The Scorpion's Tale (4 page)

He stood slowly, trying to comprehend the
gravity of the moment. His intelligence information had been
flawed. He had been assured there would be no visitors. He had
incorrectly assumed his two intended victims were alone. How could
he have made such a careless blunder? How completely and utterly
unprofessional! He had killed a pregnant woman and a small child!
He ran to the kitchen cupboards looking for a particular object.
The cupboards were empty except for alcohol. The Olivaros clearly
never stocked up on other essentials. He knew that not finding what
he needed was a blessing in disguise, since it would have called
for him removing his gloves and contaminating the scene.

He checked on the little girl one last time,
moved her next to her mother, and then slipped out the back door
where he disappeared down the beach toward a small boat. He started
the four-stroke engine, which made it easy for a silent escape. He
eased the boat out into the open water and disappeared into the
night, discarding his outer layer of clothing into a garbage bag
that he would burn on the water while planning his revenge against
the people who provided the misinformation.

Steven stepped out of the shower as the phone
rang. It was a few minutes after nine o’clock and he’d been
unsuccessfully attempting to reach Amanda to tell her he had
overslept. Steven had called the phone company earlier to see if
there had been a service interruption, since no one was answering
the house line or their cell phones. After receiving confirmation
all was in order, he contacted the Westhampton Police Department,
apologized for being neurotic, but stressed that his wife was nine
months pregnant and asked if a patrol car could pass by the house.
Steven had not expected a call back from Detective Michael Johnston
of the Suffolk County Police Department.

Detective Johnston stood in the living room
of the Olivaro house. He hated this part of his job. Homicides
rarely happened in the Hamptons. A case-hardened veteran with
twenty years’ homicide experience in New York City, he thought he’d
seen the worst. Today, as he stared at a very pregnant woman and
her toddler, lying side by side in a pool of blood, he realized he
had not.

Detective Johnston was the second officer
inside. A local patrolman responding to Steven’s call simply opened
the side door and, when he saw a body, called headquarters. He was
ordered to wait outside until a detective arrived. They had quickly
ascertained the identities of the victims and began contacting
relatives. He dialed Steven’s number on his cell phone. His latex
fingers tapped nervously on the black marble table as he waited for
Steven Capresi to answer.

Steven answered in a sarcastic tone, certain
the caller was either Amanda or Tony.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you lazy bums, I
have to call the police to….”

“Steven Capresi?” the unfamiliar voice
interrupted.

“Yes.” Steven said tentatively, his stomach
tightening.

“This is Detective Michael Johnston of the
Suffolk County Police Department.” “What’s wrong?” Steven asked
anxiously, beginning to feel his blood pumping hard in his
temples.

Detective Johnston hesitated one second too
long and Steven’s worst fears rolled into a surge of raw emotions
directed at the detective.

“What the hell’s happened you fucking
asshole!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Detective Johnston flinched from the sheer
intensity of the sound. He answered reflexively, without thought or
feeling, programmed to give a scripted answer. “Your wife and child
are both dead. So are Tony and Rosina Olivaro.” He listened for a
response, but heard nothing. A soft, wounded sound followed the
silence.

“Mr. Capresi!” he shouted, trying to capture
Steven’s attention. “I have two officers on the way to your house.
They’ll be there in a few minutes to drive you here.” Still, there
was no response. “I need you to identify the bodies,” he said
quietly. Detective Johnston listened to himself, sounding like a
caricature of a cop in a bad movie. He hated himself for being so
callous in doing his job. Was there ever a gracious way to be the
bearer of such devastating news? The sound of the phone hitting the
floor was the only response. What he heard next made the hair stand
on the nape of his neck; a piercing, primal scream followed by
wailing.

Detective Johnston shouted louder. “Mr.
Capresi …Steven …Pick up the phone. Talk to me!”

