Brett shoulder bumped her. “Am I to have no secrets from you? No, I’d never met either of them.”
“Mrs. del Balzo seemed very interested in what you were saying.”
“I told her Nardo and I were good friends and that I had spoken to him Tuesday night. She said she didn’t know any of his friends and asked if we could get together soon to talk about him. I said I would call in a few weeks. That’s it.”
Corelli nodded. “Thank you for feeding me. I need to get back to work. Detectives Parker and Green will stay until all the guests and the catering people leave and Detective Kim arrives.”
“I’d love for you to come back after work?”
Corelli liked that idea, but of course, she wouldn’t in the middle of an investigation. “It’ll be late. And it’s not a good idea right now when you have my detectives hanging around. You be good.”
Brett snorted. “You’ve made sure of that. Detective Kim and I have a lot of laughs, but I don’t think she’s a lesbian. Besides, I want what I want.”
Corelli blushed. “Sorry, I should have said, be safe.” She waved Parker closer.
“I’m shameless, aren’t I?” Brett grinned, not looking sorry at all. She slipped her arm through Parker’s and listened while Corelli issued orders.
“I’ll walk you to the door, Detective.”
Corelli stopped to speak to her people on the way to the door. Brett’s two guards hung back, giving them privacy.
Brett spoke for Corelli’s ears only. “I love it when you give orders.”
“You’re right,” Corelli said, smiling. “You are shameless.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Thursday – 8 p.m.
She longed for a hot shower, a reheated dinner courtesy of Gianna, and a glass of wine, but she settled for washing her face in the ladies’ room and pizza and San Pellegrino sparkling water from the joint a few blocks away. While Parker went to the desk to retrieve their dinner, Corelli organized the reports into neat piles on the conference room table—del Balzo, Nickerson, Lerman, general—to facilitate their analysis of the cases.
She started to toss the copy of today’s Daily World that someone had left on the table, but the picture of the del Balzos coming down the steps of St. Patrick’s caught her eye. Carla’s veil was up. She probably had forgotten to lower it after the reception line in the vestibule. They both looked distraught, as one would expect for a couple whose only son was being buried.
But something about the picture didn’t sit right with her. Was she getting cynical? It seemed so posed. Each time she and Parker had talked to them, the ambassador had made no effort to hide his disgust for his son, and his wife had seemed distant and indifferent, only interested in protecting her husband’s career. Yet, she remembered, Luca’s death had seemed unreal, like a cruel joke until she had actually seen him lying in the casket at the funeral home. The del Balzos had had a family-only viewing at the funeral home before the service at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and that may have made it real for them—their son was dead. Perhaps that was why Carla wanted to talk to Brett about Nardo. Maybe the del Balzos were like her parents. Maybe Carla had followed Leonardo’s lead and now that her son was dead, she felt a need to know more about him, about his life. Would her mother want to know about her life from her friends—well, her colleagues? Not much to know, actually. She was painfully aware she had disconnected after Marnie was killed, that Gianna and Simone were her only close relationships, and that while she loved the job, it was no longer enough. She wanted more.
The kick at the conference room door interrupted her musing. She opened the door and Parker staggered in juggling a large pizza, a bottle of San Pellegrino, a can of soda, and a container with a salad. “Ah, dinner, I’m starving,” Corelli said, taking the pizza and the salad and placing them on the table. “Let’s eat and work.” She poured herself a glass of San Pellegrino. Parker popped the tab on the can of soda, and poured herself a cup.
Corelli read a report as she chewed her pizza and picked at her salad. Parker took a slice of pizza and opened today’s Daily World to catch up on the news. They ate in silence.
Parker carried the remaining half a pizza and salad up to the squad where it would surely be eaten and returned with coffee for each of them.
Corelli sipped her coffee. “Let’s start with Nardo. We’ll go through your notes and the reports, and then we’ll move on to Spencer and Meg.” She pulled a new yellow pad from the pile. “I’m going to make a chart so we can see the commonalities and the differences.”
“Sounds good,” Parker said.
