Rolling Thunder

mean losing everything!”

He pauses. Realizes that, in the end, Gail lost a whole lot more.

“Anyway, I told her she should call her guy. Tell him what this other guy had tried to do. I figured her sugar daddy would protect his …”

He wants to say property.

“… investment. Gail thought that was a great idea. Said she was going to text him right away. I reminded her it was nearly midnight. She told me she didn’t care.”

It all lines up with what we already know.

Big Paddy O’Malley had to be Gail Baker’s sugar daddy.

That’s who she texted after she called Charzuk.

“She’d gone to that house to celebrate,” he adds, shaking his head.

“Celebrate what?”

“I think this is why she didn’t want to fool around with me anymore. She had convinced herself she had a shot at actually marrying her guy. ‘Becoming the next Mrs. Moneybags,’ is what she said when we went out dancing Tuesday night. I guess her guy had just dumped his wife-something they all say but never really do.”

“How well do you know Peter O’Malley?” says Ceepak.

“He’s my boss. He designs the landscapes, hires me and a couple other guys to do the installations. The heavy lifting.”

“And how does Peter O’Malley feel about his father?” asks Ceepak.

“Big Paddy?”

“Right.”

“They’re not very close.”

“Would Peter be happy to see his father go to jail?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”

“I’m interested in your opinion.”

“Well, I know he doesn’t like his old man, but he doesn’t hate him like he hated his mother. I think she tried to send him to a camp in Texas to cure him of being gay or something.”

“Did Peter O’Malley in any way coach you on what to tell us tonight?”

“Peter? Why would he do that?”

“Did he?”

“No. I just didn’t want to come down here alone. I called a couple people. Peter was the only one willing to come with me.”

“Commendable,” says Ceepak. “He must be a very good boss.”

“Yeah.”

Ceepak stands up. “You’ll be in town for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We may need to talk to you again.”

Now I stand, and Mike Charzuk takes the hint. We’re done. He’s free to go. He can stand, too.

“I hope you guys catch whoever killed Gail,” he says, sliding his chair under the table.

“Rest assured, Mr. Charzuk,” says Ceepak. “We will.”

Yeah, even if it was one of the town’s big dogs.

Like Big Paddy or-even bigger-our mayor.

22

“I wish Peter O’Malley wasn’t connected to Mike Charzuk,” says Ceepak as we roll south, heading back to number One Tangerine.

“You think O’Malley is pushing Charzuk to say bad stuff about Big Paddy?”

“Mr. Charzuk insists that such is not the case. So, I will take him at his word.”

I’m driving. Ceepak’s thinking.

I can always tell. He gets this faraway look in his squinty eyes, like he’s back in the turret up top on an armored personnel carrier over in Iraq, hunting unseen enemies.

“Let’s stop at Three Tangerine first, Danny,” he says after a long moment of tire-humming silence.

“Mrs. D’Ambrosio and Puck?”

Ceepak nods. “According to Mr. Charzuk, very powerful men, including Mayor Sinclair, were occasional guests at the so-called Sugar Shack.”

“Mayor Sinclair’s married,” I say. “Three kids.”

“I suspect most of the men fit that same profile.”

Yeah. They’re all cheaters-putting them in direct violation of Ceepak’s honor code.

“Danny, do you remember what Mayor Sinclair said to us on the steps of the stationhouse?”

I’m ready to answer, “Have a sunny, funderful day,” because that’s what the doofus says every time he gets half a chance. But Ceepak fills in the blanks for me:

“‘Let’s not bother the neighbors too much up and down Tangerine Street.’”

“Right! Probably because they’d seen him hanging out where maybe he shouldn’t have been hanging out.”

And I mean that last bit literally.

“Let’s go bother the next-door neighbor,” says Ceepak, a glint in his eye. I think it’s the glint he got when he scoped out a sniper nobody else had seen up in a Baghdad bell tower.

Mrs. D’Ambrosio greets us at her front door in the same bathrobe she was wearing earlier, even though it’s almost ten o’clock at night. She’s cradling Puck in her arms.

“What’s with all the police next door?” she asks.

“The State Police Office of Forensics Sciences is investigating what we believe to be a crime scene.”

“At the frat house?”

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry. That’s what I call it. Some nights, it’s like that movie Gorilla House over there.”

I think she means Animal House.

“Loud parties?” says Ceepak.

“Let’s say boisterous. A lot of high-pitched squeals and giggles from the girls. Very young girls.”

“Have you ever filed a complaint?”

“No. Officer Santa Lucci told me it would be a bad idea.”

“You mean Sergeant Santucci of the Sea Haven Police Department?”

“Is he really a cop?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Huh. He told me he was. Wasn’t in uniform, though. Didn’t have a badge except this thing that said ‘Security.’ My kid has one just like it, only his says ‘Deputy.’”

“When did you talk to Officer Santucci?”

“Two weeks ago. When I first moved in. He told me I was early, that the season didn’t really start till the fourth of July. He was dressed all in black so I didn’t argue.”

He must’ve been working his side job-Italian Stallion Security.

“Anyway, he told me the ‘festivities’ next door at number one would die down at the end of the month, that the house would be rented out to tenants on a week-to-week basis. But, until such time, the police weren’t interested in hearing from me about anything going on next door because some very important people with even more important friends owned the property. So, if I did complain, well … I’m not sure … but it sounded like I might be the one who’d end up getting arrested because, as Mr. Santa Lucci pointed out, this house has several code violations.”

“Did he mention what those might be?”