The Granite Moth (8 page)

“Call an ambulance,” he said to Lars, who slipped his cell phone out and dialed. I was jostled toward the back of the room, but when I suggested they loosen his collar, Sybil reached down and undid his tie and top few buttons. Eva swooped into the room and immediately went into hysterics. She fell to her knees beside the dealer, shouting “Ernesto!” repeatedly. When she looked wild-eyed around the room, I could see the streaks of mascara running down her face. “
Esto es mi culpa
,” she mumbled, wiping snot from her nose, then grasping the hand of Ernesto.
This is my fault
.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
ybil was absentmindedly patting my back when the police squad arrived. Her attempts at comfort had more or less the same effect as the emergency room kitten from the night before. Not calming, but appreciated. Paramedics pronounced Ernesto Belasco dead on the scene, and his body was covered and carted away. Not through the restaurant, of course, but down the building's service elevator. No cognacs were disturbed in the process. I imagined that Sybil was actually the one needing comfort since she seemed to have known the victim, but I couldn't think of what to say beyond platitudes. I wasn't even entirely certain that we should call him a victim, although what could cause such a reaction other than poison?

“I don't think they'll keep us long,” I said to fill the silence.

“Oh, honey, I don't care about that.”

It was unnatural for me, but I forced myself to hug Sybil. She was the only one who didn't seem annoyed about the delay. After failing in his self-appointed life-saving duties, the Texan had deflated then shook off the loss. Mr. Manners
was now chewing two pieces of Nicorette simultaneously, and Lars had taken to pacing the small conference room. We were being kept for questioning along with all of the restaurant employees, though they were allowed to continue their work until last call at 2
A.M.
None of the waitstaff seemed especially disturbed by Ernesto's death, and I figured he wasn't a regular W-2. Eva wouldn't let her side dish mingle with the hoi polloi. I couldn't imagine that Eva would be much help unless she'd dramatically improved since the last time I saw her. She hadn't returned since walking out with the EMTs.

Detective Dekker, Ellis, barely glanced at me when he arrived. I had texted him the basic scenario, warning him in essence. I didn't want him to be disciplined for supplying me with information about The Skyview, but if he was assigned the case, it would be less awkward. His colleagues down at the station weren't exactly fond of me, although a few had apologized for thinking I had once murdered two people. It was a start.

Ellis approached Lars, and they shook hands more formally than seemed necessary. On the other hand, I didn't think that they had spent much time together since Lars graduated from high school and went off to Princeton. Seeing the brothers side by side was a sort of experiment in lifestyle choices. While both men were attractive, Lars's looks were less worn-out, more ready-for-Hollywood. The few wrinkles that lined his brow looked distinguished unlike Ellis's heavy ones, the severest of which divided his pale eyebrows. He also had a scar that started at the corner of his lip and snaked up to his hairline. I had yet to get the scoop on that mark. He had seen the six-inch slash on my inner thigh. Maybe one day we would swap stories. Ellis caught me examining his face, and his frown deepened. Maybe not. He signaled to an officer who announced that all the poker players, “guests” he called them diplomatically, would be questioned separately.

“Miss Stone?”
the officer called out, checking his notes.

I glared at the back of Ellis's head before raising my hand. Sybil made a strangled noise beside me and moved away. Mr. Manners and the Texan turned to stare. Two hours from start to finish. My fastest blown cover to date. At least it probably wouldn't end with my body being thrown in the Hudson. Shark food had never been my life's ambition.

The young officer—“Officer Reynolds, ma'am”—led me down a dimly lit corridor and into what was certainly the boss's office volunteered for the occasion. “Out of sight” seemed to be its selling point. Officer Reynolds politely asked if I needed water, then disappeared the way he came. I had been hoping for a sneak peek of Eva's lair and here was my chance. It made me forgive Ellis a little as I studied the huge canvas portrait of Eva and Salvatore hanging on the back wall. In it, the bride was wearing a white wedding dress with a train that disappeared outside of the frame. She beamed into the camera while her husband stared at her cheek, not quite adoring but content. It was the kind of photo one might find in a bridal catalogue, a little too staged, maybe, but the gorgeous models made up for the lack of love. At first glance, it evoked envy, but I knew better. While I wasn't positive that Eva and the deceased card dealer were romantically involved, I would wager this month's rent that their relationship wasn't entirely professional. Of course, that was assuming I was able to recover my money. Maybe the others wouldn't miss ten grand, but I sure as hell would.

