Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde (18 page)

TWELVE

I
didn’t sleep well that night and had dreams that kept waking me, yet I couldn’t remember them. In my current state of mind it was probably better that way. I’m sure the dreams had nothing to do with a beautiful intelligent woman with conservative views in a black lace teddy drinking champagne in front of a roaring fire.

I headed down to the gym to try and shake the cobwebs. I hadn’t been able to lift weights because of my bruised ribs but they were feeling good enough today to give it a shot. I hated when I couldn’t exercise because my body started to feel flabby. I realized it was merely psychological but that provided little solace.

My gym is located over in neighboring Tewksbury across from a nearly empty strip mall. It had the latest aerobic torture machines and a huge free weight area. Mirrors surrounded the workout room so the narcissistic types could gaze at their sweaty buffed bods. I liked them because you could sneak peeks at the ladies without the appearance that you were leering at them.

It was mid-morning when I got there so the heavy pre-work crowd was gone. I enjoyed coming at this time because the primary group exercising were MILFs or to the uninitiated, “Mothers I’d Like to Fuck.” Most wore skimpy little workout clothes and since I’m one of the few men there at this time of day, they often asked questions about different exercises or machines.

Tony would have had a field day there. I however maintained my gentlemanly behavior and only stared when I thought I could get away with it. Most were married anyway and that was the last hassle I needed. Married women were a place I definitely had to draw the line especially after being the victim of an unfaithful spouse. 

I managed to get in a fairly decent workout with minimal pain. The ribs barely held me up at all. I hung out in the steam room for a while, showered and went to get some late breakfast; I did Dunkin’s instead of the Raven for fear of giving in to Jesse’s feminine wiles. I was also picking up donuts for Shea and his boys so I killed two birds with one stone.

I found Shea sitting in his cluttered office reading the Sun.

“Slow day for crime in the city?”

“Hey, Ronan, how goes it?”

He stood and shook my hand.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

He looked pleased. “Let me get Morley and Garcia.”

“You might want to hear this first. Besides, don’t you want first crack at the good donuts?”

“Is this close-the-door bad?”

I nodded and closed it for him.

Twenty minutes later I had spilled all I knew, right down to Karen’s job with AAA Diamond, Chief Fontini’s involvement with her, the rogue cops and Duffy Fitzgerald.

“Duffy is a tough character. You sure you want to tangle with him?”

“I have to.”

“I know. I just wanted to be sure that after you get whacked I’d have a clear conscience for warning you.”

“Forever practicing CYA.”

“I’d be a meter maid if I didn’t.”

He finished off his second donut and wiped the crumbs off his hands into the garbage can.

“I think we should call in the state police. Maybe even the feebs. They could maybe help with Duffy,” he offered.

“Fontini’s kid is a trooper and we both know you can’t necessarily trust the feds especially after the whole Whitey Bulger case.”

“You were a federal agent.”

“Well sort of, but it’s always a crapshoot who you’ll get assigned.”

“That’s always a risk especially in the times we live in.”

He was eyeing another donut, all the while considering how to handle this situation.

“You know Lowell is part of Duffy’s territory,” he said.

“Which means he probably has a few people in local government on his payroll.”

“Probably even some on this department; though I can’t prove it,” he lamented.

“What’s he own here?”

“A couple of bars and restaurants; at least that I know of. All of them legitimate businesses so there’s not all that much I can do about it.”

He chose another donut, a chocolate cruller and took a bite.

“If I don’t make a call, and I’m not saying I won’t, what’s your plan?” He asked.

“I don’t know yet. Can you give me a few days?”

“Reluctantly.”

I got up and opened the door. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better.”

He stood and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Ronan, Duffy won’t hesitate to put a hit out on you.”

“We can only hope.”

“You better take this a bit more seriously. You’re playing with fire. I know you were involved in some heavy fighting overseas, but this is different.”

“Absolutely,” I responded. “It’s not like there are hundreds of religious fanatics out to kill me.”

“You also don’t have a gunship circling to bail your ass out either.”

“Good point and in spite of the jokes, I’m definitely concerned.”

I wasn’t kidding. At least when I was in the Air Force I could always rely on someone to watch my back and come to the rescue if things got too hot. We also had some fairly heavy planning sessions to plot out our every move. In this environment, there was no operations order and I was making things up as I went. I knew I had Tony, Shea and my brother if I needed them, but I was generally working on my own and one wrong move and Duffy’s crew would be feeding my body through a wood chipper. I was determined to avoid that fate but just as determined to find Karen’s killer. It made for an odd little internal struggle.

I’d just pulled onto Route 495 toward Lawrence when Marc called.

“I just got a call about running that black car,” he said.

“And?”

He liked to hold me in suspense whenever he had the chance. “A Lieutenant Francis from Medford PD wanted to know why we were running the plate. It’s one of their special purpose vehicles.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You know him?” he asked.

“Frances no, but his chief was on Karen’s client list.”

There was a momentary silence on the line. He didn’t like what I just told him.

“I know Chief Fontini. He’s on the Mass Chief of Police Association board; struck me as being pretty sharp. You sure you have the right guy?”

“Talked to him yesterday.”

“Did he admit it?”

“Yes and it gets worse. It looks like he may be in Duffy Fitzpatrick’s back pocket.”

“The Irish crime boss?”

