Nadia bobbed her head. “Ah, yes,” she said. “I remember him now. His name is Robbie. He has been here three or four times a year, since around time we open.”
Rizzo smiled. “And when was that?”
“Three years, almost. Two and half.”
“What’s his story?” Priscilla asked.
Nadia glanced at Priscilla, still smiling, then cupped her chin in the palm of her hand and moved her eyes back to face Rizzo. He caught the sweet scent of peppermint permeating from her mouth when she spoke.
“Very nice man, very nervous,” she said sweetly. “Always want same girl. If she not here, he leave and come back tomorrow. If she busy, he wait for her.” Nadia let her smile deepen and her violet eyes widen. “She give very good massage, I think,” she said to Rizzo playfully.
“Yeah, I bet,” he said. “Who is this girl, what’s her name?”
“Name Bogdana. Is Ukrainian name.” Nadia glanced at Priscilla. “Means ‘given by God,’ ” she told her.
“He ever come in here with anyone else?” Priscilla asked. “A buddy, maybe?”
“No. Alone all time. Nice man, very quiet. Not like some to come to here. Have respect for place. Nice man. But always come alone.”
Rizzo interjected. “Anybody else ever work this counter, Nadia?”
“Just is me or Efim only.”
“Efim?” Rizzo asked. “Is that a male?”
“Yes, is male.” She smiled. “Like you.”
“Is he here?”
“Yes, in back, with the meal before he start to work. I leave now soon for the day.”
Rizzo nodded. “I’d like to speak to him, and to the girl. What was her name? Bogna?”
“Bogdana,” she said. “Yes, she is too here. I will get them. But you tell me, okay? Why are you asking these about Robbie?”
“Well,” Rizzo said, “I’ll tell you all about that. After I talk to the two of them.”
Nadia straightened up and turned to leave. “Okay, Sergeant. I will get them.” She paused at the doorway leading to the rear, turning over her shoulder and smiling warmly at Rizzo.
“Be nice please to Efim,” she said. “He is husband to me. Very jealous.”
She fluttered her lids and then left the room.
Rizzo turned and looked at Priscilla.
She shook her head, her lips pursed.
“Women,” she said. “Jesus H. Christ.”
That evening, seated on the recliner in his home, Rizzo opened the FedEx package which had arrived at the house late that afternoon. Marie had obtained a copy of the play.
Rizzo smiled at the handwritten note from his daughter that accompanied it. Although he had not asked her to, he was glad Marie had gone the extra mile and FedExed the package to him.
“Good kid,” he muttered, opening the bound copy and beginning to read the three-act play.
The story was set in modern-day Atlanta, Georgia, and centered around an old-money family headed by an aged patriarch. His two sons, his wife, and the daughter of a family friend who was romantically involved with both brothers rounded out the cast of characters. The father’s emotional, physical, moral, and legal corruption drove the plot. The older son was complicit in the business and personal ambiguities of the father. This, and the idealism and alienation of the younger son, combined with the ultimately tragic love triangle and the quiet desperation of the unhappy matriarch, completed the drama.
When Rizzo finished reading the play, his head ached slightly. He had a vague, nagging feeling that the story was familiar: characters, setting, plot, all of it. And not from anything Lauria had written, since Rizzo hadn’t yet read his copy of Lauria’s A Solitary Vessel. No, Rizzo thought. It wasn’t Lauria.
“Damn,” he said aloud with sudden realization. “It’s Tennessee Williams.” Reincarnate a thirty-year-old Paul Newman, and he could play either brother, Rizzo thought. An equally young Joanne Woodward or Elizabeth Taylor could be the female lead.
Jennifer entered the room, her hair tied behind her head, flannel pajamas loose about her body.
“Coming to bed soon, Joe?” she asked.
He glanced at the small clock on the table beside him. “Wow, I didn’t realize so much time had passed.”
Jennifer moved closer and sat on the arm of the recliner, placing a hand on his shoulder and peering down at the play on his lap.
“It must have been pretty good to hold your interest,” she said. “The last thing I saw you reading was…” She thought for a moment. “I can’t even remember.”
“Not really,” he said. “Reminded me of some old movies I’ve seen. But, according to Cil, the critics loved it, and it’s a sure thing for the big awards. They can’t print the tickets fast enough on Broadway. Probably make a friggin’ movie in a couple a years.” He shrugged. “Like I said, sounded a little old to me, familiar. Sorta like, ‘Screwballs on a Hot Tin Roof,’ if anybody asks me.”
Jennifer laughed. “Well, I don’t think anyone will ask you.” Her smile faded. “And once more, just for the record, I’m against this scheme of yours. If these two cases are connected, you should report it to D’Antonio. Let him make the call on it. Cover your butt.”
“Vince would punt this whole thing right over to Manhattan South, with a cc to the Plaza.”
“As well he should,” Jennifer said sternly. “Haven’t you had enough excitement lately? Haven’t we all? That whole Daily business and the I.A.D. thing with Morelli? Wasn’t all that a close enough brush for you? I swear you’re like a reckless teenager with a new car, tearing around like a lunatic, defying the odds. I’m just saying.. .”
Rizzo reached up and stroked her cheek. “I know, hon, you already said what you had to say. I get it. But I’m on top of this, believe me. Cil and I struck out today on trying to find a life for this guy Lauria. We’ll follow up, but I’m not expecting anything to turn up. Next, we’ll start to look at Mallard. On the Q.T. Then, we’ll see. We can always drop it in Vince’s lap. But first, let’s see how it goes. Okay?”
She shook her head. “No. Not okay.”
“Think about this for a minute, Jen. I’m not being reckless, in fact the complete opposite. If I nail Mallard’s killer, I’m gold. It buys me a pass with that whole Daily situation, the thing that has you so worried. Don’t you see that? Mallard is my insurance, mine and Mike’s. It’s not reckless, hon. It’s just good business.”
“My God, Joe,” she said softly. “Are you really that callous? What about Priscilla? What about her? You’re exposing her to serious risk: This is not just about you and Mike. What about her?”
Rizzo sighed. “Go to bed, hon. I got enough problems trying to keep her on board without complicating it with too many explanations. And I do have her best interest at heart, too. After this is over, if it all works out, her career is made. Believe me, and just trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing. Now I just wanna look over Lauria’s play, convince myself it’s the same as Mallard’s. I’ll be up in about a half hour, forty minutes.”
She glared at him, anger rising in her eyes. He held out a calming palm toward her. “Relax, Jen. Don’t make me regret tellin’ you about this stuff. Okay?”
Jennifer slid off the arm of the recliner, removing her hand from his shoulder.
“What ever,” she said coldly, turning and leaving the room.
Rizzo picked up the photocopy of Lauria’s manuscript and began reading.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On Wednesday, Rizzo and Jackson spent most of their tour continuing to search through the fragments of Robert Lauria’s life, using names and numbers culled from the worn, black address book retrieved from the murder scene. Other than family members already spoken to, the few remaining entries consisted of former landlords, employers, doctors, dentists, and the occasional tradesman or business number. Nothing pointed them in a meaningful direction.
Robert Lauria had been as isolated and unconnected as any person living in modern-day New York City could possibly be.
By late in the tour, both detectives were convinced.