CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Bella Napoli Pizzeria squatted on the corner like a zit on prom night. Faded bricks, peeling paint. A veritable carbuncle on the ass-end of the city.

Ella killed the engine and eyeballed the place through the windshield. ‘This is it?’

‘Looks like it,’ Luca said. ‘Never judge a book, etcetera.’

‘True enough. Ready?’

Luca double-checked his sidearm and unlocked the car door, one foot outside. Ella scrutinized the exterior of the shop again, and she was about to crack wise about the health department’s lax standards when Luca leaned back in.

‘You know, some of these places aren’t pizzerias at all.’

Ella cocked an eyebrow. ‘Come again?’

‘They’re fronts.’

‘For what?’

‘You know…’ Luca said. ‘The Family.’

‘Is that so?’

‘I saw it on Law and Order.’

Ella snorted as she got out of the car and met Luca on the other side. ”If this place is laundering money, then that”s the least of our concerns. Let”s see if anyone inside remembers our vics.”

She led the way, pushed through the door. The tinny chime of the bell was drowned out by the wheezing rattle of an ancient AC unit. The odor of congealed grease invaded her nostrils and suddenly reminded her the last time she ate anything was in a different state. If this place was a money laundering operation, they were working for it.

A bored-looking kid slouched behind the counter, idly hunched over his cell phone. Two customers huddled in a booth, lost in a murky haze of vape smoke that smelled suspiciously like marijuana. Ella let it slide.

‘Excuse me, we’re looking for the manager of this place,’ she said. She slid her badge across the counter. ‘FBI.’

The kid blinked slowly, mouth opening and closing like a guppy gulping for air. ‘FBI? Uh, yeah. Sure. Lemme just...’ He scurried off towards the back, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

‘Smooth,’ Luca said.

Before Ella could fire off a suitable retort, the kid returned with a man in tow. The guy was a mountain of flesh stuffed into a sweat-stained wifebeater. A doughy face set in a permanent scowl.

‘Carmine Rossi,’ he grunted, meaty arms crossed over his barrel chest. ‘I own this joint. What”s your damage?’

Ella flashed her badge again, gratified to see a flicker of unease in Carmine”s piggy little eyes. ‘Agents Dark and Hawkins, FBI. Is there somewhere we can talk?’

Carmine”s scowl deepened, transforming his face into something resembling a bulldog chewing on a wasp. ‘Grab a table,’ he said. Despite the command, he led the way to a corner booth, far enough away that the other patrons couldn’t eavesdrop. Ella and Luca slid into the cracked vinyl of the booth as the ancient table wobbled between them like a drunk on a bender. Carmine loomed over them and took a seat opposite.

‘What’s this about?’ Carmine snarled.

‘We”re investigating an ongoing case. Victims were regulars at this place according to their records. Georgia Bolton and Archie Newman. Ring any bells?’

Carmine”s scowl deepened, creasing his face like an origami frog left out in the rain. ‘Bolton and Newman? Nah, never heard of ”em.’

Luca whipped out his phone, thumbed through a couple of screens, then slid it across the table. ‘Maybe these mugs will jog your memory.’

Carmine squinted at the images, eyes narrowed to piggy slits. Slowly, recognition dawned on his doughy face like something rising to the surface of a backed-up toilet.

‘Oh, yeah. Them. The guy was a regular, and the chick came in a few times too. Couple of pezzo di merdas, if I”m honest. Every time they were in here, they brought attention.”

Ella studied Carmine, watching the anger simmer just beneath the surface of his greasy skin. The guy was built like a side of beef, with hams for fists and a neck thick as a tree trunk. Probably strong enough to snap a man”s spine if the mood struck him. But then again, wasn”t that the stereotype? The hot-tempered Italian, ready to blow his top at the drop of a ravioli?

‘Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Carmine, but your regulars? They”re cooling their heels in the morgue as we speak.’

Carmine”s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, genuine shock registering on his doughy mug. ‘Wait, what? Those two mooks from the news? The ones they found strung up in Chautauqua Park and behind the strip club? That was them?’

Ella had to fight back the crushing weight in her gut. The news had already reached the masses. Edis was going to give her an earful tomorrow morning.

Luca nodded. ‘Bingo.’

Carmine slumped back in his seat as the pleather creaked under his bulk. He ran a meaty paw over his face and blew out a long, slow breath.

‘Cavolo. I mean, I ain”t exactly surprised. Those two, they were always lookin” for trouble. Always sloshed. I had to bounce them out of here a few times.’

Luca asked, ‘You or your staff ever get physical with them?’

Carmine”s eyes bugged out of his head like a pair of runny eggs. ”What? Nah, nothin” like that. I ain”t never laid a finger on them, and neither did my crew. I run a respectable joint here.”

Ella”s gaze drifted to the counter, where the zit-faced kid and a couple of other grease-stained goons were milling about. She studied each face in turn, looking for a tell, a twitch, anything that might ping her radar.

The kid was out, too scrawny and pock-marked to fit the profile. Ditto for the old guy flipping pies in the back, his hands shaking like a junkie in withdrawal.

But the third guy was younger, mid-twenties maybe, with a wiry build and a shaved head gleaming under the harsh kitchen lights. The way he moved, the coiled energy in his stance. Something about him made Ella”s cop senses tingle.

She filed him away for later, a mental snapshot to run through the database. See if their mystery man had any priors, any history of violence.

‘What about a vendetta?’ she asked, turning back to Carmine. ‘Word is, Bolton took some potshots at this place on social media. Posted a real nasty review, called you out by name. Maybe someone on your payroll took offense and decided to teach her a lesson?’

