W. H. Auden
I woke, groggy and disoriented, to the sounds of buzzing and pounding. The digital clock read 4:48. Groaning, I pawed for the “off” button. Still, the sounds persisted. I sat up and listened more intently—telephone, doorbell, hammering on the entry door. Good grief, I thought, has the world exploded?
I picked up the phone with a raspy “Hello?” as I pulled on my robe and slid my feet into slippers.
“Angie, it’s Bart Matthews. Listen closely, there isn’t much time until the police get to you.”
“I think they’re already here, Bart,” I responded, as I looked out the peephole at two men, one of whom I knew. “Joe Ignowski and another guy are pounding on my door.”
“Okay, before you answer the door, I want to hire you on behalf of Anthony Belloni.”
“Just a minute, I’m getting some clothes on,” I yelled at the door, hoping to stifle them before all my neighbors heard. The pounding and buzzing stopped. Why, I thought, would the infamous “Mafia attorney” (media phrase, not mine) be representing Tony? Adultery isn’t illegal. “Bart, I have a conflict of interest in that regard.” I was trying not to name Gracie.
“I know, Gracie told me. She also told the police when they arrested Tony tonight for the murder of Elisa Morano. I don’t want you talking to the cops without a briefing. If you’re employed by me, you’re covered by attorney-client privilege.”
“Hang on, Bart, I’m thinking.” I opened the door and motioned the detectives in. “Give me a minute,” I told them.
“Hey, Angie,” Joe whined, but I ignored him as I walked into my bedroom and shut and locked the door.
From the back of my walk-in closet, surrounded by sound-muffling clothing, I resumed my conversation with Bart. “Let me get this straight. Tony’s in the slammer for killing Elisa and Gracie wants me to help him?”
“Right. She’s in a ‘Stand by Your Man’ mood.” He paused and I heard the click and the little explosion of butane flame, then the sucking sound as he took a drag. Bart weighs at least three hundred, smokes non-stop, and works eighty hours a week as legal counsel for the Family. I doubt he’ll see forty.
Ignowski and partner were now pounding on my bedroom door. “Give me a minute, Bart.” I exited the closet, opened the bedroom door and stood there, one hand brandishing the phone and the other on my hip. “You guys will have to wait. I’m talking to my attorney.” Joe’s partner started to protest, but I raised my hand and pointed. “Go press the Start button on the coffee-maker in the kitchen. It’s loaded and ready. Pour yourselves a cup and I’ll be out as soon as I can.” Before either man could respond, I closed and locked the door and walked back into the closet.
“I can’t say yes or no to the offer, Bart, until I know whether Tony did it. I won’t protect him if he did.”
“No way, Angie. He never touched her.” Hoarse cough/laugh. “Well, at least he never touched her that way.”
“But they were making it?”
“Yeah, they were. He’s properly ashamed, believe me. He and Gracie had it out tonight, after she told him about hiring you. He broke down and confessed, told her he wanted to end it with Elisa, that he’d never cheated before. Then the police came to the door and she lost it and told them the whole story, how Tony couldn’t have done it because he loved her and not Elisa. Silly twit just couldn’t keep her yap shut.”
“She’s under a lot of pressure, Bart. Four little kids and another on the way, and a lying husband accused of murdering the girlfriend. I think you should cut her some slack.”
He had the grace to apologize, and even sounded sheepish as he did. “Sorry, Angie, you’re right. Gracie’s got a lot to deal with. That’s why she’s begging you to help clear Tony.” He let it lie there for a couple seconds. Every good lawyer or interrogator knows the technique. I use it myself. That doesn’t make it easier to handle.
“Can you get me into the jail tomorrow? I want to talk to Tony in person.”
“No problem. You can go in as part of my staff. You’re taking the job, right?”
“For now. You’re lucky, I didn’t find anything incriminating on him, just the affair. Now I’d better get out there and talk to Iggy and his partner before they explode.”
“Lucky draw, getting Iggy, huh? Could be worse. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”
“It’s already morning, dammit. Don’t call me before ten.” I hung up the phone and washed my face before joining the men, who were drinking coffee at my dining room table.
There’s a lot of common ground between criminals and cops. Both savor power, thrills, control. The good cops know they’re only a step or two away from the crooks they’re arresting. Iggy is one of the good cops. I heard that Iggy’s new license plates arrived in the mail one year with a little message scratched on the back from the prisoner who stuffed the envelopes—HI IGGY. Go figure.
Iggy introduced his partner to me. “Angie, this is Detective Ted Wukowski.”
I extended my hand. “They call you Wookie?”
“Only once.” He gave me a real Sergeant Friday look, no smile, no expression, all business.
Iggy coughed, a little embarrassed by Wukowski’s manners. “Angie, we’re here to talk to you about Tony Baloney, uh, I mean, Anthony Belloni.”
“I know, Iggy. I was just on the phone with Bart.” We both knew who I meant, and if Wukowski was in the dark, what did I care? “I’m on retainer to help him represent Belloni, so I can’t talk to you.”
Wukowski stood, looming over me as I sipped from my coffee. “You know the rules, lady. You can lose your license for withholding evidence of a crime.”
“That’s right, Detective. But the last I heard, running around on your wife isn’t a crime. It’s dishonest
