Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde (17 page)

TEN

I
wasn’t in the mood to make supper so I stopped to get something. There’s a great little sandwich shop around the corner from my house and I picked up a chicken parmigiana sub, and a six-pack of Harpoon Ale from the adjacent packy.

I’m a fair cook when I put my mind to it but it has never really interested me. I learned how to make all the standard Italian fare, lasagna, meatballs and gravy, raviolis, etc. from my grandmother on my father’s side so I’m not helpless in the kitchen. On a rare occasion, I go nuts and make a huge feast, but living alone I usually get sick of it before I finish the food and toss the balance. Mostly, I just tend to eat out a lot.

I planned to spend the night searching the net for info on Karen’s client list, and schedule the following day around the results. I had their home or work addresses but wanted to know more before I approached them. I doubted any of them would be too happy when I came calling. If I were using an escort service, I’d be pretty pissed if word got out, especially when the girl I was
schtupping
was killed.

I called Tony to let him know about the cops but got his voice mail.  It was happy hour, despite the fact there really aren’t traditional happy hours in this damned state, and by now he was talking smack to some hairdresser mere moments from taking her back to his place. I didn’t want to mess up his groove, not that I thought it was possible.

I checked my mail and found nothing important. A few bills, junk flyers with coupons for free karate lessons and a postcard advertising a gun show in New Hampshire.

I sat at my computer desk, eating the sub and drinking one of the beers. Using Google, I entered each man’s name. The first was Judge Simon Forester. He had been on the bench for nearly twenty years and according to the articles online, his reputation was that of a take no shit judge who ruled the courtroom with an iron fist. I also found a weepy article by the American Civil Liberties Union trashing him for his tough stance on criminal rights. He sounded like my kind of guy.

The state website had his official photo, which made me chortle. He looked like Santa Claus with his bald head and long white beard. I found reference to three children, but no mention of a wife. Either he was divorced or a widower and didn’t have the time or the patience to go out and find women.

I found all four of her other clients with relative ease. Two of them were CEOs of local high-tech companies and one was a well-known brain surgeon. The final name on the list was John Fontini, who as Tony said earlier was in fact now the Chief of Police in Medford. When I was his son David’s roommate in college, he was the chief of detectives. He and Dave’s mother used to come up to Lowell on occasion and visit. Like every good Italian, they would bring food. It was a great departure from our usual diet of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

The state police had hired Dave after graduation and we’d kept in touch, mostly the occasional phone call or in the past five years with email. He was a Sergeant living out in the western part of the state assigned to Troop “B” in the Cheshire Barracks. I briefly considered calling him and discussing the situation, but I knew I wouldn’t appreciate it if someone called me about my father cheating on my mother with an escort. I might not even believe it.

Approaching Chief Fontini wouldn’t be easy but I had to do it. His relationship with Karen wouldn’t be something he’d want out in the open no matter his current marital status. The easiest way to see him would be to just stop down at the station and hope he remembered me. I’m sure he would. There aren’t too many people around named Ronan Marino.

I needed a break from my investigative duties so I went downstairs, turned on the television and sat on the couch. The Bruins were playing The Anaheim Ducks. With little deliberation, I quickly decided that a Lock Monster was way tougher than a Disney Mighty Duck.

Sometime around the second period, with the Bruins ahead by four goals and five of the six Harpoon Ales gone, my attention started to wander. A concern came over me that a committed adult relationship with someone with no secrets or hidden agenda was too much to ask for. My love life had generally been a disaster and I really wanted to avoid further hurt.

I started to go through my current options for the future with all the single women I knew. There was Jesse from the Raven Diner. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. As much as I liked her, there was nothing there I was interested in for life.

There was Nicole, Tony’s big-breasted fuck buddy. I thought about her sitting on my cousin’s leather couch in that sheer white teddy, her huge breasts like two missiles popping in and out of it. That would smack of severe desperation.

Then there was Cassie. Very hot, very young, very much linked to Karen and the escort agency. I didn’t think I could ever be able to be with Cassie and not think about Karen. I didn’t want to have to pay for her companionship either.

Dr. Sadolovaki? She was a doctor, so she had to be smart. She liked hockey and beer, and thought I was funny. I still didn’t know her first name. Eventually I’ll find out. A definite option, if she was even interested in me. I didn’t see a wedding or engagement ring on her finger so she very well could be available.

The last woman I came to was Diane. She was smart, sexy and had a sharp sense of humor. Her only drawback was her political affiliation. I could try to get by that and she had already invited me out to dinner; no it had actually been more of a demand. Demanding women were sometimes a good thing, especially when they demanded you sleep with them.

I found the card she’d given me with her address and looked it over. Maybe it wouldn’t be too much of a distraction and I had to start moving on. Saturday at seven was looking more and more like it would happen. I had a couple of days to make my decision.

The next morning I wanted to go to the gym but my ribs were still too sore. Instead I decided to go for a run to at least get some exercise. The trees in my neighborhood were still about a week or so from peaking to their autumn brilliance yet reminding me I needed to go buy a leaf blower and some bags for my yard. Add that to my long list of things I’ll soon forget.

