“You know how it is when the feds get involved.”
“They make a federal case out of it,” Giulia blurted out, like a schoolgirl with the right answer. Brinkley wasn’t mean enough to make her feel dumb. Mary was, but she didn’t have the time right now.
“On the other hand,” she said, “if we find Trish alive, she’ll be inclined to turn state’s evidence against him. Wouldn’t the FBI like that? Wouldn’t that be a coup for them and the department?”
Brinkley thought a minute, looked from Mary to Giulia, and emitted a final sigh. “Tell you what, ladies. I’ll do my thing if you make me a deal.”
“What deal?” Mary asked, and Giulia came out from behind her.
“Anything.”
“No more searching houses or finding witnesses. No more playing cop, either of you. You’re out of your league.” Brinkley folded his arms. “What do you say?”
Mary felt her heart leap, with hope. “Point of clarification. I assume some self-help is okay, like we can send out flyers about her, can’t we?”
“Yeah, but keep it low-key. Don’t talk to the press until I get back to you.”
“Time matters, Reg.”
“I know that, having been in law enforcement longer than you.” Brinkley half-smiled. “Don’t push your luck. Gimme an hour. I’ll call you back. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal. Thank you.” Mary kept her reaction subdued. Brinkley wasn’t the effusive type, and if he’d said that much, she knew he’d give it his all. When you win, get out of the courtroom.
“I LOVE YOU!” Giulia shouted, throwing herself into the arms of a very startled Reg Brinkley.
After a minute, he didn’t look like he minded much.
Outside the Roundhouse, Mary stopped Giulia’s hand before it reached into her handbag. “Wait on the smoking, please. I need oxygen.”
“Okay, but only ’cause you did so good in there. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Giulia smiled with temporary admiration. “You really handled that detective, Mare.”
“I didn’t handle him. He’s a good guy and he’ll help if he can.”
“It’s really who you know, not what you know, like they say.”
Mary let it go. “Where’s Missy and Yolanda?” she asked, and they looked around the parking lot, which buzzed with activity.
“There, flirtin’ with those guys.” Giulia pointed across the lot, where Missy and Yolanda were chatting up two good-looking men in suits and a wiry bicycle messenger.
“Okay, forget them. You’re in charge. You heard Brinkley, he said it’s okay to send out a flyer. Here’s what you gotta do. You’re good online, right?”
“Sure. I got a MySpace and I watch porn, like everybody else.”
Mary let that go, too. Then she didn’t. “You watch porn?”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re a girl.”
“Yeah, so?” Giulia shrugged.
Right the first time. “Anyway, let’s use some self-help. Take the photo from your cell phone and e-mail it to everybody you know. Find some missing persons sites and post the photos there. Put it on your MySpace page and everywhere online that you can.”
“Good idea, Mare. We don’t want to waste any time.”
“Right, and make a flyer, in hard copy.”
Giulia nodded. “Like when you lose a dog?”
Uh. “Yes. You know what it should say?”
“Yeah.”
“You want me to write it down?”
“Nah, I got it.”
“Do that right away.”
“I know, I know.” Giulia stamped her little black boots. “Come on, I’m jonesin’ for a cigarette.”
“I’m going back to work, to check in. Call me and tell me your progress with the flyer. We’ll meet again in an hour.”
“When am I gonna see that diary?”
“Never.” Mary hustled out of the parking lot, with a final wave to Missy and Yolanda, who were laughing with the men and didn’t notice her. She unsheathed her BlackBerry while she hailed a cab, hit the number for voicemail, then heard the first message.
Which was very bad news.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What happened?” Mary said, as soon as she hit Judy’s office. She’d tried to call her on the cab ride to the office, but she kept getting the voicemail, so she’d used the time to return other calls and e-mails. By the time she got back, her head was exploding and she could be liable for malpractice.
“I’m so sorry.” Judy hung up the phone. “I was just about to call you.” Sunlight poured through the window behind her, backlighting her hair and setting her fuchsia dress aglow. A half-eaten tofu salad and a bottle of Fiji water fought for desktop with messy notes, a laptop, correspondence, pencils and pens, and a Magic 8 Ball.
