In the Club

by Antonio Pagliarulo

  12

  A Killer Speaks

  Concetta was lying on the king-sized bed, dressed in a gray Moreno wool sweat suit, surrounded by open boxes of chocolate. She popped up with a gasp. “Madison!” she cried. “Park! Lex! Oh—I’m so glad to see you!” She rolled off the bed, her big hips wobbling.

  “Don’t play nice girl with us, Concetta,” Madison said forcefully.

  Concetta, jarred by the words, stepped back against the bureau and shook her head. “What—what do you mean? I am a nice girl! Why would you say something like that to me? You don’t…” She cupped a hand over her mouth, smearing a line of chocolate across her chin. “You don’t really believe I’m guilty, do you?”

  Park batted a hand against Madison’s shoulder, instructing her to stay quiet.

  Madison gave a quick, understanding nod. She stepped back and stood beside Lex and folded her arms over her chest.

  They knew that when it came to interrogating suspects, Park was the expert.

  “You think I’m some sort of psycho!” Concetta yelled. “A cold-blooded killer! Well, I’m not!” Her voice broke. “I’m…not.”

  Park walked over to her—a steady, fearless stride. She threw her arms around Concetta and held her. “You have to get ahold of yourself, honey,” Park whispered. She looked Concetta in the eyes. “It’s not that we necessarily think you’re psycho; it’s just that we have no other choice but to think that. We came here to talk to you and to help you. But you have to answer some questions.”

  Concetta shook her head vehemently. She pushed past Park, stomped around to the opposite side of the bed, and stared out the window. “I’m tired of answering questions,” she said. “I’ve been put through hell and no one cares! Everyone keeps saying the same stupid things! I’m tired of hearing them!”

  “The shoes, Concetta,” Lex said firmly. “Where the hell did you get those awful stilettos? That’s the one question you will absolutely answer!”

  “Those were my good luck shoes,” Concetta said quickly. “I know it sounds strange, but I wore them only twice before, and both times I got a little attention from the boys in the room. The first time was at my uncle Vito’s wedding in Florence. The second was at my father’s fiftieth birthday party in Las Vegas. I know the shoes are kind of…loud…but I thought they would bring me luck last night. It sounds stupid, but it’s true.”

  “You mean you thought maybe you’d have a little luck with Damien,” Park said.

  Concetta didn’t answer.

  Park motioned for Madison and Lex to stay quiet. Silence, Park knew from reading countless books on criminal investigations, was what often forced a suspect to speak.

  After a minute of steady quiet, Concetta turned and faced them. “What’s true is that I was in love with Damien,” she said. “That much I can admit. I tried everything to get him to like me. I really did. But he just…didn’t. But I know in time I would’ve accepted that. I didn’t kill him. It wasn’t a crime of passion like they keep saying on TV.” She ran her sleeve over her cheeks, wiping away tears. “I guess I was stupid to even think a duke—someone with royal blood—would be interested in me romantically. I’m just…fat. I’m fat and blubbery and ugly!” She buried her face in her hands and started sobbing.

  Lex ran to her, throwing her arms out. “Oh, honey. Please don’t talk like that. You’re not fat. You’re just…” She scanned the room as if looking for an answer. “You’re just…roundly sexy.”

  “Voluptuous,” Park offered.

  And Madison, feeling genuinely bad for Concetta in these pathetic moments, took a step toward her and said, “Robust and fashionably full-bodied.”

  “No I’m not!” Concetta screeched. “I’m just a big pig! That’s why I’m always on the Worst Dressed List in Star magazine!”

  Park put her hands on Concetta’s shoulders and eased her into the plush chair at the foot of the bed. Looking down at Concetta, Park said, “You have to tell us everything that happened last night at Cleopatra. We don’t want to think you’re guilty, Concetta. Maybe if you explain yourself to us, we can help.”

  “The cops didn’t believe a word I told them!” she cried. “And neither will you! I haven’t slept all night. They had me in a stinky interrogation room and treated me like some sort of serial killer. They even came here and tore my house apart.”

