daughter to mother and back again, realizing how naive she must have been, and how unprofessional. She’d wanted Mrs. Gambone to turn herself in, but that wasn’t in her interest. It might be justice, but it wasn’t law. Mary found herself in the middle of an ethical dilemma as Mrs. Gambone and Trish turned to her.

“Mare, you have to tell the cops on me, don’t you?” Mrs. Gambone’s asked. “You have to because you’re a lawyer.”

Trish sat beside her, equally puzzled. “No, you’re not allowed to tell the cops, are you, Mare? I mean, my mom’s your client, and this is all confidential, right?”

“Slow down, ladies.” Mary put up both hands, wondering how she’d gotten herself into this mess. She’d thought the hard part was figuring out whodunit, but this was even harder. “As a legal matter, I have no obligation under Pennsylvania law to tell the cops what you just told me. But as a moral matter, I feel differently.” She paused, emotion confusing her reasoning. “Mrs. Gambone, I understand why you did what you did that night, but I believe in the law and I don’t think you can take it into your own hands.”

Trish gasped. “Bobby was gonna kill me, Mare.”

“Not then he wasn’t. Not in the alley he wasn’t. He was an awful person, but he was still a person.” Mary found herself thinking not of Bobby, but of Rosaria, grief stricken. “I’m sure the facts will help your mom get a good plea bargain, maybe downgrade the charge from murder to voluntary manslaughter. She has no record and she just lost it, thinking Bobby had murdered you. It’s almost like a temporary insanity defense, and the sentence for manslaughter could be as low as five years. Or if she went to trial, the facts could even persuade the jury to let her off. It happens.”

Mrs. Gambone remained silent, her lips a resigned line, but Mary could see she was mulling it over.

“It’s not for me to say, Mrs. Gambone, and I don’t want to judge you. I can’t put this back in the bag, or pretend I don’t know, which gives you a compromised lawyer. I can’t be objective about your case, so I can’t be the one to represent you.”

Mrs. Gambone frowned, and Trish looked at Mary, astonished, the pain of betrayal reminding Mary of that first day in her office.

“I can’t believe you’re doin’ this, Mare.”

“I have to. There’s also a conflict of interest here, Trish. Right now, I’m your lawyer, and we both know you’re not completely in the clear. There’s lots more evidence to come, like that lamp in the cabin, and it’ll show Bobby’s blood on it. What if any of it points to you?”

Trish’s outrage diminished.

“The best way for me to get you off the hook is to take your mom in to confess. Is that what you want? Should I sell your mom out—for you? That’s in your interest, but not hers, understand?”

Trish nodded, reluctantly.

“You see the issue, then.”

“So you’re gonna leave my mom in the lurch?”

“Of course not.” Mary rose on knees that felt surprisingly weak. “Mrs. Gambone, I’ll get you the best criminal lawyer I know. Then you can decide what you want to do, with solid legal advice. Be right back.” She crossed to the door and slipped outside, taking her phone from her purse. She closed the door behind her, then sat down at the top of the stairs, and pressed in the number, ignoring a bad case of jitters. When the call connected, she said, “Bennie?”

“DiNunzio. It’s about time you called. Are you clearing out your office tomorrow?”