1 Murder Takes Time

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  It made him wonder about Nicky’s time in prison and what it felt like for him when he got out.

  CHAPTER 27

  RELEASE

  Wilmington—3 Years Ago

  August twenty-first was a beautiful day, unseasonably cool, clear skies—and it was the day I was getting out. I packed my things—a lighter I didn’t use anymore, pictures of Angela and Rosa Sannullo, and a letter from each of them.

  It took an hour to process my papers, ridiculous paperwork that should have taken ten minutes, but I had learned patience in prison, if nothing else. When the outside gates finally opened and I stepped outside, I almost didn’t believe it.

  I stopped, stared. Breathed deeply. Somehow this air was cleaner.

  A horn beep alerted me, and I jumped, turning toward the sound. An older model station wagon sat across the street. When the door opened, out stepped the most beautiful sight I had seen in years—Sister Mary Thomas.

  I’ll be damned.

  It was August, and even though a decent day, it was still warm to be wearing a long black habit. It covered her head, most of the face, and the rest of her body. Despite that, her smile stretched from ear to ear. I raced across the street, embracing her. “Sister Thomas, what are you doing here?”

  She patted me on the head, like she did when I was in first grade, then gave me one of her famous smiles. “Someone had to greet you, Niccolo. Now, get in and tell me all about your plans.”

  We made small talk as she drove toward Wilmington. I thanked her for the books she had sent me, and I told her how much I’d learned. We both avoided the subject of Angie, and it hung like a curtain between us.

  “You must be eager for some good food,” she said, and stopped at a small diner where a lot of the locals went. She slid into the last booth on the right, tucking in her habit as she did. I sat opposite her. “Tell me about yourself, Nicky. How is your life now?”

  I smiled. Couldn’t do anything but smile today. “Sister, I just got out. I don’t know what the hell…heck, I’m going to do, but right now life is great.”

  She laid her two magnificent hands on top of mine. Stared at me with her two magnificent eyes. “I have prayed for you all of these years.”

  The waitress came, and I ordered coffee.

  “Coffee for me as well,” Sister Thomas said, “and perhaps some pie.” She glanced at the menu again. “Apple pie.”

  I declined the pie. Had never been a big fan of apple pie.

  As soon as the waitress left, Sister Thomas peppered me with questions. “What will you do, Nicky? Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only had ten years to think about it.”

  We laughed, then talked more until the coffee came. When I saw her pie, I changed my mind and ordered some. Sister Thomas shook her head. “Share mine. I forgot how big it was.”

  “You sure?” I asked. When she nodded, I turned to the waitress. “Just another fork then.”

  “So really, what are your plans?”

  “I’m going to get a job, then I’m going to see Angie.”

  “Nicky…”

  I stared. Braced myself. The way she said “Nicky” told me something was wrong.

  “I don’t know if you know this, but Angela is married.” She squeezed my hand. “She has a child.”

  Sister Thomas could have hit me with a hammer and it wouldn’t have hurt as much. I remembered the letter Angie sent, the one I treasured. Her words had been my mantra through the toughest times in prison; they kept me going when I wanted to quit. ‘Find me Nicky. No matter what happens…’ What a crock of shit that was. Now she’s married. Jesus Christ, is that somebody else’s baby? Did she…

  I sipped coffee while fighting the urge to cry and curse at the same time. I didn’t trust my voice to speak her name, so I changed the subject. “I heard Tony’s in New York. I’ll probably go see him.”

  “No reason to leave Wilmington. The economy is booming. We have…”

  I downed the last sip of coffee, grounds and all. “I always wanted to see New York anyway; besides, I haven’t seen Tony or Suit in a long time. Be good to see what they’re up to.”

  A frown crossed her face. “Up to no good is what Tony Sannullo is. You would do better looking up Frankie.”

  I stared, probably blank-faced. I know I spoke with more than a little anger in my voice. “Forgive me, Sister, but I haven’t heard from anyone but you since Mamma Rosa died. I don’t know what anybody’s doing.”

  Silence fell between us, then tears welled in her eyes. She squeezed my hand again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, or I would have…” She stared straight at me, shook her head as if chastising herself. “I should have come more often. I thought you knew about Angela.”

  Knew about Angela? I know now. “Just tell me what’s going on with Tony.”

  She raised herself up with a big sigh, the kind of sigh only nuns and moms can accomplish, and then she composed herself. “Tony Sannullo is a mobster. There’s no nicer way to say it. And Paulie is hanging onto Tony’s coattails like he always has.” She smiled now. “But Frankie is a detective in Brooklyn.”

  “A what?”

  The smile remained, one of those impossible-to-wipe-off smiles. “He’s a detective, and I hear he’s doing quite well for himself.”

  The waitress refilled my cup. I picked it up and gulped some down. Shitty coffee, but better than what I’d had for ten years. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Niccolo.”

  Embarrassment flushed my face. “Sorry, Sister. Prison will do that to you.”

  We chatted about a lot of things for the next hour. I tried getting Sister Thomas out of there several times, but she kept drilling me with questions. The only thing on my mind was Angie, and the only thing I wanted to do was get the hell out of Wilmington. I was lucky that Delaware had abandoned its parole laws. If you served your time, you were free when you got out.

