As he did, he reached for a small notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Mr. Demetri, I’m going to jump right to the point.”
“Please do, I have business.”
“Where were you Thursday night at approximately seven o’clock?”
I leaned back, contemplating my response, my hands upon the arms of my chair, neither gripping nor clenching. The epitome of relaxed, I tilted my head, giving his question due thought. Finally, I spoke, “Thursday? I’m not certain of the time. I had an early dinner in town and came back here to finish working. I’m often here late.”
“So you were here?”
“I was. Again, I’m not sure of time. Is there a problem?”
He let out a long breath. “Perhaps you haven’t seen the news?”
“I’m not much for TV.”
“Newspapers?”
“Again, when I have time. Often my wife keeps me informed of current events.”
He stared my direction. “How’s your father-in-law?”
“Dead.”
“Excuse me?”
“My wife’s father died when she was young. I never met Angelo Costello, but I’ve heard good things about him.”
Detective Jennings shook his head. “Carmine Costello.”
“He’s my wife’s uncle, not her father.”
“I apologize.” His neck straightened, small rings of white becoming visible as his skin unfolded. “How is Carmine Costello?”
“I haven’t seen him. We often get together on Sundays. I’ll be sure to let him know you’re concerned.”
“You said dinner—on Thursday night. Where did you eat...in town?”
“Evviva’s.” I didn’t want to be caught in a lie, insinuating other lies. Carmine told me to say I’d left early, not that I never attended.
“Do you eat there regularly?”
“The pesto is worth the trip. I suggest you give it a try, homemade and second only to my wife’s.”
“And who were you dining with?”
I shrugged. “Friends.”
“There are reports of your car leaving Evviva’s on Thursday night.”
I nodded. “As I said, I ate and then left. That would be in my car. It’s too far to walk.”
“Sir, we’d like to take a look at your car.”
“And why is that?” I asked, sitting forward.
“Have you seen Carmine Costello in the last forty-eight hours?”
“He was at dinner on Thursday.”
“What can you tell me about Lorenzo Greco?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
The cop lifted the paper on his spiral tablet and pulled out a picture. He stared at it for a moment before placing it on my desk. “Not much to recognize. Just wondering if any bells are ringing yet?”
I looked down and pursed my lips. The grainy black and white photo did nothing for the boy. His face, what could be seen of it, was badly bruised. The photo was only of the torso up, but it was obvious that part of his head was missing. I pushed the picture back. “I’m not sure I could identify that person even if I did know him.”
“His name is Lorenzo Greco. He is—make that was—nineteen years old. His father died six months ago, a nasty accident on a construction site in Midtown. His father worked for C&G Contractors who had the winning bid to construct the new skyscraper where an old warehouse had stood. Interestingly, Demetri Enterprises is the second largest stockholder in the concrete company used by C&G Contractors.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t know we weren’t first. I’ll have to get my staff on that.”
“Mr. Demetri, are you going to tell me that you’re unaware of the death of Buono Greco?”
I wasn’t completely unaware. However, sharing my knowledge at this point wouldn’t shorten this conversation. My real information came from a discussion I’d overheard months ago during drinks. The word was that Buono was late making points and over his head at twenty thousand G’s. Someone had saved him last time, earning him a pass. No one in the discussion seemed to know who’d been his savior. This time he wasn’t as lucky. Apparently, his pass had been revoked.
Buono Greco slipped from a suspension beam one rainy afternoon. His safety harness hadn’t been properly buckled. Most of the talk on that Thursday was about a lawsuit his wife filed regarding safety. Some money-hungry ambulance chaser took on more than he bargained for.
The filing never saw the light of day, dismissed by a circuit court judge upon preliminary review. The fact that it landed on the desk of Judge Wicketts was more than likely prompted by Bonetti money. Everyone knew Judge Wicketts was easily influenced by union money.
I may have a stake in the concrete company, but the Bonetti family was neck deep with the construction unions. One hand washed the other.
The case had claimed unsafe working conditions, which wouldn’t bode well for the union. Instead, if I remembered correctly, the case was dismissed with counterclaims that Greco drank on the job and refused many direct orders to comply with the posted instructions. Magically, a history of recorded grievances against Greco appeared. According to the documentation, prior to the accident, he’d been placed on probation. The word from the court was that his probationary status rendered the claim null and void. The case was dropped, and the union and C&G Contractors were found in compliance on all charges. The minimum death benefit was awarded, which was a drop in the bucket to the amount Greco owed.
It was a big win for the union, dodging the bullet on another payout. On the other hand, it left Buono Greco’s debt unpaid.
Chapter 25
“Buono Greco?” Again I shook my head. “No bells.”
Jennings continued his expectant stare. I knew the routine. I did the routine. I leaned back and waited, my face expressionless as I recalled the story I’d heard. It seemed highly possible, and I speculated that Buono’s debt could have precipitated Lorenzo’s participation in the attempted assassination.
As I continued pondering, the detective spoke again. “So you’re saying that you’re not kept apprised of accidents on your worksites?”
