“No need for introductions, I see. Please do have a seat, Detective. Or should I say ‘Former detective’?”
Nigel guided Sean to the throne-like chair opposite Vincent, then turned and left the room. Sean sat down. He glared at me with pure hatred but didn’t say a word. Neither did I. His hair was slicked back and he wore an all-black tracksuit. Classic thug attire. No one who didn’t know better would have guessed he was the cop in the room. To my surprise, I felt more repulsed than afraid. The features I once thought of as chiseled now only looked hard. The eyes I thought of as piercing had turned ice-cold.
“Sean, I believe there’s a burden you’d like to get off your chest,” Vincent said. “A rumor you’d like to set straight involving you and my departed nephew.”
“Yes, sir, there is. But before I begin, I want to thank you again for posting bail. Five million is more than—”
“Don’t mention it, son. A man of your caliber has no place behind bars.”
Vincent’s manner was paternal, even affectionate. But he didn’t offer Sean a glass of wine. That might sound small, but when you’re a chef you notice these things. You understand what they mean—better than you understand words.
“First and foremost, Mr. Costello,” Sean said, “I didn’t kill your nephew. Anthony and I were friends. We were partners. Hell, we were like brothers.”
“Brothers kill each other all the time,” Vincent pointed out. “So do friends. As a homicide detective, you must know this.”
“Yes, but there’s usually a reason. A contested will. A woman. Some long-standing grudge. None of that was true with me and Anthony. I don’t have any family of my own. No siblings. My mother died when I was young, and my father’s a drunk. I haven’t seen him in twenty years. Anthony was an orphan, too, except he had you looking out for him. He took me in the way you took him in. We went out fishing on his boat. We played golf together. We talked. We grew to trust each other, and that was rare for both of us.
“Then he introduced me to you, invited me into the family business. He even gave my wife a job. It’s not easy making it on a cop’s salary. I owed—I owe—everything I have to your nephew. To you. I’m telling you, Mr. Costello, I wept when I heard he was dead. I had to run out of the squad room.”
He was getting teary now. I watched the whites of his eyes turn red. It was a damn fine performance, and I could sense exactly where it was going.
“As for how Anthony died and who killed him, I told it all to your man Defoe. Anthony and I both had our vices. We both paid the wrong kind of attention to the women in our lives. I have a temper. Sarah bore the brunt of my temper, even when it wasn’t her I was mad at. I was quick with a slap. Sometimes a punch. I’ll admit that. I see myself more clearly now than I ever have before. I deserve to be punished, but only for the crimes I did commit.
“And Anthony? Anthony was all appetite. Food, money, and especially women—he couldn’t get enough, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. That isn’t news to anyone at this table. I didn’t know that my wife was one of the women who said no until it was too late. It never occurred to me that Anthony would cross that line. Maybe that seems hard to believe given my years as a cop—given all the things I’ve seen people do to each other—but like I said, Anthony and I were close. I thought of him as a brother.”
Here he paused to wipe away tears with the heels of both palms. The waterworks were real even if the sentiment behind them was fake. I don’t know how Sean did it. He hadn’t trusted Anthony. He hadn’t loved him. He hadn’t thought of him as a friend, let alone a brother. He looked at Anthony and saw opportunity knocking—period. From day one it was a contest to determine who could remain useful the longest. Whoever won that contest would see the other buried or jailed. There was no third way for their relationship to end.
“Sarah had a violent husband and—I’m sorry to say it—a sexual predator for a boss,” Sean continued. “Maybe it was only natural that she’d find a violent solution.”
I rose halfway out of my chair, started to protest. Vincent held up a hand.
“You’ll have your turn,” he said. “For now, the floor belongs to your husband.”
I sneered at that last word but did as I was told. Sean finished making his case.
“Murdering Anthony and framing me for it was like killing two birds with one stone. Anthony would never lay hands on another woman, and she’d have her vengeance on me. Everybody knows that being a cop in prison is a fate worse than death. She’d wake up every morning with a smile on her face, thinking about the day that was in store for me.
