“I know it’s going to hold up. I spent a long time stressing to Burke how lucky I felt to still be alive during my interviews. I cried and mourned my poor dead husband, but I also kept repeating how unfair it was that I was away when it happened. Survivor’s guilt is a thing, you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” Jack said. “I’m quite familiar with it.”

  Spinelli offered a smug little smirk. “Well, there you go.”

  “The problem is, manipulation’s a thing, too. And cops like Burke have seen it a hundred times.”

  “I’m not worried,” Spinelli said.

  “So you think because you’re blonde and pretty and spun a sad little tale, Burke is no longer an issue for you?”

  “Like I said, I’m sure of it.”

  Jack chuckled. “If you say so.”

  Spinelli smirked again. She was as self-assured as anyone Jack had ever seen. “I do say so. You can ask me all the questions you want, and you can even pat yourself on the back for being the smartest guy in the room, but I’m not worried. Not about Burke, not about you, and not about anyone else.”

  “What about David Carson?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You seem pretty confident Carson isn’t going to give you up. But if I were in your shoes, he’s the one I’d be worried about.”

  “Damn right I’m confident. David’s in loooove. He’d die for me, and he thinks we’re going to be together forever after he serves his time.”

  “He’s a sucker, in other words.”

  She grinned in a display that contained not a shred of good humor. “Exactly.”

  “See, that’s the thing,” Jack said after sipping his coffee. “I’m not sure I’d be quite so confident if I were you. You said something about me thinking I’m the smartest guy in the room, but I don’t see it that way. Burke is pretty sharp himself, and dogged as well. I know his next move. He’s going to lean on Carson until the kid cracks. And then you’re going down on a conspiracy rap.”

  “Nah,” the young blonde said, seemingly without a shred of concern. “He won’t fold. And even if he does, it’s his word against mine. Burke might have his suspicions—hell, I’m sure he does—but suspecting something is a whole lot different than being able to prove it in a court of law. I’ll be fine.”

  Jack shook his head. “You are one stone cold bitch, you know that?”

  Spinelli smiled. Her teeth were arrow-straight and movie star perfect. “That’s exactly what Rocco used to say.”

  “Before you manipulated a lovestruck, horny kid into killing him.”

  She shrugged. “You can think that if you want. Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  Jack sat back and regarded Amber Spinelli.

  Sipped his coffee.

  Tried to decide whether to let the misguided woman in on the truth of her situation or let it come crashing down on her like a brick wall.

  It only took a moment to make his decision. What the hell, he’d taken a tremendous risk just by coming here, might as well get the most bang for his buck.

  He said, “There’s more to the story than you know. David Carson wasn’t quite the sucker you played him for. Or at least, he wasn’t only the sucker you played him for.”

  She blinked. Twice. Jack had already discovered that little tic was her tell, and it pleased him to see he’d planted a tiny seed of doubt in her mind. “What are you talking about?”

  “Maybe you’re unaware, but Carson had a bit of a relationship with your husband.”

  He watched as her confidence came rushing back and she smiled condescendingly. “Of course I know that. He wanted in on Rocco’s crew. I wouldn’t call it a ‘relationship,’ though. You said it yourself; David was nothing more than a street punk. He was too small-time for Rocco. There was no way Rocco would ever have let that kid anywhere near his operation.”

  “I think David figured that out as well, or Rocco let him know it in no uncertain terms. But here’s the thing. David wasn’t a quitter. And he wasn’t quite the dullard you thought he was. He formulated a plan to prove his worthiness to whoever succeeded your husband in the Palermo family. Unfortunately for him it didn’t work, but it leaves you more than a bit…exposed…”

  Spinelli’s beautiful blue movie-star eyes had gone blank.

  Utterly and completely blank.

  “What are you talking about?” she said again, this time with true worry and more than a hint of panic in her voice. “What kind of plan?”

  “You know what?” Jack said. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. You didn’t want me here in the first place, so I should probably be going.” He pushed his chair back and stood.

  “Sit. Down.” The words came out of Spinelli’s drawn mouth like bullets. It was clear this was not a woman accustomed to being trifled with. Jack could see what had drawn Rocco Spinelli to the much younger woman, above and beyond her beauty.

  He gazed at her with amusement and then dropped back into his chair. “If you insist. I’m glad to see my sparkling personality has finally won you over.”

  “What do you mean David had a plan to prove his worthiness? What kind of plan?”

  35

  “David decided that just killing Rocco for love wasn’t good enough. Maybe he really did think the two of you could go riding off into the sunset together—”

  “He’s in love with me,” Spinelli insisted.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Jack said. “But in addition to ensuring his happy future with the little woman, David decided that killing your husband could also be his ticket into the Palermo family.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “David hired a paid assassin to kill Rocco.”

  Amber Spinelli had begun raising her coffee cup to her lips and now it hung motionless a foot above the table. She shook her head. Tilted it to the side. Shook it again. “That’s ridiculous. David killed Rocco. I know that for a fact.”

  “So you’re admitting you were involved.”

  “Not at all. But I know what I know.”

  Jack chuckled. “Yes,” he agreed. “David killed Rocco. But it goes deeper than that.”