  “And they found some chemicals in here,” Madison said. “Chemicals that are used to make dynamite, Concetta. How did that stuff get here if you didn’t bring it in?”

  “I don’t know!” Concetta wailed. “Someone must’ve planted it in here to frame me!”

  It was the open highway Park needed. She stared down at Concetta and leaned in close to her. “You mean, you think one of the members of the Black Cry Affair framed you?”

  Concetta gasped. Her face went from droopy and sad to tight and shocked. “How—how do you know about…that?”

  “We know about the club,” Park said. She stood straight and began pacing the floor. “We know that Emmett McQueen and Jessica Paderman and Julian Simmons are members. And we know Damien was a member too.”

  “But…how?” Concetta whispered. “It’s a secret. We work so hard to keep it hidden from everyone. How…?”

  “It’s not important how we found out. What’s important is that we know about it.” Park crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t tell the cops anything about the club?”

  Concetta shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I was going to, but then I remembered the oath. Every member of the Black Cry Affair takes an oath of silence and honor when they join. I respected that oath. I’ll always respect it. I can’t talk about it.”

  “Even if it means the difference between living a normal life or spending your entire life behind bars?” Park asked her flatly.

  “You don’t want to go to jail,” Lex said, giving Concetta’s shoulder a shake. “They’ll make you wear unflattering jumpsuits and generic sneakers.”

  “And they’ll make you sleep on a twin-sized mattress.” Madison shuddered. “You think about that.”

  Concetta apparently did think about it. As the words sank into her brain, she gulped nervously.

  “Why don’t you tell us how it all began?” Park said. “When did the club form? How did you even get the idea to start it?”

  “Please, don’t do this.” Concetta’s voice was faint. “I’m so tired. I can’t answer any more questions. I feel like crap.”

  “That’s because you don’t look your best.” Without needing to be prodded, Lex reached into the magic purse and pulled out a hairbrush, compact, and nail file. “Here, let me help you relax. Just sit back.” She handed the nail file to Madison, then began running the brush through Concetta’s thick, tangled hair.

  Madison kneeled down in front of the chair. She cupped Concetta’s right hand in hers and began to work the tips of Concetta’s nails with the file.

  “Maybe…maybe I do need a little primping,” Concetta said.

  Madison nodded. “Of course you do,” she replied soothingly. “No matter what happens, you’ll be in a lot of pictures and magazines these next few weeks.”

  “Tell me,” Park began again, “how did the Black Cry Affair start?”

  “First tell me how you found out about it!” Concetta screamed. “No one knew!”

  Park remained silent, her eyes as sharp as daggers.

  Concetta licked her lips nervously. “Okay. Fine. Back when Emmett’s dad was charged with extortion and all those icky things, Emmett really relied on me to help him get through it. And I did. He spent a lot of time here. We watched movies and listened to music and all that normal stuff, but then we started getting into deep, serious conversations. And one of the topics we always came back to was how cool it would be to just have the power to escape into another world or another body—ya know, to just be someone or something else.” A pause. “Emmett said he would give anything to just escape from the scandal, from all the stress. He wanted to become another person for a
while. I understood that, because I’ve always wanted to be thin and pretty, or a real bitch who gets all the attention, ya know? So one night, it just all sort of…happened. We assumed different roles. We got into it. I mean, really into it.” She cracked a ghost of a smile. “And it was awesome. I’d never experienced anything like it. For a couple of hours, I really felt like I was Queen Elizabeth. I forgot my life. I forgot everything.”

  Park nodded. “And then you and Emmett continued to role-play,” she said.

  “Yeah. It was like an addiction. But a good kind of addiction, because it really helped Emmett get through those stressful weeks.” Concetta sniffled. “And it made me feel great too.”

  “How did Damien and Julian and Jessica get into the club?” Park asked.

  “Lex,” Madison said quietly, interrupting the flow as gently as possible. “May I please have some nail polish?”

  “Not anything too red,” Concetta muttered. “I don’t like my nails red.”

