Pirelli snorted. "Fuck that, look at the similarities, the grooves. You got the blowup photos?"
Ancora tossed him a folder and watched as Pirelli read the reports and checked the photographs of the minute chips of the bullets.
"Why weren't these sent to me earlier? How long have you had them?"
"They came in yesterday. They're still working on it. They figure the bullets were customized with a diamond drill, probably a dentist's. Holes are bored in the tops to make them explode on entry. All they've got is one millimeter from—""How much do you want, for chrissakes? A flag flying over your head? I don't believe this. . . ."
"Got a suspect?"
Pirelli tossed the file back on the desk. "I'm not sure, not a hundred percent. When I am, I'll let you know."
The glass in the door threatened to crack as he slammed it behind him. Ancora leaped from his seat and yanked the door open.
"Pirelli, hey, Pirelli! I don't like your attitude. You got a problem, you know that? I'm working my butt off."
Pirelli kept walking but called out, "Yeah, it looks like it, your ass is hanging over your chair."
He entered his office, and the door banged behind him.
Dante's heart pounded. He hadn't heard Luka enter his office. "You move like a cat."
Luka smiled, liking the description, and sat down in his usual place on the edge of the desk.
"I'm gonna do the hit tomorrow. Main problem is getting the gun into the courthouse, but I think I've found a way around it. That is, if you can get me what I want."
Dante spread his fat hands. "You name it, I got contacts. Just tell me what you need."
Luka beamed. "This is it. . . ."
Dante stared at the single sheet of paper, then looked up. "How the fuck am I gonna get hold of that?"
Luka smirked. "There's one in the museum, and there's one in a case at the Villa Palagonia. I've seen it on display. It'll need a lot of adjustments, but we've got all night."
The Villa Palagonia was an outrageous Gothic house on the outskirts of Palermo. It had been built by an eccentric, deformed nobleman, and the high walls were topped by strange dwarflike figures in stone, standing like sentries.
Luka pointed up to one of the figures. "That remind you of someone?"
Dante shrugged, more intent on listening to one of the tourist guides, who was explaining to Dante's man, Dario Biaze, that no one was allowed in; viewing times were four and six, the villa was closed.
"The statue looks like my father," Luka laughed.
Dario Biaze returned to the car, bending to talk to Dante. "Place is shut up, there're alarms, but give it a couple of hours, and we can get in. . . ."
Luka settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. "Well, I guess we just wait. Drive around, don't want the guide getting suspicious." As the car passed the villa, one of the stone dwarfs seemed to leer down at them. It did, as Luka said, resemble Paul Carolla.
CHAPTER 11
Teresa let the curtain fall back into place. "Here's Mama now. I can see the Rolls coming down the hill."
Sophia took a cigarette from a solid gold case and lit it with a gold Dunhill lighter. Her movements were unhurried and casual, yet she chain-smoked, stubbing out each cigarette only halfway through.
"Can I get anyone a drink?"
Teresa looked at her watch. It was not five o'clock, and she murmured that it was too early for her.
"Do you want anything, Rosa?"
Rosa shook her head and continued finishing The New York Times crossword puzzle. Her legs were crossed, and her right foot tapped annoyingly against the chair. She was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers.
Sophia rose from the sofa and stretched, catlike, yawning, then walked across to pull the bell beside the door. She rang, leaned against the door, and turned her attention to Rosa.
"How's college, Rosa?"
"I left. . . . What's five letters, 'Almost with warmth but no affection'?"
Teresa stood up. "Tepid . . ." She couldn't bear to look at her daughter. The new haircut had caused considerable interest, if not amazement.
There was a bang and a sound of scraping metal outside. Teresa looked through the curtains again. "My God, the car's hit the gatepost—I don't believe it, Graziella is driving. She's driving the car."
Sophia smiled. "You'd better believe it, and never accept a lift. You should see what she's done to the armored Mercedes."
