Only Make Believe (8 page)

Amelia DiGennaro covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “Evidence? What evidence?”

Bud’s voice dropped a couple of notches. “Garter belt, ma’am. Nylon stockings, corset, high-heel shoe.”

Chuck turned toward Bud, suddenly alert. “He was with a woman? Is that what you’re saying?” Then he turned to me. “That place you run. You have women, right? Women that men can make dates with?”

Amelia was on her feet. “Charles, I’m surprised at you. I think we’d better go home now. Did I give you the car keys or—?”

Bud pushed the door closed with the toe of his brogan. “I’ll be needing to ask you a few questions first, ma’am. You and your boy, too. If you don’t object.”

“We have nothing to say. We’re in shock—distraught. Do you understand? I’ll have the undertaker arrange to collect—”

Bud shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am. Be a day or two before we can allow anything like that. Coroner Shepherd’s gonna have to do his examination and lab work first.”

Dr. Graves backed him up. “Legally, Madam, we have no choice but to allow the authorities to take charge of the body and everything associated with it. You just let us take care of your husband. I have several forms for you to sign and—”

“I won’t listen to this. It’s impossible, lies. Do you understand?”

“It’s a bad situation,” Bud answered. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“And I certainly won’t give my permission for an autopsy. The church doesn’t allow it.”

Bud glanced at Chuck, paused and plunged on. “Ma’am, facts is facts. Mr. DiGennaro was wearing a woman’s corset when they found him over at the hotel. Black stockings and garter belt. Face makeup. It’s already down in the ambulance driver’s’ report.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Earlier last evening, he wore a dress and wig down to supper. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to the hotel and dressed up as a lady, either.”

“More lies. So we’ll have to hush it up. We can do that, can’t we, officer?”

“No, ma’am. There’s no way I see you can do that.”

“You’ll ruin us. Is that what you want? To take away our good name? Why aren’t you out there trying to find the madman who did this—this thing?”

“Well, ma’am—”

Her voice rose. “You won’t help me protect my children?” She reached into her purse, pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “We have a daughter, she’s even younger than Chuck, innocent, almost a baby. People will say horrible things. This is a tragedy. Don’t you understand? Lies.”

“Facts is facts, like I said, ma’am. We ain’t intending to publish all this in the paper. But it could amount to murder in the first or second degree. Or manslaughter, depending. So we got to collect and preserve all the evidence. Some of the facts may have to come out at trial. It’ll be in the public record.”

Dr. Graves headed for the door. “I’ll just check to see if Doctor Shepherd has arrived.”

Bud glanced at me. “Dan, you want to fill us all in on what you and your staff witnessed? Just a general outline.”

I repeated what I’d said earlier, keeping it short but adding a few more details. “Your husband checked in before noon, called in a hairdresser and a musical accompanist, and spent Sunday evening wearing a long gown, wig, tiara, button-up gloves, makeup and heels. He told one of my people he was impersonating an opera singer. He sang Puccini and some show tunes. As far as we know, the Diva didn’t leave the hotel until the medics brought him here.”

“The Diva! How dare you say such things in front of my son? To my face! You’re insinuating, aren’t you? Suggesting things. I’m going to report both of you.”

Chuck took a step toward the door. “Let’s go, Mother. That hotel Daddy stayed at? I heard some things about it. Maybe these guys are in cahoots, trying to frame Daddy. Maybe Daddy was forced to dress up that way. Maybe they all wear dresses at that hotel—after dark, maybe.”

Bud set his mouth tight and stood a little taller. Personally, he no more wanted to wear dresses than fly to the moon. But Marine Sergeant Wright had heard too many stories and jokes about cross-dressing perverts and limp-wristed girly boys. Despite his proven bravery on the battlefield, he feared that one careless word or glance would forever label him a cocksucking fairy, a pansy, a disgrace to the Corps, rotten fruit. And he was well aware that sodomy, called the abominable and detestable crime against nature, was a felony in the state of Florida. In the back of his mind, we committed a crime every time we made love.