  “I can’t talk any longer, Sister. I’ve got to get going.” I stood, reaching for money, but she insisted on paying. I let her, since I had almost nothing with me and didn’t know how much it was going to cost to get to New York. Most of the money I earned from the cigarettes was squirreled away in a bank account, compliments of one of the financial guys in prison. The rest of the money—what I got when Rosa sold my father’s house—Tony had with him in New York. One more reason I had to get there.

  Sister Thomas paid the bill and, as we approached the car, she turned to me. “Where can I drop you?”

  It only took a second to think. I had decided in prison that I wasn’t going to be like Tony or go with him, but where else did I have to go? I sure as shit wasn’t staying here in Wilmington with Angie and her husband. “The train station.”

  “So, it’s New York.”

  I nodded.

  “May God go with you.”

  We rode to the station in silence—almost silence; she hummed one of her silly tunes.

  Her and Mamma Rosa, I thought. When we got within a few blocks of the station, her humming got louder. She was always humming, and it was always a happy song, though back in school she seemed to hum the loudest just before she whacked me with the pointer or whatever she had in her hand. I half expected to be beaten right now, but I didn’t see a pointer or yardstick, so I felt safe. She turned the corner onto Front Street, and, as we pulled to the curb, I grabbed my things. Just before closing the door, I hesitated, turned back toward her.

  “Sister, I—”

  She shook her head. “If you are going to ask me to take a message to Angela, the answer is no. I taught you better than that. Do your own dirty work.”

  Now I was embarrassed. My head drooped.

  “I’ll drive you to her house if you want.”

  “No thanks, Sister.”

  She beeped as she drove off. I waved, but didn’t bother to turn around. There was a train waiting for me, and it was going to New York. I had mixed feelings about going there. On one hand, it would be great to see the old gan
g again, but on the other, I didn’t know if I even wanted to see Tony after what he’d done the night Mick died. I learned to forgive a lot in prison, but I had a rotten feeling about it all.

  CHAPTER 28

  A CLEANSING OF THE SOUL

  Wilmington—3 Years Ago

  Angela Catrino-Ferris dragged her tired body up the hill toward the three-story brick building that housed St. Elizabeth’s. Kids of all ages rushed past her on their way home. School had started a week ago, and most of the kids were still in summer mode with a boundless supply of energy waiting to be expended. She had long ago learned the joy of walking, one of many things Rosa Sannullo taught her. A smile that accompanied any thought of Rosa lit Angie’s face.

  The smile broadened as she crossed Banning Street. Sister Mary Thomas stood at the door, waving to the children as they left, the ever-present pointer in her hand in case it was needed on some of the more rambunctious ones. Angie waved to her and climbed the six steps to the landing.

  “Angela, how nice to see you. How is little Rosa doing?”

  Angie blushed. “She’s fine, Sister, but I’m sure you know that. You’re the only one she talks about.”

  A vague smile appeared, one only nuns can produce—the kind that told nothing. It could make a person feel warm or frighten them, depending on their state of mind. Sister Mary Thomas ushered the last few kids out the door, nodding and waving to their chants of “goodbye, Sister Thomas” or “see you tomorrow, Sister Thomas.” When the last of them had gone, she turned to face Angie. “Come up to the classroom, Angela.”

  Angie followed her up the stairs, amazed at how fit Sister Thomas was for her age. When they got to the second floor, they entered the first door on the right, same as it had been many years ago. The door closed behind them, and Angie broke silence. “Why did you want to see me, Sister?”

  “It’s nice that you still get to the point right away.” Sister Mary Thomas set her pointer on the desk, erased the chalkboard, and pulled a desk next to the one Angie sat in. “I pass Rosa in the hall quite often. I’ve seen bruises on her too many times to blame it on accidents.”

  Angie lowered her head.

  Sister Thomas wrapped her hands around one of Angie’s. “Would you like to talk about it?”

  She kept her head lowered. “Sister, I have wanted to talk to you for a long time, but…”

  Sister Thomas waited five, perhaps ten seconds. “But?”

  Tears welled in Angie’s eyes. “There are things I can’t tell anybody. Not even you.”

  Sister Thomas stood, walked a bit across the room and back, mostly in small circles. “I’m not going to tell you that you can trust me. You know that. I’m not going to tell you what you need to do. You know that as well. What I will remind you of is what I taught you in my class: Embarrassment and guilt are the two most powerful deterrents to truth. They are also two of the worst reasons to avoid the truth.” Sister Thomas reversed her course and stopped in front of Angie’s desk. “Talk to me if you like, or go talk to Father Tom. Do whatever you have to…but if I see bruises on that child one more time…” Somehow the pointer had gotten back in her hand. It wagged as if it were a cobra ready to strike.

  “Sister, it started just a short while ago. I think Marty realized Rosa wasn’t his daughter.”

  Sister Thomas looked at her. “She does bear a resemblance to her father.”

