When I figured it out, I went to confront the terminally ill Frankie Motta. While I was there, Ray Martello and Kenny Burton showed up intending to do to Motta and me what they had done to D Rex. Things didn’t work out quite the way they hoped. When the gunsmoke cleared, there were two men dead, one wounded, and one, me, still upright. Martello survived his wounds, but his heart crapped out on him on the operating table. He remained in a coma for a long time before they pulled the plug on him. The family might have better dealt with the tragedy and disgrace if, in the aftermath, the Brooklyn and Queens DAs hadn’t held a televised press conference during which they made Martello the heavy in their little dog and pony show.
“Yeah, but I won’t miss from this range,” he said. “You’d look good bleeding from the eyes.”
“Your dad thought the same thing.”
“Smart man, my pops.”
“That’s not the words that come to mind when I think about your dad. Corrupt assassin is more like it.”
The red of his face deepened and he coiled as if getting ready to strike. He didn’t. Instead he shook his head at me.
“You want me to smack you,” he said. “Well, fuck you, Prager. You’ll get yours soon enough and you won’t see it coming.”
“You willing to risk everything on that?” I goaded him.
“To get rid of you, it’d be worth it. Any price to make you feel what we went through would be worth paying.”
“Glad to hear you say it.” I smiled.
“You’re a sick fuck, Prager. Now I’m not going to warn you again. Hit the road, asshole.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going.”
I left. There was nothing more to be gained by my further antagonizing him. I had a good feeling about Martello. He was the best-looking suspect I’d stumbled across. Ray Jr. knew good tattoo work. One look at that falcon on his back told me as much and I wasn’t discouraged just because Martello didn’t fit the description of the older man who had arranged for the kid’s ink work. Whoever was doing this thing wasn’t doing it alone. Maybe Cyclops was a relative or an old cop friend of the family’s. Suffolk cops are the best paid in the country, so he had the means. Martello had just made it crystal clear he had the motive. And, as I was about to discover, Ray Jr. had something else that got my attention. I drove up the block a little ways to find a spot to turn around. Coming back past the Martello house, I looked down his driveway and saw that one of his garage doors was open. Parked in the garage was a new pewter Yukon.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I aged a few years on the ride into Brooklyn, but no one sang “Happy Birthday” to me when I called into the office. At least everyone was now up to speed and, for the first time since this whole affair began, we were working the case like a case should be worked. Carmella gave Brian Doyle the shit end of the stick. His job was, for the time being, to be Martello’s round the clock shadow. We’d get him some help as soon as we could. Not because we felt sorry for his ass, but because twenty-four hour surveillance is hard enough to do with a full team. It’s nearly impossible for one person to maintain. The need for food and bathroom breaks gives the mark too many opportunities to slip away. And doing surveillance in the ’burbs is more difficult than in the city. Blending in isn’t easy. Neighbors notice strange cars and unfamiliar faces.
Carmella said she would make calls to some friends in the Suffolk PD and the Suffolk County DA’s office to check on Martello. Devo was getting credit reports and any other financial documents he could lay his hands on. When I walked into the office, both of them had promising news for me.
“I like him for it,” Carmella said. “A captain I know out there says Martello’s a prick.”
“Brian Doyle’s a prick too, but we hired him and he’s not haunting my wife.”
“There’s more. This captain says-”
“This captain, how do you guys know each other?”
Silence.
“The mystery captain got a name?”
“Kirsten Rafferty. Why, you want her number?”
“I don’t date women who outrank me.”
“I’m not even going there,” she said. “So you wanna hear this or what?”
“Go ahead.”
“Seems Martello got divorced ten years back and the ex started dating a guy assigned to Highway Patrol named Cruz.”
“Yeah, so…”
“A year later, Cruz was off the job and the ex was out of state.”
“There’s a punch line here, right?” I asked.
“The story goes that Ray Martello was like out of his mind over his ex dating another cop… Men and their macho bullshit. Any ways, he didn’t confront either Cruz or the ex-wife. Instead, he hooks up with Cruz’s barely legal little sister. Martello asks the sister to keep their romance quiet because he doesn’t want to cause trouble with her big brother and she’s only too happy to oblige. Problem is, she’s also happy to oblige when Martello suggests they start videotaping themselves… You know what I’m saying? Do I have to draw fucking pictures for you, Moe?”
“So Martello lets Cruz know not only that he’s been boning his sister, but that he’s got the tapes to prove it. Cruz goes ballistic and assaults Martello, in front of several witnesses, no doubt.”
“No doubt.”
“Cruz gets kicked to the curb, the wife figures she needs to get far away from her crazy ex if she’s ever going to date again, and Martello has his revenge.”
“Gets better,” Carmella said. “Because the story of why Cruz assaulted Martello gets leaked, the brass don’t really want to bring criminal or disciplinary charges against Cruz. Cop vs. cop shit doesn’t look good in the press, especially with what those guys get paid. Problem is, they need Martello’s cooperation to keep it quiet.”
“Nice way to make sergeant, huh? He gets everything he wanted and more, the vengeful dick.”
“Vengeful is right. You gotta be a twisted fuck to go after a man’s family like that. Sound familiar?”
“Unfortunately, it does,” I said.
“Listen to this. Martello’s movements over the past year fit the time frame we’ve established. He went out with a bad hip about eleven months ago and didn’t return to active duty till June. That gave him all the time he needed to set this thing up. Devo’s got more coincidences for you.”
“Listen, Carmella, after I talk to Devo, let’s get outta here for an hour, okay?”
“Sure. I could use a break.”
I rapped my knuckles on Devo’s door and walked in without waiting.
“What’s that?” Devo asked, pointing at my left hand.
“Huh? Oh, this. Another videotape.”
“I can see that, Moe.”
“Right. It’s from the gas station. It’s got the kid and the guy who was driving him around on it, but you can’t make much out. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let you have a try at it. Now I guess it’s sort of beside the point.”
“Maybe.”
“Carmella tells me you-”
“Yes. Here, look at these.” He slid some papers across the desk to me. “As you can see, Sergeant Martello was twice in cities-Los Angeles and Las Vegas-during the same time as the auditions were held in those cities. If we count New York, that is three cities. Of course, he may have been in many more of the cities, but Los Angeles and Las Vegas are the only two for which I have been so far able to obtain proof.”
“Good work, Devo.” I patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Moe…”
“Yeah.”
“It had nearly slipped my mind, but I did some analysis of the tapes you left with me previously. There is nothing much to be done, I am afraid, with the first security videotape. As you saw for yourself, it was terribly degraded and recorded over many many times. However, the phone machine tape did reveal something of interest. While I cannot say whether the voice is authentic or not, I can say it displays no obvious splices or edits, no abrupt clicks on or off. On the other hand, there is some very faint background noise.”