“Did Nardo seem worried about anything?”
“He was upset about an argument he’d had with his father the other day.”
“Do you know what they argued about?”
“He didn’t want to talk about it but he did say he’d decided to see a therapist to work out his side of it so he could get on with his life. Now he’ll never…” The tears flowed again.
“Were you lovers?”
“About a week. Last night he asked me to go to Provincetown with him for a long weekend.” He looked up. “You know, on Cape Cod, they have these special gay party weekends?”
Corelli nodded.
“I was really excited. Something really good was happening between us.” He trembled, covered his face with his hands and began to sob.
“Scott, look at me.”
He lowered his hands.
“Who would want to hurt Nardo?”
“I don’t know.”
“We need the names of Nardo’s friends. Can you help?”
He moved his arm across his face, drying his eyes on his sleeve. “He mentioned some first names but I never met anybody. And now I never will.”
“Did he mention someone named Franco?”
Scott began to hiccup. “I don’t think so.”
Corelli decided they would get nothing else from him. “Would you like us to drive you home? Or call someone for you?”
“No thanks. I need to be alone for a while.”
They were at the door when Scott said, “Wait. Nardo did say something but I thought he was joking. He said the ‘un-Christians’ were stalking him, leaving phone messages.”
“Un-Christians?”
“Yes. He said they’re like the undead. They want gay blood.”
Chapter Six
Wednesday – 5:30 p.m.
“Use the lights and siren,” Corelli said, as they sat in rush hour traffic. “Captain Winfry wants to see me before he goes home.”
Parker pulled the light from under the dashboard, placed it on the roof, and headed west on Fifty-Seventh. A few shrieks, an illegal left onto Fifth Avenue and they headed downtown. The siren cleared the way to an extent, but as usual the streets were clogged and even those cars and taxis inclined to move to the right, were stuck. Once they passed Forty-Second Street, though, it was clear sailing back to the Village.
Eyes on the road, Parker said, “This “un-Christian” thing sounds weird. Like vampires or zombies. Do you think it’s some kind of kinky sex thing?”
Corelli laughed. “The only thing I know for sure is that it’s not vampires or zombies. But from Scott’s description, it sounded more ominous than kinky sex. It’s worth following up, though. A lot of men prey on gays.”
“Speaking of bloodsucking creatures, the media is out in force again.” Parker drove past the precinct, turned the corner, and stopped. “How are we going to get through?”
“Must be the del Balzo case. Somebody in the house probably tipped them off that we were coming back in.” Corelli pulled on her braid. “They’re behind barricades so we should be able to make a run for it.”
“I’ll drop you, then park.”
“Good idea.”
“Should I meet you in Winfry’s office?” Parker asked as she put the car in drive.
“No. Contact the Hate Crimes Task Force and see if they know anything about this “un-christian” thing.” Also, touch base with Watkins to see what we have so far. I’ll meet you at your desk when I finish with the chief. We’ll grab a bite and after that revisit the four from the Italian delegation. Let’s see what we get without Andrea Sansone hanging on their every word.”
“Here we go.” Parker drove up on the sidewalk in front of the station, putting the car between the media and Corelli. As she entered, Corelli glanced across the street. The media pack was frantic, pushing at the barriers, pointing cameras, waving microphones, screaming questions. She smiled.
Corelli studied Captain Jedediah Winfry from the doorway, his face scrunched in concentration, so focused on the document in front of him that he hadn’t heard her knock. She was a pariah in the department, shunned by every other commander, yet he had requested she join his team. At first she didn’t know if she could trust him, but he’d backed her up all the way on the Winter case, and in the end she understood. Unbidden, the rage bubbled up, took her breath away. Righteous Partners had stolen something precious from him. And from her. She hated not trusting other cops.
He massaged his forehead with both hands, then leaned back and stretched, contemplating the ceiling. On his way back to the document he noticed her and smiled. “Detective Corelli, please come in. Have a seat.” He waved her to a chair in front of his desk.
“Captain Winfry.” She closed the door and moved to the chair.
“How’s it going with your colleagues?”
Her military bearing already had her sitting straight and tall, but she stiffened. “Everything is fine, sir. I appreciate your prohibiting the back turning and hissing in the house.”
He laughed. “Actually, I think everybody was relieved about not having to jump up and down and make funny noises every time you decided to take a piss or get a breath of air.”
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Before I go there, I want to know if anybody gets rough.”
“I can handle it, sir.” Need to work on that. I didn’t mean to sound angry.
He studied her face and she thought she saw the beginning of a smile. “Of course you can. And how are you dealing with the howling pack of reporters?”
Right after she’d aborted the undercover assignment it had been crazy but interest had faded quickly after she was suspended. But during her first case back on the job, the Winter investigation, it seemed as if someone was inciting them, and now it was as if she had stepped on a nest of red ants. They followed her everywhere, shouting questions, pushing microphones in her face, leaving messages on her home answering machine. And, the very public attack on her integrity by U.S. Senator Aloysius T. Parker a few weeks ago was feeding the fire of interest. The whole thing was exhausting. Would she ever get back to being just another detective?
