Killer Smile (21 page)

“Please do, I’m listening,” Gomez answered, pulling over the metal chair, and Mary began telling him about Amadeo while he started to take notes on a pad that rested on his crossed legs. She went on to tell him about Montana and how she figured out that Amadeo’s suicide was really murder, but then she slowed the story when she got to the part about her breaking into Frank’s office.
Oops.
Detective Gomez looked up sharply, his Bic poised above the legal pad. “Did you say you
broke into
Cavuto’s office last night? The office on South Broad?”

Gulp
. “Well, yes.”

Detective Gomez frowned, a tiny pitchfork appearing on his otherwise smooth forehead. “That office is a crime scene, Ms. DiNunzio.”

“Please, call me Mary.”

“
Mary
, it’s a crime scene.
My
crime scene.” The detective set the Bic down and leaned back in his chair, and Mary could see they were about to have their first fight.

“I didn’t compromise any evidence, and I don’t think of it as a crime scene, since I knew Frank so well.”

“Are you trying to tell me, if it’s not a crime scene to you, it’s not a crime scene?” Detective Gomez’s dark eyebrows flew upward, so Mary shifted gears.

“There’s no way he was killed during a robbery, Detective. Frank Cavuto wasn’t the type to work at his desk late at night. I think he had arranged to meet the bad guys, Chico and Saracone Junior, or maybe the wife, at the office. And there’s also that reporter I told you about, we can’t forget about him. I showed him the circle drawings and told him about Frank.”

Gomez made another note.

“It’s possible that Frank let them in, that’s why there was no sign of a break-in, and they killed him to silence him.”

“Silence him about what?”

“About whatever he knew about Amadeo’s death, and Saracone.”

That pitchfork again. “The evidence points to a robbery gone wrong. The vault was taken, and the secretary said it had almost ten thousand dollars in it. The whole office was ransacked, all the petty cash stolen, as was everything else of value. Computers, adding machines, a portable TV, even gold earrings the secretary kept in her top drawer.”

“They took that stuff after the fact, to make it look like a robbery. And in the files, I found —”

“You looked in the files?”

“— a series of legal bills from Frank to Saracone, who owns the thug who hit me in the face. The bills totaled five hundred thousand dollars a year for five years. That’s over two million dollars in payments, for no apparent pending case, which I still can’t explain, but at least I got Saracone’s address from the bills and that’s what led me to —”

“You found bills where? In that file room, where the vault was?”

“Yes.” Mary noted that Detective Gomez was getting bogged down in the details. “I had the bills with me last night when I went to Saracone’s, but they took them after they beat me up.”

“Mary.” Detective Gomez folded his arms, testy. “Are you telling me you took evidence from a crime scene, in an uncleared case? I can’t imagine you would take evidence from a crime scene and carry it around with you.”

Uh.
“Yes.”
Sorry
. Mary felt her face flush with embarrassment.

“And now, thanks to you, this evidence is gone?”

“But I can testify that I saw them, because I did. And we can subpoena the files and maybe find copies of them.”

Gomez had stopped listening. They were beyond pitchfork now. “That’s hindering, obstruction of justice. Tampering with evidence. Destroying the chain of custody.”

“You could still bring Saracone and Chico in, ask them about the bills, and investigate their connection to Frank. Saracone has some kind of investment business and maybe Frank had dealings with that.”

“You want me to pick up a dying old man who you think is guilty of a sixty-year-old murder?” Detective Gomez looked at her like she was nuts. She was rapidly losing any credibility she’d earned by her busted cheek. “Whose only connection to Cavuto’s murder you carried around in your
purse
and then
lost
?”

“They took it, I didn’t lose it,” Mary said, but it sounded lame, even to her. “Don’t you think it’s strange that the Saracones didn’t call the Birchrunville cops? That I’m the one who had to come to you?”

“No, I don’t.” Detective Gomez was shaking his head. “Not everybody would call the cops on a prying lawyer, and who knows what they got out in that burg? The force can’t be that big.”

“Why don’t we go over to the Saracone house and investigate? I swear, if I confront that old man in front of you, he just might admit that he killed Amadeo.” Mary had thought about it all night. As pathetic as Saracone had been, he was still a murderer and he should still be brought to justice. For Amadeo. “He was
this close
to telling me last night. He
wants
to confess. He knows he’s on his deathbed and he’s getting religion. I can see it, it’s an Italian thing.”

