1 Murder Takes Time

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  She took my hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “What about your daughter?”

  She half-frowned, half-smiled. “Our daughter, remember? She won’t be home for hours.”

  “I intend to make up for lost time. It might take that long.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  She kissed me quick. “I know you will.” As we climbed the stairs, she turned to me. “The best thing for you is that I taught her to cook just like Mamma Rosa. Now you’ll have two chefs in the house.”

  When we got to the bedroom, we fell into a rhythm that was unexplainable. It had been thirteen years. We should have been ripping clothes off each other in some sort of lustful rage; instead, we moved slowly, passionately. Every movement stimulated a sensual response. We fell to the bed, naked, embracing each other and rolling over and over. Nothing touched but our lips and our bodies. After what seemed like forever, I kissed her everywhere, leaving no part of her untouched. Afterwards we made love. It was the best I’d ever felt.

  Old memories, especially wonderful ones, die hard. We must have both remembered that, because the scene that played out was exactly like that one so long ago, when we first made love.

  After we finished, she rolled over on top of me. We kissed. Laughed. And when we were all done playing, she lay her head on my shoulder, arm draped across my neck. “I love you, Niccolo Fusco.”

  I kissed her forehead, then her nose. And said the same thing I said that first night. “And I love you, Angela Catrino.”

  As we lay there in each other’s arms, I stared at the ceiling, letting my mind wander. I thanked God for giving me the chance to make things right. For giving me a chance to live again. I’d be with Angie forever now. Nothing would get in the way. Then I thought about Rosa, and how beautiful she was. How lucky I was to not only have Angie, but a daughter too. As I dreamt of her, I thought of the mark on her face where Marty had slapped her. And I thought of the scar I saw above her left eye. My blood boiled. Fists clenched.

  I promise, Rosa. He will pay for this.

  Angie reached over, must have felt my heart racing. “Are you okay, Nicky? You seem upset.”

  I breathed deep. Forced myself to relax. “Nothing to be upset about. Not anymore.” I laughed. “I just can’t believe I’m here and that we’re together again. Everything will be fine now.”

  I thought of Rule Number Six—murder is immaculate. As I stroked Angie’s hair, kissing it, a list formed in my mind.

  Rope

  Tape

  Four-inch, no, five-inch screws

  Acid—yes, acid

  A funnel

  I snapped out of it, shaking my head. No way was I going back to that life. I was through with it for good, and no asshole like him was going to drag me to the gutter again.

  Angie must have sensed something. She turned on the light next to the bed, then rolled over to face me, with those eyes I couldn’t resist. “Nicky Fusco, promise me that you’re through with the past.”

  I leaned up to kiss her, but she pulled back. “Promise me.”

  I looked into her eyes for a long time, felt them burn through me. There had only been three people in my whole life I couldn’t refuse—Mamma Rosa, Sister Mary Thomas, and Angie. “All right, but if—”

  She stopped me with a kiss as sweet as any I’ve ever tasted. “Promise.”

  I hesitated for only a second or two, then hugged her. “I promise, Angie. And you know I always keep my promises.”

  EPILOGUE

  ‘Detective First Class Frankie Donovan—Hero’

  That’s what the headlines said two days later. No one really believed all that shit, but the FBI wrapped it up nicely. Tito Martelli had killed those people, including a lady from Ohio and an accountant years ago in Queens. They found the gun in Tito’s pocket—with ballistics matches—and the gun even had Tito’s prints on it. They also had Tito’s DNA at all of the crime scenes except for the Queens accountant and the girl in Cleveland. The papers never mentioned the other DNA.

  The FBI had wiretaps that showed Tito meeting with the people he’d supposedly killed, with the exception again of the girl and the accountant, but there were a few phone calls from Tito’s house to a hotel in Cleveland just before she died. The FBI confirmed that Tony Sannullo had been wearing a wire to get evidence on Tito, which was probably why Tony was also killed. The only mystery was who killed Tito. The media put the blame on Tony’s friend Paulie “The Suit” Perlano, who was missing.

