Date Rape New York (24 page)

Valentino smiled. “There’s no way you can stop me. I have a delicious date Friday night. Saturday, I have a plane to Naples. Francisco has promised me Grazia’s job and I’m attending my first staff meeting Monday morning.”

Chapter 36

Detective Cargill and Grazia sat in his cold Plymouth parked deep in the shadows of Orchard Street. She stared at the storefront next to the car. Vacant, Grazia thought, like her memory.

“At least you’ve got Valentino’s DNA to give to the medical examiner,” she sighed. “We’ll know if he raped me.” She could utter the word “rape” now, but only with anger and bitterness in her voice.

Cargill leaned his forearms on the steering wheel and rested his chin on them. “The medical examiner won’t touch the napkin until my captain approves. And he won’t. Today, after he approved the match for your suspect, he told me that he won’t approve any more lab studies. You and the suspect are Italian nationals. You’re going home on Friday and he’s going on Saturday. Even if I can persuade my captain to approve it, we’ll be lucky to get a result by next week.”

“I’ll take it to the private lab in New Jersey.”

“My captain still has to approve the medical examiner’s running another match. And even if he does, it won’t happen until after you’re home in Italy.”

“What if he does agree, and the medical examiner finds that Valentino’s DNA matches the samples from my room and the ER?”

“We request an extradition, and the Italians ignore the request.” Cargill shook his head in wonder. “Typical drug-facilitated offender! Charming, got an answer for everything, nothing fazes him. I told you to watch out when he showed up at breakfast.”

“How can we know for sure if he’s the one?” The strain in her voice was palpable. He doesn’t admit anything except that he walked me to the Hotel Fiorella!”

Cargill put the car in gear. He looked over at her. “That little dog, Jacky, is he up to some ID work?”

Mrs. Springer opened the door wearing a pink flannel dressing gown and matching fluffy slippers. She had removed the curlers from her hair but hadn’t combed it out.

“Jacky’s better!” She excitedly dragged them into the kitchen. “He ate doggy food this evening and,” she covered her quivering mouth, “he thumped his tail! His feet will move next, I know it!” She crossed herself and clutched the gold cross around her thin neck.

Cargill hunkered down by the dog basket and let Jacky sniff his fingers. “Do you think he could identify the man who kicked him? We found the guy who walked Grazia home. He admitted it tonight.”

Mrs. Springer looked at her little dog anxiously. “Why did he poison Jacky to hide his identity if you already knew who he was?”

“He did it before he realized we were on to him. But I want to verify this. Something doesn’t feel right.” Cargill leaned against the kitchen counter. “Mrs. Springer, I want you to stay put in this apartment until Saturday morning. That’s when this man leaves the country. Don’t go out at all. I wish I could station a female police officer here, but I can’t.”

“I’ll stay!” Grazia burst out. “I can’t tolerate being in that hotel any more. Too many bad memories. I’m still afraid to open the door. Please let me stay here, Mrs. Springer.”

“Of course you’ll stay, dear,” beamed the old lady. “It will be like old times when New York wasn’t safe and my friends slept over after mahjong!” She bustled into the living room and started spreading sheets and blankets over the sofa.

Grazia looked at Cargill. “I’ll need my pajamas and my laptop from the hotel. Francisco or Miranda might video-call or send secure documents, and my smartphone isn’t set up for that.”

“I’ll go. I’ll put Edmondo on the phone and you can tell him to let me into your room. Then I want a serious word with him. Valentino said the night security officer took you to your room. That was Edmondo. I want to hear how he gets out of this one.” He looked grim.

“My pajamas are under my pillow where Sophia always puts them. And my laptop is in my suitcase, which is locked in the closet. The keys are in the desk drawer.”

“Where they are so well hidden.” Cargill pulled on his coat and ran his eyes over the locks on the door. “Bolt these when I leave. Don’t buzz anyone in but me.”

After the door closed behind him, Mrs. Springer made jasmine tea in a Chinese teapot and set two small Chinese teacups on the kitchen table. 

“I’m so sorry to pull you into this,” Grazia began.

