Crazy About You (23 page)

The arc gasification technology offered by Eco Dawn had potential. But key components to the science still hadn’t been fully worked out. It all sounded good on paper, but the process wasn’t quite ready for prime time. Certainly not for a city the size of New York.

If an eco-project this big was allowed to roll out and fail, exposed as a sham, the consequences for the environmental movement could be devastating. They’d never hear the end of the Republican party’s
I told you so
’s. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

He imagined the field day both the local and national news corporations would have when they uncovered the mafia connections. It was an uphill battle to get media and politicians on board with admitting climate change was happening, even harder than the fight to get recycling taken seriously. And yet environmental scientists like himself had made slow but steady progress over the last decade on a number of fronts. The upcoming climate summit would be crucial for future policy making. He couldn’t stand by and let criminals make a mockery of things he’d worked so hard to achieve.

More important, he wouldn’t let Emma get hurt in the process.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sunlight warmed Emma’s cheek. She cracked one eyelid and squinted at the clock next to the bed, startled to see 10:30 on the digital display.
Could that be right? I thought Chase wanted to get to the lab early to receive that delivery.

Chase. Just thinking his name in her head sent tendrils of desire snaking through her belly. Memories of last night flooded her mind, raising a blush in her cheeks as she remembered the wanton demands she’d made and the ravenous look on Chase’s face as he fulfilled her every wish. She wanted to blame the alcohol, but the shots weren’t the only reason for her behavior. The man himself was to blame. He made her want things she’d never even considered before.

She rolled over, feeling the dull throb of a headache pounding her skull. Maybe shots of Jaeger hadn’t been her greatest idea, but they served their purpose, distracting her from frightening questions for which she didn’t have answers.

Who killed Vito Lenzini? Was the fire at her house some kind of warning? What was really going on at Eco Dawn? How deep did the mob connections go?

Last week, her biggest problem had been finding movers she could afford. A few days ago, her worries were all for her brother in the hospital. How had everything gone topsy-turvy so quickly?

Strangely enough, the only part not worrying her was Chase. Jumping into a new relationship hadn’t been on her to-do list for the summer, but it was too late to turn back now. Less than a week and she couldn’t imagine life without that brilliant, sarcastic, sexy-as-hell guy. Speaking of which…

The pillow next to her was empty, as was the rest of the bed. She listened to the heavy silence permeating the air. She was alone in the motel room.

“Chase? Where did you go?” She moved to sit up, the dull throbbing ache changing to a heavy metal staccato. Pressing a palm to her forehead, her stomach rumbled in a queasy I-might-be-hungry-or-I-might-puke kind of way.

Not totally sure which direction it might turn, she played it safe and laid back on the bed until the rumbling subsided. She considered her options, deciding a shower should be her first order of business, followed by a visit to Jim at the police station. Last night, Chase’s wild theory about Eco Dawn being a front for mobsters made her uneasy enough to shoot alcohol one step up from cough syrup in order to forget everything bad happening around her.

Today she needed answers. No more wild theories or speculation. She wanted to hear something concrete about how the police planned to solve both the murder and the arson.

She found Chase’s note. He asked her to call, promising lunch at the restaurant of her choice. His cell went straight to voice mail; she left a message that she was on her way to the Center to meet him, after a quick stop to see Jim Wilton.

Prior to this week, Emma had visited the Provincetown police station exactly once, on an elementary school field trip in the dead of winter when her fourth grade social studies class did a unit on government and the justice system. The place had been nearly empty, only two officers on duty—one at the front desk and one talking to the students. The uniformed cop giving her class the tour explained how the department hired extra police officers in the summertime when the town’s population swelled with tourists.

Those memories might be fuzzy with age, but the lobby of the police station felt wildly different every time she walked through the glass doors. That first night—the night of Vito’s murder—the place buzzed with activity, crowded with policemen, detectives, drag queens, drunks, pickpockets, and underage kids, the cacophony almost unbearable. The atmosphere seemed calmer yesterday when she and Chase sat with Detective Wilton at lunchtime and again when they stopped by on their way to dinner. Still busy, but quiet and more relaxed.