Corelli set up four columns: the leftmost for Information and the other three for the victims, Nardo, Spencer, Meg. As Parker read through her notes she filled in the rest. The first heading under information was Method. Under method she listed single shot to the cerebellum, small-caliber bullet. The second heading was Crime Scene, under which she listed rosary clasped in hands, incense, Gregorian chants playing in a loop, bottle of San Pellegrino, wearing pajamas. They skimmed all the reports for Nardo and added a heading for Suspects, under which they listed the sightings by neighbors of Andrea Sansone, Emilio Ottaviano, Scott Sigler, and Franco Ginocchioni. Although no one had seen him she added Luther Phelps, the religious guy, who might be the tall man in black wearing a hat and sunglasses. They had pretty much eliminated all of them except the man in black because Nardo had spoken to Brett after Sansone, Ottaviano, Sigler, and Ginocchioni had all left the apartment. The gay bar canvas had turned up nothing, and his friends and family couldn’t offer any help.
“Let’s create a Missing heading and note Nardo’s things that we didn’t find— his gun, his iPhone with his address book and calendar, his laptop, and the picture of all the friends on the steps of City Hall. His cleaning woman said he had all of them. Kate and Brett confirmed the iPhone and the computer. As for the picture, Kate gave copies to Nardo, Spencer, Brett, Gary, Meg, Ellen, and Nelson. None of his best friends knew he had a gun. There was no sign of a struggle, and unless Nardo entertained in his pajamas, it seems likely he knew his killer. Could be a friend or maybe someone he picked up and brought home for sex. But that scenario doesn’t quite fit with Meg being a victim. And of course we have the man in black.”
“Let’s do the same for Spencer.”
When they had gone through Parker’s notes and all of the information gathered on Spencer Nickerson, they stopped to discuss what they had and filled in the appropriate columns.
“The cheese and cracker spread indicates Spencer was expecting someone, probably his killer. There’s no evidence his killer ate or drank, except a wineglass appears to be missing from Spencer’s set of twelve. The cleaning woman said the full set was there when she cleaned two days before. She knows because she washed and dried a glass by hand and put it in the cabinet and there were no other spaces. All the others were there. His cell phone was found under the sofa and there were no suspicious calls, but there were a number of hang-ups on his home machine. His calendar was on his computer, on paper in his home office, and in his phone. Although his copy of the picture wasn’t found during the search, it turned out he had sent his copy of the picture out to be framed professionally. By the time they knew it existed, they had already seen Burke’s copy. He had an appointment to go to the theater with his friend, Bill, but he’d scratched it out and scrawled ‘lama’. They’d discussed whether it was something to do with the Dalai Lama but apparently he wasn’t in town, and Spencer hadn’t been into any religion. They hadn’t come up with anything else. The witness had described a tall man dressed in black wearing a hat and sunglasses.
“Meg is different again. Her phone, which contained her calendar, and the copy of the picture were all in the house where one would expect them. Her only appointment for the week was two days earlier with a gallery owner about the show of women artists they were planning. She had jotted notes on the pad next to the telephone: ‘afbanchers,’ ‘redblucanturp,’ ‘narsmahere’ and ‘invtersho.’ T
he only one that seemed to make sense was red and blue paint, canvas, and turpentine. Although she was dressed for work in her paint-spotted jeans, she also was expecting someone. She had a glass of wine on the table near her on the sofa and there was another glass, a bottle of wine, and some grape leaves, olives, and cheese on the table in the dining room. But apparently her guest was only interested in killing, not eating or drinking.
The dog walker described a man similar to the one who went into Nardo’s apartment and the one seen going into Spencer’s house, dressed in black, wearing sunglasses and a slouch hat pulled down to hide his features.”
Corelli stood and paced as she summarized. “Both men mentioned the ‘un-Christians’ but as far as we know, Meg had not received any threats. Our theory about Luther Phelps, the religious guy, being the mystery man in black doesn’t hold up since we have no evidence he had a desire to kill lesbians. I’m thinking we should eliminate him as a suspect for any of these murders.” She looked at Parker. “What do you think?”
