Bad Business (17 page)

“But I want you.”

She just stared into his eyes. “Okay,” she whispered.

Tozzi couldn't control himself then. Lesley Halloran was finally approachable. Finally she didn't look mad or snippy or anything like that. She was right here in his arms, so vulnerable, so beautiful. He bent his head forward and went to kiss her, tentative until he was sure that she really wanted to. She reached up for him and pulled him closer.

Oh, Jesus.

They kissed long and deep, and he became so dizzy he didn't dare open his eyes, afraid that he'd fall down. When they finally came up for air, he had his hands linked at the small of her back, staring into her crystal blue eyes. She had her elbows tucked in, palms flat on his chest. She was smiling finally, really smiling.

“You know something?” He whispered because his throat ached. “I've been wanting to do that ever since I was fourteen.”

Her blue eyes glistened. “Yeah. Me too.”

Tozzi had to sit down.

“Frankly, Michael, I think this is gruesome. Why didn't you tell me you couldn't get the Knights of Columbus hall? I would have gladly had everybody over to my place. It's the least I could've done for Uncle Pete.”

Tozzi looked over the rim of his paper coffee cup as he took a sip and nodded so his cousin Marie would think he was paying attention to her. The room was full of his relatives and friends of the family, all of them eating cake and sandwiches, drinking coffee, some looking sad, others yukking it up and having a grand ol' time. Tozzi could never figure out why the hell they always had receptions like this after funerals. It wasn't as if the food was ever any good. And what the hell are you supposed to say after you put the guy in the ground that you haven't already said at the wake? It was stupid. Drop the guy in the ground, throw your flower in, and go home. What the hell do you need a party for?

Marie was shaking her head, clucking her tongue. She was a tiny woman in her mid-thirties with short jet-black hair.
She always rolled her huge eyes when she talked, like one of those cat clocks they make for kids where the cat's tail swings to one side while the eyes roll to the other. She had a slow, insistent, annoyingly nasal voice. Talking to her was like enduring a slow drill on a bad tooth.

“I just don't understand how they even let you use this place,” she said. “I mean after what happened upstairs the other day.” She puckered her lips and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

Tozzi glanced up the stairway at the Jersey City cop sitting on a folding chair. A piece of yellow tape was stretched from the bannister to the wall up there. “Well, Marie, technically this is a crime scene, but this guy I know from the U.S. Attorney's office pulled some strings for me and got the local police to agree to let us use just the first floor.” McCleery made the offer on his own. The Irish have this thing about funerals.

“Yes, but still, you didn't have to accept. I mean, this is gruesome.” She rolled her eyes around once more.

Tozzi was tempted to tell her the real reason he decided to have the reception here. Uncle Pete's lawyer suggested it so that all the relatives could come and see just what Uncle Pete had, so they couldn't accuse Tozzi of trying to hide the good stuff. They all thought Uncle Pete had gold buried in here, and Marie was one of the worst. She kept coming up with these remembrances from the past, things she knew Uncle Pete had, things she had fond memories of. Yeah, things she wanted for herself. He wished to hell he could take her upstairs to see the bedroom where it happened. Maybe it would gross her out enough so she'd leave. Though he doubted that it would, not when there was “treasure” here.

Marie's eyes rolled downward. “You know, Michael, I never noticed this rug here before. It's very nice.”

Tozzi looked down at the Oriental rug they were standing
on. Everybody was bugging him about this rug. They all had their eyes on it.

“You know, this would look perfect in my living room,” Marie said as if she were wishing out loud. “The burgundy and the blue. It would complement the sofa nicely.” She studied the rug, nodding with her hand on her cheek.

He looked over in the other crowded room across the hall, the room where all the bikes had been. Gibbons and Lorraine were over there. He wished to hell Lorraine would come over here and get Marie off his back. When Lorraine looked his way, he caught her eye.

C'mon, Lorraine. I know Marie's a pain in the ass, but give me a break before I punch her
.

Lorraine nodded to him, then tapped Gibbons on the arm. They started this way, weaving through the crush of mourners.