“And it couldn’t have been the other way around. She couldn’t have killed me and framed Anthony for it. A Costello would have a brigade of lawyers behind him. They’d keep digging until the truth came out, and when it did, there’d be nowhere she could run to, nowhere she’d be safe. But me? A trial would eat through my resources in under a week.
“Like I told Defoe, I’m not just speculating here. It all came spilling out during the long drive from Texas to Tampa. The only thing she wouldn’t tell me was what role the other two played. She claimed it was self-defense, but once my knife turned up with Anthony’s blood on it, I knew that couldn’t be true. The three of them fled for a reason. It was all choreographed down to the last detail.”
He pushed back in his chair, let his head drop. All eyes turned to me. This was a Costello-style trial, and it was the defense’s turn to speak. Only I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Defoe had been right: this wasn’t my world.
But it was Sean’s. The parade of career criminals he’d interrogated over the years had taught him how to lie convincingly. The trick, it seemed, was to ground your lies in partial truths. My husband was violent. Anthony was a sexual predator. The three of us had killed Anthony and framed Sean. All that was true. But I hadn’t confessed. Sean hadn’t wept for Anthony, and he wasn’t an orphan: his mother was alive and well and teaching kindergarten in Boca Raton. She just didn’t want anything to do with her son anymore.
“Well?” Vincent asked.
I was that little girl on talent night all over again—struck dumb, unable to walk out onstage. I was sweating and breathing hard. My lower lip began to tremble. And all I could think to do was confess. Come clean and face my executioner.
Lucky for me there was a budding lawyer among us.
Chapter 47
Serena Flores
SARAH LOOKED as though someone was about to push her out of an airplane at thirty thousand feet. She needed help. I’d led Haagen and her sidekick by the nose—I figured I could do the same to Vincent. I took a long gulp of wine, then stood and stared him right in the eyes.
“It’s me you want to talk to,” I said. “I can tell you things about your nephew that not even Anna knows.”
“Oh, really?” he said, looking one part doubtful and two parts amused. “What kinds of things?”
“The kinds of things you might not want to hear. Tony was free and easy around the foreigner. Half the time he forgot I was there, and the other half he figured my English was only good for taking orders. Clean the toilet, scrub the floor, change the sheets. When he talked to me, he ended every sentence with comprende.”
“And yet you seem to speak English very well,” Vincent said.
“Yes, but never in front of him. I thought I’d be safer if he believed I couldn’t understand.”
“You were afraid of my nephew?”
“I was raped by your nephew. Let’s not dance around that word anymore. Tony might have been your blood, but he was an animal. I’m not afraid to say it. He hunted women the way animals hunt in the wild—he looked for the easiest, most vulnerable prey.”
I watched Vincent’s face very carefully. His expression told me I was reading him right. He valued plain speech. Sugarcoating to him was worse than lying.
He turned to Anna.
“Is this true?” he asked.
Anna shut her eyes hard and nodded.
“And did y
ou know about it at the time?”
She nodded again.
“That’s a shame,” he said. “If you’d come to me, I might have set him straight. If reason didn’t work, I would have killed him myself. Some indiscretions I’ll tolerate, but violence against the fairer sex isn’t one of them.”
There was no pity or compassion in his voice. He didn’t care about what had happened to me—he only cared that his nephew had done it.
“What about Sean’s indiscretions?” I asked. “He was the one who cleaned up after Anthony. He was the one who let us know exactly what would happen if we talked.”
I stared straight at Sean when I said this. I wanted him to see just how much I hated him. I wanted Vincent to see, too. Sean gritted his teeth and hissed at me.
“You lying little bitch,” he said. “You’ll be lucky if you—”
Vincent cut him off. He turned to one of his guards and said, “Tommy, the next time Detective Walsh speaks out of turn, kindly see to it that he never speaks again.”
Tommy nodded. Sean bit his lip. His face went red all the way up to the hairline.
“So what is it you know that I don’t?” Vincent asked.
“Sean and your nephew were robbing you blind,” I told him.