  Angie lowered her head, embarrassed. “Yes, Sister, I know.” She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

  Sister Thomas rubbed her shoulder, then moved the long hair from Angie’s face. “I think Father Tom is in church now. I’m sure he would be glad to hear confession or just talk.”

  Angie lowered her head, nodded a few times, then hurried for the door. As she placed her hand on the knob, she turned. “Thank you.”

  Nuns could do many things others couldn’t. Along with their smiles, they had perfected the art of nodding. The one she gave Angie had forty years of comfort in it. “Go on, child. Go see Father Tom.”

  ANGIE FELT LIKE RUNNING, but she didn’t know which direction to go—see Father Tom…or run home and hide. Sister Thomas’ words pounded in her head.

  Embarrassment and guilt are the two most powerful deterrents to truth.

  After all, isn’t that what she’d been doing, hiding from the truth? When she exited the school, she turned right.

  Church it is.

  The one block that separated the back of the school from the front of the church seemed like a mile, and the barely measurable incline seemed like a mountain. Angie wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, blaming it on September heat, but suspecting nerves. Despite the obstacles, she made it. A blast of cool air hit her as she opened the door into the vestibule, stepping onto the floor that she had always found so beautiful. She hadn’t noticed the floor in so long, perhaps it was because her head was lowered today.

  Seems like even shame can open up new worlds. She crossed into the church with a few steps, treading carefully so she made no noise, and dipped her hand into the holy water to bless herself.

  Father Tom was speaking with a nun at the front of the church. Angie grew anxious as she waited, but made her way down the center aisle, then she genuflected and slid into a pew about six rows back. She blessed herself, lowered her head, and prayed. Her prayers continued for a moment, until she heard the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps leaving the altar. Angie added that to the list of nuns’ special powers—perhaps they had taught ninjas long ago, or maybe even been ninjas; they did wear black robes.

  She risked a look to the front. Father Tom was heading in her direction.

  “Angela.” He whispered it, the way everyone does in church, but her name seemed to echo.

  She did her best to lower her voice. “Father Tom, I…”

  Priests didn’t have all the powers nuns did, but they had some of them, and he recognized a troubled person when he saw one. “Would you like to talk?”

  “I don’t know, Father. I came—”

  “For confession, then? There’s no need to wait for Saturday.”

  Angie’s face lit up. She stood. “I think I would like that, Father. If you don’t mind.”

  He gestured with his right arm, indicating the confessional he would use. Angie followed, spread the curtains, and knelt on the pad. She blessed herself as she said, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eleven years since my last confession.”

  A hesitation followed that made Angie nervous. She half expected him to come out of the box and chide her.

  “Eleven years is a long time, my child. God is overjoyed to have you back.”

  She couldn’t speak; the words stuck in her throat.

  “Go on, my child. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Father, I…I have sinned.”

  He waited. “Everyone sins. Even priests.”

  “I married a man I did not love…because of a child.”

  “You were pregnant?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “While that is not…condoned by the church, it is not the most grievous sin.”

  “My husband sometimes beats our daughter. I have thrown him out, Father, but still…when he sees her…”

  She sat through silence. For the first time she realized that a priest didn’t have a handbook of answers back there, that for more serious things, a priest might have to think before they spoke. She prayed he thought this through right.

  “There are several ways to deal with that. He needs counseling, and she should get some as well. But, regardless tell him if he does it again you are going to the police. And make certain that you do, Angela.”

  She gulped. She had never had a priest call her by name in the confessional. Angie felt like finding a place to hide—forever.

  “Does he hit you?”

  “Never.” The shame struck her. Maybe he should be hitting her, instead of Rosa.

  “Why does he hit her?”

  “I don’t know. I…” She
shook her head, the tears that had dried resurfacing. “Yes I do know, Father. She’s not his child. He knows it, and he takes it out on her.” Angie paused. “He’s a good man, Father, it’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “He never hit her until I told him the child wasn’t his. It’s my fault.” More silence. Angie felt like running through those curtains, out the door, down the block, and all the way home. She wondered if Father Tom had ever experienced a person as foul as she was.

  “I’m proud of you for coming here. Go home to your family. Convince him to see someone, and make sure you protect your daughter.”

  “I will, Father. Thank you.” She wasn’t smiling, but she already felt better, and there was no shame this time when he called her by name.

  “Oh, and Angela, say a rosary before you leave.”

  “Yes, Father. Thank you.” She blessed herself as she stood, barely able to contain her relief. Why hadn’t she done this years ago?

  She opened her purse, took a rosary from a small pocket on the side, then knelt in the pew closest to the altar; somehow it made her feel closer to God. She mouthed the prayers as she counted the beads, each one relieving another burden from her heart. After finishing, she hurried from the church to get home. Tonight she would cook Rosa’s favorite meal. She had to hurry, though, because right now she had the courage to tell her. If it waited too long, she might not. The truth was sometimes a horrible thing.

  CHAPTER 29

  WHERE IS THE EVIDENCE?

  Brooklyn—Current Day

  Lou Mazzetti climbed the stairs one at a time, each one a struggle. His right hand gripped the rail and each time he lifted his foot, he tugged himself forward and up.