At that instant, two policemen were knocking
at Steven’s door. They waited a few minutes, but Steven didn’t
answer. The officers called Detective Johnston, who was still
listening to Steven sobbing. He instructed the officers to forcibly
open the door, observe anything in plain view, and bring Steven to
him.

Detective Johnston was not looking forward to
interrogating a man who, if innocent, just had his life ripped
apart. The detective would have to search for answers as to why
these bodies lay before him.

-------------------

Detective Johnston had determined this was a
professional hit linked with two bodies found in Manhattan at a
company called JTS Imports owned by Tony Olivaro. JTS was an
import-export company with suspected ties to organized crime.

The police car stopped across from the
Olivaro house. The entire area was covered with yellow crime scene
tape, which, from the second floor of the Olivaro house, looked
like a giant spider’s web. Neighbors stood gawking from outside the
taped perimeter, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of the carnage
inside.

Detective Johnston stood impassively in the
driveway awaiting Steven’s arrival. He was a hulking figure at two
hundred seventy pounds on a six foot six inch frame, yet he felt
small as he watched Capresi arrive at the scene and be escorted out
of the squad car. Steven’s eyes were swollen and bloodshot; his
skin pale and drawn.

Detective Johnston extended his hand toward
Steven, steadying his shoulders to help him with his balance.
Steven slowly turned his gaze upward and looked at the detective’s
tough and weathered face. The detective expressed his deepest
condolences.

“Mr. Capresi, um, may I call you Steven?” He
got no response. “I’m terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do
for you?” He knew the question was absurd, but he had to establish
a rapport if he was going to get through the next few hours.

“No thank you,” Steven muttered, returning
his blank stare to the ground as they moved under the carport and
sat in plastic beach chairs.

Detective Johnston bent toward Steven,
placing his arm gently around his shoulder. “Listen, Steven, this
is going to be extremely difficult. Would you like to wait awhile
before we talk about the identification process? Maybe you’d like
someone else from your family to do this?”

Steven shook his head. “This is my
responsibility. Is the morgue close by?” he asked, continuing to
stare blankly at the ground.

The detective hadn’t yet informed Steven that
the bodies were ten feet above them. He knew he was proceeding
unconventionally, but he needed to witness Steven’s reaction to the
carnage. He needed to determine if Steven could have been involved,
and he always went with his gut instincts. “Listen Steven, before
we get there, I’ve got to ask you a few standard questions.”

Steven remained silent and continued staring
at the ground.

“How long did you know Mr. Olivaro?”

“Since we were kids.”

“My understanding was that Olivaro was
connected with the mob.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Steven
replied.

Detective Johnston cleared his throat. “Where
were you last night?”

Steven thought about the question. He thought
about spending time with that little tease at the expense of his
family. He had been flirting with her while his family was being
slaughtered. If he had left for Westhampton as he originally
intended, he might have saved them, or at least died trying. He
felt disgusted with himself. The thought nauseated him.

“I was working at my office.”

“Did you go directly home, or did you go
somewhere after work?” the detective prodded.

“I went home.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes.”

Detective Johnston shook his head
disapprovingly. “We’re not off to a good start, son. Didn’t you
have company last night?”

Steven didn’t know if the detective was
bluffing or whether they had instant access to the credit card he
used to pay for his dinner with Teresa. He swallowed hard and found
the courage to look the detective in the eye.

Detective Johnston smiled reassuringly at
him. “Shall we start over again?”

Steven nodded. “Yes. I left the office with a
young lady named Teresa. She works for me. We went for a quick
dinner and had a few drinks. She tried her best to get me into her
bed. I declined and took the train home. I got in very late.”

“By very late, what time, exactly?”

“About 2:30” Steven answered.

Detective Johnston grunted. “What time would
you say you and Teresa parted company?”

Steven scratched his head. “Probably about
1:00,” he said tentatively.

Detective Johnston detected the trepidation
in his voice. “Are you sure about the time?”

Steven reconsidered his answer. “Give or take
fifteen minutes, yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

Detective Johnston changed the subject. “Were
you and your wife having marital problems?”