“Not your fault. Nunez wouldn’t go forward with the deposition?” Mary deflated into the chair in front of the desk.
“Not without you.” Judy looked regretful, puckering her lower lip. “I told him you had an emergency, but he just got rattled.”
“Oh no. Poor guy.”
“I think he has a crush on you.”
Mary scoffed. “He’s like ninety years old.”
“He says he doesn’t feel safe without you. He’s supercute, for such an old guy.”
“You’re creeping me out. So what happened?”
“We got as far as state-your-name-for-the-record, and he said he wanted to leave.” Judy sighed. “You’ll just reschedule.”
“To when?” Mary knew her week would be crazy. She had her regular case load to deal with, plus Dhiren and Dean Martin.
“What happened this morning with Trish?”
Mary didn’t have the time to fill her in, but did anyway.
“Good work,” Judy said, when the executive summary was over. “You’re doing all you can do for the dark side.”
“They’re not so bad.”
“The harpies?”
“I’m doing it for Trish.”
“Watch yourself with these girls.” Judy pointed a finger. “They’re just going to hurt you, in the end, and I don’t like anybody who hurts you.”
Mary smiled, touched. “Oh, by the way, I talked to Bennie this morning.”
“You did?” Judy’s eyes flared, and Mary filled her in on her meeting with the boss, which seemed ages ago. When she was finished, Judy’s unlipsticked mouth made a determined little line. “She won’t even hire a contract lawyer? That’s not fair. You need help.”
“It is what it is.” Mary got up. She had tons to do before Giulia called.
“If you were her partner, you wouldn’t have to ask permission to hire help.”
“If I were her partner, I’d be your boss.”
Judy laughed.
“My thoughts exactly,” Mary said with a smile, then hurried back to her office.
There, she called Roberto Nunez, but there was no answer and she left a message. She rifled through her mail, sorting it into Good and Evil piles, as was her habit. She ignored the ringing phone, logged on to the computer, and searched for special-education websites. She took notes, then scouted online to find an alternative place to get Dhiren tested. All the time, she was wondering when Brinkley would get back to her. She found a suburban child-study center with psychological and personality testing, then called them and was put through to the intake coordinator. Mary explained the situation, finishing with, “He’s so frustrated in school that he’s pulling his hair out.”
“That’s called trichotillomania.”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Yes, it’s unfortunately quite common. We have fifteen psychologists on staff, all specializing in children with learning disabilities. As you’re seeing with your client, those disabilities affect them emotionally, so they hurt themselves or act out in school.”
“That’s exactly what’s happening.” Mary almost cheered. “Great! So when can I get him an appointment?”
“Will this be paid by the district?”
“Payment is due when services are rendered. The cost is $3025.”
“I understand. I told the boy’s mother it’s expensive. I just need to set up the appointments.”
“Would you like an appointment for testing or counseling?”
“Both.” Mary felt greedy. “He really needs help.”
“I understand, these cases can be so heartbreaking.” From the other end of the phone came the clicking of a computer keyboard. “I’d start counseling as soon as possible. I have an opening on June 11, at three thirty with Dr. Theadora Landgren.”
Mary thought she was kidding. It was months away. “He has to wait that long?”
“I’m sorry, we’re very busy.”
“He can’t wait. He’s in a very bad way.” Mary heard the intake coordinator’s other phone start ringing.
“Excuse me. I have to get that. Please hold.”
Mary waited while they played uplifting music that didn’t uplift. She was already defaulting to Plan B. She wouldn’t make a counseling appointment; she’d find Dhiren another shrink, maybe closer, in the city. The important thing was the testing.
“Ms. DiNunzio, would you like to make that appointment for counseling?”
“No, that’s okay. Let’s go for the testing. I’ll get him counseling elsewhere, if you don’t mind.”
