“Sorry,” she muttered after taking a breath, the vehemence of her outburst echoing in his silence. “Didn’t mean to lecture. I know you hate that.”
“No, no,” he said quickly, embarrassed. “It does sound like things are heating up. Are you getting a lot of flak?”
Gail hesitated. The threatening note she’d received about playing with fire lay on the table by her side, unacted upon but certainly not forgotten. Given her personal history, she didn’t take such gestures lightly. Still, she knew how political debates pushed people to where their passions got the better of them. She hadn’t done anything about the note.
Nor did she mention it to Joe now.
“No more than usual,” she said, and changed the subject.
Chapter 13
“Dug up some interesting stuff,” Lil Farber told Willy and Joe when they walked into her office the next morning. She gestured to them to sit opposite her desk and handed them each a computer printout.
“Rog burned a little midnight oil last night. Guess he got all excited by Willy’s description of Vermont. Anyway, since we found nothing when we ran Gino Famolare through the system all by himself, and nothing mentioning Gino when we ran the late Vinnie Stazio, Rog decided to step back from the main players. He compiled one list of Gino’s known associates, and another of Stazio’s, seeing if anyone overlapped.” She paused to smile. “I think we may have gotten something. See where it mentions Antonio Lamano, linked to Stazio in May of ’82? They were in a car together when Vinnie was pulled over for questioning, which is why Lamano’s name pops up. He was an interesting guy-nicknamed Tony Hands. The Organized Crime unit has a small phone book on him, which Rog checked out.
“Lamano was a made guy. Old-time Mob soldier. He’s presently doing forever time someplace like Rahway, and I remember hearing a while back that he wasn’t faring too well, so maybe he’s dead. But a lot of years ago, close to when that car was stopped”-she pointed at the printout in Joe’s hand-“Lamano was being wiretapped around the clock by the feds. One of the deals mentioned on those tapes was a warehouse fire we’re pretty sure was set by Stazio-had his signature all over it. That’s one reason people were happy to find them both riding around together, ’cause generally, Stazio was pretty canny about who he was seen with and who he talked to.
“But here’s the neat part,” she continued. “On the tapes, Tony Hands actually talks about Stazio. Says how the guy’s the best and blah, blah, blah, and then he mentions how Vinnie’s got a fair-haired boy coming up. That’s when he says, ‘Gino’s doin’ good-a real live wire. Nice to see the traditions kept up.’”
Farber looked at them expectantly, her eyes bright, forcing Joe to comment politely, “Wow. That’s great.”
Willy, of course, wasn’t buying it. “That’s supposed to mean Famolare is Stazio’s prince-in-waiting? ‘Gino’s doin’ good’? No wonder you’re having such a hard time gettin’ the Mob out of town.”
Lil was not amused. “TV shows and know-nothing country cops notwithstanding,” she said darkly, “we’ve done a damn good job putting them in jail. That’s why Lamano’s there now. The Mob in Newark is a fraction of what it was, and tapes like this helped do that.” She sat back in her chair and propped a shoe up against the edge of her desk, her irritation smoldering.
“This kind of intel takes interpretation,” she went on. “You don’t actually expect these mopes to speak right up for the microphone, do you? To be honest, this is almost that straightforward, given some of the roundabout, oh-so-cute, coded bullshit I’ve heard when they think they’re being bugged. This is worth pursuing, unless you’re just down here to see the sights and blow off work.”
Willy opened his mouth to respond, but Joe cut him off, saying forcefully, “Of course, we want to check it out, and we appreciate the effort Rog and whoever else must’ve put into getting us this. Did the Organized Crime unit pitch in, too?”
Lil nodded, somewhat appeased by Joe’s understanding. “Yeah. He got hold of them after he tumbled to the Lamano connection.”
“I don’t know the protocol,” Joe said, “but if you could make sure Rog and they know how much we appreciate their help, that would be great.”
Spontaneously, and much to Joe’s surprise, Willy added, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Joe stared at him, causing Willy to bristle instantly. “What?” he asked sharply. “I screwed up, okay?”
“No, no,” Joe responded, laughing now. “That’s fine.” He turned back to Lil. “What do you recommend we do now? Drop by and have a chat with Gino?”
She frowned at that. “You could if you want, but I doubt it would last longer than it would take him to call his lawyer. These guys do not talk to us, not unless we’ve got ’em by the balls.”
“How ’bout checking out his time sheets and delivery records against the dates of our arsons? Or his vacation time and sick leave schedule?” Willy suggested, sounding to Joe as if he was trying to make amends-another first. “That might get us probable cause.”
“We don’t have enough for that kind of court order yet,” Lil said. “And, believe me, his particular trucking company is going to be very big on seeing one of those.”
“Ask around the neighborhood maybe?” Joe offered. “Somebody might have overheard him saying he was heading up to Vermont.”
Farber laughed, totally recovered from her earlier irritation. “That neighborhood, I think it’s safe to say you might be able to get the time of day. Otherwise, you’d get more conversation out of a brick. Joe, not to be condescending-I promise-but I think you’ll find that people down here react a lot differently to cops than what you’re used to.”
Both men remained scrupulously silent, each struggling with his own stung pride.
“Sometimes what we do,” she continued, “is bring them in, complete with lawyers, and we let them know that we’re on to them. On the surface, it’s not much, but occasionally, it shakes things up a little. With Gino, we could let it slip on the street that we know he screwed up the Vermont job and is being eyed for murder.” She held up a finger. “We are the ones who gave his signature to ATF, after all. We want him, too. Maybe putting the word out gives us somebody who’s pissed off enough at him to squeal.” She smiled apologetically. “I know you were hoping for more, but at least we’re pretty sure who we’re after now. And my bet is that you’ll get something on Gino before we do, probably by flashing his photo around back home, like to that motel clerk. If you do, let us know, and we’ll grab him so fast, it’ll spin his head.”
The two Vermont cops exchanged glances and stood up simultaneously, reading her cue that the conversation had come to an end.
Farber looked up at them quizzically. “What’s your pleasure?”
Willy demurred. “I guess we’ll get out of your hair,” Joe offered. “I like the idea of passing his mug shot around St. Albans. If you would, maybe you could send a copy north over the computer right now. Then, like you said, if we get lucky, we could come back to be in on the arrest.”
He stuck his hand out, and she rose to shake it. “I want to thank you and your crew for all the help, though. We didn’t have a name or a face when we got here. Wouldn’t have found them without you.”
Willy took his turn shaking her hand. “Sorry we didn’t get more time to work together,” he said, making Joe shake his head in amusement.
Both men said a few more niceties, gave her Jonathon’s e-mail address, dropped by Benjamin Silva’s office to say good-bye, thanked Rog personally on the way out, and finally found themselves back out in the hallway.
“You’re soft on her,” Joe said as soon as the door closed behind them.
Willy stared at him, wide-eyed. “What?”
“Lieutenant Farber. I thought I was going to have to call Sammie and tell her she had competition.”