“I ignore them.” Most of them. I’ll figure out the senator’s game, if it kills me.
“It’s only going to get worse now that you’ve caught the del Balzo case. Maybe you need to throw them a little something.”
“With all due respect, sir, the last thing I need is publicity. It won’t help regain the respect of my…of other police. If I don’t give them anything, they’ll get tired and go away.”
“Quite the contrary. As long as they can’t get you, they’ll want you. Maybe you need to set up an interview.”
When the river Styx freezes. “I’ll give it some thought, sir.”
“Don’t give me lip service, Corelli. Figure it out.”
Oops. Could he read her mind? “Yes sir.”
“Now, where are you with the del Balzo case?”
“You’re aware the ambassador is being touted as the next prime minister of Italy?”
“Yes. Between the press, the UN, the mayor, and Italian politics, you’ve caught a very hot potato, Corelli. Not good for either of us if you fail to close it quickly.”
Did he want her off the case? She stood. “Sir, if you think—”
“Sit, Detective. And relax.” He watched her settle. “I’ve no doubt you’re up to it. What do you have so far?”
“I’m not sure what to do with it but I overheard the ambassador tell his wife that now they don’t have to worry about their son interfering with him becoming prime minister. They were speaking Italian and didn’t realize I’m fluent.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I think you’d better keep that to yourself unless you get something concrete.”
“Only Parker knows. But other than that, we have nothing. It’s early yet, but we can’t rule out some kind of political motivation, someone trying to send a message to Ambassador del Balzo. Then there’s the gay angle. Leona
rdo, the son, was gay, and his boyfriend said something about him getting telephone calls from,” she used her fingers to mime quotes, ‘the un-Christians,’ whatever that means, so we’re looking in to that too. We’ve just scratched the surface, but so far everybody says he was a wonderful guy.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Help. Besides me, Parker, and Watkins, I’d like Ray Dietz, and Heiki Kim, and anybody else you can free up. Also, a room to set up a murder board and meet. That’s it for now but I reserve the right to come back to you.” She smiled. “If that’s okay, sir?”
“Send Dietz in when you leave. And I’d like a daily update on this one.”
She stood. “Thank you, sir.”
“One more thing. Are we clear about Parker?”
“Yes sir. She’s mine and only mine until I decide her training is complete.”
“And?”
“Sir, I believe a bodyguard is not necessary now that the Righteous Partners threat is gone.”
“I seem to recall Parker was assigned to protect you from all other police, not just Righteous Partners. She remains your bodyguard until I decide you are not in danger. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
He stood. “Do I need to call her in here?”
“No sir. I’ll take care of it.”
He glanced at the window behind him. “Judging from the noise, the crowd outside has grown. When you’re ready to leave I’ll give them a statement. Use that as cover to slip out the rear door.”
“Thank you, sir.” She headed for the door but turned when he spoke again.
“And Corelli, I meant what I said. Figure out how to use the press to your advantage. Because if they turn on you it won’t be pretty.”
As Parker moved toward her desk, Dietz called out, “Hi ho, Parker, message for you.” He waved a pink slip at her.
She veered to the right and sat in the chair alongside his desk.
“Hi ho? Is that the white man’s version of yo?”
“Are you being a racist, Parker?”
“That for me?” she said, reaching for the message.
Dietz pulled it back, over his head. “Gimme a second, will ya.” He glanced down at the paper. “This guy, calls himself Randall Young, came looking for you today. Says he’s your daddy.”
She jumped up, leaned in to his face, arm pulled back to strike. “Is this your idea of a joke, Dietz?”
He caught her arm. “Don’t go ballistic, Parker. I’m just passing on what the guy said. It’s no secret Senator Parker is your dad. Anyway, I looked him over and he seemed all right so I said I would give you his number and you would call if you wanted to talk to him. So here it is.”
She stared at the paper but made no move toward it.
“Should I toss it?”
She bit her lip. “Did you tell him I already have a father?”
“Not my job.”
She grabbed the message. “Did he say anything else?”
“Well, I asked him how he came to be your daddy, you know, just as a test, but—”
“You what?” All heads turned at the sound of her voice. Dietz stood up and yelled, “Whatcha looking at? Get back to work. We’re just conversing here.” He glared until everyone turned back to their conversations. Then he sat again and looked at her. “Don’t get your braids in a knot, Parker. I was joking. Only thing he said was he’d like to talk to you, face-to-face.”
“Probably just a nut case.”
“He seemed okay. Big guy, well-dressed, neat, sounded educated, little bit of drawl like he’s from the south. Might be worthwhile talking to him just to set him straight, get rid of him.”
“Thanks Dietz. Sorry about—”
“Nah, it’s me. I can’t resist. You always bite. Let me know what you decide. I’m curious.”
“Me too.” She walked back to her desk and stared at the pink slip in her hand. Her mind was racing. Her original birth certificate said father unknown. Her drunken bitch of a grandmother always said her mother slept around so much it could have been anyone. Could it be…or was it some sort of scam? And why now after all these years?
Chapter Seven
Wednesday – 9 p.m.
