Blood Money (8 page)

“Look, Rosa. I don’t have to explain anything to you. I don’t have to give you any information. You run the murders in your county and I’ll run the murders in mine. You do your job, I’ll do mine,” she said, nervously tapping a silver Tiffany pen on her desk.

“Muriel, I didn’t call you to be abused.” He wanted to say, “To be shit on,” but he didn’t. He was too much of a gentleman. “All I’m asking is that you keep me informed on the Lopez case.”

“Why?” she fired back. “Do you think there’s some tie-in with Maglio’s death? His was a suicide—this one’s a murder.

A drug-related hit. It’s just a coincidence that they were from the same office and that they’re both dead—that’s all…”

Theresa White, Gates’s secretary, brought in a cup of tea and a croissant. Gates waved her away. She was in no mood for breakfast.

Rosa interrupted. “Our investigation is continuing. This is a high-profile case…” He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence.

“Maglio’s death was ruled a suicide by your own coroner. I respect Guy Wilkes as one of the best. Matching fingerprints on the weapon, all victim’s shot by the same weapon, around the same time. Powder burns on Maglio’s hand, a defective surveillance tape showing nothing.”

“All true, Muriel, but just as a courtesy I’d like copies of all your reports. Joe was my friend…” Rosa was now having difficulty controlling his temper. At this point she was getting to him. He began clearing his throat and counting backwards from ten. He glanced at the framed picture of his wife Helen and his three boys on the credenza to his right. It was a technique that helped lower his blood pressure. “Please, Muriel. I’m asking as a matter of professional courtesy.”

There was a momentary silence on the other end. Gates waved her secretary back to her and motioned to her to put the teapot on her desk. She liked it when men like Rosa said
please
. She laughed. “Rosa, you know how to play me. Just be nice to me, right?”

“As long as I’m not sitting opposite you in a courtroom, yes.” He strained to be light, and chuckled.

She took a sip of tea after she had laced it with cream and two spoons of raw sugar. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“You send me all the gruesome details on the Maglios, and I’ll send you what I have on Lopez.”

“
And
any results on the fraud investigation of Joe’s firm,” Rosa quickly added.

“The attorney general’s office is handling that.”

“I know. But I’m sure that since it’s a Philadelphia firm, you’re going to get copies of any and all reports—right? I’m sure you have
an interest in the outcome. The firm did make major contributions to your campaign. Didn’t it?”

He had her and he knew it. He knew her well. Muriel Gates was not about to be outranked, outclassed, or outmaneuvered by any AG, white-collar-crime specialist. The crimes, if any, had been committed in her county upon the residents of her county, and she wanted to know everything pertaining to the investigation. She needed to monitor this investigation closely. After all, Maglio, Silvio and Levin’s help had been instrumental in her winning the election.

He could hear the concession in her voice as she said, “I’ll send you what I have, but I don’t know why you’re interested in this firm, or what happens to it or the Lopez case.”

“Why are
you
interested in Joe Maglio’s death?” he shot back.

She took a bite of the buttery croissant, letting crumbs fall on her desk. “Because,” she said between chews, “it’s an interesting case; murder, suicide, fraud, unethical dealing. It fascinates me.” She swallowed. “I hear the bank is foreclosing on the estate. Everything to be sold.”

“Yes. It’s a beautiful place. And the horses are going, too. You interested?” He saw lights blinking on his phone and knew there were other urgencies like judges, cops, victims, their relatives, the press—he wished all of it would stop.

“Don’t like horses, or grass,” she quipped.

There was a knock on his door as he was saying good-bye. It was a relief to hang up the phone.
What a ball buster
, he thought.
She’s perfect for the job
.

“Yeah,” he called out, looking longingly at a pack of Marlboros sitting on the other side of his desk. He had stopped smoking three times in the two weeks since Joe Maglio’s death, and had started three. Rosa got up and walked around the mission style table that he used as a desk, and reached for the pack again. His secretary opened the door and peeked in.