When I heard Ellis open the door behind me, I straightened up in my chair and waited for him to begin. When he didn't, I looked behind me to see that he was also studying the picture.

“He doesn't look like the devil,” Ellis said.

“Not even if you squint? Imagine a couple of horns?”

Ellis shook his head grimly. I was feeling rather grim myself. The photo was a little too big and life-like, flooding my system
with abject fear. It was possible that Salvatore was in the building right this minute, stalking the restaurant's hallways, looking for his wife. There seemed to be a pretty good chance that he had caused the distress, too, and I explained as much to Ellis.

“You think she and the boy were lovers?”

“She caressed him,” I said, not wanting to go on the record, but trusting my gut. “And said it was her fault. See what the others say.”

Ellis raised his eyebrows at me, and I knew what he was thinking. It was a little game we played where he said he wouldn't share information then I pulled it out of him.

“What do you know about Eva?” he asked.

I thought about our last encounter, Eva stomping around her family's apartment, ignoring the threats and curses of Zanna, who never really calmed down after being handcuffed to the radiator. After an hour of so, she had passed out, and I was able to move her exposed skin away from the metal pipes. I had asked for the key again, but Eva had shook her head. She had turned her attention to her younger brother, Nino, who had overheard Zanna spill some valuable details. Ship name and port name. I had heard the information, too.

I had been desperate to get outside so that I could place a call to my police contacts. I had ten hours before the Maritime Sapphire, a tanker carrying 25,000 tons of oil and one unmarked crate of cocaine, arrived at Port Jefferson, but organizing a raid didn't happen quickly. Nino and I had always gotten along fine, but at the moment, I was pissed at him for stalling me. He was whining to Eva about her decision to take Zanna rather than him to see Salvatore. I didn't think either choice made sense, but then I'd never had siblings.

Nino had struggled to get past a fifth-grade reading level, content with intimidating younger kids. He was a bully and
not a very good one at that. Kids wouldn't make fun of him to his face, but as soon as he left the room, they would make cracks about his spiked hair and habit of saying “Easy, man” for no reason, almost as if reminding himself. Eva wanted to bring both her siblings with her as she ascended into wealth and comfort, but unsurprisingly Salvatore wasn't convinced. His business savvy had made him a cartel leader, the Hades in their midst, and Eva's fussing didn't faze him. To Zanna, he had given certain minor responsibilities, but Nino wasn't allowed to so much as fetch coffee. After he once bragged about knowing a drop-off location, Nino wasn't even allowed in the room when plans were discussed.

Ellis was waiting patiently for me to sort through these memories, pick out the information I thought might help. “She's loyal,” I finally said. “And usually level-headed,” I added. “She lost it when the dealer started choking.”

“We're running a background check now, but his license says he's Ernesto Belasco, twenty-two, lives in Brooklyn with his parents.”

“He let me win. Four jacks on my first hand. I thought he was a spy maybe, for the club. An initiation of sorts. See how players react. Do you think he knew I didn't belong here?”

Ellis didn't like the question. His posture stiffened, and I knew that I had hit a nerve. “You belong here. Everyone belongs here. It's a restaurant.”

With a members-only list
, I thought, but remained silent. In a funny way, I found class discrepancies less bothersome than Ellis. I guess it's easier when you don't now what you're missing. Of course, Ellis could call it a day and join his brother at lawn tennis whenever he wanted. I watched Ellis inspect Eva's desk calendar day by day and decided that wasn't likely. If anyone was born for this thankless pursuit of criminals, it was him. He seemed entirely focused on his job, if not on interrogating me.

“Anything unusual?”
I said. Ellis glanced at me then opened the desk's top drawer. “Did I notice anything suspicious?” I started again. “Yes, thank you for asking. If Ernesto was cheating on behalf of other players, I would imagine he'd have some enemies. I've heard these games can get ridiculous—people puts their Rolexes in the pot, their cars.”

