“Just give me a heads-up before you do, so I can look away. That way I won’t be lying when I tell I.A.D., ‘Hey, I didn’t see nothin’.’ ”
VINCE D’ANTONIO, his face tight with anger, glared across the desk at Rizzo. They, along with Priscilla, Lieutenant Lombardi, and Assistant District Attorney Raymond Kessler were in D’Antonio’s office.
“Damn it, Joe,” D’Antonio said, “you shoulda told me about all this, you shoulda kept me posted from day one.”
“This aspect of it just come up, boss,” Rizzo said lightly. “Check the DD-fives; everything we had is in there. We just didn’t see the whole picture till now. We followed the leads and next thing we know, we’re lookin’ at this Mallard thing.”
D’Antonio shook his head sharply. “That’s bullshit. You knew where this was goin’ from the moment you and Cil first found Lauria’s play.”
“You’re givin’ me too much credit here, Vince. I ain’t that sharp.”
D’Antonio frowned and began to speak, then suddenly changed his mind. He glanced to Priscilla.
“You got anything to add here, Jackson?”
“Not really, boss,” Priscilla said. “It’s like he told you: we just followed our noses and kinda tripped over Mallard.”
D’Antonio held her eyes for a moment, before turning to Lieutenant Dominick Lombardi.
“What can I tell ya?” he said to Lombardi. “It’s the first I’m hear in’ about any of this.”
Lombardi, a thirty-year veteran of the NYPD, smiled. “Yeah, I got that impression.”
“Well, what ever,” Rizzo said, addressing Lombardi. “What’s done is done. We should drop the warrant on Bradley and look for that raincoat. We got enough in DeMaris’s statement to lock him up right now. Then we wait for the lab test on the fiber. Should be a slam dunk.”
Lombardi’s face brightened. “We?” he said. “I’m not followin’ you here, Sergeant. What do you mean, ‘we’?”
“I mean, we, like us,” Rizzo said. “Like me and my partner. And, of course, you’re welcome to come along.” He reached into his shirt pocket, extracting a packet of Nicorette. “Being how it was your case and all.”
Lombardi laughed. “I like a guy with balls, Rizzo,” he said. “Refreshing change from most of the Plaza boys and girls. But, in this particular case, I gotta say, you’re outta line.”
“Yeah, well, I can see where you might figure that, Loo. But you can ask Vince here-I don’t go outside the lines.”
Raymond Kessler, the homicide bureau chief from the Brooklyn District Attorney’s Office, interjected from Rizzo’s left.
“Maybe you do and maybe you don’t, Rizzo,” he said curtly. “But you could use a little work on your statement-taking skills.”
Rizzo responded, wearing a puzzled look. “Oh?” he asked. “And why’s that?”
“Oh, I think you know,” Kessler said. “That statement you took from DeMaris has more holes in it than Swiss cheese. A kid straight outta law school could convince a jury DeMaris was just in it for the plagiarism angle, didn’t know shit about the murders. She can practically walk away from this. The prosecution will have to spit nickels for even a conspiracy count to stick, let alone felony murder.”
“Yeah, Rizzo,” Lombardi said. “If a guy didn’t know better, he might figure you lobbed it in for DeMaris to get her to bury Bradley for you.”
Rizzo turned to Lombardi with a hard expression, his eyes hooded. It drew a shrug from Lombardi.
“If a guy didn’t know better,” the lieutenant repeated.
Rizzo let his expression soften. “Well, what ever,” he said. “It’s moot now, water under the bridge. Me and Cil made this case, with help from Mike McQueen. Least you can do is accept that, and let’s just move on.”
Lombardi shook his head. “You two are out,” he said simply. “And whoever McQueen is, he’s out, too. As of now, Manhattan South is takin’ jurisdiction on the Lauria case.” He paused before adding, “Sorry, Joe, that’s how the brass wants it.”
Rizzo leaned over toward the man. “You know, Dom, I made a call on you,” he said softly. “Looks like twelve days from now, you get promoted off the captain’s list. If you break the Mallard case, next stop for you is deputy inspector.”
Lombardi shrugged. “Could happen,” he said.
Rizzo turned to D’Antonio. “You gonna sit there, Vince? You gonna let this happen?”
“Look, Dom,” D’Antonio said to Lombardi, his tone hard. “There may be some irregularities here, and maybe you got a right to be pissed. But my guys broke this. Rizzo and Jackson, yeah, but the squad pitched in, too. I can’t let you walk in here…”
Lombardi held up a hand. “Who you need to hear from, Vince?” he asked casually. “Inspector Kelly? The PC? The fuckin’ mayor? Let me know, I’ll make the call.”
Color came to D’Antonio’s face. He shot an annoyed glance at Rizzo, then turned back to Lombardi.
“Don’t lean on me, Dom,” he said. “Don’t try and push me aside. It pisses me off.”
Lombardi sighed. “It’s a tough business, Vince. I’m just a cog in the wheel, is all.”
A tense silence developed, broken after a moment by a knock on the closed door of D’Antonio’s office.
“Sorry to interrupt, boss,” a uniformed officer said as she stuck her head into the room. “There’s some guy here to see you, says it’s important.”
“Not now,” D’Antonio said, his face still flushed with anger.
She hesitated, then spoke again. “Guy’s from the newspapers, boss,” she said, her voice low. “Says he’s here about the Avery Mallard murder. Says he wants to talk to the two cops who broke the case.” She glanced around the room.
“He says he’s writin’ the article now, and he needs to talk to the two cops right away,” she said to D’Antonio. Then, looking at Rizzo she added, “You know, boss. Rizzo and Jackson.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SATURDAY MORNING, RIZZO SPED the Impala along the Gowanus Expressway, once again heading for Manhattan. Priscilla Jackson sat in the front passenger seat, Detective Lieutenant Vince D’Antonio in the rear behind her.
“You have the warrants?” he asked Rizzo.
Rizzo sighed. “Yeah, boss, for the third time, I have the warrants. Relax, okay?”
D’Antonio shook his head. “Yeah, relax,” he muttered. “Easy for you to say. Tomorrow, you and Jackson are the stars of the city, media darlings of the week. But I get Plaza brass chasin’ after my ass with giant hard-ons in their hands.”
Priscilla chuckled. “Don’t you just hate when that happens?” she said sweetly.
D’Antonio glowered at her profile. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “Just what I need. A female version of Rizzo to deal with.”
“You won’t have to deal with her for long, boss,” Rizzo said. “Next stop for Cil is Major Case, Brooklyn homicide, Manhattan South, wherever she wants to go. And me, I’m outta here in about nine months.”
D’Antonio shook his head. “Nine fuckin’ months,” he grumbled. “Like a goddamned pregnancy.”
After a moment, D’Antonio spoke once again, his tone now conversational. “I gotta admit, though, Joe, runnin’ Cappelli past Kessler and Lombardi, that was pure genius. Did you see their faces when he quoted tomorrow’s headlines? ‘Brooklyn Cops Crack Mallard Murder’?”
Rizzo shrugged. “Wasn’t me, boss. Somebody down at the courthouse must have tipped Cappelli, remember?” He turned slightly to Priscilla. “You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you, Cil?”
“Innocent as you are, Partner,” she answered. “I never even heard of Cappelli till he walked into Vince’s office.”