“I can even make some referrals for you.” Then came the sound of keyboard clacking, and the coordinator said, “Our first appointment for testing is June 3.”
“June? Even for the tests? Can you really be so booked up? I mean, it’s just a test.” Mary thought of Amrita saying, give him a book and see how he struggles.
“It’s not that simple. Our tests include full psychological batteries, personality testing, neuropsychological assessment…”
Mary zoned out while she explained in detail.
“So you can see it’s a complicated process, and that’s why we can’t take you until June 3. But I have referrals for testing as well.”
“Thanks so much, and I can’t wait until then.” Mary grabbed a pen. “May I have those referrals?”
Ten calls later, Mary had made a testing appointment for April 10 and counseling for April 15. It was the best she could do, but could Dhiren wait that long? How could she tell Amrita? Her BlackBerry rang, and she checked the display, the caller a welcome one.
“How’s my little girl?” her father asked warmly.
“Great, Pop.” Mary had trained her father to call on the cell, to be sure to get her, and put on her earphone so she could check her e-mail while they talked.
“Did you hear from Bernice yet? Feet keeps askin’ me.”
Oops. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll call her right now and get back to you.”
“Okay, baby. Love you. Your mother says don’t work too hard.”
“Love you both, Pop.” Mary hung up, called information for Bernice Foglia’s number, and pressed it into the BlackBerry while she answered her e-mail. It was the only good thing about her hated BlackBerry—when she used it with the earphone, she could do three things at once, instead of merely two.
“Yeah?” Bernice answered, her voice quavering with age.
“Mrs. Foglia, how’re you? This is Mary DiNunzio. I’m calling about this situation with Dean Martin.” Mary couldn’t believe the words coming out of her own mouth.
“I heard your father’s gonna slap me with a lawsuit, me and my ladyfriends.”
“That’s not true, Mrs. Foglia. I don’t know how you heard that.”
“Feet told Johnny-From-The-Corner who told his wife Lillian and she knows Josephine who’s my camarr from Moore Street, so she called me right away.”
Mary smiled, checking her e-mail and typing responses as quietly as she could.
“Mare, you better mark my words. Just ’cause you’re a lawyer doesn’t mean you can push me around. You used to be nice when you were little, but you changed. Success got you a swelled head. Hmph!”
“Mrs. Foglia, no one is suing you. They were upset about what you said about Dean Martin, is all.”
“Why? It was true. The man was a drunk.”
He was not. “You know what I think, Mrs. Foglia?” Mary heard a noise and looked up from her e-mail. Judy was standing in her doorway, gesturing for her to come. Mary flashed her the one-minute sign, but Judy rushed in, grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her out of the chair, while she followed her with the BlackBerry.
“I don’t care what you think,” Mrs. Foglia was saying, and Mary let Judy lead her down the hallway by the hand.
“I think this is getting out of control. Everybody’s up in arms.”
“They don’t like what I said? They can lump it. That’s what Frank would say.”
“Frank who?”
“Sinatra.”
“Mrs. Foglia, would you consider apologizing for saying what you said? Then I think I can get them to apologize.” Mary hurried along under Judy’s power, toward the conference room.
“No, I won’t apologize. They should apologize to me and Frank. They said he was crazy.”
“Who said that?”
“Tony-From-Down-The-Block. What a cavone. And that hair! It’s red as Lucille Ball.”
“Let me ask you a question. If he apologizes, will you?” Mary followed Judy into the conference room, where Marshall was already inside, looking at the TV on the credenza. Mary couldn’t see the screen because Marshall was blocking it.
“No,” Mrs. Foglia said. “Honey, I got no regrets. I’m like Frank.”
Judy dropped her hand, Marshall moved aside for her to see the TV, and Mary’s mouth dropped open. The news was on, and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“I chew it up and spit it out,” Mrs. Foglia was saying.
“What?” Mary said to Mrs. Foglia and the TV.
“I do it My Way!” Mrs. Foglia shouted, hanging up.
