Corrupted: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel

by Lisa Scottoline

  She opted for one of the tables alongside a lineup of lighted cases with refrigerated beer and another TV, playing the Weather Channel on mute. She pulled up a chair, slid out of her coat, and sat down at one of the square pine tables. The menu was a trifold plastic affair, and she lost herself in the down-home fare of kielbasa, Texas Tommy, and Italian sausage, even though she was a vegetarian.

  “How can I help you?” said the bartender, setting down a tumbler of water, and Bennie looked up. He smiled, a short man with gray hair, a white shirt, and worn jeans.

  “I’d like a grilled cheese, please.”

  “Kitchen’s about to close, but I’ll see what I can do. Be right back.” The bartender left, and Bennie rummaged in her purse for her cell phone, which she flipped open. Heads turned at the bar, and she pressed in the phone number, realizing that she was the person everybody hated, the certified big deal who talked on the cell phone in public. Still, she had a client to update. The phone rang once, and Matthew picked up.

  “Bennie, how did it go?”

  “I talked it over with Doreen, and she apologizes for Richie’s behavior. But I’m not sure we can count on her help going forward, and I’m going to stay over, do some legal research, and see what I can do tomorrow.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to get him out?”

  “I won’t know anything until I do the research, so I’ll let you know tomorrow. Fair enough?” Bennie looked over as the front door opened, letting in a blast of cold air and a very tall, dark-haired man in a brown Carhartt coat and jeans, who nodded to the men at the bar.

  Matthew was saying, “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome, good night.” Bennie pressed END, noticing that the man in the Carhartt coat was eyeing her with a vaguely cocky smile. He was handsome, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been picked up in a bar with antlers.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” the man asked, crossing the room toward her table. “I’m Declan Mitchell—”

  “Um, I’d rather not—”

  “—Doreen Grusini’s brother. You must be Bennie Rosato.”

  “Oh, sure, sit down.” Bennie blinked, taken aback.

  “I just missed you at my sister’s.” Declan eased his large frame into the seat, oversized for the table. He had to be six-foot-five and maybe 230 pounds. “I was on the way home when I saw your car.”

  “How did you know it was mine?”

  “The residential parking sticker for Philly.”

  “Observant.”

  “Occupational hazard. I’m a state trooper.”

  Bennie thought it explained his size and demeanor, which was generally authoritative. It didn’t, however, explain his hotness. Not that she was interested. She went for the brainy, bespectacled type who tried harder, not the drop-dead-babe type with the world on a string. She glanced reflexively at his hand, which lacked a wedding band.

  “I wanted to talk with you about my nephew Richie.”

  “Sure.” Bennie noticed that over Declan’s shoulder, the bartender was coming over, carrying a glass of water.

  “Sergeant Mitchell,” the bartender said, with a grin. “You want the usual? Meatball sandwich?”

  “Please, if Sara’s still around to fix it for me.”

  “For you, she’s around. For you, she’ll kill the cow with her bare hands.” The bartender turned away and lumbered off toward the kitchen, and Declan faced Bennie with a sheepish smile.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries.” Bennie didn’t say, Must be tough being the hot single cop in a small town.

  “So you sue law enforcement for a living.” Declan’s tone was matter-of-fact, without rancor.

  “Among other things, but how do you know that?”

  “You left your business card with my sister. I looked up your website. You won a three-million-dollar case against the Philly police.” Declan’s eyes flared a rich, disapproving brown, roundish and wide-set. “Last year, you even won a case against us.”

  “I’m weeding out your bad apples. You can thank me anytime.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” Declan snorted. He had a strong, straight nose and a largish mouth, with full lips. In fact, he had the lips Bennie always wished she had, which were wasted on a man.

  “Anybody who breaks the law has to account, even if they wear a badge.”

  “So that’s how it is, Philly? You uphold the law?”

