Applaud the Hollow Ghost (31 page)

“What are—”

“He's full of shit,” Steve said. “What are you listening to him for?”

Gus didn't answer him, so I continued. “No sensible person would use the word
innocent
in the same sentence with
Dominic,
so I won't either. But the system would have gotten him off anyway, at least about attacking Trish.”

“Sure. His newfound friends would have taken care of him,” Gus said.

“Maybe. But even if they abandoned him—which they might have—Dominic would have gotten off. I guarantee it. Because Dominic didn't go after Trish, not any more than Lammy did. What—”

“But he did,” Rosa said, “we all know he did.”

“What you know is what you told yourself,” I said. “People believe you, Rosa. You accused Dominic … so he must have done it. Just like everyone on the block thought Lammy did it, because Trish accused him. Would Trish lie? Then Lammy must have done it. Would Rosa lie? Then Dominic must have done it.”

“But Trish
did
lie, out of fear,” Rosa said. “I did not lie.”

“No, you didn't lie. But you were mistaken. And I'm telling you Dominic would have gotten off, even without the Feds, if Steve hadn't gunned him down from behind.” I turned back to Gus. “Steve did that, not because he's an aggrieved father. Uh-uh. Steve did that because he didn't want anyone bringing out the truth.”

Gus did nothing but stare at me, but tension radiated from him and spread through the room. Both Raymond's twin and Goldilocks moved closer.

“What you are saying,” Rosa whispered, “it cannot be. Not the child's father.”

Steve started to stand up. “You can't—”

“Sit down,” Gus said. “I wanna hear the man out.”

“Fine,” Steve said, regaining his composure. “Fine. But is he saying I tried to rape my own daughter? The one thing I have left in this life that means anything to me? Because if he is…” He paused, then turned and leaned toward me and spoke in a strangely calm, low voice. “Because if you are, whatever happens, whether anyone ever believes you or not, I swear to you, I'll spend every day of the rest of my life coming after you—you, and this lard-assed pervert friend of yours, and the priest, and anyone else who's important to you. And you haven't learned the meaning of the word
pain,
my friend, until you get what's in store for all of you.”

I stared back at him. He was a liar, through and through, but a fierce coldness grew in my chest because I knew he wasn't lying now. This threat was his last chance to stop me from destroying what little hope of a life he might ever have. But it was more than a threat. It was a promise—a promise as real and dark as the menacing emptiness in his eyes. And I was afraid. Afraid for Lammy, for Casey, for everyone. Afraid for myself.

Maybe there was another way. Maybe Rosa could take Trish away and make a new life somehow and the truth wouldn't have to come out. Maybe fear would back me down.

“So,” Steve said, “are you saying I tried to rape my own little girl?”

I took one deep breath, in and out, before I answered. “I'm saying whatever it was—attempted rape, or the stupid, brutal fondling of a child by an abusive, alcoholic father—whatever it was, it was you. And I'm saying…” I paused, hating what was coming next, but not knowing any better way. I stared into his eyes. “And I'm saying I invite you, Mr. Connolly, to spend your days coming after me, or anyone I'm close to. Because when you do … I'll see you won't have many days left to spend.”

There was a long silence then. In reality, probably just a few seconds, but still a long, long silence.

Finally Gus spoke. “What is your evidence?”

“You'll find,” I said, “if you read her statements, that the one thing Trish was most afraid of saying was that what happened to her happened in a garage. To anyone who wanted to listen, she might as well have announced that it
did
happen in a garage.”

“Jesus,” Gus said. “You think that's gonna stand up in court?”

“Not at all,” I said. “But it convinced me. So I kept at it. Trish said her pants were pulled down and she was pushed to the floor. Later she changed
floor
to
ground.
But her clothes weren't wet. Then she claimed it was inside the enclosed back porch, but everyone knows this wasn't true. That whole area is rough and broken concrete, and Trish didn't have a scratch on the backs of her legs or her buttocks. So where was it? In the house?”

“It was Dominic,” Rosa said, “in his house.”

“With Steve due to pick her up?”

“I don't know,” she replied. “Maybe Steven called Dominic and said he'd be late or some—”

“That's right,” Steve said. “That's exactly what happened.”

