Tip nodded. “I imagine you do,” he said, and jotted down a note. “So what can you tell me about Carlos’ relationship with Ms. Santiago?”
“Nothing to speak of. I just met her last night. But I did learn that she worked for Carlos. I believe she managed an interior decorating shop for him.”
“And you’d never met her before last night?”
Maxwell squinted his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “I think I was in her shop once, a while ago, but we were never introduced until last night.”
“Didn’t meet until last night,” Tip said, as he scribbled it into his notebook. “And yet you talked with her for half an hour?”
After a quick glance at me, Maxwell shot Tip a raised-eyebrow stare. “Come on, Detective. You saw her.”
“I’ll give you that, Mr. Maxwell. She was hard to miss.” Tip waited a few seconds, then said, “Do you remember what time Mr. Cortes and Ms. Santiago left?”
“I’d say 1:45, perhaps a few minutes later.”
That statement brought me to a sense of alert. Definitely not what we’d been hearing so far. I could see by the look on Tip’s face he didn’t believe Maxwell either.
“You seem pretty sure of that.”
Maxwell held his stare. “I am.”
Tip flipped back a few pages in his notebook. “That’s funny, because we talked to two people who said they remember Mr. Cortes leaving around 12:45.”
Maxwell shook his head. “Carlos was definitely there until the end, or near the end…but I do remember hearing Mena say she wanted to leave earlier. Maybe that’s what someone heard.”
More scribbles in the notebook, then, “How are you so sure it was 1:45?”
“I always know what time it is, Detective.”
“And what time did you leave?” Tip asked.
He looked at Tip, then back to me. “We left at about 2:15. No later.”
“And you were up that early playing golf?” I asked.
“I don’t need much sleep; besides, my friends and I have a golf date every Sunday, no matter what.”
“How long have you known Mr. Cortes?” Tip asked.
“Carlos?” Jeff leaned back in the chair in a pose that simulated thinking. “Perhaps eight or ten years.”
“And what is that relationship?”
“We’re lovers,” Jeff said, then laughed, hard. “Just kidding. We met at one of Virginia’s functions. Carlos does a lot with charities.”
Tip set his pen and notebook on the table and leaned forward. “Do you know Carlos is into drugs, not using them, but dealing.”
Jeff got a serious look on his face. “Now you’re kidding.”
Tip’s scar twitched, and his face transformed into that menacing look just before he smiled. “Sorry, Mr. Maxwell, I had to see what you’d say.”
Tip looked at his watch and stood. “That about wraps up my questions,” he said and turned to me. “Connie, you got anything else?”
I knew that was his cue for us to go. I shook my head and got up from the chair. “Nothing here.”
Maxwell made small talk as he walked us to the door, but I could tell it was just that—small talk. He wanted us out of there.
When we got in the car, I said to Tip, “So what do you think?”
“I feel good about it,” Tip said as he slid behind the wheel.
I got in the passenger seat and buckled up. “What’s there to feel good about?”
“We’re making headway. Carlos lied to us. We’re pretty sure some of the people at the gym lied to us, and now Maxwell is lying to us.”
I turned to look at Tip. “Maybe I’m missing something, but how does that help?”
“It doesn’t. I was lying.”
I laughed. Tip’s weird sense of humor was growing on me. “So what are we going to do?”
“We’re gonna pin Tony’s murder on Carlos, then we’ll bust the guy killing these girls. In the meantime, you have to figure out why Maxwell is lying to us.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. He’s got the hots for you, and don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
“I noticed all right. I saw him this morning while I was jogging and he asked me out.”
“Well?”
“Of course I told him I’d go. I actually want to go, but I find it tough getting over the fact that he’s married.”
“You mean besides him being an asshole.”
It didn’t take me long to process that. “Yeah, I guess that too.”
“So you actually like this guy?”
“Do you like Jessica Alba?”
Tip laughed, and nodded his head a little. “All right, I’ll give you that, Maxwell does have a cute ass.”
“That’s twice you’ve said that, Tip. You’re a sick man. Has anyone told you that?”
“Keep that thought until we get to Carlos’ house. We need to rattle his cage a little.”
Tip pulled into a parking lot across the street from the new condominiums where Carlos lived. “We’re here.”
“This is where Carlos lives?”
Tip got out and started across the street, me hustling to keep up. “You want to fill me in on your plan, cowboy, or are you just going to shoot him?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I might just shoot him.”
“I still haven’t eaten, you know. We could have stopped for food.”
“Eat shit,” Tip said. “We’ve got work to do.”
“No thanks, I’ll wait for something else.”
Tip rang the bell, and within seconds a man answered. “May I help you?”
His English was perfect, and he looked as if Carlos had plucked him off a high-society show from British television. “We’re here to see Carlos Cortes,” Tip said.
“Mr. Cortes is busy at the moment.”
I flashed a badge, holding it right up to the man’s face. “Tell him the cop from Brooklyn wants to see him.”
“I’ll let him know,” the man said, and closed the door.
“That was good, Gianelli. Nice way to handle it.”
