“Si.” Pigeon Tony frowned, his forehead buckling into leathery wrinkles. “You no eat, Judy?”
“No, now let’s talk. Tell me everything. Who else was there, how you found him—everything.”
“Talk, then eat?”
“Talk, then eat.” Judy sighed. The man could negotiate with the best of them. She imagined him back in Italy, getting the best prices for whatever he grew. Tomatoes, olives, whatever. “But we’re going to talk first. Talk now.”
Pigeon Tony appeared to think a minute, then his face darkened. “I see Coluzzi at the club, you know? The club?”
Judy nodded. The pigeon-racing club. “What time of day, exactly?”
“Ah, inna mornin’. Friday, eight o’clock inna mornin’.” Pigeon Tony nodded, his small mouth tight. “Alla loft, they come to the clubhouse. The birds, they get the bands. Onna legs. Before race. You understand?”
Judy nodded. She was the one who spoke English. She understood. “Who else was there, in the clubhouse?”
“Alla people—Tony, Feet, alla inna club. Me, Pigeon Tony, I go to back, inna back, to get bands and bom”—Pigeon Tony’s eyes glittered—“I see Coluzzi!”
“In the back? What back?”
“Inna room, inna back. They play cards. You know.”
Judy didn’t know, but she could guess. “Why were you going in the back room?”
“To get bands, for birds. They have at club. They count, so no cheating. Everybody get bands before race.”
“Fine.” Judy nodded. Whatever. “Was anybody else in the back room?”
“Coluzzi.”
Judy persisted. “I meant anybody besides Coluzzi and you?”
“No.”
“So it was just you and him, in the back room.” Judy tried to visualize it. She would have to get to the crime scene soon. When would she find the time? What about her other cases? “How big is the back room?”
“Little. Is little room.”
“What’s in it besides bands?”
“Alla things. Alla for birds.”
“Supplies for the birds?”
“Si, si.”
Judy could make only a mental note. She’d been so pissed when she got here, she’d left her backpack in the car. “Okay, so you go in the back room, and there he is. What happens next?”
“I see Coluzzi and I hate him. Hate!” Pigeon Tony’s face colored and he clenched his small hands. “I hate him, in here. Inside.” He thumped a fist on his chest. “Inna my heart I hate him. You know, hate?”
“Yes, I know,” Judy said, though she doubted that anybody whose first language was English knew the hate he was talking about.
“And I kill him.”
The words made Judy shudder. “So you just start hating him, and you kill him?” It sounded like spontaneous combustion, but she couldn’t begin to translate. “Just like that?”
Pigeon Tony’s eyes clouded with apparent confusion.
“I’m trying to understand why you killed him. I saw his body and his neck. It was broken very badly. It was awful to see. I don’t know how you could do such a thing.”
“Si, si.” Pigeon Tony nodded. “I say you before. I kill him. He kill my wife. I say, before.”
Judy wiped her brow. If this weren’t a privileged conversation, she’d get Frank to translate. Shirtless. “I’m trying to make sense of this. I’m asking, did you just see Coluzzi and then run at him and break his neck?”
“Si, si, we make a fight and I break his neck. You know.”
Judy did a double take. “What do you mean, you made a fight?”
“Si, si, we make a fight.” Pigeon Tony cocked his head. “Come se dice, make a fight?”
“No, wait a minute.” She would have to hire a fully dressed translator. It would be less fun but she could do her job. “We say fight, too, but you didn’t tell me you two had a fight. What did you fight about?”
“What he say.”
“What did he say?”
Pigeon Tony’s dark eyes fluttered. “He say . . . thing.”
“Yes, but what?” Judy couldn’t keep anger from her tone. “Did he call you a name? What?”
Pigeon Tony didn’t answer, his gaze focused on a splotch of sun outside the oak grove. Birds chirped in the meadow but he wasn’t listening to them either.
“Pigeon Tony, tell me what he said. You understand more than you let on. You don’t fool me.”
Pigeon Tony’s head moved slowly to face Judy and he seemed to wait a moment until his eyes focused. “He say he kill my son.”
Judy felt stricken. “Your son? He admitted it?”
“My Frank. And wife, Gemma. Inna truck.”
“You mean, the truck accident?”
“No accident! He do it. He kill my son. He kill my wife. He say me, he say me! He say he destroy me, because Silvana want me! He say he destroy Frankie. Alla my family.” His voice broke slightly and tears sprang to his dark eyes, but Judy was struggling for clarity.
“So he told you he killed your son? He said he’d kill Frank, too? Your grandson Frank?”
“Si! Si!” Pigeon Tony was looking at her, but lost in the memory. Wetness brimmed in his eyes, refusing to budge. “When he say this, I go bom! I hate him, I hate him! I run and push him and break his neck! I kill him, for my son! For my wife! For my Frankie! With my hands I do it!”
Judy understood. She could almost imagine him, blind with pain and rage, avenging so many murders and saving Frank. “You killed him right then, after he said that?”
“Si, si! I kill him and he fall onna floor and they come, from the room. Alla people, come then. Tony, Feet. They see.”
Judy found herself thinking like a defense lawyer again. “Did he say he’d kill you?”
“No, no. He no kill me. He destroy me.”
Judy understood. The knowledge would make Pigeon Tony’s life a living hell. She tried another tack. “When he said this, was it loud? Did the other people hear him?”
“No, not loud. Soft. He make a laugh.” Pigeon Tony wiped tears that wouldn’t come, and Judy winced.
“Are you sure?” Couldn’t one person have heard it? She needed a witness to the conversation. “Was there a door to the room?”
“Si, si.”
“Was it closed or open?”
“Close.”
Judy considered it. No witnesses, and such a bombshell. “Why didn’t I know this? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Ogni ver non è ben detto.”
“What?”
“Alla truths not be told.”
“What?” Judy hoped she hadn’t heard him right. “You tell me everything. You want me to represent you, you be honest with me! You have to tell me.”
“Perchè?” Pigeon Tony said, and Judy translated from the challenging flash to his eyes.
“Because I said so, that’s why!”
“You tell judge?”
“No, of course not.”
“Pfft!” Pigeon Tony made a noise that accompanied a twist of his hand in the country air, and Judy figured it meant what’s-the-difference. Unfortunately, she couldn’t immediately think what the difference was legally, but she still wanted to know.
“Is there anything else you didn’t tell me?”
“No, no.”
Judy’s eyes narrowed. “Promise?”
Pigeon Tony crossed himself, which Judy decided was an acceptable substitute.
Then she remembered something. The conversation with Frank at his parents’ gravesite. Frank had said Pigeon Tony suspected it wasn’t an accident, not that he was told. Why hadn’t Frank told her? Maybe he hadn’t had a chance to talk with his grandfather after his arrest. But why hadn’t Frank told her since then? Picked up the phone? “Why didn’t Frank tell me?”