When I got back to my house the phone rang. It was Tony.

“Hey, you ugly greaseball bastard.”

“Tony, what are you doing up this early?”

“I got to go do some shit for Uncle Sal. I got your message last night. That is not good news my friend. I don’t like fucking around with cops of any kind.”

“That’s not a surprise in your line of work.”

“Yeah, no shit. You know what department?”

“Not yet.”

“You let me know when you find out.”

“I will.”

“Hey, when you going to stop fucking around with Mary Palm and her Five Sisters and let me hook you up?”

“But she says she loves me.”

“Yeah, whatever, idiot. Nicole was asking for you. She and a couple of her friends are ready to party.”

“You more concerned with me getting laid or staying alive?”

“Tough question. I gotta go,
goombah
. Call me when you know something.”

With that he hung up. My run had relieved some of the tension I was feeling but if it kept up, I just might have had to take him up on his offer to party with Nicole. If anything, just to shut him up.

ELEVEN

With
the traffic, it took me about thirty minutes to get down to Medford, or as the indigenous big-haired green-mascara Camaro-driving tribe referred to it,
Meffa
.

Chief Fontini wasn’t around and his cute young secretary said he wouldn’t be back until later in the day. I flashed my best million-dollar smile and tried to coerce her into telling me where he was but she didn’t fall for it. I almost left a message but decided against it.

I cruised back up Route 93 and over to 128, or as they were trying to call it now, Route 95. Most of the high tech corporation offices are located along the Route 128 belt and that’s where I’d find my wayward Chief Executive Officers.

When you want to talk to the CEO of a large corporation without an appointment, it’s exceptionally hard to get in. They employ thick-necked security types who guard the front door to stop guys like me from getting in. How fortuitous that I had the secret password for immediate access, “Misty from AAA Escorts.” By amazing coincidence it worked both times I used it. What are the odds that two unconnected companies shared the same password to see the CEO?

What I found wasn’t all that surprising. Both men were married, in their fifties and had a picture of their doting wife and spoiled children on their desks. I learned they only saw Karen once or twice a month. Both had the distinct idea that she was very busy since they wanted to see her more but claimed she couldn’t fit them into her schedule. One of them had been seeing her for about fifteen months and other close to a year. Each man paid an average of a thousand a night to the escort agency, then another thousand directly to Karen for “additional services.”

That seemed about right. Escort services are by and large legal businesses. The illegality comes in when the client pays the escort an additional fee on the side for sexual favors. Karen most likely received very little money from AAA Diamond itself, earning the rest on her “tips.”

I waited for the “do you know who I am” threats from each man but they never came. Both men were aware of Karen’s death from the local news and one almost cried right at his desk. I could tell they were only crocodile tears, designed to make me feel pity in the vain hope I wouldn’t expose his dirty little secret to his wife. I left it open, never committing to not telling the cops what I knew. I wasn’t prone to blackmail, but I might need something from one of them in the near future and I still hadn’t ruled either man out as a suspect.

I killed about four hours running the two CEOs down and I headed for the doctor’s office in Stoneham. It was getting late in the day and I wanted to get back to Medford so I didn’t bother to use the password. I walked right past the nurse and into his office. When I said her name, without another word he stood up and closed the door to give us some privacy.

A single tear dripped down his face when I told him she had been murdered. He hadn’t seen the news and I believed his emotions to be sincere. Like the CEOs, he couldn’t offer any useful information. I thanked him and went on my way after snatching a grape lollipop from the checkout counter. My gut said these three had nothing to do with her death and currently, I had nothing to disprove that feeling.               I headed back to Medford and as luck would have it, found Chief Fontini on his way out of the station. Other than some extra pounds and a few additional lines on his face, he looked much the same as he had fifteen years ago. He had about five inches on me and I guessed at least fifty pounds.

“Chief Fontini.”

He turned and looked at me for a brief moment, finally recognizing my face.

“You were my son’s roommate in college.”

“Yes, sir, Ronan Marino.”

We shook hands. He had a strong firm grip.

“Yes, Ronan. That’s right. I remembered you had an unusual name. I think my son told me you were still in the Air Force, right?”

‘Not anymore.”

“Oh? What are you doing now?”

As reasonable as it was I was getting tired of that question. I was thinking about printing up little cards with the answer to save time.

“Not all that much. Do you have a few minutes?”

“I’m late for an appointment.”

“This is important.”

“Come on back tomorrow, I’ll put you on my calendar.”

He was walking fast, somewhat ignoring me. He got to his gleaming black Ford Crown Victoria and opened the door.

“We need to talk about Karen Pommer,” I said.

“Don’t know her.”

“You knew her as Misty.”

He turned and glared at me like I had just cursed his mother.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know Misty from AAA Escort Services?”

He nervously looked around.

“Keep your voice down. How do you know about her?”

“She was murdered.”

“Murdered? I read she died up in Lowell. They found her floating in the river. I recognized her picture in the paper but it said her death was probably an accident.”