“Thought it would get his attention; besides, it’s better than shooting him.”
The doorman returned in a few minutes, ushering us into a foyer big enough to hold a sofa, several waiting chairs, and an elevator. His heels were loud on the marble floor as he made his way to the open door of the “lift” as he called it. Perhaps he really was from England. Another man waited inside the elevator. He nodded when we got in then pressed the button for the fourth floor.
“Does he own all of this?” I asked.
“All six floors,” the man said.
The elevator stopped at the fourth floor and the man led us across another large foyer toward a balcony. Carlos was sitting at a table sipping a drink when we arrived. Another man sat across from him. Neither of them bothered to stand.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Tip had his notebook out, but I did the talking in hopes of pissing him off. “What time did you leave last night?”
Carlos turned a little in his chair, facing more toward us. “Why do you ask?”
“Answer the question,” Tip said.
“No.”
“Did you drive Mena home?”
“Why are you asking these questions?”
“She’s dead,” I said, and waited to judge his reaction.
“Dead?” Carlos stood, looking to the man across from him, then to me and Tip. “Mena is dead? How?”
“Murdered. Brutally beaten, raped, and butchered.”
“Dios mio.” He sat in the chair again, then took a minute to compose himself. “You need to know that we…Mena and I, had sex last night.”
“It’s good that you told us,” I said, but inside I cursed. I had hoped he would try to hide it. “What time did you leave her house?”
He shook his head, then turned to the man who had been silent this whole time. “Tico, get Manuelo.”
As Tico left the room, Carlos offered us a seat. “Forgive
my manners, but at first I thought you were here to be rude.”
“We’re trying our best to keep it professional,” Tip said.
Carlos nodded. “Manuelo will know what time I got home.”
A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, returned with Tico. Carlos addressed him. “Manuelo—”
“Let me ask,” I said, and stood between Manuelo and Carlos.
“Manuelo, I’m Detective Gianelli. This is Detective Denton. We have some questions to ask.”
He looked toward Carlos, who nodded, then Manuelo said, “What would you like to know?”
“What time did Mr. Cortes get home this morning?”
“A little before three.”
Tip wrote in his pad. “You’re sure about that?”
Manuelo faced Tip. “I’m certain. I sleep very light and when I heard Señor Cortes come in I looked at the clock on my dresser. It lights up at night.”
“You said a little before three…how much is a little?” I asked.
“It was 2:42. I remember because of the numbers. You see, 2, 4, 2. Two plus two equal four.”
“Yeah, I can add,” Tip said, “and you speak good English, Manuelo. Are you a citizen?”
Manuelo smiled. “Not only a citizen, but a graduate of your University of Houston.”
“Then why in the hell…” I knew disgust had crept into my voice, but I stopped before I said too much.
Manuelo looked around me to Carlos. “No disrespect to you, señor,” he said, then returned his attention to me. “This is my second job. It pays well and I need the money.”
Carlos stood. “That’s all, Manuelo. Thank you for your help.”
I wanted to stop Manuelo, but a look from Tip told me no.
Carlos said, “If you will excuse me, Detectives, I have business to do and I must arrange for Mena’s funeral. She had no one else.”
“What was your relationship with Mena?” I asked.
“A relationship like many others. She worked one of my stores and we had…mutual interests.”
“Mutual interests. As in sex?”
There was no hesitation with Carlos’ answer. “That was one of them. But we shared…other things.”
“And you didn’t mind sharing her with other men?”
Carlos seemed to get embarrassed. “What do you mean by that?”
I wanted to think I was pissing him off, but I knew I wasn’t. “There were men’s clothes in her closet, and from the looks of them they weren’t yours.”
“I’m quite sure that Filomena had other…friends. But to answer your question, no, I didn’t mind.”
“What time did you leave the ball?” I asked.
Carlos seemed to give it thought, but only a few seconds. “I believe it was shortly before 1:00. I don’t know exactly.” Carlos then asked, “Why do you think she was killed?”
“I’ll bet it was drugs,” I said as we turned to leave, then, “We’ll be back.”
“I feel certain that you will, but the next time call beforehand. I’ll make sure that my lawyer is present.”
“Do you need a lawyer?” Tip asked.
“Everyone needs a lawyer, especially when dealing with people like your partner.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tip asked.
Carlos feigned surprise. “You don’t know? Perhaps you should ask her about her acquaintances in Brooklyn and the Bronx.”
“Let’s go,” I said, and stepped into the elevator.
Tip stayed silent until we hit the street. “What the hell was that about? That’s the second time I’ve heard him mention something like this.”
“I’ll tell you over lunch. I’m starved.”
“It better be good.”
“Then take me somewhere that has good food.”
“What did you think of our friend Carlos?”
I thought for a minute. “I’d like to say he was lying through his teeth, but I’m not sure. I watched him pretty close and he seemed genuinely surprised when I told him about Mena.”
“I know, but he could be that good of an actor. He had plenty of notice that we were there.”
“It’s going to be tough to prove anything, especially with him volunteering the semen statement.”
