Rizzo's Fire

“Oh, I dunno. Something Kellerman said, I think.”

Priscilla interjected. “It had something to do with the plot.”

“I assure you, Officers, my only assistance with the script was in allowing Avery to utilize my cottage at Southampton while he crafted the play.” He smiled coldly at Rizzo, then Jackson. “If I were capable of contributing to so majestic a work, I daresay I would author one myself.”

“Where were you on October thirtieth?” Rizzo asked.

Bradley again looked from one to the other, settling his gaze on Rizzo. “Pardon?”

“Yeah,” Rizzo said offhandedly. “That’s when Lauria was probably killed, or maybe the twenty-ninth. Just a routine question, you know. I gotta ask it. For the record.”

Bradley seemed to ponder matters for a moment. “I cannot answer that, Sergeant,” he said coolly. “You’re talking about nearly one month ago. I have no idea where I may have been.”

“See, Cil?” Rizzo said, turning toward Priscilla. “It’s like I said, who knows where they were a month ago? Nobody.” He turned back to Bradley, lowering his voice, again leaning inward. “Kellerman knew where he was right away,” Rizzo said. “Claimed to be in Paris at the time.”

“I see,” Bradley said.

Rizzo nodded. “Yeah, always gets my attention, these instant alibi answers. But you, you weren’t sure. Had no idea where you were. Hell, I got no idea where I was those two days, either.”

They sat silently for a moment before Rizzo continued.

“Well, Mr. Bradley, unless you can think a somethin’ you wanna add about Kellerman, I guess we’re done here.”

Again Bradley made a point of looking at his wristwatch. “No, Sergeant. I have nothing further to add.”

Rizzo stood, Jackson following his lead. He reached across the desk, shaking hands with the producer, noting the dryness of the man’s palm.

“Thanks for your time,” he said. “Maybe we’ll stop by after the holiday, next week sometime. Just to have a word with-what’s her name, your assistant?”

“Linda DeMaris,” Bradley said, releasing Rizzo’s hand.

“Yeah. DeMaris.” Rizzo turned to leave. “We can find our own way out, Mr. Bradley,” he said. “No need to get up.”

“Fine,” Bradley said. “Good day to you both.”

“Yeah,” Rizzo said on the way out. “And I hope your Lieutenant Lombardi finds Mallard’s killer.”

“Yes,” Bradley said curtly, his eyes dark. “As do I.”

At the door, Rizzo turned once more, remaining silent and making eye contact with Bradley, the gesture designed to prod the man to speak one last time, to impose a sudden and unwanted obligation on Bradley. Awkward seconds ticked by.

“And, Sergeant,” Bradley finally said. “Good luck to you as well, with your Bensonhurst murder.”

Rizzo smiled. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

ON THEIR way out, Rizzo and Jackson stopped at the reception desk and showed Robert Lauria’s photograph to the young woman there. She shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I’ve never seen him here.”

Afterward, the two detectives bought coffee from a shop in the building’s lobby, then sat in the Impala on Fifth Avenue, drinking and reviewing their notes.

“Bradley’s our killer, Cil,” Rizzo said. “No fuckin’ doubt about it.”

Priscilla frowned. “He sure looks good, Joe, but no doubt? How you figure that?”

“Remember his little, ‘In Great Britain we use our specific area, not just the city we live in,’ bullshit?”

“Yeah, he’s from Kingston, not just London. So what?”

Rizzo sipped his coffee. “Point of information,” he said, “for when you’re dealin’ with a cool character like Bradley. And he was cool, believe me. His palm was dry as a stone in the desert, even after that completely unexpected dance around DeMaris and Lauria he had with us. See, guys like him, they think one step ahead, they anticipate, form their answers before they speak. They’re not street skells, blurtin’ out what ever bullshit pops into their heads. Not as a rule, anyway. He was one step ahead of my next question for most of the interview. But as we were leavin’, I turned slow and stared at him. He’s calm on the outside, but wound tight inside his chest. He sees me starin’, he figures I’m gonna ask him somethin’ else now, after he thought we were all done. And he can’t imagine what I’m gonna say. So he’s gotta buy himself some more time to think, and he finally does just say what pops into his head. Any damn small talk chitchat.”

