Now it was Joe who wanted to end the interview. He stood up. “All right, Mr. Gregory. We’ll let you get back to your business. Appreciate the time.”
Gregory was startled, far more used to being the one who shut down a conversation. “Wait. What about John Samuel?”
Joe didn’t answer at first, letting the others file toward the door. His emotions had traveled quickly and variously in the short time he’d known this man, from sympathy for a philanthropist saddled with an unsolvable problem, to a growing conviction that Frederick viewed the world as a collection of troubles that could be bought off or, if not, disposed of, preferably by others.
In this case, Joe was happy to oblige. “We’ll deal with him and let you know.”
Chapter 17
Lil Farber was sitting at her computer again, this time waiting for a document to appear on the screen. There was a glitch in the system, and things were running slow.
“You boys lay it on thick, don’t you? Connecting Gregory’s brother to a murder you have no clue he’s involved with.”
Willy was dismissive. “We have a clue. We just don’t have the evidence yet, which is why it would be handy if you got that thing working.”
Farber looked at Joe in wonder. “What do you see in this guy? He is such a jerk.”
Joe smiled. “I wouldn’t leave home without him.”
A flicker on the screen drew Farber’s attention. “Here we go. Dante Lagasso. A lieutenant in the Facci family-same outfit as Tony Hands, so there’s a tie-in-usual assortment of activities. Spent half his life behind bars. Loan-sharking, assault, grand larceny… ouch-vehicular manslaughter; wonder what that was about? Bunch of other stuff, including fraud and blackmail. Let’s see… ‘Associates.’ What’ve we got here? Apparently, he once ordered a warehouse burned down after the owner couldn’t pay him back.”
Farber stopped to laugh. “Unbelievable. A note here says that the arson had all the hallmarks of Vinnie Stazio, except that Stazio was already dead. God-what’s not in one file, of course, shows up in the next. All the arson information we were looking for yesterday is in the Organized Crime records. Tell me that makes sense. Damn, we have got to get this crap into one database. Drives me crazy.”
“What else did you find?” Willy asked, ignoring her woes.
“Suspicion was the job was done by a student of Stazio’s,” she continued reading. “Possibly Gino Famolare. Jesus-right there in black and white. God knows where else in this pile of crap his name might be lurking.” She slapped the computer with the flat of her hand and sat back to look at them. “Do you know, nine times out of ten, I get more from Google than I do out of our own files?”
Willy gave vent to some frustrations of his own. “Bet neither one of them can tell you Gino has a girlfriend he keeps Down Neck.” Joe winced. Even for Willy, this was clumsy.
Farber frowned. “How do you know that?”
“We hayseeds followed him right to her.”
She leaned forward and switched the computer off, a telling gesture, to Joe’s mind. The spirit of cooperation was now officially in disrepair.
“Meaning you staked him out?” she asked icily.
Willy was unrepentant. “You had zilch. Patted us on the ass and said we didn’t know how things were done in the big city, so bye-bye and we’ll let ya know when somethin’ comes up. Well, so much for that. You can’t even get your computer to work, and we got a fresh angle on your guy in one afternoon. You want to know where the candy lives?”
Farber ignored him, standing up to face Gunther. “I guess you wouldn’t mind if I did the same thing in your backyard, right?”
Joe was surprised, embarrassed, and genuinely apologetic. “That’s not the point. It was a breach of protocol, and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. There was no malice intended, believe me. You’ve been great with us. It was kind of spontaneous,” he concluded lamely. “I guess we got our dander up.”
Farber stared him straight in the face for several long seconds, letting him absorb her irritation.
Willy, watching them both, finally burst out, “Fine. We’ll get the fuck out of Dodge, then.” He moved toward the door.
“Don’t go on my account,” she said quietly, still looking at Joe.
Willy froze, trying to interpret what had just happened. He stayed silent, however, letting his boss find out. Willy was used to having insults hurled at his back. This was something new.
“We’re okay?” Joe asked dubiously, only half believing he had figured her correctly.
She finally broke eye contact and strolled to the window, where she sat on the ledge. “Yeah, you and I are okay. You messed up, you said you’re sorry. We’re both cops. I know how it feels. You, though,” she spoke directly to Willy, “you’re a whole different game. I’m not so sure I’m crazy about having you underfoot anymore.”
It was a Willy moment in the making-a golden opportunity for him to choose from among a variety of sarcastic replies. In fact, his hesitation seemed to Joe only an inability to select one over another. The shock, therefore, was that he chose none.
“Yeah. Sorry,” he said quietly. “You didn’t deserve my shit.”
Farber smiled thinly, but was apparently satisfied, probably knowing by now that even so slight an apology was a miracle. Joe, on the other hand, was less surprised this time, having seen Willy’s flip side before, especially with those he respected. As in his relationship with Sammie, Willy could be protective and obnoxious in side-by-side sentences.
Farber merely headed back to her desk. “All right, then,” she said, sitting down. “Tell me about the girlfriend.”
Gino Famolare was sitting in his den at home when the phone rang.
“Gino. Frank. How you doin’?”
“Good, Frankie. You been behavin’?”
His long-retired older neighbor from three doors down laughed. “God. I hope not. You?”
“No way.”
Frank laughed again. Gino waited. This was not a social call. It wasn’t that kind of friendship. The two men were less pals than they were members of the same fraternity, in this case the nebulous labyrinth of Organized Crime of which Frank, unlike Gino, had actually once been a soldier. The entire neighborhood was populated with people of a vaguely similar background.
“So,” Frankie resumed, “you been on the road?”
“Yeah. Way up north.”
“Lotta snow still up there?”
Gino played along. The sound was off on the TV set, muted since the phone had interrupted, but it was just a string of commercials right now. Nothing he cared about missing.
“Mostly melted-a little bit here and there. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, yeah… You were gone about a week, right?”
Gino well knew that his older neighbor kept an eye on the street. It was one reason he’d never had Peggy over when the wife was out of town. “Yeah. A week.”
“Right.” There was a telling pause as Frank finally decided to stop circling the reason for his call. “You have anyone over today?”
Gino stopped watching the screen before him, suddenly alert. “What’s up, Frankie?”
“It’s not like it’s any of my business, but I just wondered. A couple of guys were waiting for you.”
“How, ‘waiting’?”
Frank chuckled. “Oh, you know the routine. One of ’em naps; the other one keeps his eyes open. Then they switch.”
“What’d they look like?”
“One older, one younger. Couldn’t see all that good, since they stayed in the car, but they kept moving so as not to be too obvious. The younger one looked like he had somethin’ funny goin’ on with his left arm. Can’t be sure about that, though.”
“Cops?”
“That was the weird part,” Frank admitted. “If they were, they were using the dumbest cover I ever saw. I mean, they did look like cops, but the plates were from outta state.”