Date Rape New York (23 page)

Chapter 35

The Alhambra was as dark as Cargill had predicted. It was not as noisy as the Brazilian Bar since the music was muted, but it was crowded. Patrons were packed around the tables. Grazia found a stool at the bar and ordered a soda with lime juice. She texted Raoul that she had arrived. After twenty minutes, neither Raoul nor Cargill had materialized. She checked her email and text messages over and over. Had Raoul missed her text? She called but got the same automatic reply. Maybe he was still in the meeting and had his cell phone turned off. She pulled out her journal and found his name and numbers from the business card that he, like the other three Italians, had given her at the Brazilian Bar. She had copied them into her journal before she had given the business cards to Cargill. She called the first of four office numbers. He answered with a quick “Raoul.”

“Did you get my text that I’m here?” she asked without identifying herself. Her name would be visible on his cell phone screen since he had called her before. “I’m already here.”

“And I’m here in our Boston office where I will be until this project is back on track,” he replied irritably. “Who is this?”

“Grazia Conti,” she managed.

“You have the wrong number Grazia Conti. Unfortunately, I have no dinner plans with you or anyone. I’m working all night.”

The voice was speaking Italian and sounded a bit like Raoul, but it wasn’t Raoul’s voice. Startled, Grazia compared the number on her phone’s screen with the number in her journal. The same. She ventured to explain. “You gave me your business card at the Brazilian Bar in New York Saturday night. You were there with three Italian friends. I got sick and had to leave.”

“Grazia! Of course!” His voice sank, embarrassed. “My friends called and told me what happened. I am so sorry. You got sick so quickly after the second glass of champagne. I wish I had walked you home.”

“Where were you on Sunday morning?” she interrupted, confused.

“On my way to Boston. Where I still am. You phoned our Boston office.”

Grazia stared around wildly, trying to pull her wits together. Who was this man? Who was the Raoul she’d been meeting for breakfast?  Her eyes caught Raoul standing in the doorway, scanning the room. She lowered her face and shielded it behind her hand.

“Listen. At the Brazilian Bar, I got sick, and my girlfriend took me outside. Then she came inside and spoke to a man. Did you see him?”

“Yes. He followed her outside. I told your girlfriend that I would take you to your hotel, but she said she would handle it. I am so sorry I didn’t help you. I’ve felt awful ever since.”

Grazia was watching Raoul through her fingers. He was speaking to a waitress. She quickly raised her smartphone and snapped a photo. She put the phone back to her ear. “If I email you a photo of him now, will you text me immediately if he’s the same man?”

“Sure.” He read off his email. Grazia tapped “send.”

“Grazia! Have you been waiting long? “Wine?” Raoul waved at the waiter.

“No!” She drew her glass of soda water nearer. Her phone in her lap pinged. Was it Cargill texting that he was here? She glanced down. No, it was an email from the webmaster at Francisco Pamplona Law Offices in Milan. She was reaching for it when her phone pinged again, this time with a text message from the Raoul in Boston: “He’s the one. Went out, didn’t come back. Bought the champagne.”

Grazia stared at the email. She had asked the question but the answer just wouldn’t penetrate her mind. Raoul had bought the champagne? Why hadn’t he told her when she had asked him if he knew who bought it? Mind whirling, she tapped on the new email from the webmaster and read: “Valentino Agresta emailed me Tuesday
to remove his photo and replace it with one that he would send. He hasn’t sent it yet. Mr. Pamplona will be pissed off. Attached is the one I removed.”

Grazia clicked on the attachment and stared at it. She looked up slowly. Raoul was gazing at her with a sad smile.

“Reading your email while on a date is hard on a man’s ego,” Raoul said. “We need to order. I advise the mushroom burger. OK?” Taking her silence for ‘yes’, he gave their orders to the waiter, ordered wine for himself, and turned back to her. “I was just asking you if you had taken the DNA samples to the New Jersey lab.”

