With handshakes all around and coffee from a carafe on the table, we sat and ran through the usual preliminaries for taping a statement. Then Bart placed his cellphone on the table. “I’ll also be recording the proceedings, gentlemen, to be sure there are no misunderstandings.”
Reese’s already ramrod-straight back tightened perceptively.
We ran through the same material that was covered yesterday. Then Art asked the question that had caused Horton to explode. “You were surprised when Mr. Wagner revealed his true identity as Tommaso Severson?”
I didn’t want to lie while making a sworn statement to the police. “It was a shocking thing to learn, Detective Penske.” Even if the shock came three days earlier.
“Ms. Bonaparte,” said Reese, “if you were unaware of the true identity of the deceased, why were you there?”
“As I already stated, I was hired by his wife to find him. When I ran across his obituary, she wanted me to uncover more details of his life after he left her.”
“For what reason?”
“Closure, Lieutenant. When their man walks out on them, women like to understand why.”
“I see.” Obviously, he didn’t. “And after his supposed death, how did you manage to locate him?”
I raised an eyebrow at Bart, who said, “There are confidential aspects to Ms. Bonaparte’s investigation, Lieutenant. Let’s just say that the attorney who drafted the obituary and then had it published was an unwitting link to Mr. Severson.”
“Not good enough, Attorney Matthews. Unless Ms. Bonaparte is willing to answer my questions, I can have her charged with obstruction of justice.”
“On the contrary, Lieutenant Reese. Ms. Bonaparte is protected under the rules of attorney-client privilege. She acted under my instructions in this matter. Mrs. Wagner is the client of record.”
“Funny that Mrs. Wagner never mentioned that last night.”
“I’m sure she was too distraught at the news of her husband’s death to be concerned with legalities,” Bart responded.
Reese sighed in frustration. “Name and contact information for the Stevens Point lawyer.”
I took one of Frank’s business cards from my briefcase and passed it across the table. “He’s totally unaware of the Severson connection. The Wagner identity is how he knew the deceased.”
Art jumped back in. “Please relate the details of the conversation between you and Mr. Severson, for the record.”
That part was easy. “Hank went into hiding when he thought there was a possibility that someone he knew from the South Philly Mob might have spotted him. He told me nothing about his life after he ran, just that he did it to protect his family. When I asked if he wanted to consider applying to the Witness Protection Program, in order to be able to reunite with them, he demurred. He was afraid the Family would hunt him down, and that they might harm Marcy and the children. So we agreed that he’d disappear again and Marcy would file for divorce.”
Reese interrupted with a snide voice. “A regular saint, wasn’t he?”
I knew he hoped that, by angering me, I would reveal something unintended. I kept a cool head and responded, “No kind of saint at all. But he did love his family. Those were the last words on his lips before he died.”
Reese had the grace to look down at the table for a moment. Then he said, “Ms. Bonaparte, your father is connected to another branch of organized crime in this city. Did he facilitate Mr. Severson’s demise at the hands of the South Philly Mob?”
Bart slammed a meaty hand onto the table top, causing the recorder and his cellphone to shake. “Lieutenant Reese, that allegation is entirely unproven. In fact, it amounts to slander. My client has given an open and honest statement of the events at Holy Hill related to Mr. Severson’s death. We have nothing further to say. This discussion is closed. I’ll expect a transcript to be delivered to my office at your earliest convenience. Neither email nor other electronic delivery is acceptable. I find them too easily misplaced or altered. Ms. Bonaparte will sign the statement once she and I have reviewed the transcript to be sure it is accurate. Good day.”
I scrambled to assemble my coat, briefcase and purse as Bart steamrolled out the door and into Homicide, where Wukowski now sat at his desk, Captain Horton and a woman hovering nearby. Wukowski rose, straightened his shoulders and walked over. “No shouting today?”
“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “Just snide insinuation.”
“I know all about that.”
I recalled Art’s comments about Wukowski being under the gun because of me. “Speaking of which, we need to talk.”
Bart snickered. “The words every man dreads. Angie, I’d like to escort you out of the building. You and Wukowski can have your confab later.”
“I’m afraid not,” Wukowski said with a nod toward Horton and the woman. “My captain and Internal Affairs are here to supervise a discussion with me and Angie.”
“Over my dead body!” Bart exclaimed. “My client has given her statement. Discussing the events with your superiors and allowing them to also brutalize her is not going to happen.”
The words were loud enough to be heard in the room. Bart used them to establish the grounds for a hostile environment, should it come to that. Wily fox!
The woman who Wukowski indicated was from Internal Affairs marched over, Horton following behind. A look of muted despair passed over Wukowski’s face as his shoulders drooped. “I understand,” he told Bart. After a beat, he snapped into his normal posture and turned to me. “Can I see you tonight?”
Horton’s face held a gleeful look as they approached. Anything that made that jerk happy could not be good for me, and probably not for Wukowski.
“Bart, would it hurt to listen to what they have to say?” I asked.
“Are you nuts?” he responded.
“No. I’m walking a high wire,” I told him, “balancing between my best interests and Wukowski’s. And I’d appreciate your standing by me.”
The room fell into a heavy