Leaving an incredulous Mary with the news.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mary almost dropped the BlackBerry, the earphone still plugged into her ear. On the TV screen, a bright red banner read, LIVE BREAKING NEWS, and above it stood Giulia, Missy, and Yolanda, outside the Roundhouse. An excitable Giulia was being interviewed by an anchorwoman, who was flanked by the Mean Girls, like book-ends with estrogen.
Mary groaned. “What are they doing?”
Judy folded her arms. “This can’t be good.”
Marshall said, “Nice makeup.”
Giulia said into the microphone, “Please, please help us! Our best friend, Trish Gambone, is missing since last night and we need your help!”
Oh my God. The Mean Girls had just queered the deal with Brinkley.
“This is a picture of Trish, on vacation in Vegas.” Giulia held up her cell-phone photo of Trish, and the camera moved in for a closeup. “She looks exactly like this, only without the spray-on. She’s white, in her thirties, five foot two, a hundred and five pounds.”
“A hundred and twenty,” said a voice, off camera.
Yolanda.
“Like I said, a hundred and five,” Giulia said firmly, holding up her cell phone.
“What’s a spray-on?” Judy asked, but Mary was too stunned to answer.
Giulia continued, “We’re askin’ everyone to keep a lookout for Trish, and if you see her, please call Detective Mack Reginald Brinkley right away. I know everybody’s up in arms about that dumb baby, but doesn’t an abused woman deserve an Amber Alert, too? Why do only babies get it?”
The TV reporter grabbed the microphone and managed a smile. “You heard it here first. Trish Gambone, a South Philadelphia resident, is missing at this hour…”
Mary sank into a chair and pressed the number for information into the BlackBerry. “Any lasagna left?” she asked miserably.
The operator said, “Pardon me?”
“Sorry. In Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, may I have the number for the police department, the Homicide Division?”
“Please hold,” the operator answered, and Judy left the conference room. The call connected but the line was busy. Mary hung up and looked at Marshall, who had a handbag and a light navy coat folded over her arm.
Mary asked her, “How did you know this was on TV?”
“I always check the traffic report before I leave and I recognized the girls from the fistfight.” Marshall patted her on the back. “Hang in. Gotta go. Gabe’s at daycare.”
“Thanks.” Mary pressed Giulia’s number into the BlackBerry, and after a few rings, the call connected.
“Mare, didja see me on TV?” Giulia sounded breathless. “Wasn’t that great? It was like an infomercial for Trish, like Proactiv!”
“How did you get on TV?”
“You remember those guys that Missy and Yolanda were talking to? The one was a reporter, and he hooked us up. How’d I do?”
“Terrible,” Mary answered flatly. “What were you thinking? We weren’t supposed to go public until Brinkley got back to us. Now we made him look bad and we broke our word. Besides, he’s not with Missing Persons. He’s Homicide. You gave out the wrong number.”
“Yo, Mare!” Giulia raised her voice. “Why you gotta be so negative? Nothin’ I do is good enough? First with Fung, now the phone number? So what? We got Trish on TV. Those babies don’t know who they’re dealin’ with.” Giulia’s voice cut off. “Hold on, I got another call. It’s T’s mom. Call you back.”
“Wait, no more interviews. Not another one, you hear?” Mary said, but the line went dead.
She listened to the silence for a minute, trying to collect her thoughts. Her gaze wandered to the window, where the skyline, marked by the tented rooftop of the Independence Blue Cross building, the granite spike of Mellon Center, and the distinctive ziggurat of Liberty Place cut into the early evening sky. Below, people would be streaming from their offices, piling onto trains, cars, and buses, and going home to their families. And somewhere, Trish was below, dead or alive.
Just then Judy came back into the conference room. “Dinner is served,” she said, setting a cup of fresh coffee and a tiny square of lasagna on the table. “I nuked it for you.”
“Thanks,” Mary said, touched. Unfortunately, the lasagna was barely the size of a bite. “Anne really did eat it? I thought she was kidding.”
Lady Killer Page 9
