Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde (10 page)

They stared at each other, neither willing to yield. In a fight Marc would easily take him, but if Garcia jumped in, I wouldn’t be much help at the moment.

“Okay enough. Let’s go, Morley,” Garcia said. “It’s late and we’re done here.”

Morley shook his head and walked out, giving me one last dirty look before he left.

“Make sure you guys lock up,” Garcia said and followed his partner out.

“Morley has a hard on for you,” Marc said.

“Doesn’t seem to like you much either.”

“Guilt by association.”

“Nice. Let’s get this over with so we can get out of here, and I never have to come back.”

We searched all over the bedroom, but were unable to find what we were looking for. No big surprise there, but Marc was very disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see Karen’s pictures. I was more interested in finding the card, which wasn’t to be found either.

“So what now?” he asked.

“I’m going to have to start nosing around.”

“And see what you can churn up?”

“I guess.” I slumped on the bed. “This sucks. All I wanted to do was play some music and enjoy the rest of my life.”

“Did you really think it was going to be that easy? Nothing ever goes smooth for a Marino. We have to fight and scratch for everything we have. As Dad would say, we have a dark cloud hanging over the family.”

“That’s not true, look at me. I definitely have luck.”

“Was getting your head beat in luck?”

“No, definitely not, but I did win the lottery.”

“You’ll find a way to screw that up.”

“I doubt it. You and Dad just complain too much. You guys need to learn to relax.”

“Yeah, look what relaxing got you.” Marc pointed to my eye. “Let’s get going. I should take you home before some other calamity strikes.”

“Like Morley coming back and breathing on us again?”

“A fate worse than death,” he said.

“Or one that just smells like it.

SIX

I
spent the next day under the watchful eye of family members. The worst part was their determination to wake me up every hour as my pretty Greek doctor had prescribed. After the third time, it really got annoying. At least I didn’t have to talk to them and could just go back to sleep.

The morning of my parole from their charge, my father brought me yesterday’s
Lowell Sun
, and I was finally able to focus and read without the threat of my head exploding. As expected, Karen’s death had made the front page. LPD was non-committal as to her manner of death, and the article stated the cause was believed to be drowning.

There wasn’t anything in the write up about the syringe found in her car. Shea must have been keeping that information under wraps. I posted an internal note to ask him about it the next time we talked.

I stood up, stretched and started coughing, which hurt like hell. My ribs were extremely tender but seemed better than the previous night. They were either healing or the painkillers were kicking in again. I never liked taking the damn things, but as I got older my threshold for pain seemed to be getting lower. I once had surgery on my nose for a deviated septum caused by a sucker punch in college, and was given codeine for the pain. I used it for one day and flushed the rest down the toilet. I didn’t like the idea of taking something so addictive. The way I felt now, I’d be on the drugs much longer than a day this time.

As tactfully as I could, I threw my family out and tried to get some rest without being interrupted. In their overzealous state, they would continue to wake me up for no good reason, and I was in no mood to tolerate that. I slipped back into bed and had logged a good twelve hours when the doorbell woke me. I forced myself out of bed and found Shea at my door.

He had two cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee, a bag of chocolate crullers and a manila envelope. He grimaced when he saw me.

“The rumors are true. You look like shit.”

“That seems to be the general consensus, Gary.”

He handed me one of the coffees. “I hope you like it regular.”

I did, regular being cream and sugar as every good New Englander knows. We sat in my living room and he looked around, nodding his head in approval.

“Nice house. How the hell can you afford this kind of place?”

“I saved a ton of dough in the service,” I lied. “A major gets paid pretty well especially when you spend half your time in a tax free warzone.” One day I’d get around to telling him the truth.

“Good for you, Ronan. So, a little bird says you’ve decided to actively look into your girlfriend’s death.”

“That chubby little bird has big mouths.”

He tossed the manila envelope to me. “It’s the preliminary autopsy report. I thought you might like to take a look at it. I didn’t bother to copy the photos; didn’t figure you’d want to see those.”

“You’re right. What’s the bottom line?”

He sipped on his coffee, talking between slurps. “The cause of death was drowning.”

“That was in the paper. You have any leads?”

He shook his head no. “Not yet. Garcia said her apartment was pretty torn up.”