  Frankie tried to discourage that speculation, but they ran with it. Anything for a story. The FBI wanted to know about the mysterious Nicky Fusco, who had been the main suspect right up to the end, but Frankie convinced them that it would look bad for the Bureau if people found out they had spent so much time and money chasing a suspect only to have to let him go. Frankie also let them have the glory for solving the case, taking only the residuals for himself and Lou.

  As he walked down the hall from the press briefing, Mazzetti intercepted him. “Good job, Donovan. We did all right, didn’t we?”

  “I gave you the credit, Lou. After our Fed friends, of course.”

  “It will help my retirement.”

  “Don’t tease me with those thoughts. I need a nice female partner.” Frankie laughed, then asked if Lou wanted coffee.

  “Not for me. I’m glad this worked out for you.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I mean about your friend, that Rat guy. Nice that it turned out not to be him after all.”

  Frankie wondered where he was going with this. “Yeah. That had me worried.”

  “Guess old Tito just went nuts, torturing and killing people.”

  “Not like he didn’t kill people, Lou.”

  “I sure wish I could figure out who shot Tito. That would really tie this up.”

  “Could have been Paulie. Hell, it could have been anybody. Tito had a lot of enemies.”

  Lou reached down and scratched his leg as they walked. “Hey, Donovan, did I tell you I finally caught that rat at my house?”

  “No, but I’m happy for you. I’d hate to have a rat in my house.”

  “Same here. Couldn’t stand it. I didn’t kill it, though.”

  “Didn’t kill it? What the hell did you do with it?”

  Lou raised his eyebrows and calmly said, “I let it go. We came to a kind of understanding. It stopped eating my cereal, and I stopped trying to trap it.” Lou lit a smoke as he walked.

  Frankie smiled. “I think you did the right thing, Lou. See you later.”

  FRANKIE NEARLY RAN FROM the office. It had been a long day of wrapping up paperwork on the cases. He hated paperwork, but at least it wasn’t as bad as the shit the Feds had to go through. When he left Harding and Maddox, they still had hours until they finished. As an afterthought, Frankie tried reaching Mazzetti to see if he wanted to catch dinner, but he didn’t answer, so he called Kate. The phone rang four times, then clicked to the machine. He wasn’t used to getting her message, and it was unexpectedly short.

  “This is Kate, leave me a message.”

  Bugs hesitated. “Hey, uh, Kate, this is Frankie. I was checking to see what you were doing. Thought maybe…I don’t know…thought maybe I’d see if that offer you made was still open.” He hung up and felt stupid. Christ. He sounded like a goddamn tongue-tied kid.

  He drove on, admonishing himself for three or four blocks, but then as he went through a nice neighborhood, thinking about how things had gone, he turned philosophical. Tony was dead. Paulie was gone. Nicky was gone too. All of his friends were out of his life, probably forever. It was time to get a new life. Though he wondered about Kate, he felt certain she wanted nothing to do with him. Frankie needed something. Nicky and Tony had dragged him back to their world, but he couldn’t stand the thought of a return to his previous existence. Shawna, the hot reporter he once dated, came to mind. She was dangerous. Sexy too. But despite the feelings she stirred in him, he chased the thought
away.

  He drove slower than usual on the way home, wondering what the hell he was going to do with his life. He’d been going along, thinking he was sacrificing something by being a cop, not having fun like Tony and Paulie. Now he saw that was a farce, but he’d wasted thirteen years. As he turned the corner onto his street, a horn blared. He waved to a neighbor pulling out and saving him the parking space. Maybe this would be a good new life, he thought as he parked.

  Frankie walked to the corner, got a bottle of wine, some candy, and a pack of smokes. Alex and Keisha sat on the stoop, occupying their normal spots. Smiles popped onto their faces as he tossed the candy to them in an underhand, softball-style pitch.

  “Thanks, FD,” they both said at once.

  He rubbed their heads as he went past, then made the ritual climb to his apartment. Twenty minutes later, he was showered and sitting around in boxers and a T-shirt, sipping wine and smoking. As he checked to see what movies were on, someone knocked on the door.

