7
“Nelli scared Lucky,” I said. “Lucky shot up Max’s
place. Some weird blue stuff in a beaker fell on me.”
It seemed simple
enough.
But when Lopez
planted his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, I
decided that maybe honesty wasn’t the best policy after
all.
“What were you doing with Lucky Battistuzzi this
morning?” he asked, head still in hands. “No, wait, that’s not my
first question. My first question is,
what was Lucky doing at Max’s? No,
wait—” He lifted his head and scowled at me. “What were
you doing at Max’s?”
“On a scale of one to
ten,” I said, “how important are these questions?”
“What?” he snapped.
“I mean, what did you
come here this morning to talk to me about?”
He looked
dumbfounded. “You drop a bombshell like that—telling me you spent the morning watching a
notorious Gambello hit man shooting up the home of a guy who you
know I think is crazy and probably a
danger to you—”
“Max isn’t crazy,” I
said patiently. “And he’s certainly not dangerous.”
“—and you expect me
to remember what I came here to talk about?”
“It’s been a weird
twenty-four hours,” I admitted.
“Esther.” He seemed at a loss for
words.
“I didn’t realize the
truth would upset you this much,” I said.
“Max is bad enough,”
he said in appalled tones, “but Lucky
Battistuzzi? Don’t you realize how dangerous it is to hang
out with him?”
“Don’t worry, I took
away his gun,” I said, thinking this would soothe my concerned
suitor.
Lopez’s eyes bulged.
“You took away Lucky Battistuzzi’s
gun?”
“Actually, I guess
Max took it away,” I said, recalling the spell which had briefly
transformed it into a winged bat. I decided not to mention the
details. “But I hid it. So Lucky doesn’t have it
anymore.
“He has plenty more
of them,” Lopez said tersely. He shook his head as if trying to
clear it. “Why were you with him in the first place?”
“He wanted to know
what I could remember about Charlie’s death.”
“You shouldn’t be
talking to him about that!” Lopez exploded. “It’s a police
matter!”
“I know,” I said,
“but Lucky and Charlie were . . . Well, I guess ‘friends’ would be
a wild exaggeration.”
“For all you know,
Lucky was questioning you on behalf of the killer!” Lopez said in
exasperation. “To see if they need to get rid of you!”
“You think Lucky is
involved in Charlie’s death?”
“Actually, I think
the Corvinos killed Charlie,” he said irritably. “I think they’ve
probably just fired the first shot in a brand new war with the
Gambello family. But right now, that’s only a theory, Esther.
Without more facts, I have to keep in mind the possibility that
Lucky could be involved and might have a motive to eliminate
you!”
“That did occur to
me,” I admitted.
“And you met with him
anyhow?” Lopez shouted.
“Only after I decided
it was safe!”
“What convinced you
it was safe?” he demanded.
At the moment, I
couldn’t actually remember. So I said, “The point is, it
was safe, and—”
“No, the point is you should not be running off to meet with
wiseguys at Max’s place!” A horrible expression crossed his face.
“Oh, my God. Wait a minute. You’re saying . . . Max is involved in this?”
“Um . . .” This
wasn’t going well. I stared silently at Lopez, wondering what to
say now.
Looking like he
wanted to shout at me again, he closed his eyes and rubbed his
forehead. “What is it about Max, Esther? Why do you hang out with
him?”
Despite feeling very
conscious of the need to stay far, far away from the fact that I
had helped Max kill Hieronymus, I said, “He saved my life. Max is
odd, I admit, but he’s got his reasons. And he’s someone I trust.
Someone I can count on.”
Still looking like
his head hurt, Lopez said, “Look, I know that you . . . hear a
different drummer. And I like that
about you.”
“I hear a ‘but’
coming.”
“But this is
dangerous, Esther. It’s also skirting the edge of the law. I don’t
think you’re stupid or a thrill seeker.” He made a vague gesture
and shook his head. “But you don’t know what you’re getting into,
hanging out with guys like Lucky and Max.”