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Springer. “I’m tickled pink to help catch these sons of bitches who drug young women. Wait till I tell my mahjong group! And Jacky’s going to be all right.” She touched the cross around her neck. “Listen, sweetie, tell me again why you need to know who these men are. I understand that you want to fill in the dark hole in your memory, but it seems like you’re more desperate than that. Are you running away from something?”

“A past lover,” sighed Grazia. Over cups of tea, she talked about Francisco and her confused feelings about him and about trusting men. She could do this now; Cindy’s counseling was breaking down the walls around her emotions. Mrs. Springer listened without comment. When Grazia had finished, Mrs. Springer poured Grazia the last of the tea and stood up. “In my opinion, you’ve got a better grip on life than you think you do,” she said. “I’m going to bed, dear. Wake me if you need anything.”

Grazia helped Mrs. Springer bring Jacky’s basket into her bedroom and made sure the window was latched. Then she made another pot of tea and curled up on the sofa with her journal and laptop. She copied all her new journal entries into her laptop. Then, on a fresh page of her journal, she made three lists: what she knew about the people involved, what she still didn’t know about what happened that night, and what she could do tomorrow to find out.

First came what she knew about the people involved: Valentino Agresta was Raoul’s real name. He worked in Francisco’s Milan office. He was staying in the same hotel as Laura. Valentino said he had walked her to her hotel because the taxi driver refused to take her. Valentino said Edmondo had taken her to her room.

Edmondo said Manuel had taken her to her room. Edmondo had told her to give up trying to find her rapist because the effort would be long, painful and not result in justice.

Manuel was not at his mother’s home in Italy. He had wired a thousand dollars to his mother from a money transfer service in Flushing on Sunday morning. Manuel had emailed Stanley on Wednesday morning saying he was in Italy.

Sophia
had got her job and US visa through Belinda. Sophia had been Grazia’s chambermaid for the entire time Grazia had been at the Hotel Fiorella. Sophia had discovered Grazia a full hour and a half before her shift started. Sophia had gone with Grazia to the ER and was helping her find her assailant by providing the names of Italian men staying in nearby hotels.

Laura knew about Kourtis’s substandard cement. Laura knew that Grazia had tried to make him repour it. She knew Valentino from her hotel; therefore she knew his real name and possibly where he worked. She hadn’t told Grazia she knew Valentino even though the three Italians had seen them talking together like they knew each other, and even though Valentino was the one that Laura had asked to put Grazia into the taxi.

Raoul Cataneo had been in Boston since Sunday. He and the other three Italians had remained at the Brazilian Bar long after Grazia had left. None were suspects.

Grazia threw down her pen in frustration. Were Valentino and Laura comparing notes after Grazia spoke to either of them? If so, why? Why would Laura help Valentino conceal his identity? Anger surged into her throat. Laura knew so much! But how to make her talk?

Luigi had given Detective Cargill Valentino’s number, saying it belonged to the Sunday caller. Again Grazia threw down her pen. So many “saids”! And so many liars! 

Her phone rang. It was Cargill. He passed his phone over to Edmondo. Grazia gave him instructions to let Cargill into her room and went back to her lists.

What she didn’t know for sure: Who took her to her room? Who raped her? Who informed the press and the Naples Building Safety Department about Kourtis and his substandard cement? Where had Manuel got $1,000? Who in Italy was telling the hotel manager not to allow Cargill to see the CCTV video or have the phone call traced? What did Laura know? Who poisoned Jacky?

The final list concerned what she had to do Thursday: Go to Jersey City to pick up the DNA identity from Edmondo’s pen. Ask Cargill if the police can bypass Hotel Fiorella management and have the phone company trace the call made to Grazia Sunday night. Ask Nick if he recognized Francisco’s bodyguards in the photo. Ask Miranda the locations of the two IP addresses the technician got off Grazia’s laptop. Remind her mother to get the names in the consortium that owned the Hotel Fiorella. Find out why Luigi is afraid of Edmondo.

Again, Grazia threw down her pen, frustrated. Her watch read nearly midnight. Where was Cargill? He was taking a long time. Was he interrogating Edmondo under hot lights? She reread her lists. All this information should lead somewhere, but where? She let her mind drift. Something important floated just out of reach. Would her brain ever function normally!

