Murder Takes Time (30 page)

CHAPTER 46

A LONG-LOST LETTER

Wilmington—20 Months Ago

I
was waiting for Sister Mary Thomas when she walked across the street from the convent. She came, long black robes flowing with each stride, her face gleaming in the morning sun. I couldn’t see her smile, but I pictured it, knew it was there. That gave me comfort.

“Good morning, Sister.”

“Get your car, Nicky. You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“To the bank. Bring your briefcase.”

We drove in silence—not quite silence—but small talk all the way to the bank. “What are we doing here?”

“Be patient.”

She took me to a safe-deposit box, opening it once the assistant left us alone. Inside was twenty thousand dollars in cash and a manila envelope, sealed at the top. “What the hell is this?” I asked. “Where did this money come from?”

“There should be a letter.”

I started to open it, but she stopped me. “Not here. Bring it with you.”

Curiosity burned inside of me, but I grabbed the cash and the envelope and put them in the briefcase. Once inside the car, I reached for the envelope.

She stopped me again. “Wait until I leave.”

“Sister, what’s going on?”

“You will see in good time. Do as I ask, please?”

I nodded. What else could I do?

We made more small talk until we got back to the school, then she opened the door to leave. She turned to me, smiled, but it was a false one, the first one of those I’d ever seen from her. Then she kissed me on the cheek. “Goodbye, Nicky.”

The way she said it made it feel permanent. I watched her go, feeling sorry and sad at the same time. “Goodbye, Sister,” I said as she closed the door.

I thought about driving back to Hershey before I read the letter, but I couldn’t, so I parked in a nearby lot. My heart raced as I slid my finger along the edge of the envelope, careful not to rip anything. Once opened, I stared inside. There were a few keys and a letter.

Nicky, my son.

If you are reading this, that means I am dead, probably long dead. It also means that Sister Mary Thomas is either dead or that she felt a burning need to give you this letter.

My heart breaks considering either of those situations. I would like to say that if she is dead, I would be seeing her soon, but she will be going to a place I can never enter. I will have to be satisfied living my eternal life without her, as I had to live my physical life without her.

I put the letter down. Wiped away tears. What the hell was going on? Did Pops and Sister Thomas… no, it couldn’t be. She treated me like shit early on, was so tough on me…and why would Pops say he’d be in hell? It didn’t make sense. I shook my head, picked the letter back up.

I’m sure you’re wondering about the money—where did it come from? How did I get so much? Why did I wait this long to give it to you—you could have used it.

Lots of questions, I know. I’ll answer them one by one.

First about sweet Sister Mary Thomas. Her real name is Concetta Panelli—beautiful name, isn’t it? She and I were best friends growing up. Concetta was never beautiful in the sense that most people think of beauty, but after getting to know her, I thought she was the most wondrous person in the world. And she was so smart—but you already know that. We did everything together. Not actually everything. She kept her honor, but we had more love than most people experience all of their lives. We made plans to marry. To have a house that would be full of wonderful children like you. And we spoke of living to ages people only dreamed of, spending every day in bliss.

So what happened?

Foolish man that I was, I felt I needed to provide her with a lot of money, and things that I now know she would have never cared about. At the time, though, I was young, and young people do stupid things. I wish I had known Rosa Sannullo then. She always said money ruins love. I believe now that she was right.

To make money, I started working for the wrong people. One night I killed someone. After that, killing became part of the job. Soon, it became the job. I was good at it. The best, they said, but it ruined my life, because it took Concetta from me. When she found out what I’d done, she would have no part of me. What made me saddest, though, was that it drove her to the convent. She should have lived a life with someone. Should have raised children. But because of me, she is locked away behind tall doors every night, and she covers her beautiful body in black robes. I am ashamed of what I have done.

Later, I met your mother, and though at first it might have seemed a compromise to the love I had for Concetta—and perhaps even an act against her for becoming a nun—I learned to love your mother with a passion that I felt I could not feel for a woman again. Soon, she became my life. When she died, I knew it was God punishing me. He had taken the two most important people in the world away from me; however, he did leave me with you.

Rosa Sannullo helped me in the early days, always there with her advice and her superstitions, but always there, too, with her love. She is a good woman. A kind woman. Shortly after you were born, Concetta came to me. It was the first time we talked in many years. She never cried that day. But she looked me in the eyes and told me. “Dante, you have a baby now. I want you to quit what you are doing and take care of that baby.”

At first I was angry that she would even say such a thing, but then I realized she was trying one last time to save my soul, though that chance was long gone, believe me. Even God can only forgive so much. But for her, for the Concetta I once loved, I swore I would do it. So from that day on, I quit. I told the people that I worked for that I was retiring and would never have anything to do with them. They didn’t like it, but they never said anything. They gave me a job in the union, and I went back to my old trade of laying stone and bricks. A good occupation. One that sweats the bad out of you, or so Rosa Sannullo always said.