“We’ll see when we get the report from Ben,” Tip said.
“And there’s still this witness,” I said. “The one who saw someone leaving Santiago’s house.”
“That’s who we’ve got to find. Whoever called it in might have some real information.”
A few minutes later, Tip pulled off the main road onto a street lined with hundred-year-old oaks, and quaint houses mixed with apartments. “Where are we going?” I asked.
Tip pulled into the drive of what looked like an old house converted into a restaurant. He opted for valet parking. “This is Crapitto’s,” Tip said. “You said you were hungry.”
“You must really want this story if you’re taking me out to Italian.”
I followed him into the restaurant where a young waiter seated us, providing menus. It didn’t take long to decide. “Calamari for appetizer,” I said, “with a house salad and Veal Picatta.”
Tip had linguine with crawfish.
During lunch, I filled him in on all the details of my youth, the details I left out when I told him stuff before, like my mother dying when I was twelve, and Dominic and Zeppe’s family raising me. I hated trusting a man with private information. A long time ago I trusted a man and he betrayed me. Then Sean and Jerry betrayed me. If Tip Denton did, I swore I’d get him for it. “So that’s it,” I said. “One day I’m in undercover, a hero, and the next day IA is investigating me and wanting my badge. And it looks like my partners were dirty.”
“And this is all because of Carlos?”
“None other.”
Tip squinched up his face, his puzzled look. “How did you get assigned down here with that behind you?”
I dipped a piece of bread in the pesto and devoured half of it with one bite.
“You don’t put butter on that?” Tip asked.
“God forbid. My Uncle Zeppe would have killed me.” I waited until I finished chewing then continued. “To get back to your question, the captain had a problem. After the drug deal, the papers declared me a hero, and there is nothing New Yorkers like more than a common hero. So the captain assigned me to cold cases instead of suspension.”
Throughout the meal I talked, eventually returning to the night in the alley when Sean and Jerry got killed.
“And you’re sure it was Carlos’ men who did that?”
“Definitely,” I said, surprised at how comfortable I was telling him all this. It helped that he seemed to believe me.
“And you think, now, that your partners were dirty…but you didn’t know it at the time.”
“Exactly. A detective named Frankie Donovan confirmed it. He’s good. I trust him.”
Tip spread a mound of butter on his bread, then poured a little water into his coffee to dilute it, all with me shaking my head. “Now that Carlos knows you’re here, he’ll be after you. He played it cool so far but that won’t last long. Wait till night falls.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everything happens at night,” Tip said. “That’s when the snakes come out.”
“Not all snakes come out at night.”
“Down here they do. Too damn hot during the day.”
“I should have known.”
Tip downed the last of his coffee then signaled for the check. “Maybe you better stay at my house for a few days.”
“Sure. And where am I going to sleep, with you and Elena?”
He looked at the check, peeled off three twenties and set them on the table, then stood to go. As we walked out the door he said, “I’ve been thinking about what you suggested, you know, about sleeping with me and Elena…I think I might like that.”
“Get in the damn car and drive,” I said.
Chapter 49
Filling in
the Gaps
Lou Mazzetti propped his feet on the table and sipped on his second cup of coffee. He smiled at Donovan as he walked in.
“I can tell by the look on your face you got something,” Frankie said.
“Only about four minutes worth of something.”
Frankie pulled a chair out and sat next to Lou, reaching for the folder between them. “Who did he call?”
Lou lost his smile and shook his head. “Like everything else, Donovan, there’s good and bad news. Good news is we’ve got a name: Karen Stark, married, two kids, a teacher who lives in Queens.”
“And the bad news?”
“Karen Stark is married, with two kids, and she’s a teacher who lives in Queens.”
“You’re telling me she’s clean?”
“Not just clean, squeaky clean. Good credit. No record. Husband is clean and works at the transit authority. Kids aren’t old enough to be involved.”
Frankie slurped his coffee. “And all four minutes went to this Karen Stark?”
“Yeah,” Lou said. “So I got to wondering the same thing you are. Why would somebody erase the records if she’s clean?”
“Exactly.”
“I did some digging. Sean called Karen Stark four other times in the past six months.”
Frankie leaned forward, his head cocked to the side. “Four times in six months doesn’t sound like an affair; besides, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Listen, Donovan. You’re not smart enough to figure this out.” Lou took his feet off the table and scooted the chair in. “I had them look up Stark’s records, to see who called her, or who she called, near the same times as Sean.” Mazzetti smiled. “Guess which number came up?”
“Spit it out.”
“Randall.”
“Who?”
“Randall. Internal-Affairs Randall.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Lou said. “Holy shit is right. Now we know why no one wanted this solved.”
“So what does it mean? Was Sean working for them?”
“No way. If he was working for them we’d have calls going to Randall’s home phone, not his sister’s.”
“Then Randall was in on it with Sean,” Frankie said.
“Here’s the clincher. All of the calls came a day or two before a drug bust, and it just so happens most of those busts went bad.”
A Bullet for Carlos Page 29
