The Ambitious City (38 page)

Roberto withdrew his hand and smiled weakly in MacNeice’s direction. Shifting in his chair, he faced the door as if expecting to see his lawyer appear.

“Aziz googled you earlier, Roberto—you have a beautiful wife and family. You have every reason to be proud of them.”

“I am.” He smiled at Aziz and looked back to the door.

“You see how easy that was, Roberto. I’ll be more specific: we are actually trying to protect you.”

“I am a respected member of the community,” Mancini said. “I don’t require your protection—but you may shortly require your own.”

“If you’d been watching the news as Pat was, you’d know that you and your family are in very real peril.” Mancini crossed his arms but didn’t turn away from the door.

MacNeice was prepared to wait until he responded. After thirty seconds of silence, Mancini shot a look his way—he was clearly waiting to hear what came next.

“Roberto, do you speak Ukrainian?”

The blood ran out of the young man’s face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I want to assure you that our interest is not in the nights you spent at Pat’s with two Ukrainian dancers but in the price you paid for that pleasure. As a respected member of the community, what you do in the privacy of someone else’s bedroom is not our concern.”

Mancini’s eyes flooded and tremors shook his body, but he made no sound.

“You see, Pat believed that he could enjoy the carnal delights of these women by simply trading—or inventing—information to serve the purposes of those who were supplying the women.”

Mancini stood up and looked through the sidelight for help, then started pacing again.

“Sit down, please. We won’t be long.”

Roberto loosened his black silk tie and sank into the chair.

“Are you sure you don’t want to say something?” MacNeice asked.

Mancini leaned forward and put both forearms on the table, but he didn’t speak.

“I’ll continue, then. When the Jokers MC entered the picture in Dundurn, the game changed for Damned Two Deuces—stop me if you know all this—”

Mancini stared down at the table again; his shoulders were vibrating because both his feet were bouncing.

“Pat was trading mostly bogus information for sex—he died for it. What were you trading? Your financials and your computer are being seized as we speak, Roberto, and while the specifics may not appear on the books, are you sure there isn’t some correspondence buried deep in the hard drive of your computer?”

Mancini slapped the table and shot a look to the door just as a face MacNeice didn’t recognize appeared. There was a knock and the door opened.

The lawyer was wearing a three-piece grey suit and carrying a thin alligator-skin briefcase, which he laid on the table in front of him. “I’m Jacob Goldman. I’ve been retained to represent Mr. Mancini, and I request that no further questions be asked without my presence and consent. I will instruct my client which questions he will answer—have I made myself clear?”

Aziz and MacNeice stood up and offered their hands. Goldman gave them both a brief handshake and moved to sit down beside his client. “Take your briefcase off the table,” MacNeice said, and remained standing. Goldman looked at him, confused, but seeing that MacNeice was serious, he shook his head and removed the case.

“Shall I review our conversation so far for Mr. Goldman’s benefit, Roberto?” He waited for a response but could see that Mancini’s face was frozen. Again he chose to wait him out.

Goldman looked at his client, then at MacNeice and Aziz. Uncertain what the issue could be, he said, “Yes, Detective Superintendent, please review everything you’ve discussed with my client.”

“No.” One word, spoken softly. When Roberto Mancini looked up at MacNeice, he was weeping, tears dropping onto his pristine white shirt. “Jacob, I don’t need you, not at the moment. I’m sorry for the inconvience—”

“Roberto, don’t be foolish! I don’t know what’s been going on here, but I can assure you, it will cease immediately.”

“No. Please go. I’ll call you.” Roberto didn’t look at his lawyer, letting the tears fall as he focused on MacNeice.

“Detectives, I need a few moments alone with my client, please,” Goldman insisted.

“No, Jacob, I’m telling you to leave.”

“If there has been any coercion in this,” Goldman said, picking up his briefcase, “I can promise you that I’ll sue both of you personally, and the Dundurn police force.” He opened the door, looked back and shook his head again for emphasis before walking away.

Roberto waited for the door to close, then said, “Go on …”

“Before I do, I must tell you that this conversation will be recorded and that I have to question the wisdom of your dismissing counsel.”

“Your question is duly noted,” Mancini said.

“As you wish. Our witness, a member of the Jokers, has given us an idea of what you paid in return for the dancers, but we’d like to hear it from you.”