I was startled into
laughter. Lopez’s dark expression made it clear that my levity only
confirmed his fears. But hearing Max and Lucky lumped into the same
category struck me as comical.
“You’re being naive,”
Lopez said.
I again tried to
think of what to say. Lucky wanted to find Charlie’s killer before
the cops did so he could whack him. Of course Lopez would oppose my
helping with that, and I agreed with him. I hadn’t initially
intended to help. But Chubby Charlie had seen his perfect double
before dying and had talked about a curse. No one could figure out
how the murder had been committed, and Max had a theory about a
doppelgänger. So I suspected this crime might be something that a
smart cop like Lopez just wasn’t equipped to solve.
It was the sort of
situation I would have thought was insane before getting to know
Max and the nature of his work. And I had a fair idea of how insane
it would sound to Lopez if I tried to explain it. So I just stared
at him in silence, wondering what to say.
“I want to take you
into protective custody,” he said firmly, putting his hand over
mine. “I’m afraid your life is in danger.”
“From Lucky?” I shook
my head.
“More likely from the
Corvinos.” He added, “But it’s not as if the Gambellos appreciate
witnesses, even in a case where the victim is one of their
own.”
I thought about it.
If Max was right about the doppelgänger, I doubted the cops were
equipped to protect me. And if Max was indeed right, then the
assassin, whether a Corvino mobster or someone else, was no
ordinary hoodlum who’d whack me on nervous impulse, as Lucky had
initially implied and as Lopez obviously feared.
So I said, “If I
agreed I was in potential danger—”
“Esther . . .” He
looked impatient, realizing I intended to refuse.
“—I’d go along with
this. But . . .”
The strange logistics
of the homicide made me suspect Max was right.
And if Max was wrong,
well, I hadn’t seen anything revelatory last night—but I
had seen enough movies to suspect
protective custody would be unpleasant and not even all that
protective.
“I don’t think it’s
the best thing for me,” I said.
“Esther,
you’re—”
“I’ll reserve the
right to change my mind.” Just in case Lopez was right. “How’s
that?”
“Not good enough,” he
said.
“But it’s the only
answer I’m going to give you,” I said. “At least for now. So let’s
not keep arguing about it.”
He looked like he
really wanted to argue, but he evidently realized it wouldn’t
accomplish anything. So he said, “All right. I’ll let it go for
now. But you keep your cell phone with you at all times, and you
keep my number on speed dial. Promise
me.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“That’s a good plan. I promise.” When he didn’t say anything else,
just sat there looking glum, I asked, “So that’s the talk? I mean,
it’s what you came here to say?”
“Huh? Oh. No. Not
entirely.”
I sighed.
“Well?”
“I want to go over
everything you saw last night. Until I figure out what the missing
piece is.”
I groaned as I folded
my arms on the table and rested my head on them.
“We need to do this,”
he said, sounding tired again. “Right now, you’re suspected of
obstruction, at the very least. And my captain would ream me a new
one just for coming here to talk to you alone, never mind sleeping
with you.”
“We didn’t
do any—”
“It doesn’t matter. I
can’t be involved with someone who’s a suspect in an open
investigation.”
That statement certainly had a sobering effect.
We’d been in this situation before. During his investigation of
Golly Gee and the other disappearees.
“Then why did you
even come here this morning?” I grumbled.
“Because I don’t want
this thing to go bad for you.” After a moment, he added, “Or for
us—you and me, I mean.”
With my head still on
my arms, I waited for him to continue.
He said, “Napoli
wants to get a material witness warrant for you.”
“What?” I sat up.
“Why? All he has to do is ask me to come in again. I haven’t
refused to answer his questions.”
“He says you did. He
says you refused to keep talking last night and you walked
out.”
“Well, of course I
did! At the time, I mean. It was late, I was tired, and he was just
saying the same idiotic, accusatory crap over and
over!”
“That’s what cops do.
We wear you down until we get the whole story.”
“He had it,” I insisted. “I was fed up. That doesn’t
mean I’m an uncooperative witness! Even a saint would have walked
out by then. Napoli’s a jerk.”
