Rizzo’s Fire (40 page)

Carol stood slowly and walked behind her father, placing her hands gently onto his shoulders. She bent her face to his ear, speaking softly into it.

“Maybe it’s not always pretty. Maybe a cop’s job can get dirty. But the truth remains. No cops, no foundation. No foundation, no civilization. It’s the only thing I want to do. Just let me work on that foundation. Let me help keep it sound, let me repair some cracks. If I have to get my hands dirty in the process, so be it. I can do what you do, Dad. I can fight fire with fire. You just watch me.”

Carol stood erect, her hands still on Rizzo’s shoulders. He turned his head, his eyes finding hers as she spoke once more.

“I need you to be there for me on this. I could always count on you. Don’t change on me now. Please, Dad.”

Rizzo, his eyes moistening, smiled up at his daughter.

“Okay, kiddo,” he said. “Okay.”

THE AFTERNOON
of Friday, December 12, was slate gray and bitterly cold. A harsh northerly wind swept along Smith Street, buffeting scattered pedestrians as they hurried along the sidewalks.

Rizzo climbed from the Camry and pulled his coat collar over his ears and neck. He crossed diagonally to the Non-Combat Zone and pressed the doorbell. As he waited for a response, he glanced at his Timex: three-thirty sharp. Right on time.

“
SO, MY
friend,” Father Attilio Jovino said happily. “You’ve had quite a two weeks, I see.”

“Well, yeah, Tillio, I guess I have,” Rizzo said.

Reaching across to accept Rizzo’s offered Chesterfield, Jovino said, “You must tell me all the inside dirt, all those tantalizing details which somehow never quite make it into the news reports.”

Rizzo leaned forward with his Zippo, lighting Jovino’s cigarette, then sat back to light his own.

“Well,” he said, blowing smoke down at the desktop, “there’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. That reporter from the
Daily News
, Cappelli, he had a good source. He grabbed a pretty nice scoop for himself.”

Jovino widened his eyes. “And how very convenient for you,” he said with a smile. “I would imagine the higher-ups were all poised to steal your thunder for themselves. Cappelli’s headlines may just have kept them honest.”

“You’d have made a hell of a cop, Til,” Rizzo said matter-offactly.

“God forbid,” the priest answered, crossing himself. “I have all I can handle right here, thank you.” He paused, drawing on the cigarette. “But really, nothing to share? No inside tidbit?”

“Well, in a day or two, the story’ll break that the fiber found on Lauria’s corpse matched Bradley’s Burberry coat. Plus, the lab pulled trace elements of blood from Bradley’s leather gloves, and it’s Lauria’s. That shuts the door.” He paused. “There were some problems with DeMaris’s initial statement. It was sorta vague and poorly framed as to the extent of her involvement, and she may get outta this cheap, but her pulling the alibi story did a good job of nailin’ Bradley on the Mallard case. And there’d be no reason for him to kill Lauria other than to protect his plagiarism and the fortune he was reapin’ from the play, so once we prove Bradley killed Lauria, DeMaris’s testimony makes the Mallard case a no-brainer. He’s goin’ down on both of ’em.”

“May God forgive him,” Jovino said in a neutral voice.

“Yeah,” Rizzo said coldly. “Let’s hope.”

Jovino’s face brightened. “So, I saw your picture in the paper. You and Detective Jackson, with our dear mayor and illustrious police commissioner. I understand the
Daily News
may run a full feature on you in a future Sunday magazine.”

Rizzo gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Unless some ditzy pop singer loses her drawers again. Then I’m yesterday’s news.”

“Quite possibly, Joe,” Jovino said, laughing. “Quite possibly.”

“Well, it’s been fun. The attention, I mean. Nice way to finish up my career. Plus, Mike got a big boost from it, too, and Cil can probably write her own ticket. Everybody wins.”

Jovino frowned. “Except those two dear souls who were murdered and the misguided souls who murdered them,” he said.

“Yeah,” Rizzo said. “Except them.”

The two men sat in silence for a few moments, smoking. Then, Jovino leaned forward, cigarette smoke curling around his head, his hands now crossed before him on the desk.

“So shall we discuss it?” he said. “The reason for your visit today?”

“Yeah, sure, Til, but relax, okay? I’m not bailin’ out on you.”

The priest smiled at him. “I hadn’t suggested you were.”

Rizzo sat back in his seat. “Oh, yeah, you sorta did. It’s in your eyes.”

“Set my mind at ease then, Joe.”

Rizzo reached into his pocket and extracted a small Panasonic tape recorder/player. From another pocket, he removed a microcassette.

“There’ll never be a better time for me to get this out there,” he said. “Me and Mike are bulletproof now. Maybe not forever, but all we need is right now. You got about a half hour to spare, Father? I got somethin’ I want you to hear.”

LATER, AS
Jovino showed Rizzo the door, they paused and shook hands.

“I’ll personally deliver the tape to the United States attorney for the Eastern district. First thing Monday morning.”

“Good,” Rizzo said. “They’ll have no trouble believin’ some runaway left it here at the shelter. Once they start nosing around and find out Daily’s daughter was once a runaway herself, they’ll see the logic of it.”

“Of course they will,” Jovino said, his eyes twinkling. “And despite the rather less than stellar conduct of some few of my colleagues, most people still do trust priests, Joe. They’ll believe me all right. Don’t concern yourself about that.”

Rizzo nodded, lifting his collar in anticipation of stepping out into the dark, cold evening. “Good,” he said.

Jovino shook his head, a sadness coming into his eyes. “I always knew Councilman Daily was something less than noble, Joe. But this . . . this tape. It’s an outrageous betrayal of trust. Of dignity. Of
democracy
.”

Rizzo shrugged. “Do yourself a favor,” he said. “Keep it simple. What we got here is a crime, Father. Forget about what’s right, what’s wrong, what’s a betrayal.”

Rizzo opened the door, the cold wind intruding immediately, biting at the exposed skin of his face.

“What we got here is
illegal,
” Rizzo said, his eyes kind, his tone soft.

“A crime, Father. Just a crime.”