“That’s the one.”

“My God, Ronan, what the hell have you got yourself into?”

“Something far bigger than I ever expected.”

“You talked with Uncle Sal?”

“Yeah, he’s been feeding me information.”

“Watch him too. You know he has his own agenda.”

“Are you saying our own uncle would stab me in the back?”

Marc didn’t understand the code and his attitude of law enforcement superiority could get tiresome. Maybe one day he’d learn his lesson. That or I’d find out I was really the naïve one in the family.

“I’m just saying to be careful. You don’t really know what he’s capable of.”

I almost laughed at him. I loved when my little brother lectured me on matters of the world especially when the only foreign country he ever visited was Canada…and I was the one who brought him there for his bachelor party.

“Okay, bro. What did you tell Frances?”

“That we had a partial plate on a hit and run and his car didn’t match the suspect’s car.”

“Good call. Let’s hope their guys don’t put Marc Marino and Ronan Marino together and figure out what we’re up to.”

“Shit, I hadn’t thought of that. Where are you?”

“On my way to Lawrence to see another of Karen’s clients.”

“Lawrence? Yuck. Anyone I’d know?”

“Probably, but it’s better if you don’t know who it is.”

“Not another chief I hope.”

“No, but this could be worse.”

“You’re right, I don’t want to know. Take it easy, brother.”

****

I parked outside the Lawrence District Courthouse and went in. I had to leave my pistol in the Jeep to get past security. With the latest news from my brother, I didn’t feel comfortable doing that but without a badge, I’d never get the gun past the metal detectors at the door.

I asked the overweight guard where Judge Forester’s chamber was and he directed me to the second floor. I jogged up the stairs, passing a cute woman dressed in a very short skirt and carrying a stack of files. She smiled at me and for a minute I forgot I was in Massachusetts. It was a California moment.

I got to his chamber and peeked in the adjacent courtroom. It wasn’t in session so I knocked on the judge’s door.

“Come in,” someone yelled in a gruff voice.

I pushed open the door and walked in. Judge Forester was sitting back with his feet up on the desk. He wore a shiny black pair of cowboy boots and was smoking a pipe. They’d banned smoking in most public buildings but being a judge meant he didn’t have to follow the rules.

A young female clerk with stringy brown hair and the bone structure of a linebacker stood next to his desk holding a stack of manila folders. She looked pissed that I was intruding on her self-perceived important business. I’d learned long ago that all court clerks believe their business is important, even if it’s just taking the lunch order.

“Judge Forester?” I asked, knowing damn well that it was him.

“Yeah, can I help you?”

“Yes, sir, I need to speak to you in private.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Ronan Marino. I’m a friend of Karen Pommer’s.”

“Don’t know a Karen Plummer.”

“It’s Karen Pommer.”

“Don’t know her either.”

“You knew her as Misty.”

He sat up in the chair, turned to the clerk and waived his hand at her.

“That will be all, Carolyn,” he ordered. “Please close the door behind you.”

She frowned but made her exit, intentionally turning her gaze away as she left. Forester inhaled on his pipe and let out a long stream of smoke.

“Have a seat.”

I sat in a cracked vinyl chair next to his desk. It was standard government furniture that should have been replaced five years ago.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Ronan Marino.”

“You a cop?”

“Used to be.”

“What happened?”

“It was time to move on.”

“I can usually read people pretty well. You were probably terrible at taking orders.”

He was wrong, but I didn’t dispute it. I took orders well, at least when I agreed with them. The ones I didn’t like were usually followed but under protest. Fortunately I’d never found myself in a situation where I’d been given orders that I found illegal. I was pretty sure how’d I react to that.

“Sir, I’m not here to give you a hard time or make trouble.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I was a friend of Karen’s and I’m trying to make some sense of her death.”

“Maybe I don’t know anything. Maybe I deny even knowing her.”

“The agency gave me your name.”

“So much for discretion,” he said rolling his eyes.

“Don’t blame them, I forced the information out of them.”

He looked me over. “You’re not that big.”

“I’m very influential.”

He nodded. “I knew her. She was a really great girl. I read about her death and to be honest, it seemed a little suspicious to me. What do you want to know?”

“I was hoping you could tell me something I could use to piece this thing together.”

He thought about it and shook his head. “I didn’t see her all that much, only about twice a month. I wanted more but she said she had another client who was very powerful and demanded her time.”

“She didn’t say who?”

“No, and I really didn’t want to know. Her business was her business and to be honest, I sometimes felt guilty enough without knowing who else was involved.”

That was interesting. I initially thought maybe it was Chief Fontini, but while he was a powerful man, not nearly as much as a senior judge. The CEOs and doctor were connected but wouldn’t be considered powerful to a man like Forester.

“Did she ever say anything about this person? It would be helpful.”

“No, she was very private. I asked her about her life a few times but she didn’t say much at all. I really wish I could have gotten to know her better.”

I raised my eyebrows to this statement and he took offense.

“What? You’re going to pass judgment on me because I used an escort service?”

“No, sir. I just thought that was somewhat odd that you wanted to get to know her.”

“I know, but I never used hookers or anything like that. My wife died about five years ago and I’ve been alone since and never had time to date or develop a relationship. Even at my age a man gets lonely and in my desperation I saw an ad in the sports section of the paper and called it.”