  “Yes, I serve and protect. I just don’t have to write it all over my car, like some people we know.” Bennie kept it light, wondering if she could get him on her side, for Jason’s sake. “Did you talk to your sister about us joining forces? Because I really think we can help both kids if we work together.”

  “Now you’re making sense. Strength in numbers.” Declan’s expression darkened, a frown crossing his face. “Doreen told me what Richie said to Jason about his mother. Sorry.”

  “Thanks. The two boys have an ongoing problem, as you may know.”

  “No, I didn’t know. I’ve been out of touch with Richie. We used to get along better than we do.”

  “Richie bullies Jason because he’s overweight. It’s not fair and it has to stop.”

  “Richie’s had a rough go since his dad took off.”

  “That’s no excuse. Jason’s mother died, and he doesn’t bully anybody. No kid deserves to be tormented at school. Richie needs limits and counseling.”

  “I agree.” Declan met Bennie’s eye, his dark gaze direct. “I had him in counseling. He stopped going. He pushes back against authority, including me.”

  “Your sister seems to think juvie will scare him straight.”

  “It won’t. It’s incarceration. Nobody comes out of prison better than they went in.”

  Bennie heard the tinge of pain in his tone, as well as the conviction in his words, which rang true. So maybe he was smarter than she thought.

  “That’s why I caught up with you.” Declan raked his thick hair with his hand, shifting forward in his chair. “We should team up. If we can get one kid out of River Street, we can get the other one out, right? Their interests aren’t in conflict.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.” Bennie shifted forward, too, heartened. “Their legal arguments are identical. They both signed the same form, which is constitutionally defective.”

  “If I’d been there, I wouldn’t have let her sign that form. By the time I got to the courthouse, it was over.” Declan’s frown deepened. “Richie got the lighter sentence because Doreen told the judge I’m with the PSP. She leads with that when Richie gets in trouble.”

  “I see.” Bennie remembered that PSP stood for Pennsylvania State Police. She wondered if Declan’s connection to law enforcement could help Jason, too.

  “Anyway, I don’t want Richie in River Street another minute.”

  “I know, it’s disgusting.”

  “The problem isn’t the building. River Street is a catchall. They don’t segregate the firestarters, kids with substance abuse problems, even sexual offenders.” Declan shook his head. “Last week, I arrested a seventeen-year-old for assault with a deadly weapon. A bat. He was sent to River Street. They’re there for ag assault, burglary, arson, heroin, and meth. They’re much older than Richie. They’re men.”

  Bennie shuddered to think of Jason in jail, playing with his Lego set. “Is there a lot of crime out here? I didn’t think there would be.”

  “We have fewer murders than Philly. That’s only a matter of density. I’m not going to let my nephew learn to be a criminal from professionals. I want Richie out.”

  “And I want Jason out. There has to be a way.” Bennie spoke from the heart, since she didn’t have to manage his expectations. “There’s no provision for rehearings, but I have to go back to Common Pleas Court, for starters. Also my alternative argument would be for at-home placement and only the lower court can order that.”

  “So you file something?”

  “Exactl
y, and right away.”

  “What do you file?” Declan frowned, puzzled.

  “It doesn’t matter what it’s called. Whether I call it a petition or a motion, it’s just a way to talk to the court.”

  “Form over substance.”

  “Exactly.” Bennie liked that he understood. “I’m going to get something in front of a judge tomorrow, if it kills me.”

  “Would you represent Richie, too?”

  Bennie hesitated. “I shouldn’t.”

  “Why not, if their interests aren’t in conflict?”

  It was a good question. “They could be, down the line.”

  “And you’d throw Richie under the bus?”

  “If I had to, yes. I’m not about to apologize for it. Jason wouldn’t be in jail but for Richie’s bullying.”

  “Whoa. Relax.” Declan bristled.

  “I am relaxed.” Bennie hated it when people told her to relax.

  “You’re tough.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Play nice.” Declan recoiled. “We’re on the same team.”