“No, no, no. I can’t take you over to Saracone’s. I can’t get involved with this, or you. I have to talk to my sergeant.” Gomez shook his head. “Obtaining evidence by burglary! You should know better, as a lawyer.”

“Okay, so don’t take me over, then.” Mary switched tacks. “Just go to the Saracones yourself. Talk to them. Don’t tell them I was here and told you what happened last night. Tell them it came in through an anonymous tip.”

Detective Gomez thought a minute. “Were there other witnesses to this conversation you had with Saracone?”

“Sure. A nurse was right there. Saracone’s nurse.” Mary flashed on the gold lapel pin. “Keisha, from HomeCare. I’m telling you, I think Saracone, or at least this Chico guy, killed Frank Cavuto. I’ll testify that I saw the bills from Frank to Saracone. They exist, and I bet they exist in back files, too. If we ask Frank’s secretary and —”

“Quiet now, I’ve heard enough.” Detective Gomez stood up and hoisted his pants by his thin black leather belt. “I need to end this interview, Ms. — Mary.”

“Why? We’re just getting started.”

“For your own good. I do have to talk to my sergeant. What a mess.” Detective Gomez kept shaking his neat head, solid as a cinder block. “We’re sitting here, you tell me you have information on the Cavuto case, and you end up confessing to burglary, obstruction, and evidence tampering.”

“I didn’t tamper with evidence, I lost it.”
Eeek
. “I mean, somebody stole it from me.”

“After
you
stole it!” Detective Gomez rested his hands on his hips and eyed Mary unhappily. “You need to get yourself a lawyer.”

“You’re going to charge me? I’d have a criminal record?” It was almost beyond belief for Mary DiNunzio, valedictorian at St. Maria Goretti High School. She didn’t even curse. Out loud.

“If I have to, I assume. I’m new, and I can’t say I have a lot of experience with this type of thing. Evidence stuffed in a
purse.
” Detective Gomez snorted. “I heard your law office was like this. My partner warned me about the Rosato firm, but I didn’t listen. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Now, I don’t think I have to arrest you —”

“
Arrest
me?” Mary jumped to her feet and felt instantly dizzy, either because she got up too fast or her career was over.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, yet. But don’t you dare make a fool of me.” Detective Gomez pointed a thick finger in Mary’s face. “I’m releasing you on your own recognizance. Don’t leave the jurisdiction, you hear me?”

“I won’t, I promise. I love this jurisdiction. It’s my favorite jurisdiction.”

“Well, then, this is ass-backward, since you’ve already incriminated yourself, but I’ll play it safe and inform you of your rights under Miranda. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right…” Detective Gomez recited the Miranda warnings, facing Mary squarely in an on-the-spot ceremony that reminded her oddly of being sworn in to the Pennsylvania bar. He cleared his throat when he finished. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes. When are you going to follow up with Saracone?”

“As soon as I can.”

“You can’t waste a minute, Detective. Saracone is dying and you need to get over there right away. If Saracone isn’t behind Frank’s murder, he’ll know who is. And he’ll know why. Will you call me as soon as you’ve seen him?”

“Yes.” Detective Gomez walked to the gray door of the interview room, opened it, and gestured to Mary to leave. She didn’t.

“You have my office number, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did I give you my cell number?”

“When we spoke on the phone.”

“Try there, too. And please make the appointment this morning.”

“I’ll do it right away, dear.” Detective Gomez made another gesture for her to go, but Mary had a second thought.

“Wait! Why didn’t I think of this before? How about I stay right here while you call —”

“No.”

“Or I can wait in the squad room, to give you some privacy?”

“No. Absolutely not. Now, if you please.” Detective Gomez gestured again out the door, and beyond it lay the squad room, which, unlike on TV, was always quiet and still in the daytime.

Two of the detectives looked up from their desks, obviously eavesdropping. A woman in a suit walked by, and Gomez eyed her. “I’ll follow up as soon as I get back to my desk, get it? The sooner you leave, the sooner I call.”

