But if she has, I should be grateful. She’s our only hope right now.
“Benny has been filling me in on all the details while I battled the Long Island Expressway,” she says as we return to the living room. “They have been building quite a case against you, Enzo.”
He winces. “I know. Is terrible. Cecelia, you need to know, I didn’t…”
Cecelia settles down on the sofa, crossing one of her skinny legs over the other. She places her briefcase on her lap and opens it with a snap. She extracts a yellow legal pad of paper and clicks open her ballpoint pen. Clearly, she does not want to waste time on small talk, which I appreciate right now. “Maybe you didn’t kill him,” she says, “but they are going after youhard. I promise you that. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got a search warrant in the works.”
Enzo sneers. “Let them search. They will find nothing.”
I don’t feel the same way. I have had my home searched by the police before, and it’s the largest violation I can imagine. They go througheverything. They rip apart your entire life, and they don’t put it back.
“What will they be looking for?” I ask Cecelia.
“A murder weapon,” she says without hesitation. “Any traces of Lowell’s blood.”
I think about that bloody T-shirt Enzo was wearing last night. I never ended up finding it. He must’ve gotten rid of it.
Except if it really was his blood, why would he get rid of the shirt? It wouldn’t be incriminating if it was his own blood.
“They won’t find that,” he says firmly.
“It would help,” she says, “if you tell me everything from the beginning.”
And so he does what she asks. He tells her everything while she quietly jots down notes on her yellow legal pad. He talks about his relationship with Suzette, the things he did to help Martha, and finally working in the yard yesterday while Jonathan was being murdered.
“I did nothing,” he insists. “Nothing. Why would they think I would kill him?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but Cecelia seems to be truly considering it. She has clearly grown up to be a very thoughtful young woman. I wonder if Ada will turn out like her.
Of course, if her father gets locked up in prison, that’s going to mess her up forever.
“I’ll be honest with you, Enzo,” Cecelia finally says. “I believe it might have something to do with Dario Fontana.”
At the mention of that name, all the color leaves Enzo’s face. “What?” he says.
“My understanding”—Cecelia glances over at Ramirez, who nods—“is that Detective Willard has done some digging intoyour past, before you came to this country. And that is a name that has come up.”
I’ve never heard the name before in my life. So it’s disturbing that the man I have been married to for over a decade has such a violent reaction to it.
“Who is Dario Fontana?” I ask him.
“That was a long time ago,” he chokes out.
Cecelia’s voice is firm, leaving no room for bullshit. “Not that long.”
“Enzo?” I say.
He is squeezing his knees so hard that his knuckles are white. “Dario was my sister’s husband.”
His sister’s husband. Okay, now it makes sense that the name upset him so much. Antonia was abused by her husband for many years, until he finally ended up killing her. He was also a man with dangerous mobster ties, and when Enzo took his vengeance, he immediately had to leave the country. I can understand why he never wanted to say the man’s name. But what I don’t understand is why Cecelia has brought him up.
“He wasn’t just that,” Cecelia says. “We need to be honest about the situation we’re dealing with.”
Enzo shoots me a pained look. “Millie, would you leave us for a moment?”
Is he joking with me? Does he really think I wouldleaveright now?
“No way,” I say sharply. “What is it that you don’t want me to know?”