  “I have a lovely Picasso-brown Chanel,” Lex whispered, passing the bottle to Madison.

  “Thank you.” Concetta nodded. She stared up at Park. “Anyway…well…one day Emmett and Damien were hanging out at school, playing chess, I think, and they started talking about stuff. One thing led to another and Emmett told Damien about the club. Damien wanted in. He came and told me himself.”

  “Did he tell you why he wanted in?” Park asked.

  “He just said he thought it sounded fun. And it was. Damien was a natural. He fell right into our role-playing sessions. He loved being anyone other than who he was.” Concetta closed her eyes, gulped, then opened them. “A few weeks after that, I was at a small antiques shop in the Village, buying things we needed for the club. Earrings, necklaces, swords, costumes—stuff I thought would make our sessions more authentic. We don’t play Dungeons and Dragons, but costumes are fun. Anyway, Julian Simmons happened to be there at the shop. He saw all the stuff I was buying—a lot of it was pretty strange—and he just started questioning me. I asked him if he’d ever participated in a role-playing game; he told me he hadn’t, but that he’d always wanted to. So he joined us too.”

  “And Jessica Paderman?” Park asked. “How’d she get into the club?”

  “I invited Jessica into the club myself,” Concetta replied. “She and I have always been friendly. She saw the stamp—our official seal—of the Roman coin on my palm one day and asked me about it. She loves being a member too. We all love it. And so did Damien.”

  “Where do you guys meet? Where’s the Chamber?”

  “Downstairs,” Concetta said quietly. “The basement. But you still haven’t told me how you know about the club. Why?”

  Park stopped pacing. She ignored the question. She clasped her hands behind her back and fixed Concetta with a hard, don’t-bullshit-me stare. “And that’s all that goes on during these sessions? Simple and innocent role-playing?” she asked, an edge of suspicion in her tone. “That’s all the Black Cry Affair is about?”

  “Role-playing. There’s nothing else.” Concetta bent her head to one side as Lex pulled her hair up and continued to brush it out. “Lex, I hate having all these messy curls. Is there any way you can tame it down?”

  “Of course!” Lex answered brightly. She dug into the magic purse and found several hairpins and a rubber band.

  “Thank you.” Concetta sniffled again.

  “Fast-forward to last night,” Park said. “You and Damien are dancing in the cage. What happened?”

  “We were dancing and having a good time,” Concetta began. “The lights were really bright—those strobes are too strong, by the way—and there were moments when I couldn’t even see Damien. But he laughed when we bumped into each other. I took off my shoes so that I’d be able to dance better. Then there was this point when I saw him—his face—and I didn’t like it. He looked sick. Pale. He started to stumble. He started to cough. Then he leaned over and grabbed on to the cage’s bars to steady himself.”

  Madison had stopped painting Concetta’s nails. “Did Damien say anything?” she asked.

  “No.” Concetta leaned her head back as Lex tugged at her hair. “He looked like he was having trouble breathing. And even if he did say something, how would I have heard it? The music was blaring. I got really scared and panicky. He fell down on the floor of the cage. So I turned around and slipped my foot into my shoe. The lights were spinning and flashing so much, I couldn’t see my other shoe. Instead of looking for it, I ran out of the cage and down the stairs and into the bathroom. I was gonna get Damien some water, I was gonna get help.” She pressed her lips together, clamping down on a sob.

  “Go on,” Park said firmly. “And then what happened?”

  “And then somebody locked me in the bathroom!” Concetta cried, her head straining against the force of Lex’s experienced hands. “The door totally wouldn’t open! I was the only one in there and I kept banging on it and screaming for help, but no one heard me! I was in there for about three minutes before I heard the Requiem and the commotion. I got so nervous I tore my dress. I started crying. I even tripped because I was wearing only one stiletto. It was horrible.” She took a deep breath. “Someone else ran into the cage and hit Damien in the head with my shoe!”

  Park shot Madison a questioning glance.

  Madison’s expression said: I don’t know what to believe.

  Lex, immersed in the nearly impossible task of working curls into a smooth French twist, looked at Park and shrugged slowly.

