70

ON THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Richardson called Chief Quinn at Police Headquarters in Providence and asked if she could see him. (She told Terry sometime later that the idea of talking to Quinn had come to her just as she had an orgasm at the Holiday Inn the night before.) He checked his calendar and offered her a choice of eleven o’clock that morning or four in the afternoon. Jenna said she was in the middle of some research and took the second option.

Eight hours later, she was in his office. “Hi, Gerry,” she said, when a young police officer ushered her into the big room overlooking Lasalle Square.

“Hiya, Jenna, good to see ya. How do ya like the bullshit circuit they’ve gotcha on? I’ll bet ya bored to tears with all these pols. Always talking outta both sides of their mouths. Oh, excuse me, I want ya to meet Joe Gaudette.”

Quinn continued talking as Richardson and Gaudette approached each other and shook hands. “Joe here is from the State Police. I called over to get some help on this Al Niro case, ya know, figuring the Tarantinos run gambling all over Rhode Island, and we could sure use some help in trying to find the killer. I was just telling Joe about ya before ya came in, how ya’ve got one helluva talent for putting the pieces of a puzzle together. So, is what ya wanna see me about private, or can Joe stick around?”

She explained that she was there about the Niro case herself, and invited Gaudette to stay and listen. Quinn leaned back in his big chair, ready to hear what she had to say. Jenna told him that for openers she wanted to read the letter he received from the Tarantino family. “What letter?” Quinn demanded, sitting straight up immediately.

“Sorry, Gerry, but I heard about it from an old friend who works in the post office. He said he stamped it himself.” She winked at him.

Quinn shook his head in frustration, saying nothing. It upset him to learn that someone already leaked news of the letter.

Jenna waited for him to sit back and relax again before saying that she hoped he could help her speak to one of the Tarantinos herself. This time, Quinn showed no reaction at all.

“Let me tell you why,” she said, and proceeded to lay out everything she told Reardon while they were in bed the night before. When she finished informing them of what she uncovered in her investigation to that point, both men were silent. Jenna glanced from one to the other and continued. “Last night I started some research in the Herald library and just about wrapped it up before walking over here.”

“I hope they’re paying ya overtime,” Quinn cut in.

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Jenna said.

The two men smiled at her.

“Think about this, Gerry. You can go back twenty years, almost to the day that Sal Tarantino took over on the Hill, and you won’t find a single homicide that the Family was ever charged with committing, directly or indirectly. That’s not the way it was when Tony Buscatelli ran things. A number of his guys were convicted over the years. Tony himself stood trial twice for allegedly giving the order that got two of his enemies tossed into Narragansett Bay wearing heavy overshoes. He got a hung jury both times and the DA didn’t want to try for a third. The papers said he was lucky. Later on there were stories that one of the jurors in each trial was bribed to hold out for an acquittal.”

“I remember both them trials like it was yesterday,” Quinn said. “Don’t remind me. I was right there in the courtroom both times. I can still see the shit-eating grin Buscatelli had on his face when the judge told him he was free to go. You remember that, Joe?”

Gaudette, sitting almost erect in a straight-backed wooden chair, nodded affirmatively. “Wish I didn’t, but I do,” he answered.

“In fact, Gerry,” Jenna continued, “what comes out of the Herald’s files is that the Tarantinos have gotten away from the kinds of things Buscatelli had a big hand in. I’m talking drugs and prostitution, mainly. You’d know that better than anyone. It looks like now they concentrate all their efforts on gambling and want nothing to do with street crime. Is it okay to say that the Mob has cleaned up its act?” She smiled at him.

Quinn didn’t answer directly. “So what’s this getting us to?” he wanted to know.

“I don’t think the Tarantinos had anything to do with Niro’s death.” She spoke the words in a matter of fact tone. “What happened doesn’t fit their pattern at all. But like that old saying goes, ‘It takes a thief to know one.’ I want the chance to go over this case with them. They may have a feeling about what happened. They could say something that means nothing to them but gives me a lead to go on. My guess is that they’d love to see this Chi-Chi killing get solved A-S-A-P. That’s the only way the bad publicity they’re getting will go away.” Jenna paused. “What do you say, can I read the letter?”