"Why isn't there a driver? There's not even a man at the gate, and it's obvious no one's been tending the garden. The pool's covered by millions of wasps. It's disgraceful. How could she let the place go?"
They heard Adina opening the front door, the two sets of footsteps on the marble floor.
The three women looked expectantly at the double doors. They heard Graziella's voice, then footsteps going up the stairs.
Sophia went into the hall to call after her mother-in-law. When she returned, she lit another cigarette.
"Mama's tired. She'll see us at dinner, eight o'clock. . . . And she would like us to dress."
"Who else is coming? Mario Domino, is he coming?"
"No, Teresa, he's dead. Didn't you know? He died a week or so ago."
Teresa took off her glasses. "Nobody told me. Why didn't Mama tell me?"
Sophia's head began to throb. "She didn't tell me either. Does it really matter?"
Teresa pursed her lips angrily. "Well, he was supposed to be seeing to Papa's will. I just thought I should have been informed."
"Well, now you are, and if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower."
Teresa watched as Sophia left the room. Rosa gave her mother a hooded look. "Why don't you take a rest, Mama? I'll be up in a minute."
Left alone, Rosa tried to concentrate on her crossword puzzle, but she wasn't that interested in it. She tossed the paper aside and looked over at the piano. It was strange to see it without any photographs on display. Suddenly she didn't like the feel of the room or being alone. She went upstairs.
Rosa looked at her mother. "Aunt Sophia's very noticeable, isn't she? I mean—I don't know what I mean, just that she's kind of magnetic."
"If you say so."
"Don't you think so?"
"I notice she isn't short of money. That diamond she's wearing must be worth thousands. . . ."
"You really don't like her, do you, Mama?"
"Not particularly. I don't think she'd put herself out for anyone. And I always felt there was more to her than she admitted. How come she knew about Domino and we didn't? Do you think she's been seeing Graziella and not letting on? You are her only grandchild. . . . Out of all of us, you are the only one who can carry on the line. If you were to have a son—"
Rosa snapped coldly, "I'm not likely to before dinner, Mama, so don't even think about it."
"Well, if you insist on wearing those awful jeans, you won't find anyone decent. Be a good girl and dress up tonight. Let Grandma see how pretty you are, will you?"
"God, you are so old-fashioned! But if it means we get more dough, I'll wear a lampshade on my head, okay?"
Teresa banged her pillow and turned her back on her daughter. Sometimes she could throttle her, she was so infuriating.
The lights in Carolla's cell were already out. The loss of his many privileges had continued, and it did not bode well. No matter how much money he offered, it was now refused. Did they all know something he didn't?
There was a loud banging on his cell door, and the peephole cover slid back. A guard peered through. "You've got an interview with Commissario Pirelli before court. Be dressed by seven."
Carolla hit the cell door with the flat of his hand. "I wanna talk to my lawyer. I won't talk to that bastard again unless my lawyer's with me. . . . Hey, come back, scum."
He leaned his back against the door, thinking. He would have to make a statement before he saw Pirelli again. It was the only way out.
The table could easily seat fourteen, and the four places set at one end looked cluttered c
ompared with the long stretch of starched white cloth at the other.
The table glittered as if for a banquet. The heavy silverware, each piece monogrammed with a large L, was highly polished, and the fine bone china dinner service, Graziella's wedding gift from her husband, shone as if it, too, had been polished. There were five cut crystal glasses grouped around each setting, and an eight-branch candelabrum in the center. Decanters of red and white wine were placed within reach.
The three women were waiting for Graziella to appear. Sophia wore a full-length black silk gown with long sleeves, the tight skirt and bodice beautifully tailored. Diamond earrings and a diamond ring were her only jewelry. Her hair was pulled back from her face into her usual severe knot. She looked stunningly beautiful; the black Valentino gown enhanced her creamy complexion and dark, slanting eyes.