Thank you, Lorraine. You're in my will
.

“Marie,” Lorraine said, coming up behind the little woman, “I've been looking for you.”

Marie rolled her eyes over her shoulder. “I've been right here, Lorraine, telling Michael how awful it was to invite everybody back here.” Marie looked up at the ceiling again. “With all that happened upstairs, I mean. It's terrible. I'm very upset.”

Gibbons loomed over Marie's other shoulder. “Then why did you come if you knew it would upset you?”

She reared her head back and looked at him indignantly. “I
had
to come. Out of respect for Uncle Pete.”

Tozzi looked at Gibbons, then Lorraine. No one had to say it. They were all thinking the same thing.

“Marie, you know antiques,” Lorraine said. “There's something over here I want you to see. I think it's real Depression glass, but I'm not sure.”

Marie's eyebrows shot up into her bangs. “We'll talk later, Michael.” She followed willingly as Lorraine took her elbow and led her away.

Tozzi rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you.”

Gibbons swirled the coffee that was left in his cup. “Don't mention it. You looked like you were ready to strangle her.”

“It crossed my mind.”

“Not a good idea. Not here.” Gibbons looked up at the ceiling. “You know. Returning to the scene of the crime, striking again, all that shit.”

“Don't start.” Tozzi worked his temples. He needed a backrub or a good pounding or something to loosen his shoulders.

The doorbell rang again, and the relatives out in the hallway answered it. There was a flutter of oooh's and aaah's, but Tozzi couldn't see who it was because the mourners were blocking the view. When the crowd parted, he saw what the fuss was all about. It was Lesley with her daughter. Patricia was wearing a dark green velvet dress with a round lace collar. She was clutching her mother's hand for dear life, looking painfully shy. Tozzi could sympathize. He remembered feeling like that when he was a kid.

Gibbons was shaking his head. “This is something I'll never understand. Why do Italians go nuts whenever they see little kids? It's like each one is the baby Jesus. I don't get it. Well, that's one thing your uncle had going for him. He had his head on straight when it came to kids. He hated them, right?”

“Well, he hated me.”

Lesley made her way through the crowd. She smiled at Gibbons, then looked at Tozzi. “How're you making out, Michael? You look tense.”

Tozzi worked up a smile. “I'm all right.”

He hunkered down in front of Patricia, who was hiding behind her mother's leg, her fingers in her mouth. “How're you today, Patricia?”

She shrugged and retreated farther behind her mother. But she was smiling and peeking at him, like she sort of knew him but was too shy to acknowledge that she did.

Tozzi winked at her. She was a real flirt.

Patricia yanked on her mother's arm, and Lesley bent down so she could whisper in her ear. “That's Santa's helper, Mommy,” she said.

Gibbons squinted at Tozzi. “Santa's helper?” he murmured. “What's this shit?”

“I apologize for bringing Patricia,” Lesley said, “but her school's on Christmas break and I couldn't get a sitter in the middle of the day. And I did want to pay my respects.”

Tozzi hunkered down again and grinned at the kid. “So what did you get for Christmas, Patricia? Can you tell me?”

The little girl smiled and twisted her body on one foot, shrugging her shoulders. Those big blue eyes were very flirtatious.

Gibbons hunkered down next to him and mumbled in his ear. “So what did
you
get for Christmas, asshole? I'll bet I can guess.”

Tozzi ignored his partner and kept talking to Patricia, coaxing her to tell him about her Christmas. He liked her, she was cute. Besides, Patricia didn't have an agenda, which he couldn't say for anyone else in the house. Tozzi decided to stay down on her level, because he knew Gibbons was gonna give him an earful about getting chummy with Lesley and he didn't want to hear it.

The doorbell rang again, and there was another flutter of excitement at the door. When Tozzi looked up, he saw who it was right away. Unless you were blind, there was no mistaking this guy for one of the relatives. Head held high, good posture, long thin nose, strong chin, charcoal Brooks Brother suit—who else?—King of the WASPs, Tom Augustine.