“Watch your mouth, Junior. You’re talking to an officer of the law.”

Chuck had begun to sweat. The hangover had hit him bad, turned him reckless. “You’re talking about my daddy. He wasn’t a homo, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“I ain’t trying to say nothing, Junior. What my job is is to find out what happened, and who did this to your pop.” Bud turned back to Amelia. “He didn’t ever use that name around you, ma’am? Diva? Miss Diva Capri? Or say he wanted to try on dresses?”

“Never. He wasn’t that way at all.”

Bud had taken out his notebook and pencil. “Appears that somebody was with Mr. DiGennaro in his room early this morning. We don’t know why or what exactly happened. Nor if it was a man or a woman, or how many people it was, come to that.”

“Mother of God! My husband was entirely normal. I tell you he had no interest in—in any of that. It was a joke. We attended a publishing convention in New York last spring. A whole group of us went to a ha-ha club, just for something different. The entertainers were men, men dressed up like women. Beautiful women. So Nick decided to dress that way for Halloween—for a party at the country club. Everybody said he was great.”

I thought of Earle the Pearl, married with three children, and wondered how much Earle’s wife knew, and whether Earle regretted leaving show business.

I glanced at Bud. He caught my eye but kept his expression strictly neutral.

“It didn’t mean anything.” Amelia touched her eyes with the handkerchief. “Nothing, you understand?”

Bud dropped to one knee, next to her chair. When he spoke, his voice was low, confidential. “What was the name of that ha-ha club, ma’am?”

“I certainly don’t remember.”

“Did you shop for him—for his party clothes, for Halloween?”

“That’s none of your business. I’m going home now.”

“We’ll be checking into your husband’s background and known associates, ma’am. So if you’d kindly stick around five more minutes and help me out, you might save your family more embarrassment.” He shrugged, as if to suggest she had a choice in the way the investigation was conducted. “In the long run.”

“Two minutes. I’m sick of this.”

“Did your husband run around on you?”

“My child is here. How can you even ask such a question? What’s your name? I’m definitely going to report you now.”

“I’m Lee County Detective Sergeant Spencer Wright, ma’am. W-R-I-G-H-T. So are you telling me he was completely faithful?”

Amelia was on her feet. “There was a mild flirtation with the wife of one of our friends. The Malloys, Norma Malloy. We don’t see them anymore.”

Bud made a note. “So maybe Mr. Malloy would want to get back at your husband?”

“That could be. But I doubt if he cared. He runs around on Norma all the time. And he’s small—short, not at all athletic or strong. They breed fox terriers.”

Bud shook his head and made another note. “Don’t seem likely that your fox terrier breeder could have surprised such a big, tough man as your husband, kicked him and hurt him so bad.”

Amelia gasped and tried to get by Bud. “Open the door.”

“I have to beg your pardon, ma’am. But like I said, this is a probable homicide or manslaughter case. And it looks to me like another big, strong male, maybe two individuals, came into your husband’s room, possibly for alleged immoral purposes.” Bud took a breath and swallowed hard. “Or else it was about something else, robbery maybe, or payback for some questionable business deal? Or put the two together. Some redneck off the docks was hired—hired by
somebody
—to shame and blackmail your husband about wearing a dress and corset, and they got to arguing and it went all wrong,
real
bad
wrong.”

Faster than a snake going after a mouse, Amelia slapped Bud’s face. “Bastard! Lies!”

“You can’t do this,” the boy shouted, lunging at Bud.

I grabbed the boy’s shoulders and held him back.

“Get your hands off me,” Chuck sobbed. “Oh, hell, hell.”

Bud paused, seemingly contemplating the whole situation, as if another thought had just occurred to him. “Or maybe that ain’t what happened at all, ma’am. So would you mind telling me where you were between midnight and three a.m. this morning? Sorry, but everybody associated with your late husband is gonna have to account for their time. See, a prosecutor might argue that your husband’s flirting with the neighbor lady, Mrs. Norma Malloy, could create a right powerful motive on your part.”

