“Apparently, he worked for your husband.”
She said nothing.
“Did you know that?”
“How could I know that if I didn’t know him?”
“Actually, if you don’t know who her boyfriend was, it’s very possible.”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“If you don’t know who her boyfriend was, how do you know he wasn’t someone who worked for your husband?”
“You said he got killed. If someone who worked for my husband got killed, I’d know about it.”
“And you didn’t?”
“No.”
“The name Vinnie Carbone means nothing to you?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“As far as you know, this woman had no connection to your husband? She just rang the front doorbell and asked for him out of the blue?”
“We’ve been through all this.”
“I’d like to pin it down.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. You said ‘aggravated assault.’ Am I charged with anything?”
“No.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No, you’re not.”
“Then I don’t have to talk to you. I’ve been very cooperative. I’ve told you everything you needed to know. I think we’re done.”
She stood up to indicate we were done.
I figured I’d done the best I could.
I left.
34
C
ALLING ON
J
ERSEY
G
IRL AGAIN
wasn’t the best idea in the world, but I was running out of ideas. I’d already heard the aggrieved wife’s side of the story, or lack it, not to mention that of the oblivious mafia husband. It seemed like I should hear the story from the point of view of the other woman.
Besides, she already thought I was a cop, so I wouldn’t have to go into any preliminaries. Which was probably the wrong way to phrase it when dealing with a woman who drops her robe at the slightest provocation.
Nonetheless, I pulled up in front of the house, knocked on the door.
She was dressed this time. I didn’t know whether to count this as a plus or a minus, but she had on spandex pants and a leotard top. It did not appear as if she had wasted time putting on a bra.
She scowled when she saw me. “Why are you here again?”
“I have a few more questions.”
“Yeah, well I wish you guys would get your act together. It’s not enough dealing with the other cops, I gotta have you twice?”
I wasn’t sure if her anger was that I was back or that I had resisted her charms. “Just a few questions.”
“Right, it’s always just a few questions. What did you find out about the gun? Silly question. If there was anything to it I’d be in jail.”
She sat me down in the kitchen and said, “Would you hurry up, I have to get to work.”
“There’s this other matter. I understand you called on Tony Gallo.”
Her mouth dropped open. “That bitch called the cops?”
“You are referring to Mrs. Gallo?”
“Of all the nerve. The woman attacks me and then reports me to the police.”
“What did you want with Tony Gallo?”
“My boyfriend was murdered. I wanted to see if he knew anything about it.”
“Why would he?”
“Vinnie worked for him.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“What other reason could there be?”
“You tell me.”
“My boyfriend’s been killed. No one knows why. The cops aren’t doing a damn thing about it—no offense.”
“None taken. So you thought Tony might have something to do with Vinnie’s death?”
“No, of course not. I thought he might
know
something. In case it was work related.”
“Now we’re coming to it. What kind of work was your boyfriend doing that someone might want to kill him?”
“I have no idea.”
“That’s less than helpful.”
“Well, excuse me. I didn’t ask you to come here, ask stupid questions. You don’t like the answers, that’s too bad.”
“Uh huh. You having an affair with Tony Gallo?”
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
“Of course it’s not true.”
“Then why would someone tell me that?”
“I have no idea. I’m not responsible for what people say. I can’t help it if someone gets the wrong idea.”
“How would someone get the wrong idea?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone did.”
“His wife sure did.”
“That bitch!”
“I gather you don’t like her much.”
“Are you kidding? She tried to kill me.”
“You can swear out a complaint against her.”
“Against Tony Gallo’s wife? Oh, that’s a great idea. How do you think he’d feel about that?”
“I thought you didn’t know him.”
“I know
about
him. Vinnie told me stories.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing I’d repeat.”
I grimaced, shook my head. “That’s a bad attitude. See, that’s
implying
that you’re withholding evidence and conspiring to conceal a crime. You can go to jail for that.”
