Silence.
“The mystery captain got a name?”
“Kirsten Rafferty. Why, you want her number?”
“I don’t date women who outrank me.”
“I’m not even going there,” she said. “So you wanna hear this or what?”
“Go ahead.”
“Seems Martello got divorced ten years back and the ex started dating a guy assigned to Highway Patrol named Cruz.”
“Yeah, so…”
“A year later, Cruz was off the job and the ex was out of state.”
“There’s a punch line here, right?” I asked.
“The story goes that Ray Martello was like out of his mind over his ex dating another cop… Men and their macho bullshit. Any ways, he didn’t confront either Cruz or the ex-wife. Instead, he hooks up with Cruz’s barely legal little sister. Martello asks the sister to keep their romance quiet because he doesn’t want to cause trouble with her big brother and she’s only too happy to oblige. Problem is, she’s also happy to oblige when Martello suggests they start videotaping themselves… You know what I’m saying? Do I have to draw fucking pictures for you, Moe?”
“So Martello lets Cruz know not only that he’s been boning his sister, but that he’s got the tapes to prove it. Cruz goes ballistic and assaults Martello, in front of several witnesses, no doubt.”
“No doubt.”
“Cruz gets kicked to the curb, the wife figures she needs to get far away from her crazy ex if she’s ever going to date again, and Martello has his revenge.”
“Gets better,” Carmella said. “Because the story of why Cruz assaulted Martello gets leaked, the brass don’t really want to bring criminal or disciplinary charges against Cruz. Cop vs. cop shit doesn’t look good in the press, especially with what those guys get paid. Problem is, they need Martello’s cooperation to keep it quiet.”
“Nice way to make sergeant, huh? He gets everything he wanted and more, the vengeful dick.”
“Vengeful is right. You gotta be a twisted fuck to go after a man’s family like that. Sound familiar?”
“Unfortunately, it does,” I said.
“Listen to this. Martello’s movements over the past year fit the time frame we’ve established. He went out with a bad hip about eleven months ago and didn’t return to active duty till June. That gave him all the time he needed to set this thing up. Devo’s got more coincidences for you.”
“Listen, Carmella, after I talk to Devo, let’s get outta here for an hour, okay?”
“Sure. I could use a break.”
I rapped my knuckles on Devo’s door and walked in without waiting.
“What’s that?” Devo asked, pointing at my left hand.
“Huh? Oh, this. Another videotape.”
“I can see that, Moe.”
“Right. It’s from the gas station. It’s got the kid and the guy who was driving him around on it, but you can’t make much out. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let you have a try at it. Now I guess it’s sort of beside the point.”
“Maybe.”
“Carmella tells me you-”
“Yes. Here, look at these.” He slid some papers across the desk to me. “As you can see, Sergeant Martello was twice in cities-Los Angeles and Las Vegas-during the same time as the auditions were held in those cities. If we count New York, that is three cities. Of course, he may have been in many more of the cities, but Los Angeles and Las Vegas are the only two for which I have been so far able to obtain proof.”
“Good work, Devo.” I patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Moe…”
“Yeah.”
“It had nearly slipped my mind, but I did some analysis of the tapes you left with me previously. There is nothing much to be done, I am afraid, with the first security videotape. As you saw for yourself, it was terribly degraded and recorded over many many times. However, the phone machine tape did reveal something of interest. While I cannot say whether the voice is authentic or not, I can say it displays no obvious splices or edits, no abrupt clicks on or off. On the other hand, there is some very faint background noise.”
“You mean like scratches and pops from a vinyl record, that kinda thing?”
“Nothing so obvious as that, no. I believe what I hear is the rumble of a cassette motor.”
“Are you sure it isn’t from the phone machine?”
Devo smiled at me like a proud father with his Little Leaguer. “A very astute question. I cannot be certain, but if that is in fact Patrick’s voice, I would venture to say it was dubbed off a cassette tape and then filtered to suppress the other noise you would expect to find on an old tape. Find the person in possession of the original tape and you will be very close to having your answer.”
The Sidebar Grille was near empty when Carmella and I walked in. During ten months of the year, the bar would be four deep with ADAs, defense lawyers, judges, cops, court officers, and even the occasional investigator, but July and August were quieter times around the courts as judges and lawyers heeded the call of the Hamptons. Only cops and skells don’t do summer hours. The Sidebar Grille was famous for its food and convivial atmosphere. More plea bargains and monetary settlements had been sealed in here with steaks and handshakes than in any number of courthouses.
Maybe it was the emptiness of the place or the humidity. Whatever the cause, it didn’t seem that the Sidebar’s renowned aura was having much of an effect on Carmella. While she may not have been exhibiting any obvious physical signs of the pregnancy, my partner was showing nonetheless. She sat across from me, squirming in her chair, unable to look me in the eye. Carmella was uncomfortable in her own skin and that just wasn’t her. She was learning the hard lesson, that children change your life whether you carry them to term or not. Soon she would learn that it was a change from which there is no retreat.
Marco the maitre d’ was about a hundred years old, but never forgot a face or a name or how to put one to the other. He took Carmella’s hand in his, placing his other hand atop hers.
“ La bella Carmella, what may I get for you this evening?”
“A Virgin Mary.”
Marco screwed up his face like he’d been stabbed in the heart.
“She’s been under the weather,” I said, hoping to head off Marco’s interrogation.
“So sorry, bella. You get better, soon, you understand?”
“And for you, Moses… Dewar’s rocks?”
“How’d you guess?”
Marco winked, disappeared.
“You’re still not drinking,” I said. “Good.”
“Good! Why good?”
“Because you’re thinking of keeping the baby.”
“I’m also thinking of not keeping it.” She placed her right hand on her lower abdomen. She tilted her head down. “You hear me, you inconvenient little brat?”
“They’re all inconvenient, Carmella. Every single one, always.”
“I guess.”
Marco brought our drinks over and chatted with me a bit, but I couldn’t help but peer at Carmella out of the corner of my eye. She was in love and, inconvenient or not, that baby was to be born. Now the trick was getting her to know it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brian Doyle got relief, all right… me.