  “Explain.”

  “Say ‘please.’”

  Her eyes hardened and bored in on Jack, simultaneously cold and smoldering.

  He grinned. “May I make an observation about you, Mrs. Spinelli?”

  “I don’t see how I could stop you.”

  “This version of you is much more interesting than the weepy, helpless child I spoke to inside the Four Seasons.”

  “Don’t change the subject. You said David hired an assassin to kill Rocco and then you agreed David did the dirty deed. Obviously both things can’t be true. Explain.”

  Jack gazed unblinkingly into her eyes.

  Took a sip of his coffee.

  Waited.

  “Please,” she said, and blew out a forceful, frustrated breath.

  “See? Wasn’t that easy?”

  Spinelli’s eyes had gone dark. “I gave you what you wanted,” she said coldly. “Now, talk.”

  “Fair enough,” Jack said with a grin. “Both things actually are true, because David hired the assassin not to do the actual killing, but to take the fall for the crime. He theorized that if he could frame someone else for the murder, not only would he walk away scot free, he would prove his cleverness to the men running the Palermo family in New England. He figured they would welcome him with open arms once they were exposed to his brilliant criminal mind.”

  “That’s patently ridiculous,” Spinelli scoffed. She shook her head as she tried to dismiss Jack’s words out of hand, but he could see her considering the possibility he might be telling the truth. “I don’t even know how it would be possible to set up a professional killer for a murder he didn’t commit.”

  “In the long run it might not have worked,” Jack said. “You don’t kill someone in the manner David used without leaving a little—or a lot—of your own DNA behind. On the other hand, if the police walked into your home and caught a man standing red-handed over the body of the victim, they might manage to overlook the little details that didn’t fit the obvious conclusion to be drawn. A jury could conceivably do the same.”

  Spinelli’s cup of coffee still hovered over the table as she absorbed Jack’s words. She slowly lowered it without taking her eyes off his. She was spellbound.

  “I would put the odds of his plan succeeding—at least in terms of framing the patsy for murder—at fifty-fifty, give or take, if the police had managed to enter the home and catch the unsuspecting professional assassin.”

  Jack had held Spinelli’s stare as he spoke, and now he watched as the understanding dawned in those ice-blue eyes. “You’re…”

  He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question, as if not understanding her train of thought.

  “You’re the assassin David tried to frame. That’s why you care about this so much.” The words came out in a near whisper, her voice quavering and paper-thin. Fearful now, in addition to being concerned and angry. It was as if she expected him to pull a gun out of his pocket and shoot her where she sat.

  “I didn’t know about any of this, you have to believe me.”

  “I believe you.”

  “But…how could he pull something like that off? He’s just…”

  “A dumb punk?”

  She nodded wordlessly.

  “He’s a dumb punk who thinks he’s brilliant. That’s a dangerous combination.”

  “But how…?”

  “Killing Rocco would have been the most difficult part,” Jack said. “Once he accomplished that, all he had to do was resist the urge to run away. Stay near the house until the sucker he hired showed up—it had to happen in the narrow window of your absence, remember—and then call in an anonymous tip to the police once the assassin entered the house.”

  “But then…why didn’t the police catch you? Why didn’t his plan succeed?”

  Jack smiled. “This wasn’t my first rodeo, Mrs. Spinelli. I’ve learned a few tricks along the way. And I realize this is all coming as a major shock to you, but you’re focusing on the wrong issue right now.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes. David will crack, and my guess is that will happen sooner rather than later, regardless of what you think.”

  “David loves me.”

  Jack shook his head. “Maybe he does, but he’ll still crack, and when he does the cops will have you in handcuffs almost before he finishes talking. Then it’s all over for poor Mrs. Amber Spinelli. No more five-star hotel accommodations, no more sympathetic television news coverage, just an orange jumpsuit and daily massage sessions with Big Bertha in the prison shower.”

  Spinelli’s face had gone sheet-white. Her expression remained as stony as ever, but Jack could see he’d gotten to her.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Her voice had gone from a near-whisper to a complete whisper, and even sitting just across the table, he could barely make out her words.

  “Because I don’t appreciate ‘dumb punks,’ as you called your boyfriend, trying to frame me for a murder I didn’t commit.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. I understand you wanted to get back at David. Why are you sitting here right now, having this conversation with me?”

  “Because I know you were involved. And I thought you should know that I know.”

  “But I wasn’t involved. Not with David’s plan to try to use you to advance his own agenda within the Palermo family. I didn’t know about any of that, I swear.”

  “And I believe you. But you were still involved in the murder of your husband.”

  “So?” Spinelli looked genuinely mystified, like she couldn’t understand why her using a man barely out of his teens to kill her husband might be a problem. “I mean you’re a…you know…”

  Jack shook his head and smiled. He pushed out his chair again and stood. “Good luck, Mrs. Spinelli. You’re going to need it.”

  Then he turned and threaded his way through the dining room to the front door, carrying his half-full coffee cup with him. He’d already decided not to finish it—he would buy a second cup from the street vendor before leaving for New Hampshire—but leaving the cup on the table was a non-starter, and so was throwing it away inside the restaurant.