She looked shocked. I could practically see her melt into seductive mode. If she’d been wearing a kimono it would have been on the floor. She put her hands on my arms, said, “Forget I said that. Can you forget I said that? It’s got nothing to do with this. You were talking about Vinnie. And Tony’s wife.” Her eyes widened. “Say. Do you think there’s something there?”
No, I didn’t think there was something there. I thought she’d pulled the idea out of thin air in an attempt to distract me and make me forget about compounding a felony and conspiring to conceal a crime. Which I was perfectly willing to do, since I wasn’t a cop, and even if I was, anything Vinnie told her was hearsay and there was nothing illegal about withholding it.
I pretended to take the bait. “You think Vinnie might have been involved with Tony’s wife? He ever talk about her?”
I could see her calculating her answer, trying to figure out how much trouble she’d get in making something up.
“He thought she was too young for Tony.”
“Really? How’d that come up?”
“I don’t know. Just making conversation.”
“She’s not that young. She’s got a teenage son.”
“Right.”
“Vinnie say anything else?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What about Tony Gallo.”
“What about him?”
“What did Vinnie say about him?”
She bit her lip.
“Well?”
“I’m trying to remember.”
“Take your time.”
“He said he was a bad man to cross.”
“Really?”
She pounced on it eagerly. “Yes. So if Vinnie crossed him …” She smiled, spread her arms like what more did I need?
“How could Vinnie cross him? What was his job?”
“He never said.”
“But you think it wasn’t work related. You think Vinnie might have been involved with Tony’s wife.”
“It’s possible.”
“Ever accuse him of it?”
“Huh?”
“Ever ask him if he was sleeping with the boss’s wife?”
“Of course not.”
“Why of course not?”
“Never crossed my mind.”
“But it does now.”
“Now he’s dead.”
“Did it ever occur to you Vinnie might have something on the side?”
“No, it didn’t.”
“How about you?”
“Huh?”
“You have something on the side.”
“That’s rather personal.”
“Yes, it is. Your boyfriend’s dead. If you were involved with another man that might be the reason why.”
“He killed Vinnie so he could have me all to himself?”
“Why is that so stupid?”
“It just is.”
“You don’t watch a lot of noir movies.”
“What?”
“Double Indemnity. Blood Simple. Body Heat.
”
“Was that with Kathleen Turner?”
The phone rang. She made a face, walked over, picked it up. “Hello?… Hi … Now?… Not a good time … I don’t know, why don’t I call you?” She hung up the phone, said, “Is this going take much longer? I gotta get to work.”
“I think we’re about done. I just wish you could give me a better reason for going to Tony Gallo’s house.”
“Vinnie’s dead. I need to know why.” She put her hands on my shoulders, looked up into my eyes. “Please. Find out why.”
35
I
STAKED OUT HER HOUSE
. I figured it was stupid. I knew she was going to work. But I had to do something. Because everything was circular, and nothing made sense. Here’s a girl who leads me to Tony, who leads me to his wife, who leads me back to her again. What did all that mean?
The simplest explanation was, she and Tony Gallo were having an affair. Supporting that argument was the fact that Tony Gallo’s wife had not acted kindly to the sight of her. She had exhibited every symptom of a woman whose husband was stepping out on her. It was so obvious it had to be true. The way I saw it, no other explanation was possible.
Which made me uneasy. Not that I don’t trust my own judgment, but in the course of my less-than-illustrious career, I have found life kicks me in the teeth more often than not. The sure thing doesn’t come in, the safe assumption isn’t safe at all, and the hopelessly convoluted, barely possible longshot is the explanation all along.
But, Jesus Christ, how much evidence did I need? The woman had the gun that killed her boyfriend. The boyfriend worked for the man who was presumably her lover. I presumed it, Tony’s wife presumed it, any man in the North American continent who had a pulse would presume it.
The only fly in the ointment, the only rain on my parade, the only satisfactory, solution-spoiling cliché was, why in the name of reason would Jersey Girl’s boyfriend be renting a motel room for his girlfriend and his boss? If Jersey Girl’s boyfriend was indeed so accommodating and agreeable to an open relationship, why would they have to kill him?
