“What a mess,” Dan said, slumping forward and shaking his head. “This case gets more complicated with every second. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever get all the facts untangled.”
“Of course we will!” I exclaimed, happily repeating the word we. “If we put our heads together, we’ll solve this puzzle in no time. The clues are surfacing fast now, Dan. In fact, I found a really important piece of evidence at the Barbizon pool! I’ve been aching to tell you about it ever since I came in. It’s one hundred percent conclusive, and it proves that Jocelyn was killed by Tony Corona!”
Dan sat up straight and shot me a disbelieving look. “That’s impossible,” he said, shaking his head again.
“No, it’s true!” I yelped, jumping up off the couch and retrieving my purse from the kitchen. “Look at this!” Returning to the living room, I took the gold St. Christopher medal out of my bag and wiggled it, like a fishing lure, in front of Dan’s nose. “I found it on the bottom of the pool, just a few feet away from the corpse. It belongs to Tony Corona. I saw it around his neck at the Copa, and if that’s not enough to convince you, his name is engraved on the back!” I was so proud of myself, I thought I would pop.
Dan took the medal out of my hand and looked it over carefully. “Did you dive into the water to get this?”
“Uh, yes…” I said, surprised by his question-not to mention his tepid reaction to my outstanding skills of detection.
“That explains it, then,” he said.
“Explains what?”
“Why you look so clammy and smell of chlorine.”
Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgh!
“Is that all you have to say?” I screeched. “That I look bad and smell funny? Jesus, Dan! The least you could do is admit that I’m a good swimmer! And a darn good detective. And would it kill you to acknowledge the fact that I have-quickly, bravely, and single-handedly-nailed Jocelyn’s murderer?”
“That’s just it, Paige. You haven’t.”
“Haven’t what?”
“Nailed Jocelyn’s murderer.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve got the proof right there in your hand! We’ve got him dead to rights, Dan. Tony Corona killed Jocelyn Fritz, and that’s all there is to it!”
“He didn’t do it, Paige.” Dan’s tone was stern, but his gaze was sympathetic.
“Have you lost your mind? That medal puts Corona smack-dab at the scene of the crime. It’s enough to convict him!”
Dan squared his shoulders and said, “ Corona was nowhere near the Barbizon at the time Jocelyn was killed.”
“That can’t be true!” I cried, the wind whooshing out of my sails. “How do you know that? Are you sure?”
“Positive,” he said, “because at the time of Jocelyn’s death, Tony Corona was with me, at the Midtown North station, being booked for the murder of Virginia Pratt.”
Chapter 35
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING? Well, neither have I, but I’m sure it’s a shocking experience. Almost as shocking as having your credibility, stability, and self-confidence shattered-in one blow-by the man you love and trust most in the world.
(Okay, okay! So maybe I’m laying it on with a trowel here, but I’m the one telling this story, and I think I’m entitled to express my emotions. No matter how stupid they happen to be. And besides, when Dan revealed that he’d arrested Tony Corona for Virginia ’s murder, I really did feel as though I’d been struck by lightning-or something equally electrifying.)
“Holy moly!!!” I shrieked, bones rattling, hair standing on end. “ Corona killed Virginia? And you already booked the bastard? I don’t freaking believe it!” I threw both hands up and stamped one foot on the floor. “What was his motive? How the hell did you figure it out? Have you got enough proof?” Curiosity was burning a hole in my brain (and inflaming my vocabulary).
“Simmer down, Paige,” Dan said, standing up, putting his arm around my waist, and guiding me into the kitchen. “I think you’re flipping out. You’d better compose yourself and make us some coffee. Then we can sit down at the table and compare notes, discuss the case like two calm, sensitive, and mature adults.”
I probably deserved Dan’s patronizing little speech, but I still found it annoying. How did he come off acting so calm and sensitive when just minutes ago he’d been bombarding me with impatient questions and telling me I looked clammy and smelled chlorinated? (I mean, how sensitive was that?) I thought the coffee was a good idea, though, so I filled the pot with water, spooned a ton of Chase and Sanborn into the filtered basket, and put the trusty device on the stove to perk. Then I sat down across the table from Dan and lit up one of his Camels.
“Please proceed, Detective Street,” I said, batting my lashes and beaming a fake angelic smile in his direction. “I find your work simply fascinating. Tell me, how did you ever get involved in this compelling case, and what led you to conclude that Mister Corona killed Miss Pratt?” I was doing my best Loretta Young (i.e., acting so sensitive and self-composed it was silly).
Dan groaned and gave me a warning look. “Knock it off, Paige. It’s been a long night, and I’m not in the mood for any more drama. If you want to hear my side of the story, you’d better behave yourself and just listen.”
“Okay, shoot,” I said, immediately dropping my charade and craning my neck over the table. “I’m a giant ear. Tell me everything.”
Dan raked his fingers through his wavy hair, leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and propped his folded arms behind his head. “The chief brought me into the case at the start,” he began, looking so languid and seductive I thought I would die. “He said he had reason to believe the detective in charge wouldn’t conduct a proper investigation, and he asked me to undertake a behind-the-scenes, one-man search for Virginia ’s murderer. He thought her death had something to do with the mob war raging through the city right now, and-since I was already investigating the conflict and a couple of related rubouts-he figured I would be in contact with some underworld informers.
“And he was right,” Dan continued, “on both counts. I do have a few Mafia pigeons, and one of them is very close to the top. It turned out he knew a lot about the murder, and after I plied him with a pile of cash and promises, he gave me the inside dope. He told me that Virginia had been a high-priced prostitute known as Melody, that she had worked for a high-class madam named Sabrina Stanhope, and that mob boss Frank Costello himself had ordered her hit after learning that she was keeping company with District Attorney Sam Hogarth as well as with his own protégé, Tony Corona.”
“Protégé? Are you saying that-?”
“Right. Corona owes his whole career to Costello. The top Mafioso made him a star. Now hush, Paige, and let me finish.”
Aaaargh!
“It all boils down to this,” Dan went on. “When the DA recently put the crunch on Costello-dragging him into court, threatening him on TV, closing down his gambling operations, and so forth-Costello got teed off and swore to get even. He wanted to have the DA assassinated, but decided against it because the cops and the feds would know he was responsible and would come down even harder on his case. So when Corona told him that he and Hogarth were sleeping with the same expensive call girl, and that Hogarth was so infatuated he had given her a mink jacket and some diamond jewelry, Costello came up with an alternate plan: He would have Melody killed and her nude body dumped in the park, along with her ID and the presents Sam Hogarth had given her. That way, he figured- incorrectly, as it turned out-the police would discover that Melody was a hooker, trace the fur and diamonds back to Hogarth, and then accuse the district attorney of murder.