“I’ve got a good idea who did it, too.”

“Who?”

“I was in there searching through her stuff when I got jumped.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t whack you.”

“No shit, but they just wanted to scare me off.”

“Of what?”

“Damned if I know. How come you guys didn’t search her place earlier?”

He adjusted his glasses and looked at the floor. “Morley dropped the ball.”

“He any good?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m not impressed.”

“My assessment, too. He’s been on the department forever without any real talent. His attitude is pretty lackadaisical, and he’s just riding out his time to retirement.”

“His breath ain’t so great either.”

“He’s got some kind of gastrointestinal problem.”

“Whatever. I’m surprised you’d tolerate shoddy work.”

“He’s Superintendent Halloran’s brother in-law.”

“Well, that explains it. How about Garcia?”

“Good kid with tons of potential. Unfortunately, he’s starting to learn some bad habits from Morley. Too bad I don’t have a guy like you to show him the ropes.”

“Is that a job offer?”

“I could pull some strings. You’d have to test and then ride patrol for the first year or so, but after that if things went well, I’d bring you upstairs.”

I didn’t want to bust his bubble just yet. I needed his help and was afraid he might take a no as a personal affront.

“I’ll seriously consider it. I’ve got to settle this first.”

“Fair enough. Did you find anything interesting in the apartment?”

“No drugs or anything that might have indicated use.”

I trusted Shea, but I held back on giving up the bank statement and business card until I learned more myself. I was still struggling with what I suspected and wasn’t emotionally ready for anyone to confirm my suspicions.

“The toxicology indicated she had lethal levels of cocaine and heroin in her system,” Shea explained. “If she didn’t drown, the drugs would have killed her. Funny thing is there was just one injection point in her neck and no track marks on her body. I’ve never met a junky who shot up in the neck.”

“That’s because she wasn’t a junky.”

“I’d have to agree,” he replied.

“Someone wanted to make damn sure she didn’t survive after she went into the river. She served in the Navy, Gary, so I’m fairly certain she could swim. It looks like you’ve got your cause and manner of death.”

“Agreed, that’s why we’re now treating it as a homicide.”

“As it should have been from the beginning.”

“You’re right and if I had handled it personally, it would have, but I was tied up on other business. What about the guys who kicked your ass?”

“They might have been cops or ex-cops the way they took my cuffs off. I was half unconscious and laying on my face. It’s hard to say.”

“We should have you look through some mug shots. You never know.”

Sitting in a little room with no windows searching through the scumbag yearbooks for days didn’t sound appealing. Lowell had surely upgraded to the computerized system by now, but I felt it was still going to be a long, generally worthless endeavor.

“Uh yeah, I could do that when I feel up to it. My vision is still a bit blurry from the concussion.”

“Of course it is,” Shea replied somewhat sarcastically. 

“So what are your guys doing now?”

“Eating a lot of donuts and drinking a lot of coffee. Now that you’re involved, I was hoping you might find something they could build on.”

“You gotta’ have someone better than Morley you can put on this.”

“I am tapped out, my friend. We’ve got shit going on in this city you don’t even want to know about.”

“Should I send you a bill when I’m done?”

“I figured you’d be doing this pro bono due to the personal nature.”

“Well, yeah you figured right. The last couple of days slowed me down but I plan on getting back on track this afternoon. I’m going to talk to some of her girlfriends. Maybe there’s a disgruntled ex out there somewhere.”

“The way she looked, there’s probably a whole string of disgruntled ex’s.”

“It wasn’t just her looks, Gary. She had an incredible personality, too.”

“A rare combination. Most pretty girls don’t have to work at it.”

“No, but it came natural to her.”

Just thinking about it hurt. I would have changed the subject, but it was time for business.

“The Sun didn’t say anything about the syringe or drugs. You holding that card for any reason?”

“It could be useful later down the line. Besides, why sully the girl’s reputation? From everything we know about her, she was a model student and citizen.”

“Model students have been known to do drugs,” I said.

“Did you?”

“I was never a model student.”

“That’s right. I seem to remember a certain former student coming to my class pretty well soused and falling out of your chair in the middle of my lecture.”

“Not my fault the university gave me six hours between classes. I had to find something to keep me occupied.”

“Twelve ounces at a time, huh?”