Steven glared at the detective. “Fuck you!
That’s none of your damned business!”

“No Steven, fuck you!” he responded, taking
Steven by surprise. “I’ve got a dead child here, so everything is
my business!”

Steven was taken aback by the detective’s
abrupt personality change. “I loved my wife.”

Detective Johnston again changed his tone,
keeping Steven off balance. “Steven, you don’t have to come into
the house. As a matter of fact, it’s not standard procedure because
we do everything we can to preserve the crime scene. We usually
have victim identifications done at the morgue. I thought that
would be cold.”

Steven looked shocked. “My wife and children
are inside?” he bellowed. “I want to go in!” Steven demanded,
summoning all of his strength to stand. “I want to see Amanda,
now!”

Detective Johnston grabbed Steven’s arm to
steady him as he stood. “Steven, I have to warn you. It’s not
pretty.” The detective led Steven up the stairs and paused outside
the door. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yes,” Steven whispered, his response barely
audible.

Detective Johnston handed Steven a pair of
latex gloves. “Put these on before we go inside. I don’t want you
leaving any fresh fingerprints.”

Steven put on the gloves, opened the screen
door, and stepped inside. His eyes darted wildly around the room.
There were a few officers and technicians standing around,
pretending to be engrossed in their duties, which they had
finished, allowing for Detective Johnston’s gambit. They watched
Steven’s every move, waiting for the horrific reunion with his
murdered family. Even in Steven’s clouded state of mind, the
tension was palpable. He took a few steps and saw a body lying on
the floor, next to the refrigerator. A white sheet was draped over
most of her, but he could see her slippers, an anniversary present.
He had seen them in the window of Saks and knew he had to have them
for Amanda. They were extravagant and frivolous, and Amanda
vigorously protested the lavish and unnecessary expense, but she
treasured them. That memory made Steven smile.

He slowly knelt beside his wife and stroked
the slippers. His universe had shrunk into a few square feet and
his surroundings fell into a blackened void. Space and time melted.
Nothing existed except Steven, his wife, her slippers, and his
memories. Gradually, the universe returned. He noticed broken glass
on the floor and then saw his wife’s blood splattered over the
refrigerator and the walls. It was obvious that she’d been getting
a middle-of-the-night drink of water, something that had become a
ritual late in her pregnancy.

His eyes traveled slowly up the sheet. The
tip of the pinky of her left hand protruded, and he gently rolled
the sheet back to expose the rest of her hand. There was the
wedding band she never removed from her finger, below her
engagement ring. He didn’t have much money when he bought it and
the diamond was small, but Amanda said it was the most beautiful
ring in the world. He stroked the rings, thinking of the love they
symbolized and all that he had lost. A bizarre calm engulfed him.
He didn’t know whether he had used up his emotions or if he was in
an altered state of mind. He felt distant and detached, as if this
was someone else’s life.

There was blood matted in her hair. Her eyes
were swollen shut and her face discolored in various shades of
purple. He ran his hand across her distended belly and gingerly
placed his head on her stomach, listening for a sound, trying to
detect any movement.

Detective Johnston bent over Steven and
awkwardly whispered down to him as if trying to hide something that
everyone in the room already knew. “Steven, fire-rescue already
checked to see if the baby survived. I’m sorry.”

Steven nodded his head, took a deep breath,
and expelled the air slowly, fighting back more tears. He gently
massaged his temples, keeping his eyes tightly shut, trying to
exclude the entire world from this final moment with his wife. Then
he opened his eyes, bent over Amanda, and kissed her lips.

“Amanda, I’m so sorry I made you come here by
yourself,” he whispered. “Take care of our babies and I’ll be with
you soon.”

Steven said nothing as he knelt down beside
where his daughter lay. The detective stood motionless, his eyes
cast toward the ground as he was thinking of his own
granddaughters. Steven stood surveying the scene. Everyone in the
house was standing perfectly still. Time was frozen.