  “Okay. Fine.” Bennie tried to dial it back. She rowed a single scull. Life was an individual sport. “Look, the best thing for both kids is if you get Richie a lawyer, somebody local, who specializes in juvenile law. Then we can cooperate and share information like co-counsel.”

  “I got the name of a lawyer in Hershey who does juvenile work. I’ll call him and see if he’ll take the case.”

  “Good. Hire him. I’ll email him whatever papers I draft. He can copy them and file them right away, too. I was about to go to the Hilton and do some research. I have my laptop.”

  “The Hilton in Wilkes-Barre? It’s closed for renovation.”

  “For real?” Bennie asked, dismayed. “Is there another one nearby? I don’t want to drive home this late.”

  “You can’t drive to Philly in this weather. You don’t have four-wheel drive. We already closed part of I-80.”

  “What about another inn, or a bed-and-breakfast?”

  “The nearest one is too far.” Declan frowned. “I live five minutes from here, over the hill. Stay at my place. I have plenty of room.”

  “No, thanks.” Bennie thought it was too random. She hardly knew him. She wasn’t even sure she liked him, Mr. Always Gets What He Wants.

  “You have no choice. You can’t drive in this.”

  “There has to be an inn closer.” Bennie reached for her phone to check.

  “Not as close as my house. There’s accidents everywhere. It’s going to snow until three in the morning.” Declan turned and signaled to the bartender, who was already on his way to the kitchen.

  “But I have work to do.”

  “Work in my home office. Use my computer and printer. I’m not taking no for an answer.” Declan pushed out his chair, just as the bartender came from the kitchen, carrying a brown bag.

  “Declan, here we go. Grilled cheese and a meatball sandwich. I’ll put it on your tab.”

  “Thanks.” Declan took the bag. “Good night, Lee. Say hi to Susan for me.”

  “Good night.” The bartender nodded. “Hi to Melissa, too.”

  “Will do.” Declan returned with the bag, and Bennie assumed Melissa was his girlfriend.

  Poor thing.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bennie wolfed down her grilled cheese as she followed Declan’s black Chevy pickup, his tires churning through fresh snow. She couldn’t see much through the driving storm, and there were no other cars on the road. She would have been crazy to drive much farther, trying to find an inn. The only lights were their highbeams, as the two cars traveled together onto a winding road that narrowed from two lanes to one.

  Bennie wiped her greasy fingers on a napkin, and they turned left onto Declan’s driveway, which led to a farm in the middle of a snowy, wooded pasture. She craned her neck to see a small barn in front of a modern A-frame house, its distinctive roof visible only because of the moonlight. Declan parked next to a snow-covered pickup and horse trailer, and Bennie pulled in next to him, cut the ignition, and got out of the car. Her foot sunk into about five inches of newfallen snow.

  “Bennie?” Declan stood by the pickup with his front door open, illuminated by the interior light. “I have a chore to do. Come with or go inside?”

  Go inside. “Come with,” Bennie answered, to be polite. She grabbed her purse and messenger bag, closed her car door, and chirped it locked.

  “Why’d you lock your car?” Declan took off, chuckling.

  “Bears could break in.” Bennie followed him, walking in his footsteps, which were too far apart, even for her.

  “Bears hibernate, Philly.”

  “I knew that.” Bennie picked her way after him, and Declan switched on a light, illuminating a wood barn with a snowy overhang that covered two stalls, with a horse in each, a white one and a black one. Their heads popped up, their tufted ears swiveled forward, and their big eyes blinked comically. They had on thick green blankets that buckled under their chests.

  “Meet Ember. He’s a draft cross.” Declan rolled the stall door aside and patted the dark horse on its neck. Steam came from its shell-pink nostrils, clouding the air. “Do you ride?”

  “No, I drive.” Bennie had never seen horses, up close. “They’re so big.”

  “They’re retired police horses.” Declan patted the horse again. “He’s friendly to everybody but lawyers. Don’t feed him your fingers.”