  He had no intention of leaving Burke the gift of his DNA.

  36

  “I can’t believe you, of all people, have suddenly become a couch potato.” Edie’s eyes widened and she shook her head in mock disbelief. She sat next to Jack on his small couch, sipping a drink and holding his hand while a serious-looking blonde anchorwoman discussed Boston’s worsening traffic issues. This round of slowdowns was being blamed on repairs taking place inside the Ted Williams Tunnel.

  Jack tried to put an injured look on his face. “What do you mean? Wasn’t it you who recently said I needed to start learning how to slow down and smell the roses?”

  “I may have said something to that effect,” Edie answered, “but I think maybe you misinterpreted my message.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “I wanted you to stop putting yourself in life-threatening situations like the one inside the Spinelli house. I didn’t want you to turn into my grandfather.”

  “Are you referring to the grandfather currently residing in a Quincy nursing home?”

  “I am,” Edie said.

  Jack squeezed her hand. “Well, you don’t need to worry. I’m not ready for assisted living quite yet. I’ve taken to watching the nightly news because I believe there’s a story that should be upcoming any day now, and I’m waiting to see if I’m right.”

  “So, fortune-telling is now one of your specialties?”

  “Something like that,” Jack agreed. “Patience, Grasshopper.”

  On the television, the serious-looking blonde hardened her expression another notch. She now looked constipated in addition to serious. “Next, we turn to a shocking development in the Rocco Spinelli murder case,” she intoned.

  “And here we go,” Jack said. “Right on cue.”

  The anchorwoman said, “Police at Logan Airport this afternoon apprehended the widow of the reputed mobster as she attempted to flee the country to South America. Amber Spinelli was placed under arrest prior to boarding her flight and taken into custody. Our cameras were there as the handcuffed Mrs. Spinelli was escorted through Terminal E to a waiting squad car.”

  On the television, the young blonde strutted through the terminal, head held high, hair perfect and face made up, looking more like a high fashion model than a woman in serious trouble with the law. The only things breaking the illusion were the glittering silver bracelets holding her wrists together behind her back and the uniformed cop leading her by the elbow as she walked.

  “Wow,” Edie said. “All the way through Terminal E in handcuffs. That’s a long perp walk.”

  “Sure is,” Jack agreed. “And the news crews from all the local channels just happened to be there to document every step of it.”

  “Almost as if somebody may have tipped them off.”

  “Yes,” Jack laughed. “Almost as if.”

  “Speaking of tips, did you call Detective Burke after getting your suspicions confirmed by Mrs. Spinelli? Is that why you figured her arrest was imminent?”

  Jack shook his head. “I didn’t bother. After our face-to-face encounter inside the Carson house, I decided any more contact with Burke, even a phone call—even a call using a burner phone—would escalate that risk beyond what I’m comfortable with.”

  “Then why would you be so confident the cops were closing in on Spinelli that you would park your butt in front of the TV every night for the last three days, when I know for a fact you detest watching the news?”

  Jack grinned. “You really do know me, don’t you?”

  Edie pulled her hand out of Jack’s and rotated it, palm open, in the universal “keep going” motion. “Answer the question, Mr. Evasive. How did you know?”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly know,” Jack said as he retook her hand, “but I had a pretty strong suspicion. Burke made a huge mistake not taking my tip seriously when he went to the Carson home. It was a mistake that damned near got him killed. But, that mistake aside, the guy is smart and intuitive. If I could figure out the only way the timeline of the murder made sense was for Amber Spinelli and David Carson to be working together, I knew he would as well. Once he made that determination, it was only a matter of time before he put pressure on Carson to flip on his partner.”

  “But you told me Amber Spinelli insisted Carson was rock-solid, that he loved her so much he would never incriminate her.”

  “She did tell me that,” he agreed. “But Burke would approach Carson by stressing the strength of his case. He would lay the evidence out in front of Carson and tell him a murder conviction was going to be a slam-dunk certainty and that the kid was going to spend the rest of his life behind bars in Cedar Junction being the play-toy of hardened criminals.”

  Edie crinkled her nose in disgust and Jack smiled. God, he loved this woman.

  “Then,” he continued, “Burke would switch gears. He would tell Carson he knew the murder was all Amber’s idea. He would talk about how unjust it was that a guy who’d made one damned mistake, who’d only tried to make the woman he loved happy, was never going to take another breath as a free man.

  “He would then apply the discussion about justice to Amber Spinelli. He would shake his head in amazement at the unfairness of a universe that would allow the mastermind of the murder plot to walk free, with all of Spinelli’s money at her disposal. He would stress the fact that Amber Spinelli has already begun seeing other men, how quickly she’s moved on from the guy who sacrificed everything for her.”

  “Is she?” Edie asked.

  “Is she what?”

  “Dating another man already?”

  “I have no idea. Probably not yet. But the reality is irrelevant. Carson would have no way of knowing whether or not Burke’s statements were accurate, and besides, it’s only a matter of time before that happens. You’d have to be the biggest fool in the world not to see that.”

 

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