Parker chewed on her pen. “You’re right. He doesn’t fit.”
Corelli nodded and continued. “Nardo’s rosary was cut-glass, fairly expensive, probably his, probably from Italy. Neither of the other two was religious, so it looks like the killer purchased cheap rosaries somewhere and brought them with him. Nardo’s sound system was playing the CD, which very likely was his. The killer brought a cheap CD player and the same CD to the house of each of the other two vics. So far, we haven’t found where the killer is buying the players and CDs.”
Corelli poured herself another cup of sparkling water and sat. “The thing that troubles me about the serial killer theory is that Nardo’s killing seems opportunistic, that the killer didn’t plan to kill him, but when something triggered the desire to kill, he used what he found—Nardo’s gun, his rosary, the Gregorian chants—then lovingly laid him out. The other two appear premeditated. The killer went with the intention of killing them and brought the gun and the rosaries and the CDs and the players. Why these victims? Was it because the killer was able to reach them? Kate Burke, Nelson Choi, and Brett all had repeated hang-ups on their answering machines. Spencer’s machine had a couple of hang-ups before he picked up, but the message cut off. Meg’s machine was off and Nardo’s machine had no hang-ups. If the picture was the source, why does it appear that the killer hadn’t planned to kill Nardo? The fact that Simone and Nicky didn’t have missed calls on their cells leads me to believe the killer is using Nardo’s address book and not the list. But why?
“Nardo is the source. I’m starting to think about the ambassador again, but while I can imagine him killing Nardo in a fit of rage, I can’t see him cold-bloodedly going after Nardo’s friends to cover it up. On the other hand, being prime minister is very important to him and his wife.”
“Yeah,” Parker said, “I like him too. But don’t forget he had an alibi for Nardo and for Spencer, unless his sweet young thing is in it with him. I doubt she’d lie to cover two murders.”
“Maybe you and I need to have a go at her. Make sure she understands the stakes here.”
Parker nodded. “Now?”
Corelli glanced at her watch. Eleven o’clock. “How about tomorrow morning early? Let’s call it a night.” She yawned. She knew she wouldn’t sleep more than a couple of hours, but Parker might as well be fresh tomorrow.
Parker stood and stretched. “I need to make a pit stop. Meet you at the elevator in ten?” Parker asked.
“Perfect.”
Corelli absentmindedly aligned the GALS case files on her desk. Something important was hovering in her mind, just outside her reach. A few rounds with the punching bag followed by a long hot bath when she got home might bring it out of her consciousness.
Her eye fell on the Italian magazine article about the del Balzos, her attention caught by the photograph of them dressed identically: in black suits, black shirts, black boots, and sunglasses. She picked it up and reread the text. “Who Wears the Pants, Carla or Leonardo? No Valentine chocolates for this ambitious lady. Her only passions are pistachio nuts and her husband’s career. Most people who eat so many nuts would get fat, but not the mysterious Carla del Balzo, the power behind the throne. She burns lots of calories running interference for her husband’s career. Some say she’s left a trail of wounded and bleeding behind as she cleared the way for Leonardo’s climb up the ladder. Now the pinnacle is in sight and rumor has it that The Carla will do anything to ensure she is Madame Prime Minister.”
Corelli put the article down, one phrase reverberating in her mind: The Carla will do anything to ensure she is Madame Prime Minister. Sansone said the ambassador was “too squeamish, too soft” to kill his son. She skimmed her notes. Spencer said, “not a hot date, a cold fish.” Lama. She rubbed her eyes. Could it be? Was that short for La Mama? And Meg’s Narsmahere. Was that Nardo’s mama coming here? It all fit. Nardo was going to expose his father’s secret and said he had told his friends. Was Carla using his contact list to hunt down his friends, one by one?
She should have seen it; the woman was cold as ice. But could she prove it? Carla’s DNA at Nardo’s could be explained and she would bet they wouldn’t find any at the other two crime scenes.
