Authors: Nelson DeMille
Mr. Mancuso replied, “We think he’s had at least fourteen people beaten, but we can’t connect him, directly or through contract, to any homicides.”
Recalling some Mafia lore, I inquired, “So, he hasn’t made his bones?”
Mr. Mancuso replied, “I’m sure he has, or he wouldn’t be where he is in the organization, but it’s never come to our attention, and he doesn’t make a habit of it.”
Susan said, “I think I missed something. About the bones.”
I left it to Mr. Mancuso to explain, “That means to personally commit a murder. As opposed to contracting for a murder.”
Susan said, “Sorry I asked.”
Felix Mancuso drew a notebook out of his pocket and said to us, “I’d like each of you, in any order you wish, to tell me anything you may not have said in your statement to the police.” He instructed us, “What you tell me can be opinions, impressions, and feelings, in addition to observations and details that may not have seemed important to you, but which may mean something to me in a larger context, or could become important later.”
That seemed to give me a lot more latitude than I’d had with the police, and it opened the possibilities of having a little fun with my descriptions of Sunday at the Bellarosas’. On the other hand, this was a serious matter, plus I didn’t want Mr. Mancuso to get the idea that I thought his
paesanos
were unintentionally funny. Susan suggested that I go first, so I began at the beginning with the knock on my door, and Mr. Anthony Bellarosa crossing my threshold.
I concluded with, “Anthony was on a mission, which was to recruit me, so he brought up the subject of Susan to use later as a bargaining chip.” I added, “The deal was always going to be that she stayed alive as long as I worked for him.”
Mr. Mancuso didn’t comment on that and said, “Please proceed.”
So I poured more coffee and continued the story of John and Anthony, going next to the dinner at Wong Lee’s, meeting Tony, formerly known as Anthony, and relating my phone conversation with Anna, and even repeating Anthony’s jokes about Mom, which caused Mr. Mancuso to smile, perhaps remembering his own mother.
I went on to Anthony’s rudeness to the Chinese waitress, to give everyone a less amusing image of Anthony Bellarosa. I continued on to the rest of the conversation with Anthony, about his father, and related matters, and I concluded with my abrupt and angry departure. I asked Mr. Mancuso, “Am I giving you too much information?”
He assured me, “There is no such thing as too much information when you’re in the information business.” He further informed me, “We build personality profiles on these people, and anyone, like yourself, who has had intimate contact with a person such as this can provide valuable insight into how they think, act, talk, and react.”
“Okay.” So, I told him Anthony’s jokes about Chinese women, but he didn’t smile. Neither did Susan, who said, “Disgusting.”
That may have crossed the too-much-information line, so I moved on to the details of my chance encounter with Anthony on Grace Lane, and my ride to Oyster Bay. I kept the narrative honest, and as Mancuso had suggested, I editorialized now and then.
Mr. Mancuso nodded a few times and raised his eyebrows at appropriate points in my story to show me he disapproved of my possible interest in being Anthony’s
consigliere
, notwithstanding my prior explanation about my concern for Susan. Now and then, he jotted a note.
When I finished with the Oyster Bay episode, Susan commented, “Well, he certainly picked the right person to tell him when his head was getting too big.”
That was supposed to be funny, so I chuckled, and even Mr. Mancuso smiled. I suggested, however, “Why don’t we leave the opinions to me, darling, until it’s your turn?”
Mr. Mancuso urged me to continue, and I picked up the narrative on Sunday morning, and my visit to Susan, to establish the time frame when we’d reconciled. I laid it on a little thick here, mentioning Susan’s remorse for what she’d done, and assuring Mr. Mancuso that Susan, like Mary Magdalene, had achieved an understanding of her sins, leading to her full redemption and possible sainthood.
Well, I didn’t really go that far, but I wanted Mr. Mancuso to understand that Susan Sutter, sitting here now, was not the same fallen woman she’d been ten years ago, and that she was worth saving. Felix Mancuso needed to put aside any subconscious thoughts he might be harboring about the wages of sin being death, or that if something happened to Susan, she had it coming. Special Agent Mancuso was a professional, but he was also a man who had been deeply shocked and professionally wounded by what happened ten years ago. Nevertheless, he’d do his job, but he’d do it even better if he believed he was on the side of the angels.