Priscilla furrowed her brow. A moment passed, then her eyes widened. Rizzo smiled, again sipping his coffee.

“Holy fuck, Joe,” she said softly. “Bensonhurst. How did Bradley know Lauria got killed in Bensonhurst?”

“Bingo. The guy didn’t even know we were from Brooklyn till I tole him, let alone Bensonhurst. And we never mentioned the Six-Two, either, not that some limey would know it’s in Bensonhurst anyway. No, Cil, this guy’s a foreigner, probably never been over to Brooklyn before, or if he has, just the trendy neighborhoods like The Heights and Park Slope. When he was plannin’ Lauria’s murder, he’d have resorted to what’s native to him. He’d have checked a map of Brooklyn, maybe Googled Lauria’s address. When he saw it was in Bensonhurst, from habit he mentally converted ‘Brooklyn’ to ‘Bensonhurst.’ Just like ‘London’ to ‘Kingston-on-Thames.’ Then, under the pressure of my parting stare, it slipped out, and he didn’t even realize its significance.”

Priscilla shook her head. “He’s a double murderer,” she said.

“Yeah, that he is,” Rizzo said. “And from the getup he was wearin’ in that photo on the wall, he was some kinda special forces guy, Royal Marines or S.A.S., somethin’ like that. Bet he got plenty a training in strangulation. Piece a cake for Bradley to kill these two guys. Neither one of them was a tough guy, that’s for sure.”

Priscilla nodded. “And did you see that suit he was wearing, Joe? Musta set him back a grand, at least. Outta the four of ’em-Kellerman, the director, the neighbor, and Bradley-he’s the most upscale dresser. A guy like him would definitely own a high-priced raincoat.”

“Yeah,” Rizzo agreed. “Like every other well-off London dude.”

“So why’d you piss him off so much, Joe?”

He smiled. “Mostly ’cause I could. He figured me for some nottoo-bright reactionary cop type. I could see it in his smug expression. I didn’t wanna disappoint the prick. Plus, it made it easier for me to switch gears, rattle him, maybe force a slipup.”

“Yeah, let him get all comfortable with that,” she said. “This way, when we shove the arrest warrant down his throat, he’ll never see it coming.”

“Yeah,” Rizzo said softly, “but we’re a long way from an arrest warrant, Cil. We got a ton of circumstantial evidence, enough to convince most people Bradley’s our man. But it’s still not worth much in a courtroom. We can’t prove anything. Not yet.”

Priscilla countered, “But we throw a fiber match from his raincoat onto that pile of circumstantial, we got a conviction.”

“Yeah,” Rizzo said. “But we need a search warrant to get to the coat. And I can’t see a judge signin’ one. Not based on what we got so far.”

“I disagree,” Priscilla said. “We got a clear track for Lauria’s play to Bradley through DeMaris. We got the Bensonhurst comment, and we got Bradley’s ties, motives, means, and opportunities on both Lauria’s and Mallard’s killings.”

“Normally I might take all that to a judge,” Rizzo said. “Take a shot, cut DeMaris a lesser charge. She takes back that alibi, Bradley sinks with Lauria’s Solitary Vessel. But we go to a judge with the Mallard tie-in now, we risk losin’ it all to Manhattan South. We need to work it just from the Lauria angle, which is too weak for a warrant. Or we gotta have an open-and-shut slam-dunk against Bradley on both homicides.”

“Sounds kinda tough.”

“Yeah, it should. It is tough, but I’m thinkin’, what’s Bradley’s next move?”

Priscilla thought for a moment. “He has to warn DeMaris. Or kill her.”

“Exactly. He’s gotta protect himself before we talk to her some time next week, like I told him we’d do. He’s