Old Flame (19 page)

CHAPTER

52

I
was on my way to Feeney’s when my cell phone rang. It turned out to be my old friend Rosie Alba, Lisa Hernandez’s nosy neighbor.

“I called to thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“I got that paint job. Wasn’t for you, it never would have happened.”

“Glad to help, Ms. Alba.”

“Call me Rosie. You’re almost a member of the family now.”

I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Appreciate it.”

“By the way. I saw the Hernandez slut. I was over at the post office, and she was there, pissin’ and moanin’ about something or other.”

“Was she alone?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, right. That one is never alone, if you know what I mean. With an older guy. Seemed kind of embarrassed by the scene she was making.”

“When was this, Rosie?”

“This morning, about twenty minutes ago. He acted like he was in a hurry. Kept saying he had to get back to work. She didn’t seem to care much, like she had all the time in the world.”

“Have you seen him with Lisa before?”

“A lot,” she said.

“Can you describe him?”

“Overweight. Balding. Looks like one of those guys you see working at the Welfare office.”

“Rosie, you are the best.”

“It’s gonna be peach.”

She lost me. “What is?”

“The paint job. Everything is gonna be peach.”

I hung up and called Swede.

“I’m about to make your career,” I said.

I met Swede at Midtown North. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile.

“I have to admit, this is turning into one of those moments that I just live for,” he said.

“But you needed lots of convincing.”

“That I did, but with the Sloan investigation conducted by very careful people above my pay grade, I didn’t have a whole lot else going on, so why not take a flyer. They were just leaving his office when I got there.”

“Timing is everything. Are they talking?”

“Not long in coming. This is their first swing through the system, and they’re dazed at being yanked out of their world into mine. I would invite you to the party, but . . .”

“I’m not a cop anymore. I understand.”

“But,” Swede said, “I’ve got a front-row seat with your name on it behind the two-way mirror.”

“I appreciate it. You’ve got them together?”

“Oh yeah. And Mirandized. I can’t wait to see who throws the other under the bus first.”

“I’m betting it’s Lisa. I don’t see her as the stand-by-your-man type.”

“Looking down the barrel of a long stretch at Bedford Hills does tend to force one to rethink things. It could be a long afternoon. You want a cup of coffee or something?”

“I’m good.”

“Then it’s showtime.”

The interview room was spartan and brightly lit. Table. Four folding chairs. Wastepaper basket.

Lisa Hernandez and Lou Torricelli sat with their chairs angled away from each other.

“Is everyone comfortable? Need some coffee?” Swede asked.

Neither responded.

“Why are we here?” Torricelli finally said.

“Like I told you, Lou, I need a few questions answered, and then you’re on your way. But they’re serious questions, and it’s important that you level with me.”

“Level with you about what? You barge into my office and drag us—”

Torricelli still had some fight left . . . until Swede dropped the hammer.

“How about conspiracy, grand larceny, bribery of a public official, embezzlement of city funds, and the ever popular murder, for openers?”

I smiled as the expression on Torricelli’s face moved from outrage to fear.

His voice was hesitant and small. “How did we go from a couple of questions and I’m on my way to . . . murder?”

Swede shrugged. “I lied, Lou.”

It was Lou Torricelli’s come-to-Jesus moment, the realization that his life had just hit a reef. He reached for the wastepaper basket and threw up.

Lisa made a face and turned away.

“I see I have your attention, Lou,” Swede said. “It’s a good thing.”

Swede turned his attention to Lisa. “And after we finish with your boyfriend, you’re up.”

“I don’t have nothing to do with nothing,” she said. “I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Swede said.

“I want a lawyer,” Torricelli said, knowing that he was beyond help.

“That’s your right, Lou. You can lawyer-up now and take your chances—which look mighty dim, if you ask me—or you can talk to me and help yourself out in the long run.”

Torricelli pulled out a handkerchief and swiped it across his mouth. His face was pasty and damp with sweat, but his eyes lit up as if had he spotted a life raft bobbing nearby.

“What do you mean, ‘help myself’?”