“That’s what the papers say. I’m looking into this and I came across your name from the escort agency.”

“They gave it to you?”

“No, I took it.”

He let out a long sigh. “Get in the car.”

I walked around the other side and he opened the door remotely. I waited for him to get in and followed. He slammed his door and looked straight ahead.

“That information was supposed to be private.”

“I understand that, but I don’t believe her death to be an accident. Someone killed her and when I found out she was working as an escort, I figured it could have been one of her clients.”

“I didn’t fucking kill anyone.”

“I didn’t say you did, Chief. All I want to know is if she ever said anything to you that might provide some clues as to who might have wanted her dead.”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Nothing?”

“Jesus Christ, I said nothing. Okay?”

Men in his position aren’t used to being questioned and he was growing frustrated with me. Good. If he was involved with her death, perhaps he’d try something stupid with me.

“You need to let this go. Do you know who she ultimately worked for?” He asked.

“Yeah, Duffy Fitzpatrick. You think I give a fuck?”

He turned and looked at me, a surprised look on his face. Evidently Duffy’s businesses were supposed to be a state secret. Someone needed to tell him his security sucked.

“That’s right and if I were you, I would give a fuck,” Fontini said.

“I’m not you. I don’t have as much at stake here as you do.”

“You’re wrong. He’ll kill you or anyone else that messes with him, son. You’re smart enough to know that.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You always were a cocky little shit; even back in college.”

“Some would say I’m even worse now. Look, I just want some help here. I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Have you talked to my son?”

“No, this is between us.”

He looked down, his mind evaluating the situation.

“You’re emotionally connected.”

“Yes.”

“You doing her?”

“I wasn’t a paying customer.”

“I see. You know I could just shoot you to shut you up. Just say you attacked me out here. It’d be my word against a dead man.”

“You’d be dead before you cleared leather, Chief.”

I moved my jacket over and showed him the .45. He was very right about one thing; I was a cocky son of a bitch when I wanted to be.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what you want to know, but we’ll not talk about this again. Understand?”

“Deal.”

He leaned back in his seat, choosing his words carefully.

“I met Misty at a party downtown about a year ago. A wonderful girl, bright, gorgeous, articulate and fun to be around.”

“And very expensive, especially for a police chief.”

“I never paid.”

“Which means you’re on the hook to Duffy.”

He gritted his teeth. He didn’t like hearing the words, no matter how true.

“You don’t understand how things work.”

“I understand perfectly. Ever hear of Sal Marino?”

I rarely name drop, but this was an appropriate time.

“Italian crime boss…yes, Marino. It never occurred to me when I met you up at school. Family?”

“He’s my uncle, so I do understand how things work.”

Again, he sighed. He sighed way too much for my tastes.

“Duffy can’t know I talked with you.”

“He and I don’t hang out much anymore.”

“I only saw her about twice a month. I wanted more but she was always busy with other things. I had to schedule her weeks in advance so I figure she must have been very popular.”

“She only had four other clients.”

“I don’t know what else she did. She didn’t tell me much about her life and I really didn’t want to know.”

“Ever know her to do drugs?”

“Not that I could tell. She liked expensive champagne though.”

“Most women do. Anything else?”

“Not really.”

“You fucking any of Duffy’s other girls yet?”

“I never went looking for it, Ronan. It just happened.”

That didn’t deserve a response. I simply frowned and he started to squirm. “What are you going to do if you find out it was Duffy who had her killed?”

“Why would he do that?”

“I can think of plenty of reasons why he might kill an escort.”

“Do you think he did it?’

“What if he did? Do you have what it takes to kill him, son?”

“If need be.”

He laughed out loud. “That’s amusing.”

“I’m glad I could entertain you but I’ve killed when I’ve had to.”

“I see. Maybe I’ll poke around and see what I can find out. If you don’t hear from me, it means I’ve got nothing for you and I don’t ever want to see your face around here again. Give me your number.”

He handed me a scrap of paper and I wrote down my cell number for him.

“One thing before I go, Chief. I’m not your fucking son so don’t ever talk down to me and call me that again. Got it?”

He nodded his head slow and unconvincingly. I climbed out of the car and he drove away, never looking back. I’d probably never hear from him again. The only thing he’d be poking around was his dick in another one of Duffy’s girls.

He was definitely concerned though. A guilty conscience is hard to live with and Chief Fontini was worried he’d eventually be exposed. Guilt eats away at your soul and makes you less of a man. I read that once in a Spiderman graphic novel.

I got in my Jeep and jumped back up onto Route 93 north toward Lawrence. It was three-thirty and I hoped Santa was still holding court. It would be nice to run down all five clients in one day. Fate however was against me.

There are three constants in Massachusetts; politicians are corrupt, taxes are high and traffic will always be backed up when you need to be somewhere. Everything else was secondary.

I hit constant number three when traffic slowed to a stop in Woburn. The radio said there was an accident a few miles ahead and traffic was at a crawl; so much for seeing the jolly old elf today. I sat back, turned up the radio and listened to local talker Howie Carr bitch about the constants.