“Fine. I saw something this morning that you would have really enjoyed.”

“What was that?”

“I saw a ventriloquist turn a crowd of smart people into a bunch of dummies.”

“A ventriloquist? I thought you were out there working.”

“I am out here working,” he said. “I’m on my way to a meeting with Bill Higgins. I called to see if Romero had sent the FBI’s file on George Scalzo.”

Mabel spun in her chair so she faced Tony’s computer, and opened his e-mail account. Six new messages had arrived in the last twenty minutes, and she quickly scrolled through them. The last was from Special Agent Romero.

“Got it. Would you like me to read it while you drive?”

“You’re psychic,” he said.

Mabel stuck the phone into the crook of her neck and opened Romero’s e-mail. The special agent had sent a thank-you note, and she read the note first.

“Dear Ms. Struck: Thanks for your help last night. When our agents knocked down the wall in the basement, they discovered the hidden electromagnets, plus a large bag of cash. Our suspect has decided to change his plea, and is cooperating with the prosecutor.

“Unfortunately, I cannot fulfill your request and provide you with the FBI’s current case file on George Scalzo, since the law does not allow me to share information regarding ongoing investigations. However, I did remove from the file information regarding Scalzo’s relationship with Chris DeMarco, and have pasted it into the body of this e-mail. Feel free to contact me if I can be of further assistance. Yours truly, Special Agent Romero.”

“You helped the FBI crack a case?” Valentine asked.

“Why, yes, I did,” Mabel said.

“That’s great. Now I can retire, and get out of this racket.”

“Listen to you! Are you ready to hear what Romero sent?”

“Fire away.”

Mabel scrolled down the e-mail. “Let’s see. Special Agent Romero included some background information about George Scalzo. Would you like to hear that?”

“Why not? Mobsters are always good for a few laughs.”

“Okay. Scalzo was initiated into the New Jersey mob at eighteen. By twenty-two, he had been involved in over a dozen crimes, including kidnapping, murder, loan-sharking, bookmaking, racketeering, fire-bombing, extortion, and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. He’d been to state prison three times, and it didn’t do him any good.”

“What a charmer,” Valentine said.

“Okay, here’s the case file. It’s broken down by date. On September 19, 1981, a prostitute named Danielle DeMarco and her blind four-year-old son, Chris, rented a house two blocks south of Washington Street in Newark, New Jersey, where George Scalzo lived. Living with Danielle was a black pimp named Jester (real name unknown).”

“Chris DeMarco’s mother was a hooker?”

“That’s what it says here. Two weeks later, Danielle DeMarco was arrested for rolling a john in a motel. Jester posted her bail, but left Chris alone at home. The boy left the house somehow, and made his way over to Washington Street. He ended up walking into a restaurant called Carmine’s where a birthday party was taking place. Scalzo was there playing the piano, and talked Chris into sitting on the piano stool with him.”

“Scalzo plays the piano? I sure hope he doesn’t sing.”

“You’re hysterical. The next day, Scalzo turns Chris over to the police, and the boy is reunited with his mother. That night, while Danielle is working the streets, Jester decides to punish Chris for leaving the house. According to neighbors who listened through an open window, Jester beat him with a coat hanger, then burned his arms and chest with a cigarette.”

The connection had gone quiet. Then she heard Tony cough, and continued.

“Word of the boy’s abuse spread through the neighborhood, and the police were summoned the next morning. Danielle refused to open the front door, and said nothing was wrong. The police left to get a warrant. Not long after their departure, a town car containing four men pulled up in front of the house. The four men got out, and forced their way inside. They pulled Jester from bed and started to beat him up. When Danielle came to her pimp’s aid, the men threw her down a flight of stairs.”

“Nice guys.”

“At twelve fifty-five that afternoon, Jester and Danielle were admitted to the emergency room of a local hospital. Every major bone in Jester’s body was broken, and Danielle was suffering from a broken leg and a broken back. Two hours later, they were both pronounced dead.”

“Jesus.”

“The police went to Danielle’s house but could not find Chris. Although scores of neighbors saw the men break in, none of the neighbors were willing to identify the four men for police.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“The next day, Scalzo contacts the police, and tells them that Chris had come to his house. When the boy is turned over to the police, he is wearing new clothes, and his cigarette burns have been treated by a doctor. The police turn him over to Health and Human Resources, who put him in a foster home. Four weeks later, George Scalzo’s sister, Lydia, files papers to become Chris’s legal guardian. Lydia tells friends in the neighborhood she is doing this for her brother, who never had children.

“Three months later, a judge in Newark bestows legal guardianship of Chris DeMarco to Lydia Scalzo, and the boy is transferred from his foster home to Lydia’s house. Within a few days, he is living with his ‘Uncle George’ next door. And…that’s where the e-mail ends.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” he said.

Mabel saved the e-mail message, then turned away from the computer. “You need to be careful with this one, Tony.”

“I’m always careful,” he replied.

“I know that. But this isn’t your ordinary hoodlum.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, it’s a psychotic who had a woman killed, and stole her child.”

“That’s one way to look at it. I’ll be doubly careful.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Here’s my exit. Oh, by the way, lunch is on me today.”

“Why, that’s awfully nice of you,” she said.

“You broke a case, you deserve it. Talk to you soon.”

Mabel said good-bye and hung up the phone. Reading about George Scalzo getting custody of Chris DeMarco had an unsettling effect on her, and she realized she wasn’t hungry anymore. Men could be such monsters when they wanted things. She decided to take a walk instead, and slipped on her shoes. It was a beautiful day, and she felt certain that a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood was just the thing to lift her spirits.

42

Gardunos served the best Mexican food in Las Vegas, with a terrific waitstaff and homemade dishes you couldn’t find anywhere else. It was ten o’clock when Valentine slid into the booth across from Bill Higgins. The restaurant had just opened it doors, and they were its only customers. The look on Bill’s face said he did not feel well.

“What’s wrong?” Valentine asked.

“I’ve got some bad news this morning,” his friend said.

“Concerning me?”

“Yes, concerning you.”

Since getting into the consulting racket, Valentine had discovered that he wasn’t doing his job if he wasn’t regularly pissing someone off.

“I’m a big boy, I can take it,” he replied.

Bill removed an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to him.

“It isn’t pretty,” Bill said.

A waiter delivered bowls of homemade chips and salsa, and Valentine stuffed a chip into his mouth. He’d tried to call Gerry several times during the ride over, and now nearly choked as he pulled a photograph of his son bound to a chair from the envelope. The lower half of Gerry’s face was sheeted in blood, and there was a cornered look in his eyes, like he knew he’d reached the end of his rope. Paper-clipped to the photograph was a note that had been banged out on an old-fashioned typewriter.