“Someone is here to see you, Mr. Rosa.” She frowned at the red and white box in his hand.

“Does he have an appointment?”

“No sir, but he said you would want to see him.”

“Who is it?”

It’s Nicholas Ceratto, Mr. Maglio’s associate. He said he’s not leaving until he talks to you. I tried…”

“It’s OK…OK.” Rosa paused for a second. “I’ll see him—but I need some coffee. Bring a whole damn pot—French roast. It’s ten thirty and I haven’t had a cup of coffee yet.” He defiantly pulled a cigarette out of the pack and put it in his mouth. He was tired of women pushing him around, even if it was for his own good. As soon as she closed the door, he removed it and threw it into the waste can.

Wearing a black Versace suit and an unbuttoned antelope top coat, Nick Ceratto walked confidently into Mike Rosa’s office. He was followed by Rosa’s secretary, who was apparently attracted to him. Although she knew she could be his older sister, her cheeks flushed as she placed the glass squash pot on the coffee table for her boss.

Rosa nodded his thanks as she put two cups and two spoons on the table before leaving the room. He motioned to Nick to take a seat and gestured toward the coffee.

Nick held up a hand as he sat down. “No thanks, I don’t touch the stuff. It’s bad for me. It gives me the shakes.”

Rosa took a long, careful swallow and sat slowly in his favorite, worn leather wing chair. “What can I do for you today, Nick?” he asked crossing his right foot casually over his left knee, exposing most of one of the Western riding boots he wore.

“I got back from the funeral last week…” Nick hesitated for a moment. “Joe’s funeral. It was in Italy. You knew, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t attend.”

“It’s OK. Nobody from the States was there—except me, of course.”

Rosa looked down, slightly embarrassed. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t go. I heard he was refused a Catholic burial here in the States.”

Nick rose from his seat and walked toward the window, which was covered with heavy velvet drapes. He pulled one aside to look out. The view of Norristown was dreary and disappointing—a broken down, has-been town whose only claim to fame was a state mental hospital closed two decades ago. The wise had fled long ago, and the mentally troubled had wound up on the streets and on the steps of the courthouse, thanks to the fine work of the ACLU. No wonder the drapes were closed, he thought. He let the panel fall back in place.

“Yeah, the Church took his money for years and then they wouldn’t bury him. Condemned him to hell. Can you imagine that! I’m glad I never gave them a dime.” He walked back toward Mike Rosa and stopped. “But that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to ask you a favor.”

Rosa put his cup down and looked squarely at the handsome young man. “What do you want, Nick?”

“I want you to help me find Joe’s murderer.”

Rosa smiled slightly. “You’re a stubborn one. Nick, I told you that all the evidence—and you know what it is so I don’t have to go through it again—it all points to murder-suicide.”

“Suggests,” Nick retorted. “Just suggests—and you know it,” he said pointing at Rosa while pacing back and forth. “That’s why you still have it as an ‘open’ case. Right?”

“All right, I do,” Rosa admitted. “And I will as long as the fraud investigation is continuing.”

“Why? Do you think there’s some possible connection with Joe’s death?”

“Not necessarily—and I don’t have to explain my reasons to you, Nick.”

“That’s true. You don’t. But in your heart you want to do the right thing by Joe. Don’t you?”

“Look, you’re emotional and not too rational right now. I can understand that…”

“Mike, don’t you want to have the results of the attorney general’s investigation?”

“Sure I do.”

“Well so do I. Mike, maybe you
won’t
get
all
the information.
The full story
. I can help you. Just help
me.
Keep the case open—that’s all. And, most of all, give me your support.”

Rosa shook his head. “Nick, how are you going to get any information?
They
have all the files, all the computer data, all the personnel files in that office—even yours. I have to rely on official records, records already in the hands of the attorney general.”

Nick grinned at Rosa. He stood up and took off his coat and laid it on the sofa. “I’ll show you how.”

Rosa grinned back. “You have more balls than brains. But go ahead. Show me.”