Swede walked over to him and laid his hand on his shoulder. “You have a family, Lou?”

“Yes.”

“They’re gonna miss you. You’re looking at the needle for the Ferris murder,” he said.

A little white lie, but entirely appropriate.

Torricelli made a grab for the wastepaper basket.

“I’m really sorry, Lou,” Swede continued. “But if you’re straight with me, we might be able to make that part go away. Might. No promises. Yet.”

“How?”

“You give, and you get.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you murdered Ferris,” Swede said, “but let’s put that aside for now. Let’s talk about who you conspired with to rob the taxpayers blind.”

The light in Torricelli’s eyes dimmed.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he said. “They’ll kill me if I talk.”

Swede smiled. “And the state will kill you if you don’t. Your choice.”

The wastepaper basket was getting a hell of a workout.

Torricelli straightened up and hung his head in his hands.

“You’ll protect . . . my . . . family?”

“You have my word.”

“How good is that?”

“It’s all you’ve got.”

Torricelli took a very long time, and I didn’t blame him.

He looked over at Lisa, but there was no help from that quarter, and I think he realized that there probably never was. Lou Torricelli was truly on his own.

“Here’s how it worked,” he finally said.

Swede patiently walked him through the scheme, and Torricelli spilled his guts, naming contractors, the size of the kickbacks — approximately $30 million — and to whom they flowed. Torricelli gave up some of the most powerful real-estate barons in the city.

And then Swede got to the good part. “Were there any city officials involved in the fraud?”

“Councilman Terry Sloan had a piece of every contract.”

Have a happy Fourth, Terry!

“Did you deal with Councilman Sloan directly?”

“No. One of his associates. Albert Mallus. Everything went through him.”

“Did you keep records of your transactions with Mallus and the others who were receiving payoffs?”

“I did. I keep them in a safe in my home.”

Maybe there really was a God.

An hour later Swede was done with that phase of the interrogation. The DA had enough to keep his office busy for the next year. He moved on to Ferris.

“Why did you kill Ferris?”

Torricelli threw one last look at Lisa, but she refused to meet his gaze. He turned back to Swede. His voice was resigned.

“The son of a bitch was shorting me,” he said. “Ferris dealt with the contractors. They paid him. He took his one percent and turned the rest over to me for disbursement. Everything worked fine for a while, until I noticed that something was wrong. The money didn’t quite add up.”

“So you confronted him?”

“Yeah, and he denied it. But I saw what was going on.”

“And that was the reason you bashed his head in.”

“Right.”

“Lou, you’re not being straight here,” Swede said. “I saw you sneak a peek at Lisa. What was that all about?”

“Nothing. It’s like I said. The guy was shorting me.”

“How much money have you made to date? Roughly.”

“Three million. Give or take.”

“And how much was Ferris holding back? Roughly.”

“Fifty, sixty thousand.”

“Come on, Lou. With the money you banked, and the money that each new contract spun off, that’s chump change. Certainly not enough to kill someone over.”

Torricelli looked away.

“It was all about Lisa,” Swede said, “wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You and Ferris were both on her A-list of, shall we say, companions. What happened, Lou, competition got a little stiff?”

His face reddened, but he remained silent.

“Then Ferris probably mentioned the threats he was getting, so you figured it would be a swell idea to tell Steeg that you were getting threats too. Right?”

Torricelli stared at the ceiling.

“How about it, Lisa?” Swede said. “Is that the way it went down? Is that what you and Tony were talking about at dinner the night Lou killed him?”

“No,” she said. “I had no idea the sick bastard was gonna do what he did. The truth is, it didn’t have to happen the way it did.”

“Why not?”

“I told Lou that Tony and I were done. He would never leave his wife. But it didn’t matter to Lou.” She shot Torricelli an icy look. “Every time he would see Tony, he’d get more and more jealous. I don’t know why. Besides, Lou had all that money, and Tony didn’t. So, for me, it was Lou all the way.”

What’s a girl to do?

CHAPTER

53

T
erry Sloan’s perp walk made the front pages of all the morning newspapers. The sight of him in cuffs with his Armani jacket pulled over his head lifted my spirits to celestial heights. It was as close to heaven as I would ever get.