A trap. Corelli would have to set a trap. It would be hard to get the chief on board. Right now everyone was safe. She would think about it tonight, explore it tomorrow. Carla had asked to see Brett. She needed to warn Brett and let the officers assigned to guard her know Carla was not to be allowed into the apartment under any circumstances.
She speeddialed Brett’s number and tapped her fingers, waiting impatiently. No answer. The machine finally picked up. Brett’s voice. “Brett it’s Detec, um, Chiara, pick up. It’s important. I need to talk to you and I’m not hanging up until you answer.” She repeated the message, fighting to keep the panic out of her voice. She hung up and dialed Officer McClusky’s cell phone. It rang but she ended up in voice mail. She dialed the number for the concierge at the desk in Brett’s lobby.
“Harborview—”
“This is Detective Corelli. Did anyone go up to Ms. Cummings’s apartment?”
“No—”
“Did you send a woman up there?”
“If you’d just let me talk, Detective, the officer and Ms. Cummings just went out a few minutes ago, for a walk along the water.”
“Was anybody else with them?”
“Not that I saw.”
She closed her phone.
“I thought we were going to meet—” Corelli looked ready to throw up. “What’s going on?”
Corelli shot out of her seat. “Let’s go. Carla del Balzo is the killer and I’m afraid she convinced Brett to meet her outside.”
Parker’s mouth dropped but she didn’t hesitate. They dashed out of the station and jumped into the car. Corelli called for backup, then shouted an explanation to Parker over the siren as she blasted down the West Side Highway.
“Isn’t McClusky with her tonight?” Parker asked, keeping her eyes on the road.
“Yes, but she’s not answering either. Damn, they’re not supposed to leave the apartment.”
Traffic at eleven o’clock was minimal, but it seemed like an eternity before they pulled up to Brett’s condo. Leaving the car door open, Corelli sprinted into the lobby, Parker right behind. “Has Ms. Cummings come back?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you know which way she went?”
“Sorry, I was distracted by another tenant who came in as she walked through the door so I didn’t notice.”
“I’ll go to South Cove, you go north on the Esplanade,” Corelli said, slipping into the vest Parker handed her.
“What if I see them?”
“Text me. But if Carla is with them, do what you need to do to keep Brett safe. I’ll do the same.”
They reached the path along the water and drew their guns before separating. Corelli jogged toward South Cove, Brett’s favorite spot, and although Corelli hadn’t said when they�
�d walked there the other night, one of her favorites too. She loved the peacefulness of it with its view of the statue and the sense of being enclosed by the water. The Hudson River smelled particularly fishy tonight and it seemed louder than usual, crashing against the pilings and the seawall. A light sprinkle hit her face. She hadn’t noticed, but a boat must have passed, creating a wake. She was nearing the walkway, the best place to sit. She hesitated, listening. Was that the murmur of voices underneath the roar of the water, or her imagination? Voices. She was sure. She slowed down and stepped carefully. She could see Brett, but no one else. She put her phone on vibrate, and texted Parker. B here. Send bk up to South. She pocketed the phone, hesitated. If she were mistaken, Brett would be in a rage at her overprotectiveness. So be it. She crept closer.
Brett was kneeling beside someone on the ground. She couldn’t see McClusky so it probably was her. Maybe she’d fallen? Corelli inched forward. Carla or someone dressed in black was pointing a gun at Brett who seemed to be trying to reason with her. Where the hell was the backup?
Suddenly Parker was next to her.
Corelli whispered in Parker’s ear. “Go along the upper path and get behind Carla.”
“Shouldn’t we confront her together?” Parker whispered back.
Corelli shook her head and signaled her to move. When Parker was in place, Corelli inched closer. Now she could hear Carla speaking in Italian.
“Sorry Brett, but I have to kill you. If only Nardo hadn’t told his friends the story about his father. I could have stopped with him. I do hate killing, you know.”
“What story?”
Carla laughed. “Don’t play games. Why else would he call you in Japan?”
“What story could be so terrible that you’d murder your son and others to keep it quiet?” Smart lady, that Brett. Responding in Italian would probably make her more real to Carla.
The Blood Runs Cold Page 29