Grazia’s mind couldn’t function. Had this helpful, kind young man followed her out of the Brazilian Bar? Had he walked her to her hotel? Was this the man who had raped her in her room? She couldn’t believe it. She had never felt even a flash of recognition. She took a deep breath and concentrated on relaxing her muscles. Then she moved into her negotiating-table mind-set when facing a hostile attorney.

“I just learned an interesting fact,” she said with a smile. “You bought the champagne Saturday night.”

A wide smile wreathed Raoul’s handsome face. “Great detective work!” His smile faded, and he looked at her with real sympathy. “I am so sorry about what happened to you. New York bartenders can’t be trusted. They’re so poorly paid that they’ll do anything for extra cash.”

Grazia felt fury rise in her throat. Her face flushed. Without knowing how she got there, she was standing up with her hands gripping the lapels of his jacket. She shouted at him in Italian.

“I have been going through hell to find who bought the champagne!” she yelled. “I asked you Monday at breakfast if you knew who bought it. You said you didn’t know! You liar! You bought the champagne!” She could hear her voice, shrill over the din around her.

Raoul took her wrists and eased her hands off his lapel. “Relax. I didn’t tell you that I had bought the champagne because I didn’t want you to feel bad. I bought you two bottles of very expensive champagne and by Sunday morning you had already forgotten who I was! Say, isn’t that the police detective coming over here?”

Grazia felt a hand on her elbow, pushing her back onto her bar stool. “I take it from the shouting that you’ve learned something,” Cargill said.

Grazia tried to speak but choked. Raoul pushed over his water glass, but she smacked his hand away. “This person,” she spit out, “bought the champagne and lied about it.”

The barman brought Raoul’s wine. He took a sip and nodded his approval. “How did you find out?” he inquired, cheerfully.

She glared at him. “One of the four Italians recognized you from a photo that I emailed him.”

“Really? Who?”

“The same Raoul Cataneo you are impersonating!”

Raoul frowned, puzzled. “You said your photos from the Brazilian Bar had been deleted.”

Flushed with anger, Grazia held up her smartphone. “I took a photo of you just now when you were talking to the waitress,” she hissed. She turned to Cargill. “I emailed it to the real Raoul Cataneo who is in Boston, where he has been ever since Sunday.” She turned on Raoul, teeth bared, and snarled at him, speaking Italian. “You fucking bastard!”

Detective Cargill shook her arm. “Easy, Grazia. And stick to English.”

The man who was not Raoul Cataneo beamed at her. “You should start a detective agency, Grazia! You’re a natural!” He looked from one serious face to the other. “Now I suppose you want to know why I impersonated Raoul Cataneo.” He looked at them expectantly. They waited.

“I impersonated Raoul because Monday morning at breakfast you told me that the drug was in the champagne. And I had bought the champagne. I had also handed around the glasses. Puts me in a tight spot, doesn’t it? So I decided not to complicate the issue until you found the person who drugged you. See how simple?” He smiled.

“Why not just disappear?” Cargill snapped.

“Because I wanted to make sure Grazia was going to be all right. I was worried about her.”

“You shit!” snarled Grazia in Italian.

“Start from the beginning,” interrupted Cargill. “Who are you?”

Grazia thrust her smartphone at Cargill, open to the photo from the webmaster. “His name is Valentino Agresta. He works for my law firm, in the Milan office. Here’s his photo, the scum. He had it deleted from the firm’s website after I told him at breakfast on Tuesday that I was looking for photos to match the names that Sophia gave me. So I emailed the webmaster and obtained the photo he had deleted.”

Valentino nodded his approval. “More excellent detective work!”

“Why are you in New York?” Cargill interrupted Grazia’s snarl.

“To meet a client,” Valentino replied. “Ask my legal assistant in Milan. Or ask Francisco Pamplona. He’s aware I’m here.”

“Why did you go to the café on Monday for breakfast? Quite a coincidence that you were there when Grazia came in.”