Teresa had made a great effort, but her black crepe dress with a V neck was ill-fitting and old-fashioned. The long sleeves were too wide for her slim arms, and the whole dress seemed several sizes too large. She wore three rows of pearls and pearl stud earrings, and her hair was pinned up at the sides in combs.
Rosa wore a simple black dress in a shiny satin material. One glance told Sophia exactly where it had been bought. It was cheap, but somehow Rosa's prettiness made it acceptable. She wore no jewelry, and her hair, springing up in uneven tufts, made her seem much younger than her twenty years. Her eye makeup was unnecessarily heavy for her large brown eyes and emphasized the fact that she wore no foundation or lipstick.
Graziella entered like a duchess. Her weight loss made her appear taller, more austere, and reminded them of how beautiful she must have been in her youth. Adina seated her before the women could make up their minds whether or not to stand. The wine was poured, and Graziella lifted her glass in a toast.
"To you all: Thank you for coming, and God bless you."
Graziella hardly touched her wine, but the other women toasted her and drank. The conversation was very stilted, each complimenting the others on their various styles while Adina served thick lobster bisque and hot rolls. They began to eat.
The furnace gave the room terrific heat. The loud clanging of the gunsmith smelting and reshaping the firing chamber made the waiting men wince. Luka watched every stage, asking eager questions. He even put on a huge protective mask so he could stand close to the man as he filed the metal.
The old man, nearing eighty, was a master craftsman, painfully slow and methodical. He took great pride in his work, holding it up for inspection at each stage. The bullets would have to be made, of course; the weapon was so old that none of the ammunition he had in stock would be suitable.
Luka inspected the drills and turned to Dante. "You want your teeth done while we wait?"
Dante looked at his watch. "How much longer?"
"Four or five hours," said the old man, and Dante swore.
"I am a professional, signor. I have to remake the firing pin, and then there will be adjustments. It's the length of the barrel, that's the problem."
"Just do what you have to, signor." Luka patted the man's shoulder encouragingly, then walked casually over to Dante. "When he's finished, maybe it's best he's not around."
Dante snorted, shaking his head. His voice was very low. "He's eighty years old, he won't talk, believe me."
Luka's eyes glittered. "I, too, am a professional, signor, and he's a fucking witness."
Luka turned back to the old man, whistling with admiration at his work.
Graziella waited until Adina had set down the coffee tray and left the room. She did not want to discuss the will until she was sure they would not be interrupted. She herself served the coffee from its silver pot.
"Two days ago there was a new development at court. The defense lawyers requested that the entire testimony of the accused be read aloud to the prisoners. If the government does not give the judge the power to deny them this right, then the prisoners will walk free."
Sophia refused sugar, passing it across to Rosa, all her attention on her mother-in-law.
"You mean he'll be freed?"
"Yes, Sophia, I mean exactly that. The justice we had hoped for will be nonexistent. Paul Carolla will be free."
Teresa said sharply, "But isn't he also yanted for drug dealing in the States? This trial isn't just front-page headlines in Palermo; it's worldwide."
"The judge will have to get the government to overthrow the law, and you and I know how many in our precious government will be too afraid to do anything. . . . But that will be dealt with. First, I must apologize for this long delay. Now you're here, I think you will find much work has been done. I gave Mario the power of attorney."
Graziella opened a file, began picking out pages. "And at his suggestion we began to liquidate all the assets. As you are aware, because of my sons' deaths, I alone inherit the entire estate. The reason for the delay has been the joining of the three wills—"
Teresa sipped her wine. "About six months, Mama."
Graziella looked at Teresa coldly. "Mario Domino assumed that you would not want to handle the companies yourselves but would prefer to have the money. So we arranged that I would divide it equally among you."
Teresa interrupted her mother-in-law. "Wait a minute, Mama, liquidate all the assets? Are you serious? I mean, there was surely not enough time to arrange sales, auctions. . . . How much work did Domino do before he died?"
