Eye of the Witch (6 page)

“
No, not the rosary.”

“
Ah then you must mean the witch’s ladder.”

“
Yes. I want it.”

“
I don’t have it.”

“
But you said—”

“
I didn’t say I had it. I knew about it because Leona had it when she showed herself to me in an apparition during one of her out-of-body experiences.”

“
Detective, I talked to Leona. She told me the beads were on a nightstand next to her bed where you found her.”

I threw my hands up in surrender. “Then, I’m sorry. Someone else must have taken it because I don’t have your precious witch’s ladder. What’s the big deal, anyway? Why do you want it back so badly? You can make another one.”

“
I don’t want another one.” She slid out of the booth, sweeping a set of silverware off the table with her hand. All eyes in the diner turned for the commotion and watched her storm out the door in a devil’s fury.

Carlos, Spinelli and I traded uncomfortable glances, ignoring the patrons that turned their eyes on us. I reached down, collected the silverware and set the pieces back on the table. Carlos, in his uniquely optimistic manor, summed it up best when he said simply, “That went well.”

Spinelli nodded. “It did.”

“
Yes, not bad,” I echoed.

Again, Spinelli, “She seemed nice.”

Carlos and I let that one go.

We flagged our waitress and called for our tab. Carlos paid for it with a twenty. As we waited for his change, I noticed that Spinelli seemed unusually quiet. Asked if everything was all right, he said yes, but admitted that he remained confused about something.

“
About what?” I asked.

“
The witch’s ladder,” he said. “I’ve done enough studying up on them. I know you can make a ladder from almost anything: a piece of rope with forty knots tied in it, a string of forty beads, a lock of someone’s hair braided in a herringbone pattern with forty stitches (that one was new to me). And it can harbor awesome energy. But what I don’t get is why she wants hers back so badly. Once a witch’s ladder has served its purpose, or failed to serve it, it degrades back to a powerless object. By now, that ladder is useless to anyone.”

I looked at Carlos and gestured with my thumb at Spinelli. “Who is this guy? And where was he last year when we needed him?” The two laughed, but I was only half joking.

“
Hey, Tony,” Carlos asked, “what did happen to that witch’s ladder?”

“
Shut up,” I snapped. “I don’t have it.”

Carlos got his change and left a nice tip. We gathered at the door when Natalie, the lunch counter waitress, hurried over to us. She excused herself to Spinelli and me before crowding Carlos away from the door for a more private conversation. I could see from the look on his face that he thought the reward for his clever note was about to pay off big. She squeezed his forearm lightly and dropped her eyes in a bashful pout.

“
Mister Rodriquez,” she said. I couldn’t help overhearing. It’s a curse in the business. “I got your note about you wanting me to call you. And I noticed you waving at me, trying to get my attention earlier. But I want you to know that I like you as a friend. I mean, you’re a few years older and…. I know you’re nice and everything, but I’m afraid it just wouldn’t work out between us. I hope you’re not too hurt.”

Carlos’ jaw dropped, but his words could not find their way out. I decided to help him and so stepped in without asking. “Oh, he understands,” I said to Natalie, patting her hand and prying it gently from his arm. “It’s a shocker, I know, but he’ll get over it. Just give him some time.”

I got her turned around and ushered her back to her lunch counter. Meanwhile, Spinelli steered Carlos out the door before he could totally make an ass—a bigger ass—out of himself. Outside, the gravity of the moment hit him and he realized he couldn’t possibly eat at the lunch counter ever again.

“
Don’t worry, Carlos,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll always have our special booth.”

We all got into the cruiser for the ride back to the justice center. It was Spinelli sitting in the back seat who summed up Carlos’ mishap best this time when he repeated an assessment made earlier, saying simply, “That went well.”

FOUR

When we got back to the justice center, Spinelli presented us with a wealth of information. He did his thing with E.I.N.I. (Electronic Intelligence Network Interface) or on-line database, as Carlos referred to it. All I know is that in my day you had a telephone, a radio with dispatch and if you were lucky, a good pair of walking shoes, because unless you hit the streets you weren’t going to learn a damn thing about the case you were working on. But the kid did all right with what he had, and as it turned out his best information did come from working the field.