“No coincidence at all. I was hoping to see her. We had a date for Sunday brunch, but she didn’t come. I called her hotel Sunday evening to ask how she was, but she was out. That meant she was all right. I didn’t leave a message because I was a little upset. I thought she had stood me up. Then Monday morning I decided to look for her again. You’re a beautiful woman, Grazia; I don’t give up easily.”

“You disgusting piece of . . . ” Grazia began in Italian.

Cargill cut in. “And when you saw her in the café, why didn’t you identify yourself?”

“She walked right by me and didn’t recognize me. My pride was hurt. So I went over. She said someone had drugged her drink while she was in the bar. That’s why she didn’t remember me. As soon as I discovered this, I knew I was in a bad position since I had bought the champagne. That’s when I decided to impersonate Raoul Cataneo. I had been talking with him and I knew he would be in Boston for the week. I am so sorry, Grazia.” He laid a hand on her arm.

Grazia yanked her arm away.

“Let’s go back to the Brazilian Bar Saturday night,” Cargill said. “You bought the champagne. Then what?”

Grazia interrupted. “Then I got sick, and Laura took me outside. Then she came back in and spoke to this rat, he followed her out, and we all know the rest.”

Cargill ignored her. “Why did Laura come back in to talk to you?

Valentino shrugged. “Laura and I were chatting when Grazia got sick. I had offered to help.”

“You offered to help so you could drug me and . . .”

“Grazia, you’re delusional.”

Grazia grabbed Valentino’s jacket and started shaking him. Cargill pried off her hands and pulled her back to her bar stool.

“You followed Laura out and then what?” he demanded of Valentino.

Valentino straightened his jacket. “Laura’s airport van had arrived. But she had a very sick little Grazia on her hands. A taxi pulled up so Laura asked me to tell the driver to take Grazia to the Hotel Fiorella.”

Grazia was so angry that she was panting. “But you didn’t put me in the taxi, did you, you swine? You walked me to the hotel and then. . .you. . ”

Valentino’s eyes flicked to Cargill’s hand firmly on Grazia’s arm. “I did not put you into the taxi, this is true.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were on your hands and knees, vomiting on the sidewalk. The taxi driver refused to let you in his car. There was no alternative but to walk you to your hotel. Which wasn’t easy, let me tell you.”

“Attacked by the dog and all,” commented Cargill.

“The dog? Oh, right. The dog.”

Grazia completely lost her temper. “Why didn’t you tell me all this Monday morning?” she shouted, again grabbing Valentino by the lapels. This time, however, Detective Cargill made no effort to stop her. He stood watching her shaking Valentino and cursing at him in Italian. He ignored the hovering waiter and the stares of the nearby diners.

Grazia shouted in Italian into Valentino’s face, “The first time I met you at breakfast I asked you if you knew who I left with. You said no. You lied! Because you walked me back, and you raped me! Now I remember you! You were at the staff Christmas party in Milan a year ago. Somebody told me to watch out for you, that you were furious because Francisco gave me the top negotiating job in Naples, instead of you. You raped me to get even—with him and with me!”

Valentino carefully pried off her hands. He answered quietly in English. “I didn’t tell you that I walked you home because I knew you would react this way. You would mistakenly assume that because I escorted you into your hotel lobby—barely able to stand, reeking of vomit, laughing hysterically, and looking like a clown with red lipstick all over your face—that I also took you to your room and assaulted you.”

“Who took me to my room then?” she shouted.

“The night security guard.”

Grazia gaped at him, oblivious of the plate of mushroom burger and fried onion rings the barman had set in front of her. She sank onto her bar stool.

Valentino, however, picked up his knife and fork and took a bite.

“You emailed me that anonymous message about meeting again, didn’t you,” snarled Grazia with contempt. “You sadist. Why didn’t you reply when I answered? Was my description of you too close for comfort?”

Valentino addressed the barman. “Ketchup?”

“I’ll need a sample of your DNA,” Cargill said tersely.

“I thought you’d never ask!” Raoul leaned over the paper table napkin by his plate and spit into it. Cargill used his handkerchief to pick it up, and wrapped his handkerchief around the napkin.

“Don’t leave town,” ordered Cargill.