‘Bucky ain’t been around,’ she said, her tone considerably more subdued. ‘He disappeared.’
‘Has he ever disappeared before?’
‘Not for no three weeks. He ain’ even callin’ his moms.’
I nodded and spread my hands, trying to reassure her. ‘OK, so we’re agreed on this, too. Bucky’s nowhere to be found and you believe he might have been killed by cops. Now I need to know why the crooked cops wanted to kill Bucky Chavez. What was their motive?’
Again, I’d forced Nina to reply directly to a question and this time her response was more direct. Bucky had told her, as he’d told Paul Rakowitz, that he’d seen a cop walking into Paco Luna’s headquarters unchallenged. What’s more, he’d recognized the cop. The bad news was that he didn’t know the cop’s name and had made no effort to find out in the intervening months. Instead, Bucky had developed the story into an anecdote: ‘Hey, bro, I ever tell you about the night I saw the cop go into Paco’s house?’
By the time I asked Nina Francisco to name one dirty cop, I was berating myself for not choosing Greg Ianuzzi. Predictably, Nina was unable to name names, much less supply times and places. Though I hadn’t been nursing unrealistic expectations, I’d hoped to come away with some tidbit I could use later on, maybe another Greenpoint Carton. The way it looked, I’d wasted the past two hours.
‘So, whatta ya think?’ Nina finally said.
‘I think I’m gonna get outta here.’
‘You don’ wanna hear no more?’
‘Is there any more to hear?’
Luck may be the residue of design, but dumb luck is just dumb. I was standing by the door when Nina finally got down to business. She smiled before she began to speak, a sly little-girl smile that I wouldn’t have expected. ‘Like, if I know a cop who, like, you know.. takes care of a girl, like a mistress… does that count for dirty?’
‘It could.’
‘OK, I got this second cousin, Marissa. We went to school together and she was like my bes’ girlfriend and shit, until she went behind my back. Marissa’s got this cop pays her rent.’
‘What’s his name?’
She shook her head, but her tone remained sincere. ‘Mira, what I’m tellin’ you is the truth. Marissa has this cop, he comes over maybe three nights a week. I seen them together. It’s true.’
‘Fine, it’s true. But so what? Do you even know if he’s married?’
‘Marissa said he wasn’t.’
‘Then you see my problem, sex between consenting adults not being a crime and all.’
‘What about the money he gives her?’
Nina was becoming less sympathetic by the minute. ‘If you’re implying that your cousin is a whore, then you’re way off-base. Prostitution involves the exchange of money in return for a specific sexual act. That’s not what’s happening here.’
‘What if they had a baby together?’
‘Then the money he gives her is called child support.’
I was halfway out the door when I remembered Dante Russo’s photograph, tucked away in my jacket’s inner pocket. Dutifully, I fished it out, unfolded it, then held it up for Nina’s inspection.
‘You know this-?’
‘That’s him. That’s Marissa’s boyfriend.’ Suddenly, Nina’s hands were back on her hips, her shoulders squared, her eyes defiant. We’d closed the circle. ‘Yo, maricon, wha’ the fuck you think you’re doin’ here? Askin’ me shit when you know the answers.’ She touched the tips of her fingers to her chest, daring me to make the first move. ‘You disrespectin’ me? You makin’ fun of me? Cause I will kick your gringo ass. I don’ care if you’re ten fuckin’ cops.’
TWENTY-NINE
Short, plump and submissive, Melissa Aubregon was her cousin’s polar opposite. She let me into her apartment and answered the few questions I asked without hesitation, and without raising her voice. Only once did she demur, when I spotted a photo of Dante Russo on an end table. Even there, she compromised. Melissa was sitting on Dante’s lap in the photo, staring up at him, her left arm draped around his neck.
‘I need that photograph,’ I told her. ‘I want you to give it to me.’
‘Dante will kill me.’
‘Don’t tell him.’
‘He’ll notice.’
‘Say it got knocked over and the glass broke.’
Melissa shifted the baby she was cradling, from her right to her left arm, as she tried to come to a decision. Finally, she said, ‘Would smaller be alright?’
The photo was an enlargement and Melissa still had the original snapshot. That was the compromise, a way to please me and please Dante at the same time. Melissa liked to please. When the baby began to fuss as she showed me to the door, she lifted him until his face was a few inches from hers and whispered, ‘No, no, no, no, no. It’s gonna be alright. Don’t worry.’
When I got home, Adele had a surprise for me. New York State corporations, even privately held corporations, are required to file documents identifying their officers. That information is public knowledge and can be accessed through a number of online services that maintain databases of public information. Adele had used the largest of these to retrieve Greenpoint Carton Supply’s filing. Three items stuck out. Greenpoint Carton had changed hands six months after the death of Clarence Spott. Anthony Szarek was the new president. Ellen Lodge was the new secretary-treasurer.
‘Ellen, you fool,’ I muttered.
‘You feeling sorry for the widow, Corbin?’
Adele’s question wasn’t only sarcastic, though there was sarcasm aplenty in her tone. The whole business of interrogation requires that your emotions be put to one side. Though your approach may vary from threatening to soothing to consoling, the focus is always on manipulation. The little wedges are driven in wherever there’s a chink in the armor; the emotions you project at any given moment are simply the right hammer applied to the right wedge. Later on, if you’re successful and your subject is particularly odious, you experience an intense satisfaction. But that’s for later on, when you’re in the bar, when you’ve had a couple, when the bad guy is resting quietly in a cell. The feast comes after the hunt.
After recounting my activities that morning (including my encounter with the rat, to which my partner barely reacted), I produced the photo I’d taken from Marissa and passed it to Adele.
‘What are you thinking, Corbin? That Ellen was in love with Russo?’
‘Ellen Lodge had to find her way to the party somehow,’ I finally replied. ‘Why not love?’
‘Are you going to ask that question when we visit her this afternoon?’
‘No. Tomorrow, maybe, after I soften her up.’ I looked at my watch. It was almost one and I had work to do. ‘I need to use the computer, Adele.’
She got up and brushed by me. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to make a record of everything we’ve accomplished so far and email it to Conrad Stehle. Just in case something happens to us.’
Adele nodded once. I’d mentioned Conrad many times in the course of the endless conversation that flows between partners. ‘I’ve destroyed all the files: Russo’s, Lodge’s, Szarek’s,’ she announced, ‘to protect my sources.’
‘Good. We couldn’t use them anyway.’
I turned to the computer, expecting Adele to go about her business, which in this case involved ordering lunch from a Chinese restaurant near Gramercy Park. But she lingered at the door long enough for me to look from the monitor into her eyes.
‘I’m not going back to Mel,’ she told me. ‘Never again. I can’t believe I’ve lived with him this long.’
‘You wanna hang out here until you get your head straight, it’s alright.’
She reached out to stroke my face with the fingertips of her right hand. ‘I was betting you wouldn’t come back, that you’d choose the job. I was wrong and I’m sorry.’
I suppose I should have taken her in my arms at that point. Even if the signals she was sending weren’t amorous, a comforting hug was certainly in order. But I lacked the courage to touch her, though I wanted her as badly as I’d ever wanted any woman, and I finally deflected the conversation with a pitiful attempt at humor.