Carmine barked out a laugh. ‘Are you kiddin” me? You think we care what some drunken skank says about us on the internet? We”re doin” business like never before, lady.’

Ella”s jaw clenched. This guy”s lack of remorse was getting under her skin, but she couldn”t exactly collar him for being a callous prick. She needed evidence, a smoking gun. Something to tie him or his goons to the murders.

‘Where were you the past two nights?’ Luca chimed in. ‘Say, between the hours of midnight and four AM?’

Carmine spread his hands. ‘Same place I always am, detective. Right here, slingin” pies and keepin” the peace. Me and my whole crew, we were on the clock ”til the wee hours. Got the timecards to prove it. CCTV footage too.’

Frustration simmered in Ella”s gut, but she doused it with a hefty dose of saliva. ”We”ll need to see it.”

Carmine held up a meaty paw. ‘Hold your horses. Lemme grab the proof.’

He heaved himself out of the booth, the vinyl sighing in relief, and lumbered towards the back.

‘What do you think?’ Luca asked.

She made sure no one could hear. ‘I think he’s living up to the stereotype. But I don’t think he’s involved,’ she admitted.

A minute later, Carmine returned, a fistful of timecards clutched in his hamhock of a hand. ‘There ya go, detective. Read ”em and weep.’

Ella snatched up the cards and scanned the rows of names and numbers.

Each line was another nail in the coffin of her hunch.

Three PM to three AM. Every single employee had punched in and out at the same time, just like Carmine said. A regular Kumbaya circle-jerk of punctuality.

According to the autopsy reports, both victims had been killed around midnight – around six hours before they were discovered. At their times of death, Carmine and his workers had been elbow-deep in pizza bases.

Which meant they were all off the hook.

‘We”ll still need the CCTV footage,’ she said as she tossed the cards back on the table. ‘Visual confirmation you were all present and accounted for.’

Carmine”s smirk could”ve greased a fleet of frying pans. ‘Sure thing, sweetheart. You got a card? I”ll have my boy Gino email it over.’

Ella dug in her pocket and flicked her card across the table like a ninja star. ‘Make it snappy. And if I catch one whiff of editing, I”ll be back with a warrant and a pack of rabid dogs.’

‘Trust me,’ Carmine said. ‘You guys want a Bella Napoli special? It’s on the house.’

Ella asked, ‘Is that a bribe?’

‘If you want.’

She slid out of the booth, her appetite well and truly murdered. ‘I’ll pass. Hawkins?’

‘I’m good, but thanks for your time.’

‘We’ll be in touch,’ Ella finished and made for the door. Luca fell into step beside her as they strode outside. The cold seeped into her bloodstream, but she barely felt it over the frustration simmering in her veins.

A dead end. A lead crumbling to ash. It was like trying to nail Jell-O to a wall.

They climbed into the car. Ella shot Luca a glance as she cranked the engine. His pretty boy face was a study in disappointment.

‘Don’t sweat it,’ she said. ‘Sometimes it’s one step forward, two steps back, sometimes in a bed of thumbtacks.’

Luca huffed and jabbed his fist into his stomach. ”It just hurts right here. Thought we had something. Thought we could head back to the families and give them some good news.”

Ella”s heart did a little shimmy in her chest. The kid had empathy, miles of it. In this line of work, that was both a blessing and a curse.

‘It’s early days,’ she said, surprised at the conviction in her own voice. ‘We”ll dig into Newman and Bolton”s lives ”til our fingers bleed. Someone”s gotta know something.’

Luca nodded, but there was some hesitation in those dangerously blue eyes of his. ‘About that. I was wondering if you could take the reins on it. Something that”s been rattlin” round my brain pan. There’s another angle I’m thinking of taking.’

Ella cocked an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. ‘Care to share with the class, Hawkins?’

But Luca just shook his head. Lips zipped tight. ‘Not yet. Just want to make sure I’m not putting stock in a whole load of nothing.’

Ella studied him for a long moment, trying to suss out what cogs were turning behind those pretty peepers. But the kid had a surprisingly good poker face.

Her mind spun like a roulette wheel as flashes of the past bled through the din of the present. All the times, Ella had done the same thing to Ripley, revealing things little by little as they slotted into the overall jigsaw piece. It had driven Ripley nuts, probably, but Ripley had always given her the benefit of the doubt. Never mothered her, never forced her to spill what was on her mind.

And now, watching Luca”s jaw work, seeing the gears turning, Ella felt a pang of something bittersweet. Understanding, maybe. Or just the ache of familiarity, of history repeating itself in the passenger seat.

‘Alright, Columbo, keep your ideas under wraps for now,’ she said as she guided the car into the flow of traffic.

Luca flashed her a grin, quick and bright as a muzzle flare. ‘Just trying to take the initiative, partner.’

The initiative. As much as Ella loved Ripley with that black pit she called a heart, she couldn’t remember the last time Ripley had taken the initiative. Ripley was content to watch and guide and shout instructions, so Ella struggled to contain the flutter of warmth in her chest. The sense that maybe, just maybe, the universe had thrown her a bone here. A partner who could keep up, who had the chops and the moxie to run with the big dogs.

Careful, Dark, a little voice whispered in the back of her head. Remember what happened the last time you let someone get too close.

But Ella shoved that voice back into its box, slammed the lid and tossed away the key.

There was work to be done. Right now, she had a precinct to get to, a boss to update, and a ton of legwork to do.