He interrupted my canonization of Susan and said, “If I may be personal . . . I’m not following how you reconciled so quickly after a ten-year separation.”
Well, Susan Stanhope Sutter is one of the great lays of my life. No—the
greatest
.
“Mr. Sutter?”
“Well . . . it was as though this dam had burst, letting loose a decade of anger, hurt, disappointment, betrayal, and stubbornness. And after that flood subsided, what was left was a deep, placid lake of . . . well, love.”
I thought I heard Susan groan, but Mr. Mancuso nodded and said, “Please continue.”
I recounted my drive to Alhambra, including Bell Security Service at the gate, and my meeting Megan Bellarosa, and my reunion with Anna. It was here that I could get into trouble with Mr. Mancuso if I made fun of an Italian mother, so I downplayed Anna’s bossiness toward her son, and I emphasized her positive qualities of love, warmth, hospitality, and good cheer. I concluded that segment of the story with, “I wish I had a mother like that.” I realized that I wasn’t being totally insincere, so it came out all right, and Mr. Mancuso smiled.
I was doing pretty good so far, having gotten past the tricky stuff about Anthony and me talking about a new career for me, and from here on, the story put me in a favorable light, but more importantly, I was leading up to the barely concealed threats on Susan’s life.
I informed Mr. Mancuso, “Salvatore D’Alessio, a.k.a Sally Da-da, was on the back patio with his wife, Marie.”
Mr. Mancuso didn’t seem to react to that, so I inquired, “Are you watching his house?”
Mancuso said, “That was in your statement to the police. Please continue.”
“All right.” I related the details of my chance reunion with Uncle Sal, and shared with Mr. Mancuso my thoughts and observations regarding the relationship between Sal and Anthony, then I moved on to my continuing employment interview with the CEO of Bell Enterprises, emphasizing here that Anthony was too dense to understand that I wasn’t leaping at his offer. I also mentioned my thought that the women in Anthony’s life did not treat him like the
padrone
. Mr. Mancuso smiled at my use of the Italian word, and nodded. I mentioned, too, about telling Anthony that my daughter was an assistant district attorney in Brooklyn.
Mr. Mancuso commented, “So, you have a member of the family in law enforcement.”
Susan, proud mom, chimed in, “She loves her job, and she works twelve-hour days.” She added, “I’m very proud of her.”
Mr. Mancuso smiled, probably thinking,
At least one member of this family has gone straight.
We were all bonding now, and I was in the home stretch and way ahead, so I moved on to Anthony’s den and my phone call to Elizabeth and Susan. I would not have even mentioned the phone call to Elizabeth, except that Mr. Mancuso had probably already listened to the tape recording of that call, along with mine to Susan. And, as a lawyer, I know that when you leave something out, or lie to the law, even about a small thing, it calls into question your veracity about other things.
Mr. Mancuso seemed interested that I was in Anthony Bellarosa’s private den, and he asked me to describe it.
So to add a few details to Anthony Bellarosa’s personality profile, and to further justify my social call on him, I said that Anthony kept his father’s books from La Salle Military Academy on his shelves, and that Anthony had a collection of books written by, or about, the Romans.
Mancuso nodded and said, “As I mentioned before Mrs. Sutter joined us, Anthony Bellarosa may have a Caesar complex.” He smiled and added, “Many of them do.” He said to me, “Please continue.”
I was going to move on from the subject of the Romans, but I found it interesting that a man who was basically uninteresting and uncomplicated had this other side to him, and I suggested, “Some of his admiration for the Romans may have to do with what I mentioned before—Anthony is henpecked, and . . . well, the Romans were macho.”
Mr. Mancuso nodded politely, but I had the feeling he thought I was getting carried away with myself, so to make my point and also to continue my description of the den, I said, “Over the fireplace, he has a reproduction of Rubens’ Rape of the Sabine Women.” I added, in case Mr. Mancuso wasn’t familiar with the classical tale, “The Romans raped the women of the Sabine tribe.”
Mr. Mancuso nodded, and Susan assured me, “I think we understand. Can we move on?”
