Chapter 40
I T WAS ALMOST 4:00 A.M., and Sampson and I were riding back to the First District station house in his car. I was wide awake now, and wired. My nervous system felt like it was vibrating.
Maria’s murderer? After all these years? Was it even a faint possibility that the killer could be caught more than ten years after my wife was shot down? The whole thing felt unreal to me. Back then, I’d been all over the case for a year, and I’d never completely given up the chase. And now we might suddenly find the killer? Was it possible?
We arrived at the station house on Fourth Street and hurried inside, neither of us talking. A precinct house during the night shift can be a lot like an emergency room: You never know what to expect when you step inside. This time, I didn’t have a clue, but I couldn’t wait to talk to Giametti.
It seemed unusually quiet when we walked in the front door ? but that all changed in a hurry. It was obvious to both Sampson and me that something was wrong when we got down to the holding cells. Half a dozen detectives and uniforms were standing around. They looked way too alert and anxious for this time of morning. Something was definitely up.
Sampson’s new partner, Marion Handler, spotted us and hustled over to John. Handler ignored me, and I did my best to pay him no mind, either. I’d talked to him a couple of times, and I thought the detective was a showy punk. I wondered why John put up with him the way he did.
Maybe he saw something in Handler that I didn’t, or maybe Sampson was finally mellowing just a little.
“You’re not gonna believe this shit. It’s off the charts,” he said to Sampson. “Somebody got to Giametti. I shit you not, Sampson. He’s over there dead in his cell. Somebody got to him in here.”
I was feeling numb all over as Handler led us back to the last holding cell on the block. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. First we had a lead on Maria’s killer’s whereabouts, and then the man who gave us that lead was murdered? In here?
“He even had a private room,” Handler said to Sampson. “How could they get to him in here? Right under our noses?”
Sampson and I ignored the question as we stepped inside the last cell on the right. There were two evidence techies working around the body, but I could see all I needed to. An ice pick had been driven right up Gino Giametti’s nose. It looked like the pick had been used to gouge out his eyes first. “See no evil,” said Sampson in his deep, flat voice. “Has to be the mob.”