“Detective, it would bore you to know the number of companies Demetri Enterprises has a stake in. As you said, Demetri isn’t the primary stockholder...and even if we were, are you saying that this was a concrete accident?”
“No, but it was connected.”
I shook my head. “I assure you that I’m kept apprised of many things, but the daily workings of every company associated with companies under my umbrella would require more time than I could possibly devote. Now, if you could get to the point. I have appointments regarding other aspects of Demetri Enterprises as well as a wife waiting for my return. I’m sure you’re familiar with the push and pull. Hard to keep everyone satisfied.”
“It’s a tightrope, Mr. Demetri. I’m here to help you.”
“Then get to the point because wasting my time with this conversation isn’t helping Demetri Enterprises or my wife.”
“Interesting the order you listed your concerns.”
“Are we done?” I asked.
“A man was killed in an accident at a company connected to you, and now it appears that his son, Lorenzo, decided to swallow a bullet after he was seen outside the same restaurant where you dined on Thursday night.”
“That is sad. It’s curious how lives intersect without knowledge of one another.” I pushed the picture closer to the far edge. “Suicide. While I can’t in good faith condone that action as I believe it’s a sin, I understand the difficulty dealing with the loss of a parent at a young age.”
“Remarkable that you have a moral compass.”
I didn’t respond.
Detective Jennings nodded. “Losing a parent...your wife?”
“No, me. You have homework to do. I’ll save you the time. I’m familiar with what it’s like to lose people you care about.”
“Mr. Demetri, why would a nineteen-year-old commit suicide? And how did his face end up like this?” H
e lifted the picture toward me. “This isn’t showing his body. The boy went through hell before deciding to end it all. As you can imagine, his mother is distraught. First her husband, now her oldest child.”
With neither one of them qualifying for large sums of life insurance. That was my assumption, not the detective’s.
“I assure you, I have no idea of this boy’s motivation. Other than his father’s employer’s connection to Demetri Enterprises and apparently, my fortuitous choice in dining establishments, can you explain what this matter has to do with me?”
The detective sat forward, his legs spread and belly hanging over his belt as he stared my direction. “The last few days have been less than a fortuitous period of time for people you know.”
“I didn’t know this Lorenzo.”
“How about Nicholai Lombardi, Daniel Bruno, or Carl Gioconda?”
I wasn’t fast enough to stop my face from twitching at the last name on his list. “Carl Gioconda?”
“Yes, he seems to be missing. His wife called in a missing-persons report earlier today. He hasn’t been home since Thursday morning.”
I shook my head. “Poor Maria.” I had to wonder why in the hell Maria would choose to involve the police. Why hadn’t she called Carmine or Vincent? I couldn’t think about that right now. Instead, I went on, “I’m afraid that I’m of little help. I am not even sure of the other names.” My hands came up in the air. “...I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“I’m afraid I’m not of much help.”
“Nicholai Lombardi was found in a dumpster with an apparent fatal gunshot wound. The gun was found on the body of Daniel Bruno with Bruno’s fingerprints. Bruno, too, appeared to have a fatal gunshot wound as well as multiple lacerations.”
“That is upsetting.” I turned toward the window and back, wondering where Stefano was and if he’d been found.
“Now, you said your car is in the parking garage?” Detective Jennings asked.
“I don’t recall offering you that information, but yes, I have a car in the garage.”
“Mr. Demetri, your association with the Costellos up to this point has been deemed familial, based on your marriage. Perhaps...” He looked around the office. “...it seems as though you have a successful business—an umbrella? That was the term you used.” I didn’t respond. “I would hate to see your reputation tarnished. It seems that people associated with the Costellos are falling upon ill fortune. I’d hate for it to affect you or your business. Perhaps you could search your memory and maybe some more bells will ring? Otherwise, we may need to investigate your dealings closer.”
Furrowing my brow, I smiled. “Please, Detective, feel free to look into anything you’d like. Feel free to speak to Father Marco about our family connection, Sunday service, or birthday parties. I’m sure you’ll find it very enlightening. I doubt anyone would turn down Mrs. Costello’s home cooking every Sunday. As for Demetri Enterprises, I stand behind my company and all of its investments. I assure you that it’s survived more than its share of audits. However, before you ask to see anything—my records, my car...anything—or speak to anyone, I suggest you come armed with a warrant. I have nothing more to say. You see, this has already taken too much of my day.”
He nodded. “We know Mrs. Costello is staying at your home.”
“I haven’t seen Rose Costello since the last Sunday we dined together.”
“Bella Costello.”
I scoffed. “My, it seems that you’ve been spending an undue amount of time on me and my wife’s family.”
“I thought you might be curious about Bella Costello’s husband.”
“Why would I be?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Some believe that he’s in danger.”
Danger was better than dead. “I hadn’t heard.”
“So you’re okay with supporting another family for an indefinite amount of time?”
“Detective, I’m okay with supporting my family. My wife’s family became mine the day we married. Perhaps if more families took care of one another we could avoid tragedies like that misguided boy. Is there anything else, or will you be going?”