And why would he have rented them a motel room next to a dead Aflac salesman?
I had to admit there were still a few kinks in my reasoning, but I put that down to reality kicking me in the teeth. If there weren’t kinks in my reasoning, that’s when I should get worried.
But that was the broader picture, which of course I didn’t understand. But in the smaller scheme of things, examining Vinnie’s murder as a self-contained unit, it fit perfectly well. And it wasn’t just because it was a noir movie plot. It just made sense that it was just what it looked like. And no matter how much I tended to doubt it, I could not stop myself from believing that the phone call Jersey Girl got was from Tony Gallo, and any moment now he was going to come driving up, park his car, and throw himself into her arms. Which couldn’t happen in any case, because she was on her way to work and didn’t have time.
So what I was actually doing was your basic rule-out: I was watching the house to rule out the possibility that Tony would show up after I left. Then I would have missed that valuable piece of information. On the minus side of the ledger was that it was a futile gesture. On the plus side of the ledger was that she was going to work, so it wouldn’t be long.
I wondered just how long that might be.
It was five minutes.
Only she didn’t go to work.
Tony Gallo drove up, parked his car, and went in.
36
H
E WAS OUT IN TWENTY
minutes. A suggestive time. Long enough for a quickie, and not so short as to necessarily categorize him as a premature ejaculator.
I, on the other hand, was coming in my pants. I mean, good lord, it shouldn’t be such a big deal being right. But for me, having a sure thing come in was almost like having a long shot come in.
Tony Gallo got in his car and drove off. I let him go, immediately regretted the decision. I knew Jersey Girl was going to work. On the other hand, I only knew that because she told me so. And her word was not necessarily reliable on any of a number of subjects. If she was not going to work, doubtless it would not be the first fib the young lady had ever told.
She was out five minutes later. I checked her out for signs of disarray. I couldn’t see any, but then Jersey Girl lived in a permanent state of disarray, so I’m not sure what I would have noticed. Anyway, she seemed to be wearing the clothes she’d been wearing before, and they were more or less on her body. Her scoop-neck did tend to scoop a bit, though that was nothing new.
Anyway, she hopped in the car and took off.
I followed, on the off-chance I would learn something.
I didn’t.
Jersey Girl drove straight to the beauty parlor, went inside and went to work.
I hung it up and went home. Having let Tony Gallo go, there was nothing much I could do. I needed to evaluate what I’d learned, see how it fit in the general scheme of things. The only question was whether I should evaluate it in the presence of my attorney, who would not be pleased to learn how I had come by the information, or my wife, who would ridicule my theories out of existence. I opted for Alice, largely because I didn’t happen to owe her twenty-five thousand dollars.
There was a traffic jam on the bridge, backed up all the way to where the roads divide, and blinking signs offer you a choice of the upper or lower lever with estimated waiting times for each. At the moment it was forty minutes for the upper, forty-five for the lower. I opted for the lower, even though it was a longer wait, because there are no exits off the approach to the upper. There are exits for Ft. Lee off the lower. These exits are marked, Exit Only—No Reentry To Bridge.
Ignoring the warning, I exited and drove a block alongside the highway, crossed Lemoine Avenue, and hung a left onto, you guessed it, the George Washington Bridge. It was the upper level, but that didn’t matter. From there it was only a
two minute
wait to the tollbooth. And it was only that long because some moron was blocking the E-ZPass lane, and I had to wait for him to move.
I went through the toll booth and proceeded slowly but steadily. Tie-ups on the way into Manhattan are largely caused by tie-ups on the Cross Bronx Expressway, which the bridge feeds into, and that seemed to be the case today. Not to worry. Coming off the bridge I took a right, curled around a squiggle of off ramps to the West Side Highway, where there was practically no traffic at all. I went south to Ninety-Fifth Street, got off, and took Riverside Drive back to 104th.
There was a parking spot on my block. Some days you get lucky. I parked the car, folded in the driver’s side mirror, zapped the doors locked. I went in, took the elevator up to my apartment.