“Is there any way, any way at all …” Mancini had started to cry in earnest. Aziz retrieved the box of tissues and placed it in front of him. He took several, wiped his face and blew his nose. “My family—do they have to know about this?”

MacNeice said, “We need to know the extent of your involvement, Roberto—all of it—before we can determine what, if anything, can be kept quiet.”

Aziz spoke for the first time. “Judging by the images we saw online, you have a family that would hopefully stand by you … if you were completely honest in your efforts to assist this investigation.”

“May I have some water?”

“Of course.” MacNeice left the room and walked down the hall to the servery, where he filled a large paper cup from the cooler. He was about to return when his phone rang. He lifted it to his ear.

“It’s me, boss. I’m just about to leave for Buffalo. Demetrius is just finishing the Vanucci boxes now. They’ve also downloaded what was on Luigi’s computer.”

“This is perfect, Montile. It means we don’t have to attempt a search and seizure of ABC’s American offices.”

“He told me not to come in a company car, so I went home and got my passport and the Grey Sickness.”

“The Grey Sickness … Oh, your BMW?”

“Yeah, she looks tired but runs like a teenager. How’s it going with Mr. Smoothie?”

“He’s dismissed his counsel; I think he wants to cooperate.”

“That’s the ticket. Good luck, boss—I feel like we’re closing in on something.”

Through the interview room sidelight, MacNeice could see that Roberto’s head was buried in his arms on the table and Aziz’s hand was on his forearm. She was saying something to him. MacNeice waited till she sat back again before opening the door.

“Here you are.”

Mancini took the cup, drank half of it, wiped his face again and dropped the tissues in the wastebasket Aziz had placed beside him. “Pat and I were like brothers, did you know that?” He wasn’t expecting a response and spoke before any could be offered. “We grew up together, we played hockey as kids … I went on to study business and accounting in university. Pat was so much better than I was in sports; it made sense for me to get a career.”

“When did you learn about the girls and the deal he’d made to get them?”

“He invited me over to the penthouse. I thought he wanted to watch a playoff game.”

“And they were already there?”

“Yeah, the first time. I had five nights with them that year. Then we slowed it down, mostly because the economy tanked and we
couldn’t invent anything believable to trade with. But once the mayor’s project on the bay got going, we were back in business.”

“What did you tell your wife?” Aziz asked.

“I had—I mean, I have to travel on business. Not the concrete business, but financial clients I have in Winnipeg and Thunder Bay.”

“Did he tell you what the price was that first night?”

“No, he told me after they left. I was still in bed, so the guy who picked them up assumed Pat had had a two-on-one.”

“And when he told you?”

“Well, Pat … He told me the story of Frédéric, the pot and the girls and the Mafia stuff.”

“How did that sound to you?”

“Well, first I was scared shitless. I would have paid for the sex, but Pat was like all gung-ho. I said, ‘Pat, you’re living in a penthouse in Burlington and I’m a fucking accountant in Dundurn. We don’t know squat about the Mafia.’ And he goes, ‘Well, ye-ah, but these frogs don’t know that! They think,
Italians and concrete—gotta be the Mafia.’
Then he smiled and said, ‘There’ll be two new girls here next Thursday.’ ”

“When did he introduce you to Frédéric?”

“That Thursday. He was waiting for me at Pat’s. I thought for sure he was going to spot me as a fake, but, I don’t know, maybe it was the language thing … Anyway, I just started telling him about some of the deals we’d done at Mancini Concrete, and he was, like, smiling and shit. Then he shakes my hand and says we have a contract and asks if I want anything to sweeten it, like dope or coke. I said no. A half-hour later the girls arrived with another biker.”

“How did you provide the information?” Aziz asked.

“Mostly by phone but sometimes by email. Frédéric wanted me to open a Facebook account and use Skype to stay in touch with him.”

“Did you?” Aziz asked.

“No, I told him that I’m not very computer savvy. It was all … too easy.”

“So we know Pat’s father told ABC about McNamara being angry about the exclusive contract they’d given Mancini Concrete.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” He emptied the water cup and held it gently in both hands.

“Did you tell McNamara that ABC was bringing muscle to the meeting at the quarry?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, to me it was a game, though the reward was real. I told McNamara that ABC was bringing in a private security team from New York and Pat told ABC that McNamara was showing up with a motorcycle gang.”

