Read Online Fanatics by Richard Hilary Weber - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Hilary Weber
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said that.”
The dead man’s mother-in-law intervened. “Would you like some coffee, Lieutenant?” She rang a small silver bell on an end table. A maid appeared, in a black dress and white apron. “Juanita,” the mother-in-law said, “coffee, please, and some of those fresh butter cookies.”
Flo waited with the next question, until Juanita the Filipina maid served the coffee and fresh butter cookies.
“Mrs. Smith, did you know about your husband’s relationships with other women?”
Christine Smith held Flo’s gaze and replied without hesitation. “Do I look like a dummy? I’m nobody’s fool. And of course I’ve known about that particular woman, too…she’s living only steps from where he was killed. But as I think I’ve indicated, we had a deep understanding, Owen and I.”
“Have you ever met Celestina Lo Belle?”
“There was no reason to. He had a taste for women like that. It was entirely his business. And I imagine she’s that kind.”
“And do you have any men friends?”
“Wait a second,” Golden Bobby said. “That’s irrelevant.”
Flo shook her head. “Bobby, we’re not in court. And you know what I’m driving at.”
“But
I
don’t,” Mrs. Smith said. “And I don’t think that question has anything to do with—”
“I do. Or I wouldn’t have asked.”
“You think I had a man on the side, Lieutenant? Someone who was jealous of Owen? Absurd. Bobby, do we have to continue like this?”
Golden Bobby looked at Flo and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Okay,” Flo said. “I guess we can say that’s it for today. You’ve all been very cooperative, thank you. But of course I may have to return. And that’s just the way it is, as your lawyer can tell you. We’ll learn more and there’ll be more questions. And that’s our job here. To identify and arrest your husband’s killer.”
Other Women
4:46 P.M.
Flo Ott left the Smith family mansion on Montgomery Place.
The sky was darkening and it was starting to drizzle.
The contours of truth, to her constant assessor’s mind, were barely beginning to take shape.
In an unmarked car, discreetly parked around the corner, detective Sergeant Frank Murphy sat waiting for her.
“Ballz Busta was a busy guy,” Frank said as they rode downtown. “Already Marty’s found two more women. In Manhattan.”
Sergeant Marty Keane was the third-ranking member of their unit.
“Where’s Cecil?” Flo said, preventing a killing still her first concern.
“He left his apartment building in one of our cars. He’s back at his office. Waiting for the new DA. And us.”
“New DA already? God-awful timing.”
“Like we got control? The mayor’s just announced it. Jimmy Padino, one of his city hall deputies, hooked the brass ring.”
“I’ve never met him. What’s he done?”
“Cultural affairs, all harmless stuff. The arts-and-crafts department. He and the mayor are old college buddies from Georgetown. They say he’s a drunk. And so they put him in culture. A natural fit, no risk of embarrassment there.”
“And what did we do to deserve him?”
“He’s from Brooklyn. Lives on the other side of the park.”
New DA
5:02 P.M.
The detectives entered the senator-elect’s office.
Cecil King smiled at them, but there was little trace of joy in his smile, only two rows of teeth slightly bared, and a scarcely concealed dislike of the man sitting next to him.
“This is Jimmy Padino,” Cecil King said. “My successor.”
Jimmy Padino smirked, nodded, gave a little wave but didn’t bother to stand up and shake hands. He’d reached his new post by clever career moves, more recently filling in for the mayor at cultural events, where there’d be few if any big-bucks contributors to the mayor’s campaigns but always overflow crowds of artsy-fartsy types—the book writers, not the check writers—chatterers, spongers, more than a few of them at home in the company of a boozer like Jimmy Padino. He was the sort
The dead man’s mother-in-law intervened. “Would you like some coffee, Lieutenant?” She rang a small silver bell on an end table. A maid appeared, in a black dress and white apron. “Juanita,” the mother-in-law said, “coffee, please, and some of those fresh butter cookies.”
Flo waited with the next question, until Juanita the Filipina maid served the coffee and fresh butter cookies.
“Mrs. Smith, did you know about your husband’s relationships with other women?”
Christine Smith held Flo’s gaze and replied without hesitation. “Do I look like a dummy? I’m nobody’s fool. And of course I’ve known about that particular woman, too…she’s living only steps from where he was killed. But as I think I’ve indicated, we had a deep understanding, Owen and I.”
“Have you ever met Celestina Lo Belle?”
“There was no reason to. He had a taste for women like that. It was entirely his business. And I imagine she’s that kind.”
“And do you have any men friends?”
“Wait a second,” Golden Bobby said. “That’s irrelevant.”
Flo shook her head. “Bobby, we’re not in court. And you know what I’m driving at.”
“But
I
don’t,” Mrs. Smith said. “And I don’t think that question has anything to do with—”
“I do. Or I wouldn’t have asked.”
“You think I had a man on the side, Lieutenant? Someone who was jealous of Owen? Absurd. Bobby, do we have to continue like this?”
Golden Bobby looked at Flo and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Okay,” Flo said. “I guess we can say that’s it for today. You’ve all been very cooperative, thank you. But of course I may have to return. And that’s just the way it is, as your lawyer can tell you. We’ll learn more and there’ll be more questions. And that’s our job here. To identify and arrest your husband’s killer.”
Other Women
4:46 P.M.
Flo Ott left the Smith family mansion on Montgomery Place.
The sky was darkening and it was starting to drizzle.
The contours of truth, to her constant assessor’s mind, were barely beginning to take shape.
In an unmarked car, discreetly parked around the corner, detective Sergeant Frank Murphy sat waiting for her.
“Ballz Busta was a busy guy,” Frank said as they rode downtown. “Already Marty’s found two more women. In Manhattan.”
Sergeant Marty Keane was the third-ranking member of their unit.
“Where’s Cecil?” Flo said, preventing a killing still her first concern.
“He left his apartment building in one of our cars. He’s back at his office. Waiting for the new DA. And us.”
“New DA already? God-awful timing.”
“Like we got control? The mayor’s just announced it. Jimmy Padino, one of his city hall deputies, hooked the brass ring.”
“I’ve never met him. What’s he done?”
“Cultural affairs, all harmless stuff. The arts-and-crafts department. He and the mayor are old college buddies from Georgetown. They say he’s a drunk. And so they put him in culture. A natural fit, no risk of embarrassment there.”
“And what did we do to deserve him?”
“He’s from Brooklyn. Lives on the other side of the park.”
New DA
5:02 P.M.
The detectives entered the senator-elect’s office.
Cecil King smiled at them, but there was little trace of joy in his smile, only two rows of teeth slightly bared, and a scarcely concealed dislike of the man sitting next to him.
“This is Jimmy Padino,” Cecil King said. “My successor.”
Jimmy Padino smirked, nodded, gave a little wave but didn’t bother to stand up and shake hands. He’d reached his new post by clever career moves, more recently filling in for the mayor at cultural events, where there’d be few if any big-bucks contributors to the mayor’s campaigns but always overflow crowds of artsy-fartsy types—the book writers, not the check writers—chatterers, spongers, more than a few of them at home in the company of a boozer like Jimmy Padino. He was the sort
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