Corelli pushed her plate aside. She knew she should force herself to eat, but after two or three bites of the grilled chicken sandwich, she’d lost interest. The only trouble Parker was having with her rare burger was keeping her hands clean as the blood oozed onto her plate. Feeling queasy, Corelli looked away from the pooling blood and once more scrutinized the door to the deck for reporters. As the captain suggested, they had used the rear door and made it to their car before the pack noticed. Parker had lost them easily, but Corelli feared some of them knew about Buonasola, her favorite restaurant at the South Street Seaport, and would come looking for her. She pulled the sandwich back and forced herself to take another bite.
She was aware of Parker sneaking glances at her. Parker was sensitive to her moods probably because Corelli dumped her rage on her more often than not and she never knew when she’d be attacked. But it was also true that Parker was insecure and probably assumed she and the captain had discussed getting rid of her. Of course, I’ve given her good reason to be insecure.
“So the good news is the chief is giving us some detectives and a space to work the del Balzo case. The bad news is, he wants you to continue to act as my bodyguard,” Corelli said as they waited for their checks.
“You all right with that?”
“The help and the space, yes. But I don’t need a babysitter. I told him I’d let you know. I thought this was over. But an order is an order.”
“Can you…um, say no?”
“Not an option.” Corelli cupped her hands over her eyes and massaged her forehead and temples. She felt Parker’s gaze, but she was tired, so tired. Since the early months of her last deployment in Afghanistan, she rarely slept more than two consecutive hours because as soon as she fell into a deep sleep, the nightmares started.
“It’s probably a good thing because of the PTSD.”
“I’ve told you I don’t have….” Corelli glared at Parker. “I hope you haven’t shared your unprofessional diagnosis with anyone?”
“You don’t have to get so nasty. I would never do that unless I felt you were a danger to yourself, or me.”
“So your current diagnosis is that I’m not suicidal?”
“Except for your performance on your Harley when you were attacked on the Belt Parkway, you seem sound.”
She couldn’t argue with that. When she thought about it, after the high of facing death wore off, it did seem a little reckless. “Boy, I feel better now.”
“So maybe I should start charging for the analysis.” Parker said it with an almost smile but it made Corelli uncomfortable. Enough talk about her mental state. Time to change the subject. “And speaking of work, did you follow up with the Hate Crimes Unit like I asked?”
It took Parker a few seconds to change gears. “Um, I did. The calls that have been reported were all about saving the souls of the gay men. They haven’t heard anything about threats or ‘un-Christians’ looking for blood, but they said they’d look into it.”
“So nothing there for now.” Corelli tossed some money on the table. “Pay our checks. I’m going to stop in the ladies’ room. I’ll meet you at the car.”
She splashed cold water on her face, trying to avoid her reflection in the mirror, but it didn’t matter. She knew how haggard she looked—dark shadows under sunken eyes, cheekbones made more prominent by her lack of appetite. She dried her face, did some yoga breathing to energize herself.
Parker was waiting in the car. Corelli climbed into the passenger seat. “Let’s start with Claudia Romano on the Upper East Side, Eighty-Second and Park.”
Parker turned toward the entrance to the FDR Drive. “So, do you think any detectives will be willing to work with us? What if they try—?”
“I’ll kick their asses off the team. We’re gonna be under intense s
crutiny and pressure on this case. We can’t do it alone, Parker. I promise you, anybody who can’t make the case the priority, whose goal is to make sure I—we—fail, will regret it. But, in addition to fighting off the press, dodging people trying to kill me, and finding del Balzo’s killer, you and I will need to be alert for sabotage. Okay?”
“Just another day on the job.”
“You got it.” Corelli smiled. Any small ray of humor from Parker was a happy surprise.
Rush hour traffic had dissipated and the FDR moved quickly to the Ninety-Sixth Street exit. The slight jerk of the car as Parker stopped at the light nudged Corelli out of her reverie.
“You okay, Parker? You seem withdrawn,” Corelli asked. Of course, she was the one who was withdrawn.
“Thinking about fathers.”
“What about them?”
“About fathers and their kids,” she said, fingering the pink slip in her pocket.
“Any father in particular? Senator Daddy, maybe?”
“Not him. Fathers like del Balzo who hate their kids and fathers who walk away from their kids. But I guess there are worse things, like those religious fanatic fathers who kill their daughters because they want lives different from their parents. How weird is that?”
“Some fathers just can’t accept their children for who they are, just can’t tolerate their children choosing to live a different life from theirs. They seem to think it means something about them. Sometimes it’s religion, sometimes it’s control, sometimes it’s holding on to old ways, to traditions.” And don’t I know it.
Claudia Romano’s building was a new high-rise. The doorman buzzed Romano’s apartment and after a brief discussion with the person at the other end of the intercom, directed them to the eighteenth floor.
Claudia was standing in the doorway of her apartment when they stepped off the elevator. She greeted them and waved them into her living room. “Is something wrong?”
“We have a few more questions,” Corelli said.
“Will it take long? I…We’re getting ready to go out for dinner,” Claudia said, her gaze going to something or someone behind them.
Blood Runs Cold Page 5
