“And did the time period you tapped cover last year, commencing on January first?”
“Yes. It was my New Year’s resolution. Throw the bum out.”
“So I take it you were tapping your own phone through January twenty-fifth of that year, the date on which Frank and Gemma Lucia were killed?”
Santoro simmered but evidently thought better of objecting, since even Judge Vaughn was listening intently to Marlene. Judy almost managed to relax, but she was still a lawyer and it proved impossible.
“Yeah, I was tapping our phone on the twenty-fifth.”
“Ms. Bello, did you also overhear some of these conversations, as well as having them recorded?”
“Yes, because we taped all calls, even legit ones and ones when I was there. Half the tapes is me talking to my psychic.” Marlene turned to the jury. “Talk about a rip-off.” The jury laughed.
“Did you ever overhear any conversations Mr. Bello had with Angelo Coluzzi?”
“Puh-lenty.” Marlene chuckled. “Jimmy was on the phone with Angelo all the time, taking orders.”
“Do you recall that Mr. Bello had a conversation with Mr. Coluzzi on the evening of January twenty-fifth, the evening that Frank and Gemma Lucia were killed in their truck?”
“I do.”
“And where were you when this conversation occurred?”
“I was in the kitchen doin’ my reports for my business, and he was on the kitchen phone.”
Judy flipped her legal pad to her notes of the tapes. After she had found out about the gasoline in the truck fire last night, she had gone back to her notes of the tapes. Then she had called Marlene and told her about the note and the gasoline fire. Only one thing could explain both, and only Marlene could explain that one thing. “And what did you hear Mr. Bello say?”
“Objection, hearsay,” Santoro said, but Judy would have begged if she had to.
“Your Honor, it’s coming in for the fact that he said it, so it’s not hearsay.”
“Overruled,” Judge Vaughn said, motioning Santoro into his seat at counsel table.
Judy skimmed her notes. “You may answer, Ms. Bello. What did you hear Mr. Bello say to Mr. Coluzzi on the night of January twenty-fifth?”
“It sounded like they were making a date for Jimmy to pick Angelo up, since he was his driver, and I heard Jimmy say to Angelo, ‘I’ll bring the Coke.’”
“And what did that mean to you?”
“It was like code they used, the two of ’em.”
“Code for what?”
“It meant, ‘I’ll bring a Molotov cocktail.’”
“Objection!” Santoro bolted out of his chair. “Relevance and extremely prejudicial! Your Honor!”
Judy was desperate. She needed this one piece of evidence. “Your Honor, this is absolutely relevant to the death of the defendant’s son and daughter in-law.”
“But it has nothing to do with the death of Angelo Coluzzi, Your Honor!”
Judge Vaughn shifted forward on the dais, his expression concerned. “I want to hear what this witness has to say, Mr. Santoro,” he announced, and Judy knew from his tone it had nothing to do with Marlene’s charms. He turned to her. “Ms. Bello, it is incumbent upon the Court to warn you that you may be making a statement which could incriminate you, since tapping a telephone conversation without a party’s knowledge and consent is unlawful in this Commonwealth. Are you represented by counsel at this proceeding?”
Marlene smiled shakily. “I already talked to a lawyer. He’s sittin’ in the back, and I’m ready to deal with whatever they do to me. I lived with Jimmy Bello, I can live with prison.”
Judge Vaughn hid his smile with a respectful nod. “Fine, Ms. Bello.” He pointed at Judy. “Ms. Carrier, do go on.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Judy said, then stole a glance at the jury out of the corner of her eye. Each one was listening, many leaning forward urgently. Judy turned to Marlene. “Ms. Bello, what is a Molotov cocktail, by the way?”
Santoro threw up his arms. “Your Honor, is the witness a qualified expert on incendiary devices now?”
On the stand Marlene burst into laughter. “I’m from South Philly, pal. You think I don’t know from Molotov cocktails?”
“Overruled,” Judge Vaughn said, glaring Santoro into his chair. “Please answer the question, Ms. Bello.”
“Sure thing.” Marlene brushed a sprayed curl from her eye. “A Molotov cocktail’s a bottle with gasoline in it, and you put a rag in it and light it. Then you throw the bottle and it breaks and makes a gasoline fire.”
Bingo. Judy would have felt happy, but the words “gasoline fire” made her shudder. The Lucias had been burned alive. What a way to die. And what must Frank be feeling? She couldn’t look at him and stayed focused on Marlene. “Ms. Bello, what time did Mr. Bello leave the house that night?”
“I know it was late, maybe about nine-thirty at night.”
“Did he tell you where he was going?”
“No, just that he was going to pick up Angelo.”
“And did he bring the Coke with him when he left?”
Marlene wet her glossy lips. “I’ll tell you what I saw him do that night, after they talked. He took a Coke out of the fridge, in one of those glass bottles he always bought. Then he emptied it out in the sink. The whole bottle. Without even sippin’ it.”
Judy paused as the jury reacted. “Did he leave the house with the empty bottle, Ms. Bello?”
“Yeh.” Marlene bit her lip. “I didn’t say anything, but I should have. I knew he was up to no good but I didn’t think he’d kill somebody with it, least of all the Lucias.”
Suddenly Judy felt for her, for the Lucias, for Frank and Pigeon Tony, even for Jimmy Bello and the Coluzzis. So much death, so much killing. She gripped the side of the podium. “Ms. Bello, why didn’t you come forward to the police with this information before now?”
“I didn’t put it together until you called last night and told me about the gasoline, in the diesel truck. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Marlene turned directly to Frank and Pigeon Tony, her eyes glistening. “I really am so sorry.”
Judy held back her emotion. She was almost home free. She had done it. Proved who murdered the Lucias. Raised reasonable doubt about the Coluzzi murder. She felt her knees go weak, from exhaustion and relief and sheer joy.
Crak! Crak! Crak! banged the gavel suddenly, and Judge Vaughn began shouting, his eyes filled with alarm at the gallery. “Order! Order! Stop that man!”
Judy stood stunned. Pigeon Tony grabbed her arm in surprise. Santoro was on his feet, his face a mask of dismay. The bailiff reached for a telephone. The court stenographer cried, “Holy God!”
The gallery had erupted behind the bulletproof divide. Jimmy Bello was making a break for it, barreling full steam toward the exit doors. Frank was running after him, his tie flying. A cadre of court security charged behind them both. Spectators leaped out of the way in fear. Reporters scribbled like mad. Artists couldn’t sketch fast enough. Behind the bulletproof plastic, the scene was an action movie on mute.
Crak! Crak! Crak! Judge Vaughn kept banging the gavel. “Security! Security! Bailiff, call downstairs!”
Bello hit the double door at speed, with Frank and court security right on his heels. There was no way he would get out of the courthouse. There were layers of cops, police personnel, and courthouse security between him and the elevators, much less the exit downstairs. Bello’s only hope was that the cops got him.
Before Frank did.
The judge had declared a lunch recess, but nobody in the courthouse conference room was interested in food. Judy held Frank close, unembarrassed even in front of Bennie and Pigeon Tony. She breathed in the smells of him, the sweat from the dash after Jimmy Bello, and the fresh grief at his parents’ death. His corduroy jacket was soft in her arms, though his sleeve had been ripped in the melee. Judy hung on until Frank broke the embrace and wiped his bruised cheek. “At least we got Bello,” Frank said, his voice soft.