The doorbell buzzed, and Cargill’s Brooklyn accent floated through the intercom. She peered through the peephole before unbolting the locks. He handed over her laptop and plunked down two paper bags that smelled like Chinese food.

“I figured you’d be hungry since you stormed out without your dinner. Your pajamas weren’t under your pillow, and I wasn’t going hunting for them, so you’ll have to borrow from Mrs. Springer.”

He sat down at the table and lifted out cartons and chopsticks while he continued talking.  “Edmondo is sticking to his story that Manuel took you to your room. This, even after I told him that Valentino claimed it was him who took you upstairs.” Cargill dug his chopsticks into a carton of noodles and chicken and levered a mass expertly into his mouth. “Personally, I think both of them are lying.”

Grazia found herself imagining the scene—Manuel or Edmondo opening her door, two men following her inside. She shuddered; then a thought dropped into her head. “The light was on when I went into my room that night. Someone was there. I’m having flashes of memory. Janine
said that some women do.” She waited for another image to drop, but nothing came. She dipped her chopsticks into what looked like sweet and sour pork. “I’ve entered everything from my journal into my laptop. I’ve made lists of what we know, what we don’t know, and what we can do tomorrow. Our last full day.” She pushed over her computer. She had translated the pages into English.

Cargill read the lists without comment. He pushed her laptop back towards her. “Make another list. Everyone involved. Start with the men.”

She typed as she spoke: “Valentino, Manuel, Edmondo, Luigi, Stanley, Nick, Raoul, and the three other Italians.”

“Add your boss and the guy who poured the bad cement. And the recruiter who emailed you.”

She wrote.

“Now the women: Sophia, Laura, Janine, Cindy. Add Miranda Laterza. And your boss’s wife, Belinda.”

“Speaking of Belinda, Miranda told me that Belinda recommended Sophia for the job at the Hotel Fiorella and got her a student visa to the US.”

Cargill levered another mass of noodles into his mouth. “Odd connection, that. I wonder what was behind it. Any other females?”

“Francisco’s daughter, Celestina. She was at the Naples apartment Sunday morning when the courier delivered the document I sent to Francisco. She told the courier to deliver it to the beach house. Oh, there are more people for the list: the housekeeper at the beach house, the gardener, the butler. But they don’t count because they were all hired through Miranda Security. Francisco’s two bodyguards he hired privately. At the office it’s rumored that they double as hit men.”

“Lots of people, and all connected personally or through business.”

They ate in thoughtful silence. Grazia put on the kettle and made Jasmine tea in Mrs. Springer’s Chinese pot. She poured it into two small Chinese cups.

“How did you get the stitches?” she inquired. “I heard you were in a fight.”

“Full of questions, aren’t you?”

“Then you got suspended. Why?”

“I beat someone up.”

“A criminal?”

“My brother-in-law. Also a cop. In the police station lobby. In front of a lot of people, including the mayor, who was presenting a peacekeeping award to the cops on the beat for defusing situations before they get violent. The thirteenth precinct is by the East Village, which is a nightlife area. Cops have to know what they’re doing.”

“Your brother-in-law hit you back?”

Cargill put down his chopsticks, then picked them up again and dug into the beef and snow peas. “What happened was that I happened to have had a few drinks for lunch that day, and my brother-in-law happened to take it upon himself to tell me to go home sick since he said I didn’t happen to look presentable.”

“Don’t get upset. I’m trying to have a regular conversation, and my English isn’t perfect.”

“Your English is perfect enough to say exactly what you want, and you know it. So I told my brother-in-law to shove it, and he started in on how my wife wouldn’t approve of my behavior. So I hit him. A couple of other cops got into it, and we ended up in the ER with stitches. Made the newspapers. The mayor made a joke about how we have a peaceful precinct because we keep the rough stuff inside the station. Witty guy. Later I guess the captain clued him in about it being a family affair because when I got home from the ER, there were some flowers and a card from the mayor saying he was sorry about my wife. He sent a card to my brother-in-law too. He put his on the fireplace mantel.”