Tozzi stood up as Augustine approached. The son of a bitch had a hell of a lot of nerve coming here. He puts me under investigation, gets me suspended, and I'm supposed to make like it's nothing. Well, fuck him.

Augustine smiled kindly and extended his hand. Tozzi
paused to look at it before he took it, as if there might've been dog shit on it. Augustine pretended not to notice. “Mike, I just wanted to stop by and pay my respects.”

“You shouldn't have bothered.” Tozzi wasn't trying to be polite.

Augustine raised an eyebrow.

“I know you're under a lot of stress right now. I understand.”

“Why is McCleery on my tail ‘round the clock? Is this necessary?”

“Jimmy McCleery is an independent investigator. He doesn't answer to me in this matter.”

“Yeah, really.”

“I don't understand your attitude, Mike. You act as if you think I were out to get you.”

“What am I supposed to think? So far you've been acting like you
are
out to get me.”

Augustine started to say something, then changed his mind. His gaze shifted to Lesley instead. “What brings you here, counselor?”

Her wide blue eyes narrowed to laser beams. “I'm a friend of the family, Tom.”

Augustine nodded in thought as he looked her up and down. “Ah . . . I see.”

“Are you here for a reason, Augustine?” Tozzi asked. “A real reason, I mean.” He rolled his head and listened to the cricks. There was a tremendous knot between his shoulder blades.

Augustine seemed wounded. “I told you, Mike. I came to pay my respects.”

“Thank you.” Tozzi sipped his coffee and glared at him over the rim of the cup.

Augustine tipped his head back and looked down his nose. “You're very welcome.”

“You must have someplace to go, don't you? You don't have to stay on my account.”

Again Augustine looked like he was about to say something, but he caught himself and smiled like an undertaker. He looked down at Patricia then. “Sometimes people become very angry at other people when they're really angry at themselves. Did you know that?”

Patricia retreated behind her mother's leg. There was fear in her eyes. Maybe this was how you talked to WASP kids, but he was coming off like Captain Hook.

Tozzi moved between him and Lesley and Patricia. “You're scaring her.”

Augustine stood up to his full height and looked down his nose again. “Your frustration is understandable, Mike, but you're taking it out on the wrong person. In truth, I'm the one who should have the attitude. It was bad enough that you made that stupid remark about killing everyone in front of a reporter, but you also made it to me. I could be implicated in the murders, too, you know.”

“So why aren't
you
under investigation?”

Augustine's nostrils flared.

“Hey, Toz, ease up.” Gibbons had his hand on Tozzi's arm.

“I'm just asking a question, Gib.” He stepped back but kept his eyes locked on Augustine's.

Augustine tugged on his cuffs. “You're very different, Mike, very unlike all the other federal agents I've encountered. Most agents keep their emotions under wraps, but with you everything seems to be close to the surface. That's unusual for an FBI man.”

Tozzi grinned in his face. “What do you expect? I'm Italian.”

Augustine nodded. “Indeed, you are.”

Gibbons cut in then. “So how
is
this independent investigation going? Has McCleery figured out that Tozzi's innocent yet?”

Augustine looked from Gibbons to Lesley and back. “I'm not at liberty to discuss this in front of defense counsel.”

“You go right ahead, counselor,” Lesley said. “Come on, Patricia. I think I saw some brownies in the other room.”

After Lesley led Patricia away, Augustine made sure no one was listening and spoke under his breath. He looked at Gibbons and avoided Tozzi's gaze. “The New Jersey State Police have been asked to assist the local police. They seem to be handling it well. I received their preliminary report just this morning. The way the police have reconstructed it, it must have been a brutal slaughter. Merciless. The bullets they recovered came from two different guns, so they're theorizing that there were two killers. Apparently they were cold-blooded and very efficient.” He paused and let that sink in as if no one knew that already. “Bloom, Giordano, Santiago, Cooney . . . terrible. I see things like this all the time, but it's still impossible for me to imagine what really happens inside a person that allows him to do something so horrible.”