“And you never considered the consequences?” Aziz asked, somewhat incredulously.

“We knew as much about motorcycle gangs as we did about the Mafia. I think we thought there might be a brawl or a standoff but it wouldn’t come back to us. To Frédéric it looked like a good paying gig, a chance to collect on some of what we owed him.”

“Did you know anything about what happened when Frédéric’s men arrived at ABC-Grimsby?” MacNeice asked.

“No, we just supplied the information and didn’t know what he did with it. Then, when the deputy chief did that press conference, Pat freaked. He called me and asked what the fuck we were going to do.’ ”

“You weren’t frightened or concerned?”

“When I heard that Frédéric and that huge fucker—sorry, Detective”—Aziz waved her hand dismissively—“when I heard that both of them were killed in Cayuga, I thought the worst of it was that we wouldn’t get the girls anymore. And that was okay too, because I wasn’t doing a great job covering it at home …”

“Did Pat tell you about Frédéric’s brother?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know whether he knew anything about Pat and me.”

“Did anyone else know about you and Pat and the bikers?”

“Not specifically, no.”

“Plain English, please—who knew what about your deal?”

“Gianni probably put the pieces together. He sits next to Pat.”

“Did you speak to Gianni about it?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Again, in plain English, what did you tell Gianni?”

Mancini swallowed hard. “I told him Pat had a little action on the side with D2D—getting paid by getting laid.”

“But you didn’t mention your involvement,” Aziz said.

“No, I couldn’t afford to. Pat was single—no one minded if he screwed around …”

“Did you give Pat my home address?”

“No, Gianni did. You have a gravel driveway; we supplied the gravel. Gianni called me and said Pat went looking for you.”

“And you called D2D and told them.”

“No, no, no—I wouldn’t do that. Pat’s like a brother to me!”

“Then …?”

“Gianni was the only one who knew about the biker deal.”

“Unless he told someone in turn …” Aziz offered.

“He wouldn’t. He didn’t get where he is by shooting off his mouth. He wouldn’t.”

“Maybe not to you, but would he do that to Pat?”

Mancini looked down at the paper cup, twirled it nervously and began weeping again. He looked up to both of them and tried to speak but couldn’t. He pushed the cup aside and covered his face.

“This seems like the right time for a break. I’ll make the espresso.” MacNeice stood up.

“No, let me.” Aziz stood up and picked up the paper cup. “And I’ll get a refill.”

For several seconds after she left, neither man said anything. Mancini kept his eyes averted from MacNeice, who sensed there was something else he wasn’t saying. He could see that right leg bouncing again. When Aziz returned with a tray of coffee and water for all three, Mancini appeared relieved by the distraction and sipped eagerly. MacNeice reached over and touched Aziz’s thigh under the table. She looked casually in his direction and he nodded slowly towards Mancini, who was now swirling the crema in almost empty cup. When he had drunk it down, he looked up at MacNeice.

“What is it, Roberto?” MacNeice hadn’t touched his coffee.

“Sorry?”

“What is it you’re not saying?”

Mancini pushed his empty cup aside and drank some water. He looked at both of them in turn. “Gianni asked me what he should do with the information.”

“What information?”

“That Pat had gone looking for you.”

“And you said?”

“I—I told him to call D2D. The local guys were still around, living in a house in Aldershot.”

“You gave him the number.”

“Yes.”

“So you didn’t call them yourself but you told Gianni to. Did you consider what the outcome of that might be, Roberto?”

“No … well, yes. I thought they’d rough Pat up, scare him, you know. He needed it. He didn’t have that much to lose, but I sure as hell did. He needed to settle down till this blew over … I thought they’d just scare him.”

MacNeice said flatly, “You thought Pat was an immature kid who just needed a good beating. You thought he was naïve.”

Mancini was sobbing openly. Moving his hand to wipe his face, he spilled the water. He tried to mop it up with the tissues, and when that proved insufficient, he put the sleeve of his fine suit in the puddle and swirled it around till the cloth was wet and the table was dry. “Pat was always spoiled, you know,” he finally managed to say. “He was beautiful, a gifted athlete, smart and funny—but he had no street sense. None!” Anger flashed across his face. “That’s why his game was cut short, you know. He thought it was all about putting the puck in the net, not watching out for who was gunning for your head.”