Pushing open the lobby doors, she felt the difference in the air immediately. A crackling electricity seemed to ripple through the building, everyone standing taller and speaking more crisply. A large number of uniformed cops bustled in and out of the lobby, and a lot more men in full suits walked the halls today than the day before. Had every detective on the force dressed up for some event?

Emma asked the clerk at the front desk for Detective Wilton.

The lieutenant widened her eyes and shook her head. “He’s in an important meeting and can’t be disturbed. But you can leave a message.”

Emma frowned.
Important meeting?
“Is it about the Lenzini murder?”

“I really can’t say.” The woman sounded nervous as she pushed a memo pad toward her. “If you want to leave a note, I’ll see he gets it.”

“What’s going on around here?” Emma scribbled her name and cell number on the paper, with a note to Jim to call her. She pushed it back to the clerk, who glanced at the note and raised her eyebrows.

“You’re the local woman who identified the body on the beach, right?”

When Emma nodded, the lieutenant looked side to side, checking the lobby. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, “The FBI arrived this morning, and the DEA too! Can you believe it? Here. In Provincetown!”

Stunned, Emma looked over at the men in suits, huddled in conversation next to the coffee machine. That would certainly explain the increased number of guys in ties. Something she recently read pinged in the back of her mind. She turned back to the desk officer. “But the FBI doesn’t get involved with local murder cases.”

Before the woman could reply, the door to the back hallway swung open; a familiar detective entered the lobby. “Emma! What good timing. I was about to call you.” He held the door open. “Why don’t you join us in the conference room?”

She hesitated, alarmed by Jim’s too-bright smile. “Who’s
us
?”

He bobbed his head, not answering the question. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Is your friend with you?”

She assumed he meant Chase. “He’s working. I’m supposed to meet him for lunch.”

“Then we’ll get you in and out of here in no time. Really, just a few quick questions from my colleagues.” His arm swept across his body, pointing down the hallway. “Second door on the right. I’m going to run next door to grab coffees—real coffees, not the mud we brew around here—before I join you.”

Coffee had been next on Emma’s agenda. “Can you grab an iced coffee for me?” She dug into her purse for cash.

Jim waved. “It’s on me. Back in a minute.” He held the door while she passed into the hallway, letting it swing behind her, muffling the sounds from the outer rooms.

The slap of her flip-flops against the marble tile echoed strangely in the enclosed space. At the second door she hesitated, knocking lightly before opening the door. Four men looked up from the papers and photographs strewn across the table. “Excuse me? Jim, I mean Detective Wilton, told me to come speak with you.”

The man seated at the near end of the table, the youngest in the room by far, pushed his chair back and stood. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Emma Maguire. He said you wanted to speak with me about Vito Lenzini.”

Two of the other men scrambled to their feet, offering a seat at the table, which she declined. The fourth agent, a heavyset guy with salt-and-pepper hair that was more salt than pepper, remained seated. He gave her the once-over with narrowed eyes, obviously the man in charge. He cleared his throat and the other three men fell silent. “You’re the young lady who found the body and called 9-1-1, correct?”

Emma swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “No, sir. But I’m the one who recognized him and gave the police his name.”

He nodded, as if getting the answer he expected. “And how exactly did you know the deceased?”

Emma exhaled a long breath, steadying the tremble shaking her arms. Why was this guy making her nervous? She'd already discussed all of this ad infinitum with Jim. Her report was probably right there on the table in front of them. Instead of answering, she asked the question that bothered her moments ago. “Why are the FBI and DEA interested in a drowning? Isn’t that a problem for the local cops, even if the guy is a gangster?”

The agent leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together across his wide girth. “And here I thought Detective Wilton said you were cooperative.”

Emma stood up straighter, her back stiffening at his patronizing tone. “Are you always this rude with your witnesses, Mr.… I’m sorry…you didn’t introduce yourself.”

He smiled and gestured to the chair across the table. “Have a seat, Ms. Maguire. I’m Agent Roth, and these are Agents Dean, Booth, and McKay. Your Detective Wilton should be back shortly. Now that you know our names, do you think you can answer our questions? Or would you like to see some ID first?”