He started to stand, but stalled on the edge of his chair. “There’s hearsay that a shooting occurred inside Evviva’s on Thursday.”
I didn’t respond.
“Mr. Demetri, you could make this a lot easier on yourself and your company if you’d just tell me what you know.”
“If you’re referring to Lorenzo Greco—”
“No, I’m not. His remains were found across town. I’m referring to your wife’s uncle.”
“Again, I’ll be sure to let him know that you’re concerned about his well-being.” I stood and walked to my office door. Opening it, I said, “It has been a pleasure.”
Jennings stood. “We’ll have to do it again.” He stopped. “Now, to your car.”
“Did you forget to show me that warrant?”
“I simply want to take a look.”
“I can’t stop you from entering the garage. I have a reserved parking space. However, to take a look inside will require a judge’s signature.”
“I’ll be back.”
“I’m looking forward to it. However, next time please contact my attorney, not my secretary. I believe he should be present before we have any more chats.”
Once he was outside of Julie’s office, I sighed and leaned against the wall. Looking her way, I asked, “Did he ask you anything?”
“He asked how late I worked on Thursday. I told him I left after six, that my son had a football game I didn’t want to miss. He then asked if I knew if you were here. I told him you weren’t in the office when I left, but on Friday morning I found you had left a stack of notes on my desk, so I knew you’d been back in the office.” She bit her lip. “Did I say anything wrong?”
“No, Julie. You were honest. However, in the future, I’d like a warrant before either of us answers questions.”
“I wasn’t sure...”
I lifted my hand. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t we both go home until Monday?”
She scanned her desk. “I only have a few more appointments to confirm—”
“They can wait,” I interrupted. “Go home to your husband and kids. That’s what I’m going to do.”
It was what I wanted to do, but not what I did, not right away.
I couldn’t go home to Angelina and Bella with the questions running through my head. Why had Detective Jennings asked about Vincent and Carl? What was happening that I didn’t know?
Instead of following the advice I gave Julie, I messaged Testa on his beeper. Each minute as I waited for his return call, my nerves stretched, growing tauter; they were on the verge of snapping when a call came from my home phone.
“Boss.”
“Everything okay?”
“Quiet, except for the kids.”
I scoffed, appreciating his candor. The boys could be loud. Somehow with all the questions swirling through my head, I’d forgotten that he was at my house with my family. He probably wouldn’t know any more than I did. Yet I had to ask. “Meet me for lunch?”
“Sure.”
I didn’t need to say where.
The diner was off the highway, about halfway into Westchester County. A mom-and-pop establishment that only served breakfast and lunch. Since it was past the lunch hour, we’d barely made it before closing time, yet we were greeted with smiles. It was a cute place where the windows were always clean and brightly painted with smiling sunshine faces that advertised the daily special. I wasn’t feeling much like eating, but since I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, I went ahead and ordered a sandwich.
“Any signs of trouble at the house?” I asked as I brought the steaming cup of coffee to my lips.
“Not at the house.”
“I was questioned by a Detective Jennings. What do you know about Vincent?”
“I know he’s running the show. I know he’s getti
ng to the bottom of a few things.”
“Carmine?”
“He’s good. He still wants time, according to Vincent.”
“Jennings asked me about the boy. If I remember correctly, his father had some miraculous savior when he was in debt, but then his time ran out.”
Testa nodded.
“Nothing more?”
“Boss?”
“Fine, what about Gioconda?”
Testa’s eyes shot my direction, no longer concerned with the sugar packets he’d been moving about the table. “Remember what I said the other night?”
I leaned forward, lowering my voice as my jaw clenched. “You might be more specific because a lot was said the other night.”
“If you tell me to tell you, I ain’t got no choice. But if you don’t, it might be better.”
I shook my head. “How can it be better?”
“Because of today.”
I sighed with my voice low. “Fucking say a whole damn sentence. I’m so sick of riddles I could scream.”
“Today, boss, you was questioned. You can’t tell nothing you don’t know. I’m sure it’s a shitty position, but it’s the one the boss—the bosses—want you in. It’s not my doing.”
“So you’re trusted and I’m not?”
“That ain’t what I said.” He leaned across the table. “If you think Mrs. Costello would be at your house and the boss don’t trust you, you’re wrong.” He leaned back. “I don’t think they’re doing it for the wrong reasons.”
My words came forward, and my teeth ached from the pressure. “It’s not your fucking place to decide if the reasons are right or wrong.”
He nodded. “You’re right. You say it, I’ll spill. I work for you. Just know, I don’t want to go against the other bosses’ orders.”
I sat back against the vinyl booth. I wouldn’t ask him to go against Vincent or Carmine, and Testa knew it. Turning, I stared out into the nearly empty parking lot. There was my car—actually Angelina’s—and Testa’s. It was then I noticed the beat-up Fairmont, light blue and covered in road grime. It might not have caught my attention except I could tell the driver was still inside. My chest tightened as I turned back to Testa.