“How dare you? Oh, no. No, no, no.”

“What about you, Junior? Where you been since a-long about midnight?”

Chuck wrenched free of my hands, grabbed the door knob and pulled so hard the knob slammed into the wall behind it. “Let’s go, Mother. They’re trying to get us confused, get you to say something they can use against Daddy. Let’s go home.”

“Answer me, Junior.”

“Daddy wasn’t like that. And you’re insulting my mother.”

“We
were
home,” Amelia shouted. “Your sister and I? All night, after you two came back from the Rosary meeting? Until they called us?”

The boy put his hand over his mouth. “Yeah, I guess.”

Bud said quietly, “You guess what, son?”

“I
guess
Mother was home. I mean, I
know
she was. Yeah. Sure. But Cissy’s room and my room, sir, they’re way over at the other end of the house. Big porch and kitchen in between.”

“Chuck!”

“I was
asleep
. I mean I know you were home, you and Cissy both. But I can’t swear to it absolutely. Yes’m, I sure do believe you must have been home all night. You just must have been. Yes sir, I’m sure she was.”

He’s lying and making a mess of it,
I thought
. He was either down here beating up his father or out drinking beer with his buddies. Or else necking with a girl. He’s not sober yet and he can’t collect his thoughts. He looks just like Mike did the first time we hit rough weather, when he got scared and seasick and upchucked all over the deck.

Bud had heard enough. Changing course, he asked Amelia if she knew the name of the person her husband was scheduled to see on Monday.

At first I thought she hadn’t heard him. She didn’t answer for a moment. She was staring at her son and the expression on her face was not anger or fear or even disbelief. She looked surprised. Then she turned to Bud and said, “Find out for yourself, Officer W-R-I-G-H-T. That’s all I have to say now.” She took her son’s arm. “Chuck, we need to talk to that doctor. Didn’t he say there were papers to sign?”

Bud stepped aside, leaving the path to the door clear. When they were gone, he picked up a note pad and pencil. “I should have split ’em up first thing. My mistake. Questioned the cow and the calf separate. Should have done that as soon as I saw where it was going. Bad mistake on my part. I know better. Just wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t following procedure.”

“I think you did split them up. Didn’t you see the look she gave him right at the end?”

“Yeah I did. And I ain’t finished with her.”

“You think it’s her?”

He began to write. “The boy was drunk, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. And scared and confused. He didn’t strike me as angry enough to have just kicked his pop in the balls, though. But I’m pretty sure he was lying.”

“Between you and me, let’s say we got two likely suspects already.”

“Three,” I answered. “We don’t know a thing about the baby sister.”

Doc Shepherd appeared in the Caloosa’s two-story lobby a few minutes before noon. Mose and Drackett, the coroner’s zebra-uniformed trusties, trailed behind him, nodding and uh-umm-ing, obviously impressed by the painted ceiling beams, open mezzanine, polished marble floors and expensive modern furniture. Prisoner Mose carried a medical valise and camera case. Prisoner Drackett was in charge of evidence bags, sponges, glass vials, corks and fingerprint powder.

Doc was dressed for field work—capacious black broadcloth suit with rubber-lined pockets, waterproof hunting boots, blood-colored necktie and stained, wrinkled shirt that must once have been white. The tall, heavy coroner had a narrow face, turkey-wattle triple chins and parrot-blue eyes with feathery lashes. His steely handshake was always a surprise.

Doc honked when I suggested refreshments. “Lu-unch? Do you mean right now, ha ha? An early lunch?” Doc’s distinctive voice was accented by involuntary seesaw laughs. “Meals are always a pleasure at the Caloosa. But I think any sort of refreshment would perhaps be even more pleasant, Mr. Eeew-ing, after the completion of our sad but necessary endeavors upstairs.”