I was at my kitchen table, drinking coffee and savoring every word of the article detailing his comeuppance, when there was a knock at the door. It was Ginny and Jeanmarie.

With the barest of nods, Jeanmarie went to my cupboard, pulled out two cups, and poured herself and Ginny coffee. It was Jeanmarie being Jeanmarie, and I let it slide.

“You did good, Steeg,” she said. “You caught the bastard and made things right. Not that you didn’t have help, mind you.”

Jeanmarie had lost nothing off her fastball. A compliment delivered without a commensurate dig was hardly worth the effort.

“Thank you, Jeanmarie.”

“And you didn’t want me to ask Steeg for help,” she said to Ginny. “Who was right?”

“I’m grateful for what you did, Jake,” Ginny said. “I know it was difficult for you.”

“I’m just happy it worked out,” I said.

“Where do you keep your sugar, Steeg?” Jeanmarie said. “This coffee is so strong the damn spoon stands up on its own.”

“On the shelf above the cups.”

Ginny smiled. “She is what she is,” she said. “Never will change.”

“It would make a lot of people happier if she did.”

Jeanmarie found the sugar and returned to the table.

“That murderin’ Italian swine, Torricelli,” she said. “I want to be the last face the bastard sees when they give him the juice.”

We all have a right to our fantasies.

“Mom,” Ginny said. “Will you excuse us? I want to talk to Jake. Alone.”

Jeanmarie shot Ginny a disapproving look.

“More secrets?” she said. “I believe that’s what got you into trouble in the first place.”

Ginny took my hand and led me toward the bedroom. She closed the door.

“Jeanmarie has a point,” she said.

“That’s not for me to say. Your life is your business.”

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

“As I recall, it was Jeanmarie’s idea.”

“But if it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened.”

“If feeling guilty is a consolation, then go for it. I don’t see it that way, Ginny. Tony was caught up in something that had nothing to do with your marriage. It took on its own momentum. Look, Lisa had already chosen Torricelli simply because she knew Tony wouldn’t leave you. You can take some solace in that.”

“What counts is that you were stand-up. Not a lot of ex-husbands would do that.”

“Is there a future with you and potential husband number four?” I asked.

“He tells me you met him. What do you think?”

“Seems like a jerk.”

She giggled. “He does, doesn’t he?”

She took me in her arms and hugged tight.

“You know what I really regret?” she said.

“What?”

“Walking out on you. You were a keeper, Jake.”

After that, there wasn’t very much to say. She and Jeanmarie finished their coffee and left. I headed over to Feeney’s.

CHAPTER

54

F
eeney’s had the joie de vivre of a tomb.

Dave sat in a back booth with three newspapers spread out on the table. Four of his men watched the door. He waved me over.

His finger stabbed at the headline. “Doesn’t matter what I say, does it?” he said. “You just don’t listen.”

“Let’s just say I’m tired of playing little brother. It’s getting old.”

He stared at me for a few seconds and then said, “What are you talking about?”

“Pete Toal said something a while ago that stuck with me. He said I was on your pad, and he was right.”

“What pad? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Where you barge into my life and I’m supposed to be grateful. Look, your business is something we never discussed.”

“So?”

“We didn’t discuss it because it never involved me. We built a firewall, and it worked. It’s not working anymore. I never asked you to help with Danny Reno. That was your idea. I’m looking for Ginny’s husband’s killer, and I’m afraid to look too hard. You know why? I might find you in there somewhere. It’s a real problem, Dave.”

“I was only looking out for you.”

“I know that, but when you look out for me, people die. I know I put a crimp in your income. But you’ll make it back. I put some of your friends in jail. You’ll find new friends. But . . .”

“I’m not going to find a new brother,” Dave said.

“Something like that.”

“It’s that serious?”

“Yeah.”

He reached over and patted my face. “It took balls for you to say that, Jake.”