So now you have the story. I don’t know how I died. I hope you didn’t suffer because of it. But mostly I hope that the reason you are reading this is because Concetta—Sister Mary Thomas—is in heaven where she belongs. I hope it’s not because you are in trouble.

Inside this envelope is a list of other safe deposit boxes and the keys to them. You will find about $350,000 in all. A lot of money, I imagine, even in the day you are reading this. I hope it is. I would have put it in investments, but this money was earned illegally. You will have to do with the cash. I tried to give some to Sister Thomas, but she would have nothing to do with it.

Also in the envelope is my favorite picture of your mother, one of the kindest, most gentle people I ever knew. And a lock of her hair.

I hope you can fix whatever is wrong with your life—if something is wrong—and I hope never to see you again.

Oh, and assuming Sister Thomas is still alive, say hello to her for me. Give her a kiss on the cheek and tell her that Dante says, ‘Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore’ (I love you with all of my heart.) And tell her that Dante says thank you.

Ti voglio bene,

Pops

I stared at the letter for a long time. So long that I didn’t remember when I started it. Finally, I folded the pages, put them back in the envelope and turned the key to start the car. Hershey was waiting. It was going to be a long drive.

All the way back, I thought of the letter, at first denying what it said, then finding memories that supported what I’d read. Like the time when I was six and in the cop station. Pops came to get me, and he didn’t even have to say anything. Just stared at them, then took me home. Or the time at the roach races, when Mikey the Face bet two hundred then tried backing out when Pops covered it. I’d never seen Mikey scared before that day, but he was. Now I knew why. And the comment Doggs made when Moynihan died, about how that would teach him to pick on Little Nicky.

I guess I’d known it all my life. Known
something
was fishy about Pops. Maybe I just didn’t want to know.

Horns blared, and I swerved to avoid a head-on.
Goddamn. I better pay attention.
Refocused now, I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind kept drifting. Sister Thomas told me I could do anything. Start my life fresh. But then I looked at the letter, and, knowing what I did now, I wondered. Maybe it was in the genes. Maybe I had no choice. As I pondered on it, I realized I’d fallen into the same trap Pops had. I was trying to make money to impress Angie, just like Pops had tried with Sister Thomas.

What an idiot I am.
Angie didn’t care about that. My thoughts ran wild for the next half hour, until I forced myself to concentrate on driving. Traffic was getting worse, and I couldn’t afford an accident. I made up my mind to figure things out when I got back to Hershey.

CHAPTER 47

RULE NUMBER TWO:

MURDER HAS CONSEQUENCES

Hershey, Pennsylvania—20 Months Ago

I
decided that night to get this over with quickly. Wasn’t going to wait and watch like I normally did. Tito wanted it rushed anyway. In the morning I checked to make sure the motel room was perfectly clean and wiped down. I hadn’t taken a shower, though I needed one badly, but a shower could leave hairs in the drain. I bundled the bedclothes and laid them on the floor. Once they were laundered, any of that evidence would be gone. I assured myself that this was my paranoia running wild. No one would even know I’d been here.

I got my case, went to the car, and drove to the back of the grocery store on the other side of the woods. I parked among the employees’ cars, waited until no one was in sight, then took the gun from the trunk and walked into the woods. The gun fit in a small briefcase. Once I assembled it, I could make a killing shot from a hundred yards. Not sniper range, but damn good.

As I walked through the woods, I took note of alternate routes. Before long, I was sitting on the tree stump, waiting for lunch break. Gina should
not
have blackmailed Tito.

Stupid woman.

The school-bell ring alerted me, and at the same time brought back fond memories. The doors opened, and a mass of screaming kids poured out, laughter and joy echoing through the neighborhood. I smiled. How could I not? No one—
absolutely
no one—could hear that many kids laughing and not smile.

“Don’t run, children.”

The command wasn’t as powerful as one from Sister Thomas, but it was good, firm. I looked up to see Gina—Debbie Small—admonishing the kids as they raced down the steps.

“Don’t you
dare
cross that street until I get there.” She picked up her pace and ran. I smiled again. She had more of the nun in her with that command.

Shit.
I cursed and closed my eyes. Shook my head. I had to stop thinking like this. A job was a job. After all, didn’t she blackmail the mob? How stupid is that? She needed killing. Can’t leave people like that around to teach our children. Even Sister Thomas would have told her that
nobody
blackmails the mob.

When I looked up, the kids were in the park, playing catch. Gina joined them, and the kids seemed to like it. I raised the gun, sighted her in, focused…then decided to wait. No sense doing it in front of kids. For almost forty-five minutes I waited, then the bell rang, and the kids headed back to class. Gina stayed in the park, directing stragglers and waiting for the late ones to reach her before ushering them back across the street.