“What happened to disillusion you?”
“Are you serious? They hauled me in. Asked me questions. Wouldn’t let me go when they didn’t like the answers.”
“So you gave them answers they
did
like?”
“I told them the truth.”
“Cops don’t always like the truth. Sometimes you have to invent.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“Good. Telling the truth takes far less brain power. You don’t have to think so hard keeping your stories straight.”
Jersey Girl went for her purse.
“You got another gun?”
“Huh?”
“I’d hate to get shot in your kitchen. It would be embarrassing as all hell.”
“You’re weird.” She pulled a card out of her purse.
“What’s that?”
“The cops said to call if you showed up.”
“That’s a poor thing to tell me. If I were a bad guy, I might try to stop you.”
She drew back in alarm. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s free advice, which is almost as bad.” I flopped into a chair. “Go ahead and call if you want to. But think of what you’re doing. You’ll be calling the police, which is never a good idea under the best of circumstances, and these are not the best. If the cops connect you to the crime, you’re dead.”
“They don’t connect me to the crime. They connect you to the crime.”
“So you say. And they probably say so too. But do you always believe what you’re told? The cops are going to tell you I’m the suspect whether they suspect me or you. Because they’re not going to tell you
you’re
the suspect. They’re going to let you hang yourself.”
“I’m not the suspect.”
“You had the gun. You
claim
you gave it to me. Well, maybe that puts me in possession of the gun, but where did I get it? Think about it. What’s more likely. Did you give me the gun I used to kill your boyfriend, or did you give me the gun
you
used to kill your boyfriend?”
“Huh?” She crinkled up her nose again. I wondered if it was real or just an affectation. I might have to watch
Jersey Shore
, see if they did it too.
“Keep with me here,” I said. “Your boyfriend’s dead. By your own admission, you had the gun. That’s what the cops have now. If they get anything else that points to you, you’re dead meat.”
“What are you talking about? Nothing points to me.”
“Ever stay at the Route 4 Motel?”
Her face drained of color. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know? Then why does it bother you so much?”
“It didn’t bother me.”
“Something sure did. I wouldn’t expect even the Bates Motel to get a reaction like that.”
She crinkled up her nose again. “What?”
“Good God, I’m too old.”
“You’re talking funny again.”
“And you’re changing the subject. I asked you if you ever stayed at the Route 4 Motel, and you went white as a sheet. I happen to know you stayed at the motel, but the cops don’t know it yet. So, like I say, it would probably be a poor time to call them right now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. But she walked away from the phone and sat down.
“I’m talking about coincidence, the law of averages, and dumb luck.”
That got me a nose crinkle.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be enigmatic. Here’s the deal. Your boyfriend got killed, you wound up with the gun. Not good, but you could probably explain it away. However, Philip Marston got killed in the Route 4 Motel, in the room you stayed in. Right next door to the room your boyfriend stayed in.”
“What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying. When the cops connect you to the second murder, they’re gonna have some more questions. And they’re gonna be harder to answer than the first.”
“What second murder?”
“Oh, come on, give me a break. Didn’t you know Philip Marston?”
“Who?”
“You didn’t know he was dead?”
“I didn’t know he was alive. Who is he?”
“Damn.”
“What?”
“I’m inclined to believe you. But tell me about your stay in the motel.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re not the cops.”
“No. But if you don’t, the cops will get an anonymous tip, and they’ll ask you a bunch of questions you’ll
have
to answer.”
“Fuck you. You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve.”
“Two years ago you registered at the Route 4 Motel. Your boyfriend registered in an adjoining unit. With a connecting door.”
“Oh.”
I could see the wheels turning. Her eyes got calculating, shrewd.
“And you want me to tell you about that?”
“It would pass the time.”
“Huh?”
I sighed. “Sorry. I’m being facetious. I apologize. Tell me about the motel.”
“You want to know about two years ago when Vinnie and I registered in separate rooms?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“To see if it means anything.”