Graziella ignored Teresa and turned to Sophia. "Constantino, as you know, ran the export companies. Mario was in the middle of negotiations shortly before he died, and he accepted an offer below the original asking price, but from a good and reliable source. I have decided that as you, Sophia, were Constantino's wife, this should be handled by you, and I have therefore organized all those contracts for you to look over while you are here."
Teresa was at it again, not liking what she was hearing. "Does that include Filippo's company in New York, Mama?" But she received no reply as Graziella turned over pages in her file and passed a number of papers to Sophia.
As Teresa was about to interrupt again, Sophia looked up and waved her hand for silence. "Mama, these don't make any sense. These are warehouses?"
Teresa leaned forward. "Surely, Mama, Domino cannot have begun negotiations without conferring with us? Filippo's business depended upon the cargoes, and the company is at a standstill in New York. Who has been overseeing the trade during the past months? I tried to get into the offices myself, but they've changed the locks, so who has been handling that? Domino?"
"I left everything to Domino. He had great difficulty with the tax people. They said we owed death duties amounting to—" Graziella was flustered as she searched the file.
"Mama, is that Domino's file?" asked Teresa. She was sweating as she realized Graziella's total lack of understanding of the business. "Mama, why don't you let me sort through it all? I can go through them tonight. That used to be my job. I'll at least be able to get them into—"
Graziella almost shouted 'Wo! I want none of you involved in this. It must be sold. I want everything sold, nothing that can cause you trouble."
Teresa was trying to control her temper. "But, Mama, who is taking care of the legal side?"
"Mario Domino."
Sophia took her mother-in-law's hand. "Mama, Domino is dead. Now, why don't you let Teresa have a look at all this? Then we can discuss it tomorrow. Right now you can't say I have this and Teresa has that because we don't know what we have."
Teresa spoke up for herself. "Mama, I don't know Sophia's situation, but the past six months have been very tough for me and for Rosa. Filippo left nothing but debts—"
Graziella responded with pride, "No, that is not true! No Luciano ever has debts, this I know."
"You didn't know, Mama, but you do now because I am telling you. I paid off what I could, but right now they are probably taking our apartment. I need to know what actual money I am going to see, you know, hard cash. Because I, more than anyone else, know exactly what the turnover for
the New York side was."
"You know nothing, you don't know, Teresa. . . . No, you don't."
"Yes, I doV Teresa was shouting now. "Because I saw the contracts, all the licenses! I am taking these files, all of them, into the study. I am going to go through them, now, tonight, okay? When I've got a better idea of what's going on, why don't we talk about it? Anyone against this?"
Sophia put her hand on the top of the file and gave Teresa a warning look. "Is it all right, Mama, for Teresa to do this?" Graziella nodded, but Sophia could see a muscle twitching at the side of her mother-in-law's mouth. The atmosphere in the dining room was electric.
Teresa read the first page of the file, which listed part of Don Roberto's liquid assets. "Oh, my God, I don't believe it. I don't believe what I am reading. . . . Rosa, there's forty million dollars!"
Sophia saw the look on Graziella's face. As Teresa continued to read the papers, the two left the room.
Sophia followed Graziella across the hall and waited while she unlocked the study door. There were file boxes everywhere, and the desk was littered with folders and loose papers.
"Oh, my God, Mama, what's all this?"
Graziella shrugged helplessly. "After Mario's death, his firm took over. When I knew you were all arriving, I told them I wanted everything returned to me, including anything that wasn't complete. Some of these boxes contain Mario's own papers from his desk. It was impossible for me to go through everything."
Sophia just stood looking at the boxes. Graziella searched the top of the desk and then handed Sophia a sheaf of telexes. "I don't understand this. . . ."
Sophia lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and began to read the telexes. Eventually she looked up.
"Mama, I don't understand these either. . . ."
"And there's more." Graziella handed Sophia a folder bulging with loose papers.
Sophia and Graziella did not return for almost half an hour, but Teresa appeared not to notice the time or the fact that Sophia needed a brandy before she sat down at the table.
BELLA MAFIA Page 23