“Okay, then I’m leaving.” Mary went to the door. Detective Gomez rested a heavy hand on her shoulder, then all of a sudden he poked her in her swollen cheek.

“That hurt?”

“Of course!”

“Good. Bullets hurt way more than that, and you only feel the pain if you live.”

Mary knew as much, but she wasn’t about to skip down memory lane with him.

“Leave the police business to the police from now on. Stay away from the Saracones. No more investigating, breaking and entering, or any of that funky stuff. Next time I lock you up! You hear me?”

“Yes, Detective.” Mary hurried out, feeling as if she’d just dodged a bullet. In fact, she was starting to feel positively bulletproof.

Which even she knew was a bad sign.

“My God in heaven! What happened to
you
?” Marshall asked. She glanced up from the reception desk and did a double-take when she saw Mary’s bruised cheek, then stood and examined the wound with the laserlike absorption of a new mother. “Mary, what
happened
? You need to get that looked at!”

“I’m fine.” Mary was about to explain but noticed the reception area was full of clients ensconced on rental furniture. One of them was that reporter, Mac, who was already making a beeline for Mary. His eyes weren’t espresso anymore but were closer to shit brown. Mary said under her breath, “I have a deposition, right?”

“Great minds,” Marshall muttered back, and Mac joined them at the desk, his handsomeness arranged into a mask of concern.

“Mary, what happened to your cheek? It looks like you took a really nasty punch!”

Marshall interjected, “Mary, you remember Mr. MacIntire. I told him you have a deposition this morning, but he insisted on speaking with you.”

“I have a deposition,” Mary repeated matter-of-factly. “Sorry, I can’t talk now. Though I checked with my Uncle Joey and he said he doesn’t know any reporter named Mac from the
Philly News
.”

“He calls me Jim, and I never told him I was from the
News
. I doubt he knows what I do.”

Mary filed it away. Skinny Uncle Joey wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Still she didn’t trust this guy. “Also I called you twice. Did you get my messages?”

“No, so what happened to your face? Did somebody punch you?” Mac leaned over and squinted. “It’s so fresh, like you just got slugged.”

“It’s not. I didn’t.” Mary prayed for a good lie. “It happened when I was out west.”

“Someone hit you in Montana?”

“No, it was a horse.”
Yikes
. “A horse kicked me.”

“A horse kicked you
in the face
?” Mac’s eyes flared. “I had a friend who got kicked in the face by a horse, and it broke her cheek. She needed a whole series of operations to even talk again.”

“No, that’s not what happened.”
Please God help me. I said a good lie.
“The horse didn’t kick me in the face. It kicked me on the
leg
, and I fell down and hit my face.”

“Now, I understand,” Marshall said helpfully, and Mary faked a smile, which stung.

“Sorry, Mac, I have to go get ready for my dep.”

“But we said we’d meet again, so I could write the second installment of our Brandolini story, remember?”

“You never did the first installment, and I have to go.” Mary started to leave, but Mac fell into step with her.

“I was waiting until both installments were done, to show them to my editor. And we should talk, since Frank Cavuto has been murdered. Shame, isn’t it? You two went way back, didn’t you? I heard you played softball on his team. Word is, you had a mean right arm.”

Mary picked up the pace. “How did you know that?”

“I called Frank after we met. He liked you very much. He said you were a great lawyer, doing your best for Brandolini.”

Hmm
. “My comment is that it’s awful and sad that Frank Cavuto was murdered. Now I have to go.” Mary turned on her heel in the tight hallway. “Listen, you can’t follow me to my office. I have to get ready for a dep.”

“I can wait until after your deposition is over. I need to catch up, and you could tell me what you learned about Brandolini at Fort Missoula. After all, I was the one who suggested you go there.”

Mary gritted her teeth. “I have another dep in the afternoon. It’s wall to wall today, and I didn’t learn anything in Montana anyway.”

“Is that for the record? Because that’s not what the director said, at Fort Missoula. He and the staff were very impressed with you. He said you’d tracked down an old mechanic, a Mr. Milton, at the camp.” Mac frowned. “He said you found some old pictures, and even identified a friend who was with Brandolini when he committed suicide.”

The reporter had learned everything. I hate the First Amendment.