“Just wait two minutes. I’ll be right back.” Nick ran out the door and in two minutes was back with Maria Elena Maglio.

Her walk was purposely sexy. She glided gracefully into the room as if she were on a runway. She wore black leather jeans and an ivory silk blouse, partly unbuttoned to reveal the slightest cleavage. Her black leather coat was draped casually over her shoulders. She smiled.

Rosa tried not to stare. But he couldn’t help it. His eyes were glued to her as they moved down her long, shimmering legs. He watched her as she moved to the cherry credenza where family photos were displayed. There were at least a dozen of them: Mike and his wife Clair in tennis whites, his sons Brian and Stephen, from diapers to Little League. But she ignored them.

“
Che belissimi
,” she said, picking up the photo of the twin white Arabians, Mike’s other family—his pride and joy. “I adore horses.” She pressed the photo to her breast. “You must let me ride one,” she said turning toward Rosa.

Nick wanted to say, “Earth to Rosa
,
” but instead he said, “This is Maria Elena Maglio, Joe’s cousin.”

The trance was instantly broken. “A great pleasure. Please sit.” Rosa motioned to the sofa across from him and watched her carefully as she slid into the seat.

“Maria is a bank examiner for the Italian government,” Nick explained. “She’s on an assignment at the Banco di Roma in Philadelphia. She’ll be working out of the main branch on Broad Street.”

Rosa seemed delighted with the introduction, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he didn’t quite see the connection between Nick’s plea for help and this delightful creature who was thirty years his junior.

Maria sensed the confusion and broke the silence. “You see, Mr. Rosa…”

Rosa loved her accent. The slight upward lilt at the end of each sentence and the fullness of the vowels was music to his ears. It didn’t matter what she said as long as she just kept talking.

“…I know my cousin didn’t kill himself and his family. I know he
did
have a spending habit—perhaps out of control—but he wouldn’t kill because of it. And I also know that his partners are thieving, conniving—what do you call them?—ah yes, crooks, as you say in America.”

“How do you know this?” Rosa asked.

“My cousin told me. And he wanted me to help him. To expose them.” Her eyes shone with the passion of her conviction.

“Could you prove this?” Rosa sat back into his chair and rested his head on the cracked brown leather.

“Yes. Remember I have access to all bank records—legitimately. I can look into all private accounts and see the transactions.”

“So can the attorney general.”

“But I can do traces of secret, foreign accounts—information even your own CIA would have trouble getting.” She stood and walked confidently over to Rosa’s desk, taking a Marlboro from the pack as if it were her own. She didn’t ask him if she could smoke. She simply put a cigarette into her mouth and lit it with the silver art deco lighter Rosa kept on his desk. She took a long drag and blew the smoke out almost instantaneously, not quite inhaling it. She obviously smoked for effect, like many European women.

“What makes you think his partners had foreign bank accounts?” Rosa asked, struggling to concentrate.

“All wealthy thieves have secret accounts—especially Americans.”

Rosa couldn’t help admiring her brashness. “And what would the existence of such accounts prove?”

She shook her head, causing her dark hair to waft its scent toward him. “I can’t tell you now. Not until I have the information. Then I will know why he was murdered. But I will need your help. Keep my cousin’s case open.
Va bene?
”

Rosa smiled. “Why don’t you go to the Philadelphia district attorney with your plan?”

Maria gave a crooked smile. “Because she’s a woman. I have heard that she is a bitch…and she protects her political contributors.” She let the smoke stream from her pursed lips again. “Also because my cousin was murdered in your
provence
.” She obviously meant county, but Rosa thought the mistake was charming.

He offered Maria a cup of coffee, which she refused. Pouring himself another cup, he asked, “You want me to help you link Marty Silvio and Harry Levin to Joe’s murder? This is absurd. They depended on Joe for their financial success. He was the litigator who won the complex cases, who brought in the money, whose reputation brought in nothing but more money. So why would they want to kill the goose that laid the golden eggs?”