She hesitated. “Should I be calling a lawyer?”

“Why—are you guilty of something? We’d like you to answer a few questions that you’ve already answered for the local PD.”

“If I already answered them…”

“Sit down, Ms. Maguire. Please.” Something in his tone told her not to argue the point any longer. She sat and folded her hands in her lap. The three junior agents took seats as well. Agent Roth leaned forward and shuffled the paperwork. “You currently reside in New York City, correct?” When he looked up, she nodded. “Prior to your current position in the mayor’s office, you worked in public relations for Eco Dawn. I also see that your lease is up at the end of the summer, but that you canceled movers scheduled to arrive at your apartment building this weekend, most likely due to your sick brother at Mass General.”

Emma couldn’t hide her startled reaction. She hadn’t told any of those details to Jim in the last few days, well, except about Sean being in the hospital. But why would her family emergency be in an FBI report? Why would they care when she moved out of her apartment? “Am I under some sort of investigation?”

He put the papers back into their manila folder. “Ms. Maguire, how much do you really know about the people you work with in your job?”

“Do you mean in the mayor’s office? Or Eco Dawn?”

His eyes flicked to one of the other agents for half a beat before returning to hers. “Both.”

“I thought this was about Vito Lenzini?”

He waved off the question. “You’re the one who brought up Eco Dawn. Are you aware Angelo Mancini is the brother-in-law of Don Lenzini?”

Emma scrunched her eyebrows, frowning. “I don’t know anyone named Don.”

One of the younger agents scoffed. “Don’t be dense. It’s a title, not a name. He means the head of the Lenzini crime family.”

Emma glanced over to Agent…Booth? McKay? One of them at least, even if she didn’t know which was which. “Am I supposed to know that?”

“Most New Yorkers would.” Booth/McKay had the nerve to smirk at her, as if he knew she was feigning ignorance.

She stood. “I don’t need this right now. I’m out of here.”

“Sit back down, Ms. Maguire.” Agent Roth glared at the other agent. “Quit being a smart ass, McKay, unless you want to find yourself reassigned.” He turned his attention back to Emma. “Detective Wilton vouched for you and your family, but it still looks to the FBI like you’re conspiring with the mob. Help us understand your part in all this.”

Emma sank slowly into the molded plastic chair. “Listen, I work in fundraising and donor relations for the mayor of New York City. The only conspiracy I’m involved with is his campaign to bring eco-minded trash solutions to our New York neighborhoods and boroughs.” Although, after her discussion with Chase last night at her parents’ home, it all sounded like more of a scam than an actual solution. But conspiring with the mob? “What is it exactly that you want from me?”

“Cooperation.” Agent Roth nodded at one of the other agents, who stood and brought a folder around to the man in charge. When he opened it, Emma saw a stack of black and white photographs but couldn’t make out the images. “We’ve been investigating the Lenzini family for years now. Drug trafficking, racketeering, money laundering, not to mention the suspected hits and ensuing revenge killings.”

She swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. “Revenge killings?”

Roth nodded solemnly, picking a photo out of the stack. He tossed the shot of Vito’s body onto the table like he was playing a game of Go Fish. “For example, the strangulation and drowning of one Vito Lenzini. Without getting into the minutiae, we suspect his killers belong to South Boston’s Irish faction, taking issue with New Yorkers impinging too far into their territory.”

“Like a Yankees versus Red Sox kind of rivalry?” Emma tried for a smile but it felt wobbly on her lips.

Roth did not look amused. “Ms. Maguire, do you feel that cracking jokes is truly in your best interest at this point in the game?”

Emma swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “Sorry.”

He tossed another photo into the middle—this one of Monday’s Eco Dawn event, with Tony and Angelo shaking hands. “The expansion announcement by Eco Dawn earlier this week triggered a backlash from Boston. The fire that was set in your living room is a textbook intimidation tactic. A warning, if you will.” The next photograph showed the smoldering trash barrel on her front lawn, the crime scene X over her front door in the background. “As the girlfriend of the Don’s favorite nephew, you are involved in this turf war, whether you like it or not.”