“Sixteen. I like the big, shiny cans.”

“Yeah, don’t we all,” he said and stood. “I have to get going. Keep me in the loop and try not to get your ass kicked again. You have a license to carry?

“Yup.”

“Good. Just don’t shoot anyone in city limits. Maybe do it up in Westford. Your brother could use the experience.”

“He’d shit himself.”

I opened my front door, and there was a black Lincoln sedan with dark tinted windows sitting parked in the driveway. Shea eyed it suspiciously.

“Expecting more company?”

“No, but it looks like family. You know how they can be.”

“My wife’s family loves to pop in unannounced, drink all my beer and eat all my food,” he said.

“Bastards.”

“Exactly. Keep in touch.”

We shook hands and he walked down to his vehicle, a rust-colored Ford Crown Victoria missing a hubcap. He stopped momentarily, looked over the Lincoln and got into his car and drove off. Once he was out of sight, my favorite uncle, Salvador Marino, stepped out of the backseat of the Lincoln and brushed himself off. Visiting hour was to continue at Ronan’s house.

Dressed head to toe in black, with a long wool coat and leather gloves, Uncle Sal made his way up the walk, carrying a box of pastry and an unsliced loaf of scali bread bigger than my head. Both would be fresh and direct from the North End of Boston. I strained to see who was driving his car but couldn’t make him out behind the tinted glass.

“Jesus, you look like shit,” Uncle Sal said.

“I looked worse two days ago.”

He handed me the pastry and bread, and I put them in the kitchen. Uncle Sal was the type who would never visit empty handed. It was an old-school Italian thing.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, I can’t stay long.”

We went into my living room, and I motioned to my couch. He sat down, crossed his legs and took his gloves off, placing them neatly across his lap.

“That a cop leaving here?”

“Yeah, Lowell PD.”

“What the fuck did he want?”

“He’s an old friend. Just checking up on me.”

Uncle Sal was wary of most cops, though I suspected there had to be a few law enforcement officers in his hip pocket that didn’t cause him to lose any sleep.

“Place is coming along nicely. You get a pool table yet?”

“No, I haven’t had a chance.”

“I got a guy in Somerville who’ll give you great deal. Just let me know.”

“Great. So what brings you all the way up here?”

“Your mother told me about your condition. I wanted to stop by and see how my favorite nephew was doing. Maybe see if I could do anything to help.”

He wasn’t being patronizing. I’d always been his preferred nephew and he never tried to hide it from the family.

Uncle Sal was my father’s younger brother. Now in his mid-fifties, he was the patriarch of Boston’s reputed Italian crime family. When my father decided to go legit, Uncle Sal stepped up and assumed the reigns of the family business from my grandfather sometime in the late seventies.

Somehow he managed to survive the investigations from the eighties when the FBI, with the help of the Irish mob, smashed most of the other Italian families in town. My father claimed it was because Uncle Sal had transferred most of his holdings into legitimate businesses that he wasn’t rotting in some federal pen. I wasn’t as confident as my old man, but either way, I was happy Uncle Sal had managed to stay out of Club Fed. Through various corporations, he owned an import/export business, apartment buildings, an equipment rental company, a couple of bars near the Boston Garden and some strip joints in Peabody and Revere.

The job title he used on his tax returns was “plumbing salesmen,” but it was debatable if he could tell the difference between a plunger and a ball flap. Outside of his known businesses, he was allegedly involved in such illicit endeavors as ticket scalping, numbers rackets and stolen goods. This might be a shocker, but I never had a problem with it.

With a master’s degree in Criminal Justice, I understood that crime was inevitable. Nature abhors a vacuum, and if Uncle Sal and his organization were gone, something would rise to fill the void–something potentially far more violent and inherently evil than his crew had ever been.

Yes, Uncle Sal was a mobster, but he lived by a code that most in his trade had forgotten. No one got hurt unless they were involved in the business, unlike the street gangs who randomly shot whoever happened to be in their way. He was the last of a breed, a living stereotype. I couldn’t watch
The Godfather
and not think of him. Some might accuse me of having a naïve view of organized crime, but I had no misconceptions. My uncle was a dangerous man if you got on his bad side. He was no Kingpin of Crime, but you didn’t want to cross him either.