  Park mentally scanned her brain, reviewing everything she’d read about how to question suspects in a homicide investigation. A big part of any successful interrogation was instinct—gut instinct. And Park’s gut was telling her that Concetta hadn’t spilled all her diamonds.

  “Please,” Concetta whispered. “You have to believe me.”

  Park leaned down and rested her hands on the arms of the chair. She brought her face to within an inch of Concetta’s and said, “I don’t believe you.”

  “What?” Concetta’s head bounced up.

  Lex let go of her hair.

  “How could you not believe me?” Concetta cried. “It’s the truth! I’ve told you everything that happened! I haven’t held anything back! You honestly think I killed Damien?”

  “I don’t know whether or not I believe you killed Damien,” Park said, backing away from the chair. “But you’re expecting us to buy a pretty far-fetched story.”

  “Damien was physically ill,” Concetta pressed. “He had blotches and weird hives all over his face. And even though he was weak, someone with a lot more strength than me had to have killed him!”

  “One powerful blow to his temple was all it took to smash his brains in,” Park replied sharply.

  Concetta shot out of the chair. Seething with rage, she held out her arms and gave them a shake, the sleeves of her sweatshirt falling past her knuckles. “You see this?” she cried. “I’ll tell you why I couldn’t have killed Damien! I’ll tell you what no one else knows—it’s the most humiliating thing in the world!” And then she shoved her hands out from under the sleeves of the oversized shirt and splayed her fingers slowly, showing more than just her newly polished nails. “I have rheumatoid arthritis! I can barely hold a pen some days, let alone pick up a stiletto and smash someone in the head!”

  “Oh!” Lex gasped. “You do? Since when?”

  “Since two years ago!” Concetta ranted. “Everyone thinks only old people get arthritis, but that’s not true. Lots of young people like us get it. It’s the most painful thing in the world! I have to get cortisone shots in my joints—which doesn’t exactly help how I look, ya know! Sometimes I wake up crying because of the pain, and some days I don’t want anyone to see my wrists or knees or anything because they’re so swollen. That’s why sometimes I can’t hold a pen straight or put on my own earrings or clasp a bracelet around my wrist. Half the time, I can’t even hold a spoon! And it’s the reason I couldn’t have killed Damien! There’s no way I would�
��ve been able to hold on to that stiletto and swing it at his head!”

  “Concetta, I’m so sorry,” Madison whispered. “Did you…tell that to the police?”

  “Yes,” she answered, hiccuping, dropping back down into the chair. “My parents made me. And you know what? The police still don’t buy it! They charged me with Damien’s murder anyway! They said that according to my medical records, my arthritis isn’t that advanced and that someone who only gets cortisone shots once every few months could still have done it!”

  “But they released you on bail,” Madison said. “That counts for a lot. That has to mean something.”

  “But look at my wrists!” Concetta held them out and up again. “You can see where they’re swollen. Do any of you think it’s possible? Do you still think I’m lying?”

  Park stared at her. “I can’t really blame the cops,” she said. “I mean, you admitted that you and Damien were dancing, which isn’t something a person in lots of pain can do. But what I really think is that there’s something you’re not telling me about the Black Cry Affair.” She paused. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Someone in the club had a motive to kill Damien, and you know what that motive is, Concetta.”

  Madison quickly applied the last coat of polish to Concetta’s nails, then capped the bottle and stood up.

  Lex twisted the last piece of hair into place. She tightened it with the rubber band and pinned it down, then walked around the chair to join her sisters.

  Concetta stared at each of them, her eyes wide and glassy, her breathing shallow. “I took an oath with my friends when I formed the Black Cry Affair,” she whispered, as if that would explain everything away.

  “Yeah, you all took an oath,” Park said. “But I have a feeling Damien wanted to break that oath, that he wanted out of the game. And you, Emmett, Julian, and Jessica didn’t want that to happen, did you?”

  “Maybe you were all afraid that Damien would blab about some of the things you guys do in the club,” Madison added. “Things that might embarrass you, or even get you into trouble.”