Her nose went again. If I were her mother, I’d have warned her it might freeze in that position.
“Vinnie and I had just started dating. I wasn’t going to stay in the same room.”
“Why were you there at all?”
“Huh?”
“Vinnie has a house. You have a house. Why would you have to go to a motel?”
“He was married.”
“Vinnie was married?”
“Well, maybe not married, but he was living with someone.”
“Were you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Actually, it is. I’m trying to figure out why you had to go to a motel.”
She thought that over. Once again, I could see the wheels turning.
“I wasn’t living with someone. But Vinnie was afraid his girlfriend would come by my house.”
“She know about you?”
“She suspected.”
“So you drove all the way up to Ft. Lee and went to a motel?”
“Yeah.”
“And registered in separate units.”
“Well, I didn’t know him that well.”
“So why was his girlfriend jealous?”
“Girlfriends are always jealous.”
“Anyway, you stayed in separate rooms.”
“That’s right.”
“Next time you only got one room.”
“Huh?”
“The next time you stayed with Vinnie it was in one room.”
“Well, I knew him better. First time it might not have worked out. Turned out it did.”
“And then Vinnie got rid of his wife, or girlfriend, or whatever, and you became his girlfriend.”
“Yeah.”
“So you didn’t have to go to the motel with him anymore.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Vinnie kept registering at the motel. If it wasn’t with you, who was it?”
“You mean Vinnie was cheating on me? I don’t believe it. That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“Maybe I’m mistaken. When was the last time you were at the motel?”
“The last time?”
She was repeating my questions. A typical stalling device of someone thinking up a lie. I wondered what lie she could be thinking up. It was a perfectly straightforward question.
When was the last time you and Vinnie stayed at the motel?
It didn’t require a lie. Any answer would work. Why did she think it wouldn’t?
“It’s been a while,” she said.
“Over a year?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s been there since then. You’re saying it wasn’t with you?”
She snapped her fingers. “Business!”
“Huh?”
“He sometimes rented a room for business. He must have rented the same room.”
“Why would a guy like Vinnie need a motel room for business?”
“You forget who he worked for. He could have had business in that room.”
“With Tony Gallo?”
“Sure. He worked for Tony Gallo.”
“Why would he have to meet with Tony Gallo?”
“They could be meeting someone else.”
“Philip Marston?”
“Who?”
She didn’t know. I was sure of it. Though, as Alice points out, it would not be the first time I was wrong.
I was out in fifteen minutes, not sure if I was any wiser than before I came.
At least she hadn’t called the cops.
44
I
SAT IN THE CAR
and thought things over. No, not in front of her house. It would be just my luck to have a passing cop pick me up. The difference between a stalker and a detective on stakeout would be negligible. In either case I’d be screwed.
I was in the parking lot of a Route 4 mall. There was no shade anywhere in the lot, the sun was beating on the roof. I started the car, turned on the air conditioner, let it blast right in my face. Wondered how long it would be before a cop tapped on my windshield and told me I couldn’t have the car idling.
Jersey Girl had cheerfully admitted staying with Vinnie Carbone in the motel. Her explanation of why they’d had two rooms and then one was pretty thin. So was the reason for Vinnie keeping the room after they stopped using it.
On the other hand, her assertion she and Tony Gallo weren’t having an affair also rang hollow. Was it conceivable Tony was making Vinnie rent a room for Tony to share with Vinnie’s girlfriend? That seemed unusually cruel. But then, maybe Tony Gallo was one of these sadistic sons of bitches who got off on dominating others, making them bend to his will. Forcing his subordinates to perform odious tasks, the more shameful and degrading the better.
If that were the case, who killed Vinnie and why, and how did Jersey Girl wind up with the gun?
I had one solution I didn’t particularly like. Vinnie Carbone, unable to stand up to his boss, stands up to his girlfriend and demands to know how
she
could treat him like that. He loses it, starts beating on her, and she has to shoot him.
