“Jeez! You’re Judy! I’m sorry, you’re Mary’s friend. Thanks so much for coming.” Frank burst into a tense grin and suddenly grabbed Judy by the shoulders, pulling her easily into a brief hug. An astonished Judy caught a quick whiff of onion breath before she landed in a wall of hard denim. She recovered her dignity only when Frank set her back on her feet.
“Uh, that’s okay,” she stammered, finger-combing her hair into place, aware of the detectives watching them.
“You know Matty DiNunzio. Mariano. He said you would help.” Frank was talking too fast, his emotions clearly all over the lot. “He said you were a terrific lawyer.”
“Well, I hope so.” Judy swallowed hard. She was getting blocked in on the representation, and of a guilty client. The detectives were taking mental notes. “Frank, maybe we should discuss this in private.”
“After I see my grandfather.”
“You can’t, not yet.”
“Where is he?”
“Downstairs.”
“You’re kidding me. He’s right downstairs and I can’t see him?”
Judy suppressed her smile. Frank sounded like her, even to her. “Only lawyers can meet with defendants before arraignment.”
“Lawyers can meet, but not family? A stranger can meet with my grandfather, but I can’t?” Frank’s head snapped angrily toward the detectives. “What the hell—”
Judy interrupted, “I saw him, Frank, and he’s fine. Now, we really should go.” She wanted them both out of there, and flared her eyes meaningfully. Frank wasn’t so hotheaded that he didn’t get the meaning.
“Yeah, maybe.” His glare fixed on the detectives. “Take care of my grandfather.”
“Ain’t my job, buddy,” Detective Wilkins said flatly, and Frank moved instantly toward the detective.
“What did you say?” he demanded, but Judy grabbed his arm before he assaulted anybody wearing a badge or a bad tie.
“Let’s go, Frank,” she said quickly, yanking him back and steering him out of the squad room. She tried not to feel self-conscious about her hand on him, since he had already broken the touch barrier. In her experience, Italians didn’t have a touch barrier anyway.
She managed to get him down the hall and didn’t let go until she had him in an elevator crowded with uniformed cops. Neither Judy nor Frank spoke, and they rode down grimly, with Frank regaining his composure apparently by his looking at his hands. They were unusually thick-skinned for a man his age, which Judy judged to be about hers or a little older. He was built like a weight lifter, though the light in his dark eyes struck her as decidedly intelligent. But maybe that was because he was such a total hunk. She couldn’t get a date at gunpoint lately, which was a factor.
His faded jeans looked dusty except for a darker patch at the knee, and Judy guessed he’d been wearing knee pads while he worked. A stonewashed green T-shirt, black beeper attached to his belt, and pocket cell phone didn’t give further clues as to what he did for a living. He wore tan Timberland work boots, heavily creased at the ankle and dusted with a fine gray silt, and she tried to figure him out. What he did, who he was. And how he would take the news that his grandfather could die in prison, or worse.
“You did say my grandfather was okay?” he said softly, almost reading her mind, as they stepped off the elevator. If Frank’s eyes were angry before, they were full of worry now, and something else. Fear.
“He’s fine, but we should talk. I am concerned about his case.”
“Sure.” Frank reached the door and held it open for her. “But there’s somewhere we have to go first. My truck’s in the lot.”
Chapter 5
I can’t take long. I have to get back to the office before the arraignment, which will be around three this afternoon,” Judy told him, though she was intrigued.
“No problem.” They left the Roundhouse and crossed the parking lot in front, which was overflowing with cops and police personnel enjoying the spring weather, even among the squad cars and pool cars. A white Ford F-250 pickup stood out from the dark sedans, in the far space under a WORKING PRESS ONLY sign. Frank made a beeline for it, with Judy only a step behind.
“So you’re a reporter?” she asked.
“No. I needed a parking space.” Frank yanked a ring of keys from his back pocket, chirped the truck unlocked, and went to the passenger side to open the door. “Climb in, but watch out for the laptop.”
“You don’t have to keep getting doors for me,” she said, and Frank smiled.
“I know that.” He walked around the dinged bed of the truck to the driver’s side and got in. “I didn’t do it because I had to.”
Judy withheld comment as she got into the truck, which was an office on wheels. What did this guy do for a living? The front seat was a soft gray bench, but between the driver and passenger sat a desk-size console that held an open Gateway laptop with a slim portable printer wired to the cigarette lighter. There was another cell phone and a walkie-talkie with a stubby antenna. Judy gave up. “You a drug dealer?” she asked, and he laughed as he turned on the ignition.
“Of course not! I’m a stonemason.” He picked up the cell phone on the console. “Excuse me just one minute. I have to rearrange my schedule to be able to come at three.” He pressed a speed-dial button. “I don’t want you to think I’m one of those assholes who’s on the cell phone all the time.”
“I know how it is,” she said, as they pulled away. And she did, which meant that she knew Frank would be on the phone the remainder of the trip, and he was, answering questions, ordering materials, and explaining estimates for retaining walls. At one point Judy held the steering wheel while he printed out a purchase order and argued with ease over a late shipment. She amused herself by checking her own voicemail, not to be outdone in the cell phone department, and calling the receptionist at work to ascertain that Bennie remained in deposition. The cat was still away.
Judy looked out the window while the big truck sped smoothly out of the city and into the western suburbs, where the asphalt turned to strip malls of Staples stores, Chili’s restaurants, and Gap outlets. Judy had lived in twenty different states growing up, as her father was promoted within the navy, and even in her short time had seen how similar everything had become. Ironically, instead of making her feel more at home anywhere, it made her feel less so. She kept looking out the window, and soon the strip malls became green rolling hills with larger houses. Judy began to like playing hooky, driving around in a noisy truck with a stonemason, who was attractive despite his onion breath.
Frank pushed the cell phone button to end a call and gave a final sigh as the truck slowed to a stop at a traffic light. “Sorry about that,” he said, braking. Every time the truck halted, something rolled around in the pickup’s bed. “I wanted to clear the deck completely, and I don’t like to leave my guys on the job without me. Dry-laid is trickier than it looks.”
“What’s dry-laid?”
“New England dry-laid. Stone walls, no mortar. That’s what I do. That’s all I do now. I used to lay brick and block like my father and my grandfather, but it’s boring. Dry-laid is like fitting a puzzle together. You use fieldstones or whatever’s indigenous. You have to think. My guys, they’re good, but nobody’s as good without the boss around.”
“I bet,” Judy said, as if it didn’t apply to her.
“Now I’m okay for a few hours.” Frank turned the truck into a driveway on the right and cruised past the NO ENTRANCE sign. “Here we are.”
Judy pushed the button and rolled down the window. They were entering a memorial park, lovely and green, dotted with somber gray monuments. Many of the monuments bore flowers, and some had small flags that flapped in a soft breeze. The air wafted unaccountably sweet. “What are we doing here?” she asked, surprised.