“He’s good cop,
though.”
“He’s a jerk.”
“Okay, I don’t like
him either,” Lopez admitted. “Not that he’d be heartbroken by that,
since I think he loathes me. And I’ve only been assigned to his
team since yesterday,” he added morosely. “So the new job’s off to
a rocky start.”
“Look, I’m sorry last
night was embarrassing for you. I am.
But it’s not my fault,” I said. “I didn’t plan to witness a mob
hit!”
“I know,” he said
soothingly. “But now we have to straighten this out before it gets
any more complicated.”
“I told you
everything I saw.”
“Then I need to
figure out what you haven’t remembered or don’t realize was
significant. That’s why Napoli was going over and over this until
you wanted to throttle him. He was trying to decide whether you
were lying or just not remembering something.”
“Well, all he did was
piss me off.”
“As long as he thinks
you may be lying, we’ve got a problem, Esther,” Lopez
said.
“And what do
you think?”
“Like I’ve already
told Napoli two dozen times, I think that seeing someone killed
right in front of you really shook you up,” he said. “So there’s
something important that you just don’t recall yet.”
I frowned again.
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure. But
the crime scene doesn’t add up. Not at all.”
“I know. Napoli said
so. While accusing me of lying.”
“Someone must have
moved something. Or changed something. Or lied about
something.”
“I haven’t
li—”
“I believe you,” he
assured me. “Okay? But I think what happened was traumatic for you,
so what you’re saying isn’t accurate, it’s just what you can
remember right now.”
“Well, I can’t argue
about it being traumatic,” I admitted with a shudder as I
remembered watching Charlie die.
“The only thing we
know for sure,” Lopez said, “is that the shot fired through the
window couldn’t have killed Charlie. Based on where he was sitting
and where he fell, the trajectory is impossible. But that’s still
the only shot we can account for.”
“It’s the only one I
heard,” I insisted.
“I’m sorry to do this
to you, Esther, but we have to go over it again. And again. Until I
figure out what your memory is leaving out.”
“I am so tired of talking about this,” I told
him.
“I know,” he said
gently. “But it’s important.”
I sighed and looked
at the ceiling. “And I guess my only way of avoiding another dance
with Napoli is if you bring him something that satisfies
him.”
“That’s
right.”
I eyed Lopez. “But
then you’d have to tell him you were here.”
“Yeah, but if he
realizes I was here to question you effectively, he’ll get over it.
And he’ll get off your back. Mine, too.” He shrugged. “Everybody
wins. And then I can do something in your bed more fun than
sleeping without worrying about a
conflict of interest or a breach of ethics or getting
suspended.”
“Oh.” I blinked.
“Okay.” I sat up a little. “When you put it that way, I guess I can
muster up the energy to talk about last night. Again.”
He smiled. “Glad you
see it my way.”
Unfortunately,
though, it didn’t do any good. I was positive that my consistent
description of Charlie’s murder was complete and accurate; Lopez
was positive it wasn’t, but none of his questions produced any new
information or potential leads.
After almost an hour
of this, he rubbed his hands over his unshaven face and then sat
staring silently into thin air, frowning as he considered the
puzzle.
Wondering if I should
risk bringing up Max’s theory, I tested the waters by asking, “What
about Charlie’s fears that he’d been cursed?”
“Huh?” Lopez looked
startled, almost as if he’d forgotten I was in the room. “Oh. All
that babbling about seeing his perfect double and being marked for
death?”
“Yes. Do you think
there could be something to that?”
“I think it sounds
like he was off his meds,” Lopez said absently.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Charlie was bipolar. It sounds to me like he was having a weird
manic episode. That’s what Napoli thinks, too.”
“Bipolar?” I was
startled. “Charlie was manic-depressive?”
“Yeah.”
“Lucky said Charlie
had always been strange. Moody.” I now remembered that when I’d
told Lucky that Charlie had sounded crazy right before he died, the
old gangster had replied that it wouldn’t be the first time. “But
he never mentioned bipolar disorder.”