  “Funny.” Bennie patted Ember’s neck, which felt strong. His color was a glossy black, with fur so thick it buried her knuckles.

  “He was my partner.” Declan gestured at Bennie’s purse and messenger bag. “Give me your things. I’ll put them in the tack room.”

  “What do you mean, your partner?” Bennie handed him her bags, and Declan opened a door at the end of the barn, turned on a light inside, and took her stuff into a small room with saddles mounted on wall racks and other horsey paraphernalia.

  “I’m a field rider with the mounted unit. Ember served with me. I rescued him from the kill pen at New Holland.” Declan came back holding a bucket containing duct tape, a white jar, and packaged rolls of black bandages, then set it down on the concrete floor in front of the stalls.

  “Do you have a squad car, too?” Bennie had never met a mounted policeman. Meanwhile, of course Declan rode a horse. He’d have all the local girls swooning, plus he’d generate a lot of bad mounted puns.

  “Yes, I have a patrol car. The PSP has twenty-five horses stabled at the Academy in Hershey. We maintain a mounted unit at the BES.” Declan went back into the tack room, and there was the sound of water running.

  “What’s the BES?”

  “Bureau of Emergency Services. Since 9/11, we get called for security. We do search and rescue, crowd control, ceremonial duties. When we get the call, we go down to Hershey, pack up the horses, and deploy as needed.”

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Since I graduated from Penn State. I’m stationed at Troop N, Hazleton Station. There are mounted officers in every troop of the PSP. Each troop has three or four field riders who can be detailed as needed.” Declan came back holding a large rubber tub of water, which looked cloudy. Steam rose from its surface, and he set it down on the concrete.

  “What’s that?”

  “Water with Epsom salts. I pulled the mare’s shoes for the winter. I’m worried she has an abscess. This will only take a few minutes.” Declan unlatched the other stall door and rolled it aside, leaving it wide open for the white horse.

  “Yikes, won’t she run out?”

  “Of course not.” Declan got a halter from a hook, looped it over the horse’s furry ears, and led her onto the concrete, where she stood. He picked up her front leg, bent it at the knobby knee, and took off a gray boot made of duct tape, then placed her hoof in the tub of Epsom salts.

  “She’s stands in the water, like that?”

  “Most horses will.” Declan patted the horse�
�s neck. “Police horses are drilled to stand for extended periods.”

  Suddenly a gust of snow flew under the overhang, and Bennie turned, scanning the scene behind her. A snowy pasture surrounded them, glowing a bluish-white in the moonlight. Snowflakes swirled in the air, and moonbeams flowed through the bare branches of the trees, etching inky shadows across the white pasture. “It’s gorgeous here,” Bennie said, meaning it.

  “Thanks. I feel lucky. Blessed. When I come home, I forget everything. It’s a life that suits me. A place that suits me.” Declan knelt beside the horse, bathing its foot with a cupped palm. “I was thinking about what you said. That you uphold the law.”

  “I was only joking.”

  “I know. But it made me think. I don’t uphold or protect the law. I protect the people.” Declan shook his head, still at his task. “I feel it more strongly since 9/11 and the war in Afghanistan. The world has become a dangerous place. The people I care about need protecting, more than ever before. Look there. See the house behind the treeline?” Declan pointed behind her with a wet hand, and Bennie turned to see a lighted farmhouse with a barn in the distance.

  “Yes?”

  “The Walshes live there, Helen and Jacob. They’re ninety now. They were friends of my parents. Had three girls. Jacob keeps bees, and Helen makes everything out of honey. They think it’s good for your skin. All I can tell you is, they don’t look a day over eighty-seven.”

  Bennie smiled.

  “When I think of what I do and why, I think of them and the other families here. I didn’t realize it until tonight, talking with you. I have a purpose here. I’m set in my ways. It’s not always good, in relationships. There’s no compromise in me.”