“All right.” I finished my description of the den, and I was now at the point in my story where I had to tell about seeing Susan’s oil painting of Alhambra in Anthony’s den, and slashing it to ribbons. I hadn’t put this in my statement to the police, and Susan didn’t know about this, and I couldn’t guess at what she’d think or say. Also, I couldn’t determine if this destructive act made me a tough guy or a nut job. So, without putting any spin on it, I simply said, “There was an oil painting on an easel in Anthony’s den, and I recognized it as the painting Susan had done of the palm court at Alhambra—”
Mr. Mancuso interrupted and said to me, “You put your fist through it that night.”
“I did.” I added, “Someone had it restored.”
Susan, who never knew I’d smashed her painting, looked at me, but said nothing.
I got to the point and said, “I took a letter opener and slashed the painting to shreds.”
No one had anything to say about that, so I poured another cup of coffee for myself.
Finally, Mr. Mancuso asked, “Why?”
Good question. I replied, “It was a symbolic act with deep psychological overtones, coupled with a primal belief that my enemy should not possess anything that was associated with, created by, or even touched by my once and future wife.”
Mr. Mancuso seemed deep in thought, as though he were making mental notes for a psychological profile on me.
Susan, I sensed, was looking at me, so I made eye contact with her.
I realized my explanation was a little weird, so I tried a simpler explanation and said, “I was just pissed off at him, and I guess I wanted to leave him a message.”
Felix Mancuso said to me, “Well, I’m sure he got the message, Mr. Sutter. And knowing his type, I’m also sure he has a return message for you.”
“I’m sure he does.”
I concluded my account of Sunday with Anthony by relating, almost word for word, as I’d done with Detective Nastasi, our confrontation on his front lawn, and my telling him that his father was a stool pigeon and was selling out his friends and family in exchange for immunity from prosecution. I did not, however, reveal to Mr. Mancuso, or to Susan, that I’d told Anthony that his father and my wife were in love, and were prepared to run off together—and would have, if Frank hadn’t owed me a favor.
I ended with something I hadn’t said to Detective Nastasi, and hadn’t really focused on before. I said to Felix Mancuso, “Anthony Bellarosa’s eyes, his face, and his tone of voice . . . If we weren’t standing on his own front lawn, and if he’d had a gun, I think he would have killed me.”
Susan stood, came up beside me, and took my hand.
Mr. Mancuso had no comment, but he also stood and said, “I think it’s time for a break.”
F
elix Mancuso remained in my office, and Susan and I took our break in the upstairs parlor, long ago converted to a family room, where we would gather to watch television when Edward and Carolyn were young. I don’t know what the prior owners had done with this room, but Susan had faithfully reproduced the feel, if not the actual furnishings, of the room, including some old movie posters that I remembered, though
The Godfather
seemed to be missing.
Susan opened two bottles of spring water and gave one to me. We remained standing, and I looked out the window at the rain.
Susan said to me, “I have a much clearer picture now of what happened between you and Anthony Bellarosa.”
I replied, “More importantly, I hope you have a clearer understanding of the threat he may pose to you.”
“And to you.”
I replied, “He’s angry at me, and maybe disappointed. But he’ll get over it. This is about you.”
She said to me, “He
threatened
you, John.”
I didn’t reply.
She asked me, “Why in the world did you slash that painting?”
“I told you.”
“But . . . why would you want to make him even more angry?”
I looked away from the window and replied, “If you really want to know, Susan, that fucking painting brought back to me your time spent at Alhambra, your affair with—”
“All right. I think you overreacted, but—”
“That was why I put my fist through it ten years ago, and this time, no one is going to have it restored.”
She stayed silent for a moment, then said, “I understand.”
Neither of us spoke for a while, then Susan said, “But what I don’t understand is . . . I’m not understanding what caused Anthony Bellarosa’s explosive rage . . . he apparently liked you, and thought highly of you . . . and then he turned on you and threatened you.” She asked, “Why?”
I finished my water and replied, “As I said to Detective Nastasi, and as I just said to Mancuso—I told Anthony that you and I were back together, and that he and I were through.” I added, “Think of it as . . . well, a romantic triangle.” I wanted to say, “You know about that,” but I said instead, “He’s not used to being scorned.” I added, “And what really set him off was me telling him that his father was singing his heart out to the FBI.”