I realized that premise actually had several outcomes. I had chosen that particular one in order to make a case for her self-defense. Which was really silly. She didn’t deserve such consideration. If she were some hatchet-faced, flat-chested spinster, I’m sure self-defense would have never sprung to mind.
Which was pretty stupid. The girl shouldn’t get a pass on her looks. Even if that scenario were true, it meant she was stupid enough to have hung onto the gun.
No matter. I didn’t like the idea that she shot him at all. I mean, as a solution. I much preferred Tony Gallo shooting him. The motive was a little hard to find. The way I figured, if Tony was guilty, it had to be for another reason altogether. Tony would not kill off one of his henchmen in order to gain better access to his girlfriend, who was already making trouble for him with his wife. That just didn’t add up. No, if Tony killed him, it was either because Vinnie pissed him off, or because Vinnie had become a liability.
The way I saw it, the main way Vinnie could be a liability would be to implicate Tony in the first murder. Tony had been there. Vinnie had rented the room. At the very least, Vinnie must have suspected what went on, even if he wasn’t there. Which he wasn’t, necessarily. If he could rent the room for Tony to have trysts with his girlfriend, he could rent the room for Tony to rub someone out. Though he didn’t need to know he was renting it for that purpose.
If that was true, he might have been less than happy when he found out. Particularly when he realized his name was on the credit card receipt, and if the cops got pointed in the right direction, he’d be the one to take the fall. Vinnie might have protested being placed in that position.
Tony might have countered the complaint with a gun.
That seemed a lot better than the jealously angle.
If that was true, it meant Tony Gallo killed Vinnie Carbone and then gave the gun to Jersey Girl. Perhaps in the hope of killing two birds with one stone, if the girl had become a liability by making trouble for him with his wife.
Never mind that.
The point was, if Tony killed Vinnie to cover up the murder of the Aflac salesman, why did he have to do that? I’d been arrested and charged with the murder. No one suspected anyone else. Granted, I was out on bail, but that didn’t mean the cops didn’t think I did it.
So what set Tony off?
45
“W
HAT IF IT
’
S CAUSE AND EFFECT
?”
MacAullif scowled. “Forget it.”
I looked hurt. “Hey.”
“Don’t play innocent with me. That’s one of your enigmatic opening statements designed to make me super-curious to know what you’re getting at. I don’t
care
what you’re getting at. I got no patience with this one. You wanna talk, talk, otherwise get out of my office before I hit you with a chair.”
“I’m going nuts trying to find a motive for Tony Gallo killing Vinnie Carbone, and I got too many. Tony was sweet on his girlfriend. Vinnie may have been sweet on Tony’s wife.”
“What?”
“I don’t think he was, that’s just a theory his girlfriend offered up, trying to find something that didn’t implicate Tony or her. The other theory, and the one that makes more sense, is that he got rubbed out in conjunction with the hit on the Aflac salesman. Only problem with that is it happens way after the fact, and he’s peripheral as all hell. Unless it’s cause and effect—and don’t throw the chair, I’ll tell you what I mean. Aflac salesman gets whacked, I get arrested, Richard gets me out. Since I didn’t kill him and no one went into that room, we come up with the connecting door theory. You run a bluff on the motel manager, come up with the name Vinnie Carbone. Vinnie Carbone is promptly whacked.”
“You’re saying the
motel manager
is mixed up in this?”
“Why not? The meetings were always at his motel.”
“Meetings?”
“Vinnie Carbone kept renting the room. Long after he needed to share it with Jersey Girl.”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What are you talking about?”
“Two years ago Vinnie Carbone stayed in the same room. Jersey Girl stayed next door. Where the guy got whacked.”
“And just how do you know that?”
“My wife may have peeked at their computer.”
MacAullif rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.
May have peeked at their computer
. Do you have any idea how many violations of the penal code are contained in that one simple sentence?”
“Alice is a big girl. She can stay anywhere she wants.”
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going near the motel manager.”
“He wasn’t there.”