Rizzo sat back and gave Carol a sad smile. “I solved the case, okay, solved the crime. But the truth is, to do it, I took a big chance with someone else’s life, I risked a third murder. Then I falsified a sworn statement. I promised a coconspirator, a person just as guilty as Bradley, that if she played ball, cooperated and recanted her phony alibi story, I’d write a statement for her with more leaks in it than the Titanic. I practically guaranteed she’d have the basis to walk on two homicides, probably just take a fall for a low-weight felony, maybe only a couple a misdemeanors. Then I perjured myself in official sworn court papers. And I’ll do it again when I testify at the trial, if there is a trial. I broke the damned law, Carol, because that’s what I had to do to enforce the law. It’s crimes cops deal with. Just crimes. Not people. I break as many laws as I enforce. Maybe more. That’s how it’s done. Wait. You’ll see. If you go ahead with this quest of yours, you’ll see. Believe me.”
Carol seemed confused. “What are you saying, Dad? That it’s a bad arrest? That this guy Bradley is getting railroaded?”
Rizzo shook his head. “No. I wish it was that simple. The arrest is good, tight as a drum, and the guy is guilty as hell. I just needed that woman’s cooperation to give me the legal ammunition to secure a search warrant for Bradley’s place. Once I did, we had him. We found the physical evidence we needed to throw on top of the circumstantial we already had. Bingo-case closed.” He paused, giving his daughter time to digest what he had just told her, see it for what it was.
“Pretty heroic, isn’t it?” Rizzo asked softly.
Carol sat silently looking at her father. Then she sighed and gave a slight shrug. “Seems to me, Dad,” she said, “you did what had to be done. It is what it is.” She was silent for another moment before continuing.
“You know, Dad, human civilization is built on a foundation. And in this country, we’ve built a lot on our foundation: a free press, great universities, churches, ballets, museums. And do you know what that foundation consists of?”
Her father shook his head. “Sometimes I think I don’t know much of anything, kiddo. Not really.”
Carol continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “The foundation consists of security, Dad. Security and law and order, put there by soldiers, put there by cops. Some people look down on them, criticize them, betray them, feel superior to them. But without those soldiers, without those cops, without the foundation built with their blood and sweat, there is no free press, there is no freedom, there’s nothing. Nothing but tyranny and chaos and crime and violence.”
Carol stood slowly and walked behind her father, placing her hands gently onto his shoulders. She bent her face to his ear, speaking softly into it.
“Maybe it’s not always pretty. Maybe a cop’s job can get dirty. But the truth remains. No cops, no foundation. No foundation, no civilization. It’s the only thing I want to do. Just let me work on that foundation. Let me help keep it sound, let me repair some cracks. If I have to get my hands dirty in the process, so be it. I can do what you do, Dad. I can fight fire with fire. You just watch me.”
Carol stood erect, her hands still on Rizzo’s shoulders. He turned his head, his eyes finding hers as she spoke once more.
“I need you to be there for me on this. I could always count on you. Don’t change on me now. Please, Dad.”
Rizzo, his eyes moistening, smiled up at his daughter.
“Okay, kiddo,” he said. “Okay.”
The afternoon of Friday, December 12, was slate gray and bitterly cold. A harsh northerly wind swept along Smith Street, buffeting scattered pedestrians as they hurried along the sidewalks.
Rizzo climbed from the Camry and pulled his coat collar over his ears and neck. He crossed diagonally to the Non-Combat Zone and pressed the doorbell. As he waited for a response, he glanced at his Timex: three-thirty sharp. Right on time.
“ SO, MY friend,” Father Attilio Jovino said happily. “You’ve had quite a two weeks, I see.”
“Well, yeah, Tillio, I guess I have,” Rizzo said.
Reaching across to accept Rizzo’s offered Chesterfield, Jovino said, “You must tell me all the inside dirt, all those tantalizing details which somehow never quite make it into the news reports.”
Rizzo leaned forward with his Zippo, lighting Jovino’s cigarette, then sat back to light his own.
“Well,” he said, blowing smoke down at the desktop, “there’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. That reporter from the Daily News, Cappelli, he had a good source. He grabbed a pretty nice scoop for himself.”
Jovino widened his eyes. “And how very convenient for you,” he said with a smile. “I would imagine the higher-ups were all poised to steal your thunder for themselves. Cappelli’s headlines may just have kept them honest.”
“You’d have made a hell of a cop, Til,” Rizzo said matter-offactly.
“God forbid,” the priest answered, crossing himself. “I have all I can handle right here, thank you.” He paused, drawing on the cigarette. “But really, nothing to share? No inside tidbit?”
“Well, in a day or two, the story’ll break that the fiber found on Lauria’s corpse matched Bradley’s Burberry coat. Plus, the lab pulled trace elements of blood from Bradley’s leather gloves, and it’s Lauria’s. That shuts the door.” He paused. “There were some problems with DeMaris’s initial statement. It was sorta vague and poorly framed as to the extent of her involvement, and she may get outta this cheap, but her pulling the alibi story did a good job of nailin’ Bradley on the Mallard case. And there’d be no reason for him to kill Lauria other than to protect his plagiarism and the fortune he was reapin’ from the play, so once we prove Bradley killed Lauria, DeMaris’s testimony makes the Mallard case a no-brainer. He’s goin’ down on both of ’em.”
“May God forgive him,” Jovino said in a neutral voice.
“Yeah,” Rizzo said coldly. “Let’s hope.”
Jovino’s face brightened. “So, I saw your picture in the paper. You and Detective Jackson, with our dear mayor and illustrious police commissioner. I understand the Daily News may run a full feature on you in a future Sunday magazine.”
Rizzo gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Unless some ditzy pop singer loses her drawers again. Then I’m yesterday’s news.”
“Quite possibly, Joe,” Jovino said, laughing. “Quite possibly.”
“Well, it’s been fun. The attention, I mean. Nice way to finish up my career. Plus, Mike got a big boost from it, too, and Cil can probably write her own ticket. Everybody wins.”
Jovino frowned. “Except those two dear souls who were murdered and the misguided souls who murdered them,” he said.
“Yeah,” Rizzo said. “Except them.”
The two men sat in silence for a few moments, smoking. Then, Jovino leaned forward, cigarette smoke curling around his head, his hands now crossed before him on the desk.
“So shall we discuss it?” he said. “The reason for your visit today?”
“Yeah, sure, Til, but relax, okay? I’m not bailin’ out on you.”
The priest smiled at him. “I hadn’t suggested you were.”
Rizzo sat back in his seat. “Oh, yeah, you sorta did. It’s in your eyes.”
“Set my mind at ease then, Joe.”
Rizzo reached into his pocket and extracted a small Panasonic tape recorder/player. From another pocket, he removed a microcassette.
“There’ll never be a better time for me to get this out there,” he said. “Me and Mike are bulletproof now. Maybe not forever, but all we need is right now. You got about a half hour to spare, Father? I got somethin’ I want you to hear.”
LATER, AS Jovino showed Rizzo the door, they paused and shook hands.
“I’ll personally deliver the tape to the United States attorney for the Eastern district. First thing Monday morning.”
“Good,” Rizzo said. “They’ll have no trouble believin’ some runaway left it here at the shelter. Once they start nosing around and find out Daily’s daughter was once a runaway herself, they’ll see the logic of it.”