“Ya welcome to look at it, provided I don’t see one word about it in ya paper.”

“Agreed,” she said.

That was good enough for Quinn. He picked up the telephone, dialed a single digit and instructed someone to bring in the Niro file. “And I gotta figure out who coulda leaked it,” he said, hanging up the phone. Quinn got up, stretched his arms above his head and sat down again. “But,” he continued, “getting Sal Tarantino or his son to talk to ya may be impossible. The only talking they’ve ever done in the years I’ve been in this chair is through a lawyer. Maybe if I mention getting their letter it would help. What the hell, I’ll give it a shot and let ya know.”

A police sergeant came in with the large file. Quinn removed the two heavy elastics from either end, opened it and picked up the document sitting on top. He handed it to Jenna. She read it carefully and saw it was signed by Sandy Tarantino.

“How old is the son, and what does he do?” she asked.

“Mid-forties. Sorta the general manager over there from what I hear,” Quinn replied.

She returned the letter and thanked Quinn for his time. She gave him a Herald card with her extension at work and her home telephone number. “Just in case you threw away the last one,” she said.

“Do ya have enough left for the guys at the singles bar?” he asked her. “I can just copy these numbers down, ya know.” Quinn smiled at her and looked over at Gaudette. The State Police officer got up from his chair, but looked serious.

“I’m very impressed with your analysis of this case,” he told Jenna, approaching her again for a farewell handshake. “If I were Sal Tarantino and heard about what you told us today, I’d want to meet you. Good luck, Miss Richardson.”

* * *

Jenna’s horoscope that Friday morning said she would be meeting an interesting stranger. A sometime believer in the stars, she gave it two hours to happen in the Twin Oaks lounge on the way home from work. Back in her car, she consoled herself with the thought that the would-be object of her affections was there, but that they simply missed each other. Arriving home at nine o’clock, she looked through the mail, turned on the radio and put a package of frozen broccoli in the tiny microwave before remembering to check for telephone messages.

There was only one, but it made up for her earlier disappointment.

“Hiya Jenna, it’s Gerry Quinn. Would ya believe it? Some guy called me back today for young Tarantino, just when I’d given up hearing from them. Said he’d meet with ya but it has to be off the record. He can do it Tuesday morning, nine o’clock, if ya get outta the sack that early. His place is at 241 Atwells Avenue, next door to the Abruzzi Bakery. Ya gotta walk up a long flight of stairs. There’s a parking lot further down that block and around the corner. Ya owe me one for this.” There was a short pause before Quinn continued. “As they say on Federal Hill, ‘Ciao, baby.’ ”

Jenna called Dan McMurphy at the Herald. He always stayed late on Friday night, as if unwilling to let the job get away from him for the weekend.

“It’s a good thing you’re seeing him when you are,” McMurphy said. “I just got through assigning you full-time, starting Wednesday, to hit the road with the major campaigns. That’s Wednesday through Monday, the fifth through the tenth.”

He wanted her to follow the two US Senate candidates, Sacco and Whitley, for a day each and do the same with Singer and Fiore right after that. She’d finish the job by getting a look at the incumbents and challengers for the two seats in the House of Representatives over the last two days of her road trip. He didn’t care about the fact that Tarantino might give her something to go on in the Niro case when she visited the Family’s headquarters on Tuesday.

“There’s an old saying about ‘a bird in the hand,’ Jenna. Maybe you heard it. I think Dolph Jameson, my predecessor, was the one who first made it up.” Then he got serious. “Listen, we’ve got to run some in-depth stories about these campaigns. I’m talking at least a full page for each one, and I need all of it in a couple of weeks. After that, you’ll have more time to shoot for the Pulitzer Prize on the Niro business. That’s the deal, and it’s final.” McMurphy let a couple of seconds pass before he added, “Agreed?”

“Thanks for the choice, Dan,” she answered. She hoped her good-natured sarcasm struck the right chord. “But as long as you brought it up, do you want to give any odds on my getting that Pulitzer?”

“If I lose, can I pay it off over a year?”

“Six months.”

“Sorry, I can’t afford it.”