“Skimming off the top, were they?”
“Yes, but not only that. They were using your name to extort money.”
“Extort money from whom?”
I looked at Sarah. She nodded for me to keep going. The truth is, most of what I knew, I knew from her. Tony talked in front of me as if I wasn’t there, but it was Sarah who did the snooping, Sarah who opened drawers and looked in filing cabinets and stood in hallways with a hand cupped around her ear. She was the one who wanted to know, who had to know, what kind of business her husband was doing with a man like Tony. But she couldn’t be the one to tell Vincent what she’d learned. She couldn’t say out loud that she’d been spying on a member of the Costello family—not even a disgraced member.
“Anyone with power and a secret,” I said. “Cops on the take. Prosecutors who threw cases. Judges who overruled verdicts. Sean would hear rumors at work. He’d look into slam dunk convictions where the defendant went free on a technicality. He’d investigate drug dealers who were arrested once and then never again. He used his contacts. He used the police database. Once he was sure, once he had proof nobody could deny, he’d pass the intel on to Tony. Tony would use the proof to make threats. He’d say it was you who sent him. He’d demand a percentage: Pay up or go to jail. And while they were in jail, their families would be taken care of.”
“And not in the good way, I presume,” Vincent said.
Sean was struggling to control himself. Blood trickled from his bottom lip, and his right knee kept banging the table. Vincent, on the other hand, remained perfectly still, his expression neutral.
“Sean, is this true?” he asked.
“Not a word.”
“I can prove it,” I said.
“How?” Vincent asked.
“Tony kept a ledger. A handwritten ledger. Computers can be hacked or seized. Tony didn’t trust them. But it’s easy enough to hide a ledger where no one will ever find it. No one except maybe the maid. Like I said, Tony was careless in front of me. I saw where he put it.”
Vincent swallowed the last of his meal, then patted the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin.
“I’d like very much to see this ledger,” he said.
I started to tell him where it was. He held a finger to his lips.
“It’s best if that information stays between you and me,” he said. “Come whisper it in my ear.”
Until then I’d kept my voice steady, but now I was scared. I thought maybe I’d gone too far. Maybe Vincent couldn’t accept the things I’d said about his nephew. I saw him cutting my throat as I leaned in, making an example of me for the others.
But stealth attacks weren’t Vincent’s style. Instead, he patted my shoulder and called me a good girl.
I cupped both hands around his ear, said in the lowest voice he could possibly hear, “The fireplace in his den. The mantel is hollow.”
“Understood,” he said. Vincent’s eyes darted back and forth between me and Sean.
Then, loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, “I’m not easily impressed, young lady, but believe me when I say I wish I had a hundred like you.”
Chapter 48
Sarah Roberts-Walsh
WHAT HAPPENED next was so matter-of-fact, so casual, that it almost didn’t seem to be happening at all.
“Where are my manners?” Vincent asked. “Tommy, please bring ex-detective Walsh a glass.”
That was it. That was the signal. Tommy stepped over to a ceiling-high liquor cabinet, took a long-stemmed glass from the bottom shelf, and carried it to Sean. Then, in a single, smooth motion he pulled a bright blue nylon cord from his pocket and wrapped it around Sean’s neck.
Sean kicked, spat, flailed his arms. Tommy dragged him backward out of his chair and onto the floor. I felt myself screaming but couldn’t hear my own voice. Without knowing I would, I sprung up and flung my body at the man who was murdering my husband. Tommy’s understudy caught me in midair, spun me around, pinned my arms in a bear hug, and held me so that I couldn’t watch Sean’s last moments.
But I heard. I heard the half-formed words catching in Sean’s throat. I heard his heels knocking against the floor. I heard Tommy grunting. Worst of all, I heard the silence afterward.
Those mammoth arms let me go. I dropped to my knees, rocking back and forth and sobbing. I had no right. I knew I had no right. Not after what I’d done to Anthony. To Defoe. I shut my eyes, saw the blade cutting through Anthony’s shirt and sinking deep into his flesh, saw Defoe’s head reel back, saw the blood fly. I saw what I hadn’t really seen: my husband’s eyes rolling back, then falling shut for the last time. Things I’d done. Things I’d caused to happen. The images flew at me in 3-D, and I knew right then that I’d never be rid of them.