“What would you have done if you lost everything?”

“What does anyone do? Start over. It wouldn't be the first time. I bet it even gets easier with practice.”

Ellis stopped riffling and looked at me intently. “It gets harder, Kathleen. Trust me.”

Every time Ellis used my real name, I shivered. It was like he was summoning a ghost, and she wanted to respond. I could feel her under my ribcage, but she was good and trapped. I tucked a strand of my red wig behind my ear and stood up. If he was going to riffle, so was I. As Ellis opened another drawer, I slid in front of Eva's computer to open a browser and inspect her history. Gmail, USA Today, Craigslist, a wine emporium, and a Google search on parrotlet diets. No “how to mix poison with champagne” or even “how to leave your lover.” But I wasn't really looking for something to link Eva to Ernesto's death. I was looking for traces of her husband using this restaurant for his gain somehow.

“You know that's illegal, right? Without a warrant?” I pointed at the papers Ellis was photographing.

“I was told to search the premises.”

In the end, our NSA-worthy spying didn't matter. Aside from the wedding photograph, there was nothing at all objectionable in Eva's office. She might as well have been a poster girl for making it in America with hard work and a little luck. They could put her bootstraps in a museum display.

CHAPTER NINE

S
t. Mark's
Church is one of the oldest sanctuaries in Manhattan with a rich history of worship, but it's better known for its artist-friendly events. Patti Smith read her poems there. Richard Foreman put on his avant-garde plays. I had never set foot inside and, despite the mythology, wasn't looking forward to my first visit. Watching a young man die the night before had left me feeling flustered, but I knew I couldn't skip the dual memorial for Bobbie Giabella and Taylor Soto, even if I hadn't been looking into their deaths. Dolly needed the support. He hadn't said as much, but he'd texted me directions despite the fact that I was the one who'd gotten my fourteen-year-old belly button pierced at The Rose Petal in the East Village. I doubted the tattoo parlor was still in business, but I wasn't likely to get lost either.

Dolly walked a few steps in front of me, greeting nearly everyone by name, introducing anyone he thought I needed to meet. That had been our arranged code. He would ignore me if he didn't expect someone to have anything of value for our investigation. I was glad to see that there were a few cops and
at least one plainclothes detective milling about. Despite the NYPD's early dismissal of Mamma Burstyn's concerns, they were taking the explosion seriously. A woman in a bulletproof vest was leading a German Shepherd around the building periphery.

Interrogating people at a funeral is awkward, to say the least, but I did my best to gather information without being insensitive. One of Taylor's friends told me that Taylor had been looking forward to the Halloween parade. It was the first time he was participating, and he had taken extra care with his neon pink mask, even sewing on some extra sequins and feathers that morning. Bobbie's parents hugged me, mistaking me for a friend, and making me feel like a cockroach, especially when I asked if their son had mentioned any threats. When his mom started sobbing, Bobbie's boyfriend from the emergency room, Martin, caught my attention and grimaced. I tried to follow his movements through the crowd, but it was as if he disappeared. There were over two hundred guests, not counting the media circling like vultures at the back.

When the minister made motions to begin, I sat down next to Dolly. He didn't want to be up front with Big Mamma and his coworkers because he didn't fit in. They had gone all out—cocktail attire with imposing, black lace veils and costume jewelry. In comparison, Dolly could have applied for a job as a small-town accountant. His black suit was worn at the elbows and knees, and his dark brown shoes didn't match. I squeezed his fingers when the first eulogist, Carlton Casborough the Senator's son, a.k.a. Cassandra when on stage, approached the podium. Dolly leaned close to my ear.

“Word this morning is that he was fooling around with Bobbie. I don't think the teen heartthrob knew.”

I craned my neck over the rows to see if I could spot Martin again, but didn't find his disheveled hair among the masses.
He could have left without anyone noticing. I had never met Carlton, but a lot of violence has been committed in the name of love and even lust. He seemed genuinely broken up as he talked about meeting Bobbie for the first time, bonding over their mutual Paul Simon fandom. But I was well-aware that a seasoned performer could squeeze out a few crocodile tears in the line of duty.