“I can speak to Mr. Rizzo.”
“I’ve got it. Go.” To solve the matter, Eve turned back to Carmine. “Why don’t we go sit down in our lounge? I appreciate you coming in,” she continued as she steered him out. “We didn’t see any reason to interrupt your Sunday as your crew was cooperative.”
“They’re good boys. Men,” he corrected. “All five of them on that job. I know them, their families. I want to make sure they’re not in trouble.”
“At this point, I’m looking at Luca, Ollie, Stizzle, and a valet—a Bryar Coleson—as witnesses.”
“I know Bryar, she’s a good girl, friends with my daughter. Witnesses, because they saw the one you think killed Dr. Strazza?”
“That’s right.” She led him into the lounge. “You want coffee?”
“No, no, thanks.” He waved that away. “I’m cutting back.”
“Take a seat, Mr. Rizzo.”
“Carmine. Everybody calls me Carmine. Been at the game,” he told her. “Whole family—doing the thing, so all day. I didn’t hear about any of this until Luca finally tagged me. The boy’s sick about this, half blames himself.”
“He shouldn’t. He’s not in any way to blame.”
Carmine nodded, blew out a relieved breath. “I told him the same. He said Mrs. Strazza was in the hospital. She’s a sweet girl. Is she hurt bad? There was a news report when I tuned in on the way here, said how there’d been a murder and assault, but they didn’t say how bad she was hurt.”
“She was roughed up, but she’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t understand the world most of the time. Don’t understand the world. Now she’s a widow, and at her age. Maybe we can send her flowers or something.” Face grim, he stared down at the table.
“You knew Dr. Strazza,” Eve prompted.
“I can’t say I knew him all that well. Always paid on time, but he left the details of the order, the setup to Mrs. Strazza. She’s a joy to work with.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“If there’s anything we can do to help. You need to talk to any of the boys again, or talk to me, we’re there.”
“Would you know if you’ve done jobs for Neville and/or Rosa Patrick or Lori and/or Ira Brinkman during the past year or two?”
“I don’t recognize the names right off, but I can sure check on that.” He took out a notebook, keyed in the names.
“How about businesses, offices. Do you rent there?”
“All the time.”
“St. Andrew’s Hospital?”
“We’ve supplied some rentals for events, sure.”
Now Eve took out her notebook, ran off the businesses of former victims.
“We’ve worked with On Screen, sure. Outfitted some sets when it made more sense for them to rent than to buy.” He swiped through lists. “Oh, okay, that’s Neville Patrick and Kyle Knightly. Sure, sure, we work with On Screen. We’ve done a couple of small jobs for Mr. Knightly at his place. I don’t see the Brinkmans on here, or those other places. But I can check it back at the office. Memory’s not what it used to be.”
“It’s working fine from my side of it. Thanks for this.”
“Will it help?”
“It may.”
“Then no thanks necessary. I don’t stand for some man putting hard hands on a woman. I met my wife that way.”
“You put hard hands on her?”
He laughed, and the tension he’d held in his face the whole time drained with it. “That’ll be the day. I came out of a bar one night. In Jersey City where I was hanging out with a cousin, a couple of pals. I came out and in the parking lot this girl’s fighting off this drunk. He’s dragging at her and she’s struggling, cursing him a blue streak. He smacks her right in the face.”
“Ouch.”
“Didn’t slow her down, but, well, let me tell you, I don’t stand for that. So I went over, shoved him off, told him to get going. Punched me, but he was too drunk to put much behind it. I wasn’t near as drunk, and put him down.
“One year and three months later, I married the girl. That was thirty-three years ago.”
“I’d say you pack a good punch, Carmine.”
She went back to her office, added the interview to her book, considered her board. A connection, however thin, was a connection. One vic’s business used the same rental company as the Strazzas. One vic’s business partner had used that same company.
She’d see where it led her.
But now, she needed to go back to the beginning.
*
Eve stood outside the Strazzas’ townhouse, hands in her coat pockets. She imagined the dark, and the thin icy breeze. The rental company van at the curb, cargo doors open, ramp down. A couple of valets in dark heavy coats by a portable heater making small talk with the rental crew.
Streetlamps send out their white pool of light. The door of the house opens, and its backwash of light silhouettes all.