“Oh? So then Dominic felt free to attack Trish … with Lisa right there in the house? And Karen expected to arrive any minute? Not likely.”

“This is all bullshit,” Steve said. “He's making it up as he—”

“I want to hear the man,” Gus said. “Shut up!”

“Trish's denials convinced me that it
did
happen in a garage. So, I thought, probably Dominic's garage. Later, when the cops showed me photos of it, I saw there was plenty of room in the garage, but the floor there is concrete, too. Not as broken up as at Lammy's, but rough enough, and filthy. There'd have been scratches on Trish's body, and traces of dirt and oil. But there were none. So … what floor? What gar—”

The phone rang. Gus picked it up and listened. “All right. No, nothing. Just stay out of sight. And call me if anything happens.” He hung up. “Go on,” he said.

“Everyone agrees,” I continued, “that Trish would never have left Dominic's just because she was bored.”

“That's right,” Rosa insisted. “And Steve called and told Dominic he'd be—”

“That can be checked out,” I said, “by phone records.” Whether it could or not, a look passed over Steve's face that told me I was right, and that I only had to keep on pushing till he broke. “I say Steve didn't call. And I say he wasn't late. He
did
come. He picked Trish up in his van and drove home with her, into his garage. That's where it happened. I don't know how far he went with her before he let her go, or she broke away.”

“It could not be,” Rosa said. “It was later when Steven got home and—”

“Maybe he sat in the garage,” I said, “or maybe he—”

“Shut up and let me think,” Gus said. He pointed a finger at me. “Steve's garage. What's that floor made outta?”

“Concrete, for chrissake,” Steve said.

“And the van fills the entire space,” I added, “with hardly room to get out of it. But there's plenty of room—and a carpeted floor—inside the van.”

“He's still making this up,” Steve said, but he got no answer from anyone.

“No,” I said. “The cops took Trish's clothes. Their lab found no blood, no semen. That's what they were looking for, to start with. But they had a perpetrator identified, anyway, and there was no rush to go further at that point with the clothes. Lammy's lawyer, though, is the super-cautious type. And even when the charge was dismissed, she had the clothes analyzed herself. The child's pants had traces of fiber on them. Fiber that matches the fiber in the carpeting used by the conversion company when they customized Steve's van.” I was making it all up now, although Renata had
talked
about having the clothes analyzed. “Fiber with the same blue dye.”

“They would match,” Gus said. “Trish mighta rode in that van every day.”

“But…” Rosa's voice trailed away. She was staring at me.

“But what?” Gus demanded.

“That … that was the first night she wore those jeans,” she said. “I remember. They were a Christmas present, and she begged me to let her—”

“That's something I didn't know,” I said. “But I do know they found fibers on Trish's jeans, inside and outside—and on her underpants as well.” I paused. “Trish was inside that van, parked in Steve's garage, when her pants—”

Steve was fast for so large a man, and his lunge carried him the few feet to the library table before anyone could stop him. In one motion, he scooped up the Beretta and hit the table, slamming it into Gus and sending him toppling over backward in his chair.

All of us were on our feet instinctively, but Goldilocks was the closest, and the first to make a move. Steve turned and fired once. Goldilocks stopped in his tracks, one hand clutched to his chest and the other drawing wild circles in the air, like a man wobbling on a tightrope. He never got his balance though, before he toppled heavily forward onto the floor.

Raymond's twin had a gun in his hand, too, but by then Steve was behind Rosa. Without a clear shot, the gunman hesitated. And when he did, Steve shot him as well—twice. Both slugs tore into his chest, and one of them must have opened an artery. The man lowered his chin, as though he were studying the dark, dark blood that spurted and foamed from his shirt front. But by that time he wasn't seeing anything at all. And he never would—not in this world.

CHAPTER
41

B
Y THE TIME
G
US
was back on his feet, Steve already had his left arm wrapped around Rosa's neck and was inching his way backward across the room, dragging her along with him.

