“Not yet.” This was actually a real concern. By speaking to John’s brother now, there was a risk that Frederick would call the little troublemaker and tell him to vanish. But Joe was working on instinct. Based on Lil’s research, he guessed that Frederick Gregory would more likely protect the family name than John himself. John’s presumed one-way ticket to the Vermont backwaters struck Joe as having been Frederick’s one show of generosity. Also, the threat of brother tipping off brother was most likely moot in any case, since Jonathon Michael’s questioning of Clark Wolff had undoubtedly reached John Samuel’s ears by now.
“Mr. Gregory,” Joe continued, “in order to keep this as unmessy as possible, I’d like to know a few things about John. Without going into detail, we do have a strong case against him, but the faster we can wrap it up, the less the media will have to chew on. You’d be perfectly within your rights to call a lawyer or just throw us out, but I’m hoping you won’t do either.”
Frederick pursed his lips, his irritation visibly growing. “What do you want to know? Perhaps we can start there.”
“I’m guessing John was the black sheep of the family, given how you and your sister turned out. An unexpected late birth, your parents caught by surprise, John was probably overindulged on the one hand, and left to his own devices on the other.”
“You could say that,” was the terse reply.
“Too much money, too little supervision?”
“Basically,” Frederick agreed.
“What happened?”
Gregory sat farther back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Now it’s my turn to be discreet, Mr. Gunther. While I have no love for my brother, I also don’t want to give you any more than you have or need.”
“I’m not asking for incriminating details. I’m not even a cop in this state.”
Gregory pointed at Lil. “She is.”
Farber laughed. “With what they’re building against him, we don’t have to worry. He’ll be an old man before we get a shot at him. I doubt my boss will even care.”
Frederick shook his head slightly. “What a fool,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“What happened?” Joe repeated gently, grateful to Farber for playing up what they had against John.
“You’re right, of course. Spoiled, amoral, and rich to boot. John was a nightmare from the day he learned to walk. Susan and I became the firewall between him and our parents early on, until she got so sick of it, she went as far away as she could get. My mother and father, Mr. Gunther, are not incredibly equipped to deal with someone like John, so I got stuck with him.”
He rose and crossed to a window overlooking a terraced concrete fountain surrounded by low trees. “He became involved with some people down here-a shady financial deal, let’s call it-that necessitated his leaving the area.” He was speaking to the view.
“Why Vermont?” Joe asked.
Gregory turned to face them. “He went to college there a few years ago-University of Vermont. Never graduated, of course. He was thrown out before the end of sophomore year. But when I asked him where he wanted to go he chose Vermont.”
“He let you dictate terms like that?” Joe asked, surprised at the acquiescent implication.
Gregory smiled thinly. “Money played a large role. Quite a bit of it, in fact-a big enough allowance to make it worth his while. John is nothing if not self-serving.”
“Did he tell you what he was doing up there?”
“We are not pen pals.”
“That was your mistake,” Willy commented.
Gregory gave him a hard look before responding, “I don’t think so. It wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“What about what got him into hot water down here?” Joe asked. “How aware of that were you?”
“Only of the end results,” he said bitterly. “And that because he came to me once they were on to him.”
“Who was?”
Gregory stared at him in silence for a slow count before finally saying, “A man named Dante Lagasso.”
Gunther glanced quickly at Farber, who just barely shook her head. The name meant nothing to her.
“I take it Lagasso was Mob-connected?” Joe asked.
“I think that’s fair to say.”
“You should’ve let them have him,” Willy said.
“Whatever his faults,” Gregory reacted icily, “he is family.”
Willy laughed harshly. “Don’t run your coat of arms up that flagpole, asshole. His faults caused the death of an innocent kid.”
Joe glared at Willy as Gregory bowed his head in shock. But while he didn’t approve of Willy’s outburst, Joe couldn’t fault his passion. As usual, in his insensitive, impolitic, trenchant way, Kunkle had spoken only the truth as he saw it. The problem being, of course, that what he saw was based solely on prejudice and speculation.
But he’d also flattened the last of Gregory’s reserve. The man looked up from Willy’s verbal blow and asked wonderingly of Gunther, “Is that true?”
It was no time to equivocate. “We believe so, yes.”
Gregory reached for the back of the chair he’d just vacated, as if to keep from falling over. “My God,” he said.
“What did you expect?” Willy asked.
Joe leaned forward slightly and fixed his colleague with a look. “Enough,” he said in a quiet, firm voice, wondering if Willy’s insistence was based on belief, or merely on having been put in his place by Gregory upon entering.
Whatever his motives, Willy recognized that he’d reached his limit. He settled back in his chair without further comment.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Gregory said tiredly, regaining his seat like an ancient arthritic. “He’s perfectly correct. We should have held John accountable long ago. Now we have only ourselves to blame. Can you tell me the details of this death? I might be able to do something to atone for what we’ve done.”
Joe was already shaking his head. “Mr. Gregory, there will be time for that later on. If and when we get there, I’ll tell you all you need to know. You and the boy’s family can work out whatever you want then. Right now I need you to be straight about John’s criminal connections here in Newark.”
Frederick Gregory gave him a hapless look. “I knew about Lagasso because I had to pay him off. I didn’t know the details and John never told me. He basically took the attitude that I owed him the favor of saving his bacon.”
“How ’bout before? This couldn’t have been the first time.”
“God, no. John was getting into trouble from before he reached high school.”
“Who did he tend to run with?”
Frederick placed his hand against his forehead, half thinking, half wishing he could forget. “Let’s see… There was one kid named Santo. I remember that because I couldn’t think of a less likely name for him. A real little monster-black leather, motorcycle boots. He was one of the worst John got involved with who caused problems.”
“What sort of problems?”
“They were teenagers. What do you think?” he asked peevishly. “Vandalisms, petty theft, drinking, getting girls pregnant… generally carrying on like the juvenile delinquents they were. I was constantly paying off the police or parents or business owners to keep it out of the papers. Santo took full advantage of that, let me tell you. If it hadn’t been for John and our running interference, little Santo would have been in Rahway a long time ago.”
“Is that where he is now?”
The reaction was a bored, “I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“And you don’t know his last name, either?”
Gregory sighed impatiently. Joe knew that the interview was running on fumes.
“Massi. That was it. Santo Massi. If you could dress a cockroach in black leather, that would be him.”
“Who else?”
The rich man made a face, his earlier guilt having yielded to the bother of reliving unpleasant memories. “I don’t know, Mr. Gunther. The point of all this was to make it go away. Not keep notes.”
“Both names sound Italian,” Joe persisted. “Did John hang out where there was a strong Mob influence?”
“I think he liked the allure, but then he was truly broad-minded when it came to lowlifes, because he’d go down to Irvington, too, and the docks. Blacks, Jews, Italians-it didn’t matter to John. Just as long as they were unsavory and he could rub them in our faces.”