Resuscitation (46 page)

“Tell me,” Agent Jones said. “What is your relationship with Peter Spencer?”

I’m gonna cut off that motherfucker’s balls!

“The PI?”

Agent Jones nodded.

“I wouldn’t call it a
relationship
. More like an acquaintance.”

“That’s not exactly what he’s telling us,” Agent Jones said.

“So you’re going to believe some two-bit PI over me?”

“Detective D’Angelo,” Costello said, “We listened to a tape recording of your conversation with Spencer the day he called and you transferred the call to Detective Rizzo. Do you want to change your story about your relationship status with Spencer or would you prefer that we listen to the recording together?”

“Okay, okay, so I knew the guy and worked with him on a few cases. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal, Detective,” Agent Jones said, “is that if only half of what he told us is true, you’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

“Hey guys, I’ve been with the department for over thirty-five years, and I’ve got twice as many collars as any other detective. I fucking put the bad guys behind bars. If once in a while I have to work around the system, I do. If we detectives didn’t push the envelope every now and then, we’d be sitting at our desks with our thumbs up our asses while cold-blooded killers walked the streets of San Diego. Instead of jerking off, reading police policies and procedures, I get the fucking job done.”

“We’re not talking about violating police protocol, Detective,” Costello said. “Were talking about actions that may result in criminal prosecution. I hate to say this, but pending a thorough investigation, you risk losing your pension.”

Feeling helplessly pigeonholed, D’Angelo had to retreat. “I think before this party goes any further, I’d like to have an attorney present.”

While Sami and Al waited quietly for Maria Cardoza to contact the San Francisco office of the Del Mar Fertility Center, they sat in the lounge. Al read a three-month-old copy of
Sports Illustrated
and Sami browsed through the
San Diego Chronicle
.

Feeling nauseous again, which lately seemed to be mainstream for Sami, she went outside for some fresh air.

“Be right back,” Sami said.

She wasn’t sure if her desire to go outside was driven more by her queasy stomach or having reached her limit on the awkwardness between Al and her. Something had to give. Either she had to bury her pain and give him another shot, or she had to break it off completely, which created new problems. It was one thing for him to move out of her house, and quite another telling Captain Davidson that they could no longer work together.

If she truly were a good cop deserving of the confidence Mayor Sullivan had placed in her, her personal life would temporarily remain in the background and she’d be totally focused on apprehending the Resuscitator. In spite of what she believed was the right thing to do, thoughts of Al’s affair and the status of their relationship had dominated her thoughts. At the heart of the issue was one immutable fact: Samantha Marie Rizzo was deeply in love with Alberto Diaz. And if Hollywood films and Gothic novels were even partially true, love could conquer any obstacle.

Right now, all she wanted was a two-pound box of Godiva chocolates.

Al popped his head out the door. “She’s ready for us.”

They went to Cardoza’s office and sat down. Cardoza closed the door.

“Well, I spoke to the regional manager and I think we can give you the information you’re looking for.”

“Fabulous,” Al said.

“How soon can we get a DNA match, personal information, and a photo?” Sami asked.

“First thing in the morning.”

Sami looked at her watch. Three o’clock. “With all due respect, tomorrow morning might as well be Christmas. At the department, we can match DNA samples in minutes. Why is it going to take eighteen hours?”

“Because you have access to the FBI’s National DNA Index System. Our system, although efficient, is no match for the FBI’s. It’s like comparing a black-and-white TV to a high-definition plasma. I can’t make the system respond more quickly than it’s capable of responding. It’s a technical issue. Barring any unforeseen obstacles, I can have the information tomorrow morning at nine.”

Sami wanted to argue, but to what end? They’d already discovered that the perp’s DNA was not registered with the FBI’s database. Not to mention the fact that the database for the Del Mar Fertility Center was private information. Even with a court order, not Judge Foster or the mayor herself could force them to comply immediately. In fact, the court order itself stated that the Del Mar Fertility Center must provide DNA information matching the sample supplied by the San Diego Police Department “as soon as logistically possible.”

“We’ll be back tomorrow morning at nine sharp,” Sami said. “If for any reason you should get the results sooner, please call me on my cell phone.” She handed Marie Cardoza a business card.

Sami dropped off Al at the precinct parking garage. Although things were really heating up with the investigation, Sami needed a little time to decompress. Besides, it felt as if she hadn’t seen her family in decades. “I’m heading home. Going to take my mother, Angelina, and Emily out for a quick dinner. Can you move your stuff out while we’re gone?”

Al opened the door and stepped out of the car. He leaned inside and looked at her. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

“No, it’s not what I want. It’s what has to be.”

“Call me just before you go to dinner and I’ll be out of there in thirty minutes.”

“Remember what I said. For now, just take your essentials.”

“You mean a toothbrush and deodorant?”

“I think you might want to grab some underwear.”

This exchange was the closest they came to lightheartedness since he’d confessed to having an affair. She missed their banter and camaraderie.

“I’ll meet you at the fertility center tomorrow morning,” Al said.

“You don’t have to meet me. I can do this on my own.”

“I
want
to be there.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sami wanted to drive off but Al still stood there with the door opened.

“Tell the clan I said hi.”

“Will do,” Sami said softly.

Sami and her family sat in a booth sipping sodas, waiting for the waitress to take their orders. Sami wasn’t really in the mood for Italian food tonight, which was a rare occasion, but her mom insisted that they go to DeMarco’s, Josephine’s favorite restaurant. As usual, her mother always got her way. At least Angelina would be happy. She loved their mac and cheese.

“Thanks for the nice surprise, Sami,” Emily said. “I didn’t really feel like cooking tonight.”