Lopez was still
frowning in thought as he replied, “I doubt Lucky knows. It’s the
sort of thing Charlie would keep secret. Not good for business. Not
socially acceptable among his cronies.”
“If he kept it a
secret, then how do you
know?”
“Hmm? Oh. About a
decade ago, Charlie did time for income tax evasion.” Lopez shook
his head in disgust. “He probably committed enough violent felonies
to get sentenced to two hundred years in maximum security. But the
only thing anyone ever caught him at was cheating on his taxes.” He
shrugged. “So Charlie’s medical condition wound up on his summer
camp forms.”
“His
what?”
“Uh, all his records
from the detention facility he was in for nonviolent criminals,”
Lopez clarified. “Which is how we know he was manic-depressive. And
if he went off his medication recently . . .”
“Then his delusions
about seeing his own perfect double and being cursed might have
been some sort of manic episode?”
“That’s my guess. But
maybe your guess was right,” Lopez
added.
I blinked.
“My guess?”
“Napoli says you
thought Charlie was having a ministroke, or maybe not getting
enough oxygen to his brain.”
“Oh! Right. Yes. That
was my guess.” I decided to keep silent about the doppelgänger
theory.
He shrugged again.
“Maybe the autopsy will reveal that the murderer was just one step
ahead of Mother Nature when it came to taking Charlie’s
life.”
“Hmm.” Now
I stared off into space.
If Charlie had
stopped taking his psych meds and was having a manic delusion about
seeing his perfect double, then Max was wrong, and Charlie’s death
was an ordinary Mafia hit—albeit a very puzzling one. Could mental
illness also explain his behavior a few nights ago? Maybe Lucky and
I hadn’t seen Charlie’s perfect double that night after all. Maybe
we just saw a gangster whose psych disorder was out of control . .
.
While I was pondering
this in silence, Lopez glanced at his watch and muttered, “I have
to go.” When I looked at him in silent query, he said, “Home,
shower, shave, Mass, work.”
“You have to work
this evening? After the shift you just pulled?”
“I’m the new guy,” he
said by way of explanation. “But if nothing new turns up, I’m going
to leave early. I been rode hard and put away wet.”
He finished his
second cup of coffee in a long gulp, and went into the bedroom for
his shoes, wallet, gun, and belt. Then he came back into the living
room for his jacket.
“I’m going to tell
Napoli that we talked,” he said.
I looked at him. “Are
you sure you want to do that? You are
the new guy, after all. Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“It would be easier
to convince him I know what I’m doing if I’d already been there a
few months,” he admitted. “But it’s obvious to me that there’s no
point in Napoli squandering his time, your patience, and my love
life by harassing you. You’ve told us everything you
know.”
“I hope he agrees,” I
said morosely.
“I’ll be emphatic,”
Lopez assured me. “And I trust you to tell me if you remember
anything else.”
“I will,” I promised,
though I didn’t believe there was anything else to remember.
“So after I deal with
Napoli . . .” He tilted his head. “Want to take another stab at
doing this like normal people?”
Still thinking about
the problems surrounding Charlie’s death, I said,
“Huh?”
He smiled. “I’ve got
tomorrow night off. I could put on my black silk shirt again and
make a new reservation at Raoul’s.” Dark lashes lowered over blue
eyes as he added, “And maybe you could wear something that gives me
sinful ideas . . .”
“Oh!” I smiled, too.
“I like this plan.”
“Good. I’ll pick you
up at seven?”
As a recent crime
scene, Stella’s would still be closed down, and I wouldn’t be
working. So I nodded. Then I brushed self-consciously at my face
and added, “I’ll try not to still be blue.”
“I like the blue, it
flatters your eyes.” He stopped by the kitchen table to give me a
quick kiss good-bye, then headed for the door. But he paused there
and said, “Is there any point in asking you to stay away from Max
and Lucky?”
“Will you stay away
from Napoli and your mother?” I replied.
“That’s what I
thought.” He left.