“Listen, Mack — you got it all wrong. When you hear the term lady-killer applied to me it’s a reference to my legendary action between the sheets, if you know what I mean. No way I let you damage my rep with some trumped up charges. Now I know you gotta do the whole bruiser act, but why don’t we just skip to the part where you take a powder while someone with authority does the real talking?”
O’Hare scowled even harder, which didn’t do his looks any favors. He jabbed a meaty finger into my chest, practically cracking my sternum.
“You want real talk, Trubble? Start by fessing up on where you stashed the stiff.”
I yawned. “Wake me when you’re done gabbing, O’Hare. Your whole tough guy shtick is boring me to death.”
He seized me by the collar and hoisted me from the chair. “Fine by me, shamus. Howzabout I stimulate you a knuckle sandwich instead?” His swollen fist drew back threateningly.
“That’ll be enough, O’Hare.” Flask walked in on cue, still dressed to the nines. He removed his hat and tried to smooth his hair back, but his bristle top stayed pretty much bristly.
O’Hare growled and flung me back into my seat. I adjusted my suit with a wry grin. “Why go through this whole good cop/bad cop routine, Flask? Can’t we act civilized for a change and gab like adults?”
Flask settled into the seat in front of me. “Good cop/bad cop is one of this institution's most venerated traditions, Mick. Don’t want to defy convention.” He set a document tablet on the table and flipped open a window that hovered above the transparent keyboard. Scarlett’s beautiful face was clearly visible. So was mine, right next to her. I looked a bit under the influence, but she was a sight to take the breath away.
“Surveillance photo from the security camera at the Fatale.” Flask gave me a wry glance. “The cheap hotel with the not-so-subtle name you and the victim spent the night at. Thing is, there is no footage of her ever leaving the joint.”
His eyes locked with mine. “That makes you the last person to have seen her alive.”
He flipped to another screen, changing the image in the window to crime scene photos of a body pulled from the West River.
I winced at the close-up of Scarlett’s face. It was pale and bloated, scarcely recognizable. Some sick bastard had given her a Glasgow smile, slashing her face from the corners of her mouth to her ears. Even worse was the exposed gash in her neck where her throat had been slit.
Flask studied my reaction. “Toxicology tests show Ms. Flacco was rendered unconscious by a mixture of chloroform and other anesthetics. She was awakened at some point, as the raggedness of the facial cuts indicates a struggle. She was fully conscious when her face was being slashed. Probably when her throat was slit as well.”
I felt something boil inside. A raging beast writhed in my guts, clawing at my insides. I recognized the feeling. The last time I felt that kind of rage was when the Red-Eyed Killer butchered some friends of mine. I’d damn near ignited a citywide gang war with some of New Haven’s finest killers while wiping up that mess, but I had no regrets.
When you take something from me, you deserve what’s coming to you.
My eyes burned when I leaned forward, the words raw in my throat. “You know I didn’t kill the girl, Flask.”
He gazed at me for a long moment before turning to the bruiser. “Hey O’Hare. Why don’t you get a coffee or something?”
O’Hare had the nerve to look surprised. “You sure you wanna—”
Flask jerked his thumb toward the door. “Get a doughnut too while you’re at it. Go on, scram.”
O’Hare gave me one last warning glare before he exited the room, slamming the door shut. Flask turned his attention back to me.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you didn’t kill Ms. Flacco, Trubble. Slitting throats isn’t your style.”
I glared at him. “So what am I doing cooling my heels here, Flask? What’s all the dog and pony show about?”
He pulled a cheap gasper from a battered case and lit it. “You’re the only suspect we have right now. Protocol has to be followed. Besides, I had to get you out of your element. You’re on my turf now. Means you play by my rules unless you like your view obscured by prison bars.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You can only hold me for a few more hours before I walk. You’ve got nothing on me that sticks. No traces of anything but sex in that hotel room, no evidence of foul play on my part. No eyewitnesses, and no motive. So maybe you should just tip your mitts and tell me why I’m here, Flask.”
He sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. When he finally spoke, it was as if reading off his own obituary.
“We’re going to have to require your services, Mick.”
I stared at him. “My services? You mean you want me to work for the brass? The boys in black and me on the same team?” I couldn’t help laughing at the thought.
Flask’s face grew darker with every chuckle. “Don’t think I like this any more than you, Mick. But there’s a dead girl to think about, remember?”
That sobered me up right quick. “Right. What’s this about, Flask? What is it about this case that you and your boys can’t touch?”
He stared at me like I missed something very obvious. “You really didn’t know who she was, do you?”
I shrugged. “Last time I checked, she was a hotel clerk. Don’t know what she’s been doing the last couple of years. Lost track. We crossed paths out of the blue the other night. First time I’d seen her in a while.”
Flask exhaled a stream of gasper smoke. “Didn’t that last name ring any bells, Mick?”
I opened my mouth, then hesitated as it hit me. “You’re not saying—”
“Sophia Flacco is Moe Flacco’s daughter, Mick. Estranged, but still blood. And you know blood runs thick. So you understand the delicacy of the situation, and why police investigation is going to be severely limited.”
My throat tightened. “Moe Flacco. The head of the most powerful Borgata in New Haven.”
Flask nodded wearily. “That’s right. He wasn’t close with Sophia. Had some sort of falling out. Headstrong girl, you know how it is. The point is it doesn’t matter what their differences were. She’s dead now, and you can bet house dibs Flacco is already looking into the situation. He’s going to find out who she was with the night she died.”
Flask’s look of distress was so well acted he should have won an award. “And all trails lead to you. You’re in a lot more trouble than you know, Mick. You might want to consider renting out a room here for a while. Might be the safest place for you right now until we get this worked out.”
I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. “Appreciate the concern, Flask. But the killer is out there, and I got no chance of tracking him down if I’m holed up in the meat locker. Plus, Flacco can reach out and snuff me anytime he wants. Prison bars won’t even slow him down.”
I held up my wrists so he could remove the bracelets.
“Besides, I got a better idea.”
Mobster events tend to attract attention. Doesn’t matter if it’s a wedding, some extravagant dinner party, or in this case, a funeral. A kingpin doesn’t get to the top without rubbing elbows with a lotta folks on the way up. Most might hate him, but they know when to pay their respects. Moe Flacco had been around for quite a while without getting buried or caged, a rarity for a man of his profession. So when the funeral services opened for his daughter, the church was packed to bursting with professional mourners. It was a who’s who of anyone with power and influence in New Haven
There was Moe, of course. The family patriarch was dressed to the nines in a tailored black on black pinstriped suit. Despite his glad rags he still had the look of a hammerhead shark, with his predatory glower and bruiser’s profile. Beside him was Marta Flacco, his stately but stern-looking wife whose grief was only visible by her red-rimmed eyes. The rest of her face was a porcelain mask. The remainder of the front rows were packed with the Flacco family and in-laws, a clan to itself. I watched them closely, checking out whose grief looked sincere and taking note of those with particularly dry eyes. With mob murders the suspects were endless, but I tended to start close to home before widening my net.