“My pleasure, Emily,” Sami said. “You deserve a hell of a lot more than dinner.”

“Mommy, can I have some ’ronis and cheese?” Angelina asked.

“Of course, Sweetheart,” Grandma Rizzo said.

Sami hated when her mother answered a question directed to her. It was just one of many things that got under her skin.

Wanting to make the announcement as matter-of-factly as possible, Sami just blurted without forethought. “Al is moving out.”

“Where’s he going, Mommy?”

How could she answer this question? “He’s getting his own place, Honey.”

As Sami expected, her mom gave her a sidelong glance with a suspicious look in her eyes. Emily stared blankly at Sami as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Is this permanent?” Josephine asked.

“Is anything permanent?”

“Apparently not.”

Sami held her tongue. Originally, she had thought about coming clean and telling her mother and Emily that Al had an affair, but she now realized the idea bordered on insanity.

“I knew when Alberto moved to the living room sofa bed, that his next move would be out the door,” Josephine said.

“Are you okay?” Emily asked.

Sami swallowed hard. “I’m…fine.”

“What made Alberto move?” Josephine asked. “What did you do?”

“
I
didn’t do anything.
We
just decided that we both needed some time and space to think.”

“Time to
think
?” Josephine repeated, the tone of her voice laced with sarcasm. “Once two people split up, it’s never the same again. Remember Aunt Florence and Uncle Rocco?”

How could she forget? When Sami’s aunt and uncle split up—Sami had just turned ten—Aunt Florence moved in “for a while,” which turned out to be over a year. Florence never uttered a civil word to Rocco when they talked on the telephone, and Sami got a daily dose of their verbal confrontations. Eventually, when Florence filed for divorce it became the center of family gossip. If ever there were a mismatched couple, those two won the prize. Was this her destiny with Al?

“Gee, Mom,” Sami said. “Thanks for comparing Al and me to Aunt Florence and Uncle Rocco. That’s such a compliment.”

“All I’m saying is that once two people go their separate ways, there’s no going backwards. If Alberto moves out, you can kiss him goodbye.”

Sami hated to admit it, but in part, her mother’s viewpoint made sense. Over the years, she had seen more divorce than reconciliation—not only in her own family, but through friendships and friends of friends. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe Al moving out was the beginning of the end.

“Hi, Julian. It’s Ted Hastings. Can you do me a huge favor?”

Julian slipped on his Bluetooth. “What’s up?”

“I was scheduled to perform the pre-op tests on the O’Neill girl first thing in the morning, but I’ve got a conflict in my schedule. Any chance you could stand in for me?”

A key component to the prescreening process prior to surgery included a comprehensive evaluation by one key member of the surgical team. Julian didn’t really want to substitute for Doctor Hastings—it could prove risky—but he had little choice.

“No problem. I can handle it.”

“Terrific. I’m really looking forward to meeting Doctor Fisher and assisting.”

“It should be quite an experience,” Julian said. “Maybe we’ll even make the front cover of the
American Journal of Cardiology
.”

“What we’re doing isn’t exactly groundbreaking, but if we save this girl, it’s going to grab some attention from the entire medical community.”

Save
her? Not a chance.

“Thanks again, Julian. Contact me if you run into any problems.”

Shortly after dinner, Josephine went to bed and Sami helped Angelina slip into her Sponge Bob Square Pants pajamas, while Emily sat in the living room sipping a glass of Ferrari-Carano Rosato di Sangiovese. Sami tucked in her daughter and sat on the edge of the bed. She bent forward and kissed Angelina on the forehead.

“Good night, Sweetheart.”

“Mommy, is Al going to be with Daddy up in heaven?”

Heaven was the last place Tommy DiSalvo would spend eternity. “No, Honey.”

“Then how come we can’t see him anymore?”

“You
will
see him, Honey. He’s just not going to sleep here.”

Angelina thought about Sami’s answer. “Will he still take us out for ice cream?”

Wouldn’t
that
be awkward?
“Well, if Al can’t take you, I still can.”

“But he’s funny, Mommy. He makes me laugh. And he tickles better than you do.”

Sami could hardly hold back the tears. Her daughter had already suffered one loss. And now she might be facing another. When she and Al first decided to live together, Sami had thought long and hard. The last thing she wanted was to bring another man into Angelina’s life, only to watch him disappear. Angelina had just validated her biggest fear.

“Well, Sweetheart, maybe Mommy can learn how to tickle you like Al did.”

Sami kissed her again, turned on her nightlight, and walked in the living room. Emily had already poured Sami a generous glass of wine.

Emily patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Have a seat, Cuz.”

Before sitting down, Sami gulped two mouthfuls of wine.

“We’re not slamming tequila,” Emily said. “It’s a sipping wine.”

“Then maybe we should bring out the Patrón.”

“Want to talk about it?” Emily offered.

Sami
didn’t
want to talk about it, but if she didn’t vent to someone she trusted really soon, her head would surely explode. Whom in her life could she trust more than Emily?

“Things have gotten rather complicated,” Sami said. “When Al was in Rio tending to his sister, he…”

Emily reached over and grabbed her hand.

“He had an affair with a nurse.”

Emily went silent for a moment. “Wow. That knocks my socks off.”

“Why? That’s what men do, isn’t it? They wine and dine you, make you fall in love with them, and then they rip out your heart and stomp on it.”

“I can’t back you up on that one, Cuz. I haven’t had time to date since high school.”

“Trust me. You’re better off.”

“Is it over?” Emily asked. “I mean
really
over?”

“I can’t answer that question right now. I’m still waiting for my anger to settle down. How can you think clearly when you’re seething?”