comers, the young Turks waiting to take over now that Stanfa’s defunct and Merlino’s in jail. Both were low-level soldiers.”
“Why do I care?” Mary heard herself say. Trish remained mute, watching the action.
“If she knows anything about the Guarino organization, it’s going to prevent a lot of murders in this town. We have information that Barbi’s murder is just the beginning.”
“I understand that, but she doesn’t know anything, and it can’t circulate that she does or she ends up dead.”
Brinkley frowned. “I don’t leak. You know that. None of my investigations leak. That’s why you didn’t read about the gun.”
“I’m not saying you’d leak it, Reg. For all we know, the Mob could be watching the Roundhouse right now. I’m Trish’s lawyer and all I care about is her interest. Not yours and not the city’s.”
“If she talks to me, she doesn’t have to talk to the feds. You know, they can subpoena her.”
“And she can shut up.” Mary felt anger rising in her chest. She figured that this had been why Brinkley had been so nice to Trish and why he’d wanted to see her so early. “This doesn’t seem fair to me, Reg. She was ignored by the police, and I’m not gonna let her be used by them.”
“She wasn’t ignored, and it was only a day. We don’t move that fast, especially with an Amber Alert.”
“It was still a day she couldn’t afford. She wouldn’t be alive today if she hadn’t run away from him. She had to protect herself.”
“Trish,” Brinkley turned and appealed to her. “We’ve been in touch with the feds and we can get you into the witness-protection program, if you help us. You don’t have to worry. We can find Barbi’s killer and prevent an all- out war. You’ll be saving lives.”
“No comment,” Trish said, as if Brinkley were a pesky reporter.
“I’m sorry.” Mary rose, hoisting Trish to her feet. “I assume we’re free to go.”
“Of course you are.”
“Thanks.” Mary had her answer. They weren’t charging Trish with anything, and she wasn’t even a suspect in Bobby’s murder. Mary felt somewhat reassured that Trish hadn’t done it, because she respected Brinkley and Kovich’s judgment, and they were privy to facts she’d never know. Their bets were clearly on the Mob for Bobby’s killer. Mary opened the door. “See you guys later. Hope there’s no hard feelings.”
“I wish you’d reconsider,” Brinkley said softly.
“Sorry, Reg. Stan.” Mary took Trish by the arm and got her out of there, without a look back.
If only she could leave her own doubts behind as easily.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
M ary pulled out of the parking lot, heading south, and rain sprayed into the car as Trish held her cigarette outside the passenger-side window. The Expressway was congested, heading into the morning rush hour, and Trish seemed to relax only after the Roundhouse had receded into the distance.
“Think the FBI will call me?” she asked, taking a deep drag.
“Yes.” Mary didn’t see the point in lying to her. “They know you have information and they want to pick your brain.”
“So what do I do?”
“Good question.” Mary hit the gas, frustrated. Bennie would know what to do, but God knew where that stood. “Truth is, I never handled the FBI before. I’m not really sure of the procedure. I should probably get you a lawyer with experience in this kind of thing.”
“Not you?”
“Not me, but I can help you find somebody.”
“No.” Trish blew out a cone of smoke that blew back inside the car. “You did good in there. You stood up for me. So all you gotta do is stand up for me when the FBI calls. How hard can it be?”
“Thanks, but-”
“You tryin’ to ditch me?” Trish asked flatly, and Mary realized the truth. She didn’t know for sure that Trish hadn’t killed Bobby and she could never really trust her again.
“You did pull a gun on me.”
“Don’t take it personal.”
Mary looked over in disbelief, and when she did, Trish burst into laughter.
They pulled up in front of Trish’s mother’s house in the steady rain, and almost simultaneously, the front door of the rowhouse flew open. Mrs. Gambone appeared in her threshold, throwing open her arms.
“My mom’s a trip.” Trish smiled crookedly.
“She loves you.” Mary’s heart lifted to see Mrs. Gambone, happy again, and she was hurrying down the steps, heedless of the rain, followed by an excited Giulia, Missy, Yolanda, and a horde of well-wishers, more jubilant than if the Prize Patrol had pulled up curbside.
Trish looked surprised. “You believe this? It’s like a party.”
“It’s your fan club, girl. Enjoy it. And tell them you’re sorry for worrying them.”
“Stop the lecture.”
“I can’t. You have so much to learn.” Mary reached over and popped open the glove box. “By the way, don’t forget your toy.”
“Whoops.” Trish laughed, slid out the gun, and slipped it into her purse. “Wanna come in?”
“No thanks, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“Where you goin’? You said you got fired.”
“Oh, yeah. There’s that.” Mary faked a laugh. “Home, then. I’m beat.”
“I’ll call you if the FBI calls me.”
“See you at the funeral.”
“Oh yeah, right.” Trish gave her a brief hug just as her mother reached the car and opened the door wide.
“Thank God! My baby!” Mrs. Gambone rejoiced. She reached for her daughter and lifted her bodily from the passenger seat, and Trish returned the embrace.
“Sorry I worried you,” Trish said, with a pointed glance back at Mary, but Mrs. Gambone was too happy to hear.
“You’re home!” Mrs. Gambone hugged Trish again, then let her go and waved to Mary, her eyes bright with joyful tears.
“Mare, thanks,” she called, through the open car door.
“You’re very welcome.” Mary felt the warm rush of redemption, and outside on the sidewalk, love was all around. Giulia squealed and group-hugged Trish and Mrs. Gambone, and Yolanda and Missy started jumping up and down on the rain-swept sidewalk. Front doors up and down the street were being thrown open, and neighbors emerged from their houses, under umbrellas, and cars even pulled up, honking for fun.
Mrs. Gambone and Trish went back up the stoop, followed by Yolanda, Missy, and the rest of the crowd, except for an excited Giulia. She turned around and hustled back to Mary in the car, stutter-stepping in her tiny black boots, covering her hair with her hand.
“Yo, Mare,” Giulia shouted, and Mary happily opened the car door and got out in the rain. She had started to like Giulia, who threw herself into Mary’s arms. “You found her, Mare! You did it! I love you!”
“Love you, too, Giulia.” Mary hugged her back, not surprised to find they were both professional, if not expert, huggers. Giulia’s hair smelled of its trademark mousse-and-Marlboros, but for the first time, Mary almost liked the scent. It smelled kind of grown up. Maybe she should start smoking.
“You’re the best. I knew you could do it.”
“You did your part, too, girl.” Mary extricated herself from Giulia’s embrace.
“Not like you. I’ll never forget that, ever. You never gave up. You’re a good friend, Mare. Aren’t you comin’ in an’ eat?”