“Jesus Christ,” Gus said, “think about it, Steve. Whaddaya got left? Two fucking cartridges, that's what.” Gus didn't miss much, but I wondered at first why he said that. “You can't kill four people with two shots, even four unarmed people,” he said. “Plus there's cops outside the gate, probably waiting for word to bust through, with a million more on the way. You got no—”

“Shut up!” Steve was shouting. “For once in your goddamn life, shut up and let me think.”

Gus flinched, just slightly. The look in his eyes said that, if he survived, he would one day make Steve pay for shouting him down. But when he spoke his voice was calm. “You're right,” he said. “You should think about—”

“I said shut up!” Steve was just one step short of uncontrolled panic. His voice was twice as loud as it needed to be. Thinking wasn't coming easily, and that was about our only chance. His eyes swept frantically from one dead body on the floor to the other, and I knew what he was looking for. But there was no gun in sight. Both men must have fallen on their weapons.

“… think about it. I can still get you outta this,” Gus was saying. “Otherwise you got no chance. Trust me.”

I knew Gus wanted to keep Steve's mind busy, keep him from figuring out how he could get to those guns. I also knew trusting Gus wasn't going to get Steve out of there alive.

Even Steve knew that. “If I got any chance at all,” he said, “this is it.” He jammed the barrel of the Beretta up under Rosa's chin. “One of my shots is all it'll take.” Steve's gaze shifted nervously from where Gus and Lammy and I stood together, as he dragged Rosa backward with him toward the library door. When he got there he stopped, then moved about six feet to the side of the door. “You tried to trick me with that two shots and four people to kill bullshit. Dumb old fucker. You think I forgot Raymond's out there somewhere?”

“I don't think anything,” Gus said, “except you'd be smart to let me help you get outta—”

“Shut up! Call Raymond in here.”

“Raymond!” Gus called out in a loud voice. “Raymond! Get in—”

The door flew open. Raymond burst through, in a low crouch, his gun sweeping the room. He froze, bug-eyed, when he saw Steve using Rosa as a shield

“Come on farther in,” Steve yelled. “And drop the gun or Rosa's dead.”

Raymond moved into the room. But he didn't drop his gun. “Mr. Apprezziano,” he said, not looking at Gus, but watching Steve drag Rosa with him to the open door, “what do I do?”

“That's my sister, for chrissake. What you do is you let the sonovabitch walk outta here.”

Raymond hesitated, then started to tuck the automatic under his suit coat.

“Uh-uh. Toss it on the floor,” Steve yelled. “Over this way.”

Raymond glanced at Gus. “He wants my gun. Maybe he's empty, or almost empty. I can—”

“No!” Gus roared. “Do like he says.”

“I don't like it,” Raymond said. “With my gun, he might kill us all.”

“He's right, Gus,” I said.

“No,” Steve said. “Nobody else in here needs to die. I'll let Rosa go. But I need Raymond's gun if I'm gonna have a chance outside this room. Tell him to toss the gun to my feet. Once I get it … I'm outta here.”

“Raymond,” Gus said, “do as—”

“Gustavo, no. This man will kill everyone.” Rosa's voice was strong and clear. “I understand now. Steven killed Monsignor Borelli. He called me at the rectory to say he was coming to pick up Trish. She began to cry and I didn't know why. I could tell Steven had been drinking and I told him no. He said he was coming for his daughter, that I must stop interfering. Then he hung up. I cannot believe how blind I was. Trish was attacked by Dominic, I thought, but now her father is drinking every day and this is why she cannot stop crying and trembling. So I took her.” She paused. “He must have come and killed the priest.” She tried to twist her head to look at Steve. “You would rape your own daughter … and then murder a priest, a holy—”

“Shut up! That wasn't murder.” Steve yanked Rosa closer to the doorway. His voice was trembling, but still loud. “He wouldn't tell me where you were. I only shoved him, and he fell, and—”

“And Tina, Gustavo,” Rosa said. “Steven murdered her also. She must have seen the truth I could not—”

Steve pulled his arm tighter around her neck and Rosa couldn't talk. “She's crazy,” he said. “I had nothing to do with Tina. That was Dominic. He got pissed-off at her for some reason I don't know. He told me he hit the bitch a few times and…” He paused. “Anyway, no more talk. Gus, tell Raymond to give me his gun and I swear to you … no one will be killed. Otherwise…”