“So, Tuesday then,” D’Antonio said. “On Monday Cil can review the reports of what the squad got done and work the phones to follow up. Then Tuesday you both hit the streets on it.”
“I never seen this happen on television, guys,” Priscilla said with a tight smile. “Not even once.”
“Yeah, well,” said Rizzo. “The world don’t stop turning ’cause two cops caught a homicide. Only people who think that are the ones putting those shows on. And you’ll have to use Monday for more than just Lauria. That counterfeit prescription case, for instance. Those phony Rx’s are turning up all over the borough. Try and get a lead on that girl who worked in the doctor’s office for two weeks, then disappeared. We find her, we find our stolen script pads and our writer.”
Priscilla stood up. “Okay, Joe, what now?”
D’Antonio also stood. “I’ll leave you guys alone. Talk to the cousin. Get me that list of things you need done. The squad’ll pitch in.”
He turned and crossed the room to his office.
THE FOLLOWING morning, a cold gray November day, with heavy, dark clouds and the faint scent of a threatening early snowfall, the two detectives were speeding eastbound on the Belt Parkway, Priscilla at the wheel.
Closing the note pad he had been scanning, Rizzo said to Priscilla, “Vince means well, but the squad won’t accomplish nothin’ over the next three days.”
Priscilla glanced at Rizzo. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well, for one thing, checking out plate numbers is a waste of time. Only reason for it is to see if some out-of-neighborhood car was parked near the scene, maybe the killer’s car. But those plate numbers were taken November tenth, after the body was layin’ in the apartment ten, twelve days. It don’t mean a goddamned thing whose car was parked where on the tenth. We need to know who was there the date of the murder.”
“A date we don’t even know,” Priscilla said.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Well, what about Lauria’s phone record?” Priscilla asked. “Vince said the squad would get it for us.”
“Yeah. That might help, but I doubt it. We’ll see.”
“Maybe,” Priscilla said tentatively, “we should cancel our RDOs, come in the next few days.”
Rizzo shook his head. “No, let the squad do some of the work, it won’t kill them. It has to be done, even if it won’t help us. I especially don’t want to do the junkie roundup. Let them handle it. After I qualify at the range Monday, we can focus on Lauria. One day at a time.”
“What ever you think, Joe.”
They rode in silence until they reached the house in Canarsie. It was a two-story, semiattached one-family home. The house was neatly kept with a concrete driveway on the left side leading to a detached one-car garage.
Priscilla glanced at the dash clock. “Right on time,” she said. It was eleven a.m.
MaryAnn Carbone, Robert Lauria’s first cousin, was a thirty-eight-year-old house wife and part-time school aide. She was expecting them, and once the three were seated at the large kitchen table, Rizzo spoke across to the sad-eyed woman.
“We’ll try not to take up too much of your time, Mrs. Carbone,” he said. “Just some routine questions.”
“Of course,” she said. “I understand. I hope I can help somehow… I wish my husband were here.” Her voice trailed off. “It’s just unbelievable. I mean, you hear about this stuff, read about it… but…”
“Yes,” Priscilla said. “It’s a shock. We understand.”
Carbone nodded. Then she said, “I can call my husband, if you’d like. He can be here in fifteen minutes.”
Rizzo cleared his throat, slipping the Parker from his inner jacket pocket and flipping open his note pad.
“Hold off on that,” he said. “We’ll call him later if we need to. Let’s get started. We’ll ask some questions, you answer as best you can, okay?”
Still silent, the woman nodded again.
“When was the last time you saw Robbie?” he asked.
“About two months ago, maybe. No, wait, I went to his place around Columbus Day, that weekend. My internist is in Benson-hurst, and I was in the area, so I stopped in to see Robbie.”
Rizzo glanced at the calendar page of his notebook, then raised his eyes to Mrs. Carbone.
“Columbus Day was celebrated Monday, October thirteenth. When did you see the doctor? Saturday, the eleventh?”
She thought for a moment. “It must have been. He doesn’t have hours on Sunday, just half-days on Saturday. It must have been.”
“How was Robbie that day?”
“He was Robbie,” she said. “He was always the same. Quiet. Polite. In his pajamas, by himself.” She sighed. “He was just Robbie.”
“I see,” Rizzo said.
“Did he have anyone in his life who could have done this to him, Mrs. Carbone?” Priscilla asked. “A friend, an acquaintance, a coworker-anyone like that?”
Carbone seemed confused, glancing from one cop to the other.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought it was a break-in. A burglar.”
“Who told you that?” Rizzo asked.
“The young cop who came here. He told me there was a break-in and that Robbie had been killed.”
Priscilla nodded. “That’s what it looks like, ma’am.”
“But you don’t seem to be convinced,” she said.
Rizzo interjected. “We need to check all the possibilities, Mrs. Carbone,” he said. “Did your cousin have anyone like that? Anyone who could’ve gotten mad at him, mad enough to kill?”
She shook her head forcefully. “Absolutely not. Robbie was a lost soul, Sergeant. As far as I know, he didn’t have a single friend, not since he was a young boy. The only kids he ever played with were me and my brother and another cousin or two.”
Rizzo jotted a note, then raised his eyes to Carbone. “Has your brother stayed in touch with Robbie?” he asked.
“My brother hasn’t seen Robbie in ten years.”
“Oh?” Rizzo said.
“My brother’s in the Air Force, Sergeant. Has been for over twenty years. He’s currently stationed in the Middle East in Kuwait. He’s been there for six months.”
“What’s your brother’s name?” Rizzo asked.
“My brother didn’t murder Robbie, Sergeant Rizzo,” she said without anger.
“Of course not,” Rizzo agreed. “I just want to give him a call. In Kuwait. Ask him a few questions, like I’m doin’ here with you.”
The woman laughed. “Non mi pisciare sulla gamba e poi dirmi che sta piovendo,” she said.
Now Rizzo replied in kind. “Non farei mai una cosa del genere, Signora Carbone,” he said casually.
The woman appeared stunned. “Oh. I didn’t realize you spoke… you would understand…”
Rizzo waved a casual hand at her.
“Forget it,” he said pleasantly. “Happens all the time, but I’d like your brother’s name and contact info, if you don’t mind. And those other cousins you mentioned, and maybe you should call your husband now.”
“I’ll get it for you, and call him. He can be here in a few minutes,” she said, still flustered. She stood and quickly left the room.
Priscilla leaned inward toward Rizzo. “What’d she say?” she asked in low tones.
Smiling, Rizzo replied. “She said, ‘Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining,’ ” he said happily. “I told her I’d never do anything like that.”
Priscilla laughed. “I’ve heard that expression,” she said. “Sounds a lot classier in Italian, though.”
Rizzo chuckled. “Cil,” he said with a wink, “everything is classier in Italian.”
When Mrs. Carbone returned, calmer now, they continued their questioning.
“How often did you see your cousin?” Rizzo asked.