of Mom’s emery boards to file it off? Along with some of the paint?”
Rizzo laughed. “Okay,” he admitted. “One time, maybe.”
Carol removed her hands from his and stood, moving toward the coffeemaker. Refilling her cup, she returned to her seat.
“So,” she said, her features set, a grimness affixed to her expression. “Would you like to hear what I came to say?”
Rizzo sat back in his seat, his eyes falling to the table. “Probably not.”
Despite herself, Carol’s expression softened. “Well, you’re going to anyway. My mind is made up. I’m going on the cops as soon as they call me.”
Rizzo raised his eyes to meet hers. “And so you decided to drive two hours to come home and tell me this today?”
“Yes, Dad. Today is as good as any. I know you and Mom still plan on talking me out of this, turning me around somehow. I want it resolved now. I want it behind us. I need you to just accept it.”
“But what’s the urgency, kiddo? This coulda waited till…”
Carol shook her head. “No, it couldn’t. All week I’ve been reading about you, how you broke that case, how you and Cil put a murderer behind bars. And I’ve been wondering, how can he be so against me going on the cops? So now, I’m asking you: Why? Is it the danger? Are you scared? The most dangerous job in America is convenience store clerk. Did you know that? Not cop, not firefighter, not race-car driver. Seven-Eleven night clerk. It’s just life, Dad. You can’t protect me from it. I’m an adult, you have to accept that.”
Rizzo rubbed at his jaw, considering it all. Then he sighed before leaning inward toward his youngest daughter.
“All right, Carol,” he said, weariness apparent in his voice. “All right. You read about your big hero father and his gangbuster partner in the newspaper, how they locked up the bogeyman. Well, I think you need to hear the
Rizzo sat back and gave Carol a sad smile. “I solved the case, okay, solved the crime. But the truth is, to do it, I took a big chance with someone else’s life, I risked a third murder. Then I falsified a sworn statement. I promised a coconspirator, a person just as guilty as Bradley, that if she played ball, cooperated and recanted her phony alibi story, I’d write a statement for her with more leaks in it than the
Carol seemed confused. “What are you saying, Dad? That it’s a bad arrest? That this guy Bradley is getting railroaded?”
Rizzo shook his head. “No. I wish it was that simple. The arrest is good, tight as a drum, and the guy is guilty as hell. I just needed that woman’s cooperation to give me the legal ammunition to secure a search warrant for Bradley’s place. Once I did, we had him. We found the physical evidence we needed to throw on top of the circumstantial we already had. Bingo-case closed.” He paused, giving his daughter time to digest what he had just told her, see it for what it was.
“Pretty heroic, isn’t it?” Rizzo asked softly.
Carol sat silently looking at her father. Then she sighed and gave a slight shrug. “Seems to me, Dad,” she said, “you did what had to be done. It is what it is.” She was silent for another moment before continuing.
“You know, Dad, human civilization is built on a foundation. And in this country, we’ve built a lot on our foundation: a free press, great universities, churches, ballets, museums. And do you know what that foundation consists of?”
Her father shook his head. “Sometimes I think I don’t know much of anything, kiddo. Not really.”
Carol continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “The foundation consists of security, Dad. Security and law and order, put there by soldiers, put there by cops. Some people look down on them, criticize them, betray them, feel superior to them. But without those soldiers, without those cops, without the foundation built with their blood and sweat, there
Carol stood slowly and walked behind her father, placing her hands gently onto his shoulders. She bent her face to his ear, speaking softly into it.
“Maybe it’s not always pretty. Maybe a cop’s job can get dirty. But the truth remains. No cops, no foundation. No foundation, no civilization. It’s the only thing I want to do. Just let me work on that foundation. Let me help keep it sound, let me repair some cracks. If I have to get my hands dirty in the process, so be it. I can do what you do, Dad. I can fight fire with fire. You just watch me.”
Carol stood erect, her hands still on Rizzo’s shoulders. He turned his head, his eyes finding hers as she spoke once more.
“I need you to be there for me on this. I could always count on you. Don’t change on me now. Please, Dad.”
Rizzo, his eyes moistening, smiled up at his daughter.
“Okay, kiddo,” he said. “Okay.”
THE AFTERNOON of Friday, December 12, was slate gray and bitterly cold. A harsh northerly wind swept along Smith Street, buffeting scattered pedestrians as they hurried along the sidewalks.
Rizzo climbed from the Camry and pulled his coat collar over his ears and neck. He crossed diagonally to the Non-Combat Zone and pressed the doorbell. As he waited for a response, he glanced at his Timex: three-thirty sharp. Right on time.
“SO, MY friend,” Father Attilio Jovino said happily. “You’ve had quite a two weeks, I see.”
“Well, yeah, Tillio, I guess I have,” Rizzo said.
Reaching across to accept Rizzo’s offered Chesterfield, Jovino said, “You must tell me all the inside dirt, all those tantalizing details which somehow never quite make it into the news reports.”
Rizzo leaned forward with his Zippo, lighting Jovino’s cigarette, then sat back to light his own.
“Well,” he said, blowing smoke down at the desktop, “there’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. That reporter from the
Jovino widened his eyes. “And how very convenient for you,” he said with a smile. “I would imagine the higher-ups were all poised to steal your thunder for themselves. Cappelli’s headlines may just have kept them honest.”
“You’d have made a hell of a cop, Til,” Rizzo said matter-offactly.
“God forbid,” the priest answered, crossing himself. “I have all I can handle right here, thank you.” He paused, drawing on the cigarette. “But really, nothing to share? No inside tidbit?”
“Well, in a day or two, the story’ll break that the fiber found on Lauria’s corpse matched Bradley’s Burberry coat. Plus, the lab pulled trace elements of blood from Bradley’s leather gloves, and it’s Lauria’s. That shuts the door.” He paused. “There were some problems with DeMaris’s initial statement. It was sorta vague and poorly framed as to the extent of her involvement, and she may get outta this cheap, but her pulling the alibi story did a good job of nailin’ Bradley on the Mallard case. And there’d be no reason for him to kill Lauria other than to protect his plagiarism and the fortune he was reapin’ from the play, so once we prove Bradley killed Lauria, DeMaris’s testimony makes the Mallard case a no-brainer. He’s goin’ down on both of ’em.”
“May God forgive him,” Jovino said in a neutral voice.
“Yeah,” Rizzo said coldly. “Let’s hope.”
Jovino’s face brightened. “So, I saw your picture in the paper. You and Detective Jackson, with our dear mayor and illustrious police commissioner. I understand the
Rizzo gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Unless some ditzy pop singer loses her drawers again. Then I’m yesterday’s news.”
“Quite possibly, Joe,” Jovino said, laughing. “Quite possibly.”