Anna and Serena came running over to me. I couldn’t tell them apart, couldn’t tell who was cradling me in her arms and who was stroking my hair. By the time they’d helped me to my feet, Sean’s body was gone.
It was just the three of us and Vincent in the room now. Vincent stood at the liquor cabinet, pouring two large snifters of brandy. He crossed the room, offered me one, waited patiently until I took it in both hands.
“Down in one,” he said. “Believe me, it helps.”
Then he went back to his seat at the head of the table. He was right about the brandy. I felt it moving through me, numbing me inch by inch. The trembling slowed, then stopped. Anna pulled out my chair. Serena held my arm while I lowered myself into it. Vincent sipped his drink while they took their seats. After what felt like eternity and a day, he cleared his throat.
“I suppose I didn’t have to do that in front of you,” he said, “but this is a world you chose for yourselves. All of you. There were other men to marry, other jobs to take. There were other ways to deal with my nephew. I see no reason to treat you with kid gloves.”
In other words, he knew. He knew it was us, and not Sean, who’d stabbed Anthony to death. He paused long enough for the weight of what he was saying to sink in.
“I didn’t post Sean’s bail out of the goodness of my heart,” he said. “I did it to end our partnership. You are absolutely right, Serena: he and my nephew were robbing me blind. I’ve known this for quite a while. I only played the doddering old man to buy time, get the facts in order. Some of those facts you’ve provided yourselves. Of course, Sean didn’t kill Anthony. I never believed that he did. I don’t know who wielded the knife, whether it was one of you or all of you, and to be blunt, I don’t care. The truth is, I should be grateful. Anthony’s murder saved me the hefty sum that comes with a contract killing. When I was younger, I handled these things myself. Now, I can’t afford the exposure.”
He swirled the brandy around in his glass, sniffed at it, took
a careful sip.
“This may sound strange given that I break the law for a living, but I didn’t get where I am today without being a man of principle. Anthony, like his father before him, was not a man of principle. Sean had no moral character whatsoever. Both deserved to die. Your actions, on the other hand, are not so ethically cut-and-dried. As someone who thrives on vengeance, it would be hypocritical of me to condemn you for killing the man who caused you such great pain. Then again, he was, as you say, my blood. If I fail to retaliate in any way, my enemies will think I’m weak. I’ve already taxed their patience by living this long.
“Of course, there’s also the matter of Defoe. I don’t look forward to telling Nigel, but to be honest that killing doesn’t bother me so much. Defoe was a liability. He was a pure mercenary, and every mercenary is a turncoat in the making. No, I’m inclined to think you did me a favor there, too.
“So here is what I propose, and it very well may be the fairest proposition I’ve ever made. You can go on with your lives. You can prosper, fall in love, repeat your mistakes or make new ones. But you can’t do it near me. In other words, I’m banishing you, much as kings banished their subjects in the days of yore. Florida is off-limits. Georgia and Alabama are ill-advised. Seattle, Los Angeles, San Francisco—these are real possibilities. If you’re feeling frugal, I hear Portland has its charms.
“Wherever you choose to go, you have twenty-four hours to get there. I won’t pursue you so long as I don’t know where you are, but if our paths happen to cross after the allotted time has passed, well…I doubt I need to finish the sentence. If you’re die-hard Floridians, at least you can take solace in this: I’m even older than I look. I doubt your exile will last a decade.”
He took another slow look around the room. Anna was staring down into her still-full glass. Serena was rubbing at a spot on the table with her thumb. They weren’t upset: they were trying to hide their relief. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel relieved, too. The whole sordid chapter was coming to a close. We’d made it. It had been ugly—uglier even than we’d imagined. The scars might fade with time, but they’d never heal. Still, we’d gone to war and won our freedom. Tomorrow would be day one of a brand-new life.
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