“If I were one of your hired goons, it would have taken balls. But you keep forgetting that I don’t work for you. I have genetic license to tell you you’re full of shit and not have to worry that you’re going to blow me away. Think of it as a lifelong get-out-of-jail pass.”

He smiled. “Franny has the other one.” He held out his hand. “Point taken. You have my word. Are we square?”

I took his hand. “As long as you keep your end of the bargain,” I said.

“Old habits are hard to break, but I’ll work on it.”

Nick brought over a pot of coffee and joined us.

“This thing is going to last two, maybe three days max, and then the reporters are on to the next thing,” he said.

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “From what I saw, this is going to be the story that keeps on giving.”

“You were there?” Dave said.

“As a voyeur. Swede extended some professional courtesy.”

Dave pushed the newspapers aside. “So, we get to hear what went down straight from the horse’s mouth. Good.”

I took my time and gave them all the gory details. This was one story I didn’t mind telling.

When I’d finished and sat back, Dave said, “By the way, the cops never found the set of books Torricelli claims he had stashed in his house.”

I didn’t even bother to ask where he got his information.

“Is that a fact?”

“Yep. You know who you remind me of, Jake?”

“Who?”

“That guy who spends eternity rolling a boulder uphill.”

“Sisyphus.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I told you, Jake, no one’s gonna do any time. Oh, maybe a few lower-level guys get busted, but the bosses? No. And Terry? Without the books, he’s the aggrieved party. You’ve turned him into the poster boy for malicious prosecution by political opponents bent on his destruction. All the cops have is Torricelli’s word, and who’s gonna believe a confessed murderer?”

I had a sudden sinking feeling.

“Pretty slick,” I said.

“It gets even slicker. He’s got the top PR firm in the city sprucing up his image. Wouldn’t surprise me if he wins the Humanitarian of the Year Award.”

“He’s collecting on all his IOUs.”

“Not all, but most. You watch a lot of television, Jake?“

“Some.”

“Me, I like sitcoms. You know why?”

I shook my head.

“I figured them out,” Dave said. “There’s a formula, y’know.”

“Really.”

“No shit. Every week is the same as the week before. Everybody’s happy, just like you left them, and then something happens and everything goes topsy-turvy. But by the end of every show, things settle back to normal. Nothing really changes.”

“Your point?”

“By next week this will all be forgotten, and where will you be?”

“Sleeping better.”

“Wise up, Jake. It’s the way of the world.”

“Have you talked to Terry?”

“Sure.”

“Is he pissed?”

“You bet.”

“Then I’ve done my job.”

“You’re a lost cause. The boulder is just gonna get heavier, and the slope steeper.”

Suddenly, Dave’s eyes went to the door. He stiffened. So did his gun dogs.

Barak was in the house. Alone. He carried what looked like a reddish orange, earthenware box. A couple of yards of duct tape secured the top to the container.

He walked up to us and set it on the table. Dave reached inside his jacket.

“I’m not armed,” Barak said, lifting his arms. “Feel free to check.”

Dave’s hand came out of his jacket empty, but his men held their guns against their thighs.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dave said.

Barak smiled. “Bearding the lion in his den. I came to say good-bye. Your brother was very persuasive. There is nothing to be gained from our conflict.”

Dave looked at me. “What’s he talking about?” he said.

“I met him. We talked. Said you were both assholes who had severe penis problems. And then I forgot about it.”

“Is that right, Barak?”

“Essentially.”

“You’re a regular Dale Carnegie, Jake.”

“Your brother is an honest man.”

“Funny. We’ve just been talking about that.”

“I leave you this as a gift, a sign of my intentions. It is very old, and quite precious. Be very careful with it.”

“Where’s Danny Reno?” I said.

“I would like to discuss that with you, outside.”

I followed him out to his car.

“Reno,” I said.

“The gift I left with your brother is a museum piece. Dates from the time of Christ, perhaps earlier. It’s called an ossuary.”

The word sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my fin-ger on it.

“Where’s Danny?”

“He’s already here.”

I looked in the car. No Reno.

“Stop screwing with—”

I finally made the connection. An ossuary is a bone box.

And then I heard the roar.