  Who the hell…?

  He thought about throwing some pants on, but only for a second. It’s probably Alex. When he opened it, he just gaped.

  “Do I get to come in?” Kate asked, her hands full with pizza and wine.

  Bugs stepped aside to let her in, then closed the door quickly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You sounded like you needed some company, so I canceled all my dates, and here I am.”

  He took the pizza from her and carried it to the table. He wasn’t even hungry, but right now, pizza never looked so good.

  Bugs suddenly realized he was in his shorts. “Damn, excuse me, Kate. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ve seen you in less,” she said. “Sit down. We’ve got hot pizza and slightly-chilled wine.”

  Frankie opened the wine, got some plates, then sat next to her. They didn’t talk about cases, or cops, or anything of importance. She told him about growing up in Illinois. He told her about the old neighborhood, about his father and mother, and about Tony, Paulie, and Mick. But mostly he told her about Nicky.

  “We had this crazy oath we used to swear to,” he said. “We’d put our fists together and raise them in the air and holler, ‘Friendship and honor.’ It was kind of stupid, but it worked for a long time.” He stared at the blank wall with a glazed look in his eyes.

  “So what ever happened with this oath?”

  Bugs snapped out of it. “The oath? It’s dead, Kate. All the guys are gone.”

  She rested her chin on her knuckles, elbows on the table. “You know, I like you Frankie. Not for sex,” she quickly added, “but I’m thinking I could be a friend. If you need one, that is.”

  Frankie looked at her with what he knew was the best smile he’d worn in years. “You feel like watching a movie?”

  “What kind?”

  “You know I like old ones. Black-and-whites are best.”

  “I think so too,” she said, then got up, kicked her shoes off, and curled up on a corner of the couch. “Now you can put some pants on. I don’t want that thing poking out during the movie.”

  Frankie’s laughter followed him from the room.

  Kate took a sip of wine and smiled, and then she laughed too, really hard, the way she used to when they dated.

  Back in the bedroom, Frankie dressed and thought about Kate. She didn’t care about his barren apartment, or about his building with no elevator. And she held no grudges from before. Most important of all, she was here for him. Here without even being asked.

  The more he thought about it, he realized she was like a friend from the old neighborhood. Maybe friendship and honor weren’t dead after all. He hummed an old tune of Mamma Rosa’s while he slipped on his shirt, then, as he buttoned his pants, he heard Kate’s laughter bouncing off the barren walls, filling his empty bedroom.

  Frankie stopped dressing, sat on the bed—and just listened.

  Acknowledgments

  The tough part of writing a book is not the writing, it’s all the stuff that comes after that. I’ll take credit for the writing. For the tough parts I am honor bound to thank the following:

  My great copyeditor, Annette Lyon from Precision Editing Group.

  A fantastic graphic designer, Goce Veselinovski, for the book cover.

  Chris Fisher and Morgana Gallaway for the amazing layout and formatting.

  And most importantly the army of beta readers who whipped this book into shape. They caught the mistakes I let slip.

  Missy, my daughter-in-law, the one who suffered through those first drafts, and second, and third…

  My daughter, Aliza, for spending countless nights arguing over what to edit out of the book. My sister, Rose, for her perception of human nature. My sons, Jimmy and Tony. My brother Chris, and all the others: Sahrina, Otto, Dana, Tom Connelly, Susan Henderson, Kathy Jensen, John Hannagan, Paul Campbell, and my good friend, Danette Ondi, for the keen insight and suggestions.

  Magnificent authors and dear friends: Elizabeth Hull, who brings her characters to life like no other; Carlos Cortes, whose eloquence in his second language exceeds my native tongue; and Tochi Onyebuchi, whose imagination I can only hope to grasp a part of.

  And to two of my oldest friends: Lee Comegys and Steve Budney. You know why.

  None of this would have been possible if not for the dedicated, loving nuns at St. Elizabeth’s, who inspired, encouraged, motivated, and beat an education into me.