Carlos kicked it off. “All right, Dom, lay it on us. What do you have?”

Spinelli produced a folder from inside his jacket and pulled from that a photo of Bridget Dean. Carlos and I both nearly swallowed our tongues. The woman screamed class with a capital C. I pegged her at around thirty-ish, but she could have passed for much younger if her hair was down and you traded in her business suit for blue denim. Just going by the photo, you would have to say that the woman was a peach, but Spinelli had the dirt to paint her in a much different light.

“
Her name was Bridget Jean Dean,” he started, “thirty two, single, born in New Castle, educated at Harvard. She joined the law firm of Hartman, Pierce and Petruzelli after her hard-hitting, take-no-prisoners attitude as a prosecutor caught the attention of Mister Petruzelli himself.”

“
I bet it was more than her lawyer skills that caught his attention,” Carlos joked.

Spinelli barely paused. “The woman displayed an almost sixth sense with her cases. She never lost. After five and a half years of undying dedication to the firm, not to mention her recent win of a high-profile, extremely lucrative, class-action law suit against a major pharmaceutical, HP&P decided to make her a full-fledged partner.”

“
Wow! Kudos to her,” I uttered.

“
So, what was her problem?” Carlos asked. “Sounds like she was riding on top of the world. Why would she kill herself?”

“
Good question,” I said. “Spinelli? Any theories?”

“
Just one. She didn’t.”

Carlos, “But she’s dead just the same.”

I said, “Seems logical then, someone killed her. Let’s look at Rivera. What did you find there?”

“
Plenty.” Spinelli reached into the folder and pulled out another photo. “This woman….” He handed the photo to Carlos. I came around his desk and leaned over his shoulder to have a look. Neither he nor I needed as much time to study that one. The woman in the photo was about as ugly as a train wreck. I know that’s not very professional, but sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade. “…That’s Mallory Edwards,” he continued. “She works at HP&P on the same floor as Rivera. She’s not a lawyer. She mostly transcribes documents, prepares legal briefs—that sort of thing.”

“
And she gave you her photo?”

“
I downloaded it from my laptop. She has a page on Blog-Hog.”

“
What’s that?”

“
Blog-Hog dot com. It’s a community web sites where anyone can post pictures, bios, things you’d put in a Blog.”

“
Carlos, do you know what he’s talking about?”

“
Sure, Tony. A Blog is short for Web log. People upload pictures, videos, poems and essays, bits of their life that they want to share to express themselves.”

“
Why?”

“
It’s called inclusion. It’s a way to keep in step with the world at-large, to meet people and to have fun.”

“
Do you have a Blog?”

“
No.”

“
How `bout you, Spinelli. Do you have one?”

Spinelli shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t.”

“
I see. So, it’s just some passing fad. Is that it?”

“
Yeah, Tony,” Carlos answered, though I think I detected a touch of sarcasm. “It’s just like the Internet in general: a passing fad.” He looked at Spinelli and gave the kid a nod. “Continue, Dom.”

“
Sure.” Now he and Carlos were sharing secret smiles. “Anyway, this Mallory woman absolutely hates Rivera, and his feeling is mutual. She told me that Ricardo Rivera became livid when Bridget Dean got the promotion he felt he deserved.”

“
Really?” I said. “Was he supposed to get it?”

“
I don’t know, but he expected it. Rivera has been with the firm four years longer than Dean has. He and Hartman played golf together all the time. And when Hartman confided in Rivera that he planned on retiring soon, Rivera assumed he told him so that he could prepare for the promotion.”

“
But then Bridget Dean won that big case,” said Carlos, “and that changed everything, right?”

“
I don’t know if it changed everything. According to Mallory Edwards, Bridget Dean was a pit bull, a no-holds-barred attorney. Pierce and Petruzelli aligned her for that job long before Hartman announced his plans for retirement. If Rivera didn’t see it coming, he should have.”

I came back around the desk and gave Spinelli a good hard slap on the back. “So, now we have a suspect and a motive. Good work, kid.”