  Special thanks to my Aunt Rose and Aunt Margaret, two of the most magnificent people on earth. And to my mother and father, two of the most magnificent people no longer on earth. Lastly, to my wife, Mikki, the love of my life, the one I was meant to love from day one. She is my “Angela.”

  Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore.

  About the Author

  I live in Texas now, but I grew up in Cleland Heights, a mixed ethnic neighborhood in Wilmington, Delaware, that sat on the fringes of the Italian, Irish and Polish neighborhoods. The main characters of Murder Takes Time grew up in Cleland Heights and many of the scenes in the book were taken from real-life experiences.

  Somehow I survived the transition to adulthood, but when my kids were young I left the Northeast and settled in Texas, where my wife suggested we get a few animals. I should have known better; we now have a full-blown animal sanctuary with rescues from all over. At last count we had 41 animals—12 dogs, a horse, a three-legged cat and 26 pigs. Oh, and one crazy—and very large—wild boar, who takes walks with me every day and happens to also be my best buddy.

  Since this is a bio some of you might wonder what I do. By day I am a headhunter, scouring the country for top talent to fill jobs in the biotech and medical device industry. In the evening I help my wife tend the animals, and at night—late at night—I turn into a writer.

  Thanks for taking a look at the book, and if you have time, please explore the website: www.giacomogiammatteo.com

  And don’t forget to let me know what you think.

  jim@giacomogiammatteo.com

  Thanks for taking the time to read the book. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Authors live and die on recommendations and reviews, so if you liked the book, please tell someone about it. And if you have a spare moment, I’d love for you to put a review wherever you can: Amazon, B&N, iBooks, Kobo, Goodreads, Linked-in, Twitter or Facebook.

  If you’re looking for more of Frankie Donovan and Nicky Fusco, they’ll be back in Murder Has Consequences, the second book in the Friendship & Honor Series, scheduled for an October release. In the meantime, A Bullet For Carlos, the first in the Blood Flows South Series, will be released in July. I think you’ll like it.

  Thanks again for your time,

  Giacomo

  If you would like to be notified of future releases please go to the website and sign up for the mailing list: www.giacomogiammatteo.com

  If you want to email me about this book, please use:

  suggestions@murdertakestime.com

  For anything else: jim@giacomogiammatteo.co
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  A BULLET FOR CARLOS

  Detective Connie Gianelli has a love/hate relationship with her uncle, head of a New York crime family, but when an undercover bust goes bad she is left wondering who to trust—her family, or the cops who wear the same badge she does.

  You can read the first chapter at the website.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Rule Number One—Murder Takes Time

  Chapter 2: A Big Mistake

  Chapter 3: Ties to the Past

  Chapter 4: With Life Comes Death

  Chapter 5: Coppers

  Chapter 6: Confession

  Chapter 7: Investigation

  Chapter 8: The Oath

  Chapter 9: Mikey “The Face” Fagullo

  Chapter 10: More Evidence

  Chapter 11: Angela

  Chapter 12: A Stacked Deck

  Chapter 13: What’s in a Name?

  Chapter 14: Roach Races

  Chapter 15: Forbidden Fruit

  Chapter 16: More Charts

  Chapter 17: A New Direction

  Chapter 18: A Gathering of Friends

  Chapter 19: Thoughts of Death

  Chapter 20: Death Is Forever

  Chapter 21: Confinement

  Chapter 22: Bad News Never Stops

  Chapter 23: Another Funeral

  Chapter 24: Things in Common

  Chapter 25: Reformation

  Chapter 26: Marriage Lasts Forever

  Chapter 27: Release

  Chapter 28: A Cleansing of the Soul

  Chapter 29: Where Is the Evidence?

  Chapter 30: Reunion

  Chapter 31: Questioning

  Chapter 32: A New Job

  Chapter 33: Very Good Friends

  Chapter 34: Johnny Muck

  Chapter 35: Johnny Muck Takes an Apprentice

  Chapter 36: Donnie Amato

  Chapter 37: An Unexpected Call

  Chapter 38: Special Delivery

  Chapter 39: DNA Doesn’t Lie

  Chapter 40: Motives