He hunched sharply under the slap with a wince that indicated pain. It made me think he didn’t have the bone structure Carlos had. I used to whack the crap out of Carlos all the time, and he never flinched. Then again, Carlos is built like a brick shithouse. Spinelli stood his ground, though. I’ll give him that. I mean he didn’t actually fall over or anything. He smiled thin-lipped at me. “Ah, it’s Dominic, sir,” he said.

“
What?”

“
My first name is Dominic. It’s okay if you use it. I much prefer it over, kid.”

“
Dominic?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Huh. All right, Spinelli, I’ll remember that.”

I pulled the chair out from across the desk and sat down just as Carlos stood up. “Wait a minute.” I watched him herd his brows down low over his eyes. “It doesn’t add up. We have a suspect and a motive, but we still don’t have a crime. Remember Dean’s death was ruled a suicide. We need more evidence before we can call it a murder.”

“
I’m working on that,” Spinelli answered. “Mallory Edwards told me that Dean’s suicide took place in her office. The firm is very conscientious about security. They may have videotape of the incident. She’s trying to get us a copy as we speak.”

“
Excellent!” I clapped my hands and rubbed them together vigorously. “Now tell us what you have on that third woman, the waitress from the coffee shop.”

Spinelli shook his head. “Not much. I’m still calling in favors on that one. I know her name was Anna Davalos, but that’s about all.”

I slapped him on the back again, this time easy, so as not to fracture his obviously compromised skeletal structure. “It’s okay, son, you did well.”

“
Wait,” he said, with a smile usually reserved for the ever annoying,
I-told-you-so
and the
What-do-you-think-of-that
? “Don’t you want to hear the rest?” Oh, yeah, and that, too.

Carlos and I both looked at his throat. Together we figured we could wring fourteen to sixteen fingers around it—plus our thumbs. “All right,” I said, biting. “Let’s hear it.”

“
The man in the picture at the cafe with Rivera? Do you want to know who he is?” Our fingers really began twitching now. I suspect he noticed, because he didn’t wait for us to answer. “His name is Gregory Piakowski. He’s an ex-con who went to high school with Ricardo Rivera.”

“
No!” said Carlos.

“
Yes. The guy has a rap sheet a mile long. And get this. Back when he was a public defender, Rivera got a conviction of murder-one overturned for Piakowski.”

“
That’s incredible!”

“
Unbelievable!” I said, dumbstruck at that. “So, I guess this Piakowski fellow owes Rivera big.”

Carlos agreed, adding, “Yes, but the question is: has he already paid that debt back?”

“
Do we know how to find this guy?”

Spinelli shook his head. “I searched E.I.N.I. We have no known addresses on him. His last place of residence was the Billerica Correctional Institution. He spent two years there before getting out on parole for good behavior.”

“
Well, he’s got to have a P.O. What does he say about it?”

“
Not much. His parole officer hasn’t seen or heard from him in months.”

“
All right, we’ll look into that later. In the meantime, we need that videotape.”

“
I know. I know. I’m—”

“
You’re working on it. We know. Just don’t leave any stone unturned, especially with Anna. I want to know how she plays into all of this.”

Carlos asked, “You think she does?”

“
I’m sure of it. I just don’t know how. Yet.”

Spinelli left, and soon after Carlos and I decided it was time to sit down with Ricardo Rivera for a little one-on-one. Okay, so that’s two-on-one, but we promised to take turns. We caught up with Rivera at his office on the fourteenth floor of the Hartman, Pierce and Petruzelli building. I remember when the San Juan Bank was the tallest building in town, five stories and a radio tower. But that was before HP&P built a mega-monument designed to rival anything New Castle had ever built before. The new justice center notwithstanding, at fifteen glittering stories plus a penthouse loft, the glass and marble structure of the HP&P building dwarfed and embarrassed all others built previously. It didn’t matter whether or not you held partnership in the firm. If you were lucky enough to occupy an office above the ninth floor (as I mentioned, Rivera’s was on the fourteenth), then you commanded a superior view of New Castle and the Greater Vicinity.