Lisa Scottoline - Everywhere That Mary Went

“In addition, I would like to announce a donation in Brent’s name, which has been authorized by my partners at Stalling and Webb. Tomorrow we give ten thousand dollars on Brent Polk’s behalf to Pennsylvanians Against Drunk Driving. It is our sincere hope that we can help prevent what happened to Brent from happening to other fine young men and women. Thank you.” Applause breaks out as Berkowitz steps down and disappears into the crowd.

“What are they talking about?” I whisper to Ned, over the din.

“I don’t know.” He looks grim.

“Drunk driver, my ass!”

My mother nudges me. Don’t talk in church, says the nudge.

I wheel around and look at Lombardo. His dull eyes warn me to relax. Drunk driver? I mouth to him.

He puts a finger to his lips.

Christ! I can barely contain myself. Brent is murdered in cold blood, and they’re going to say it was drunk driving? It’s all I can do after the service not to pound directly over to him, but I have to take care of my parents first. Ned and I help them down the steps of the Art Alliance and wait with them for a cab. My mother’s eyes are smudged and teary behind her glasses; my father looks crestfallen.

“I don’t like that man from your office, Maria,” she says. “The big one. You know which one I mean? The big one?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“No. I don’t like that man at all.” She shakes her head, and her heavy glasses slip down.

“Why not, Mrs. DiNunzio?” Ned asks, with a faint smile.

She holds up a finger, mysteriously. “Thin lips. You can’t even find the man’s lips. Like pencil lines, they are.”

“Ma. His lips aren’t thin. It’s just your eyes.”

“Don’t be fresh, I saw them. He’s got the thin lips. Mark my words.”

Ned seems amused by this. “He’s the boss, Mrs. DiNunzio.”

She drills her index finger into the hand-stitched lapel of Ned’s coat. “I don’t care who he is. I don’t like him.”

“Don’t give the kids no trouble, Vita,” says my father. “They got enough trouble right now. A world of trouble.”

“I’m not giving them trouble, Matty. I’m taking care of Maria!” People leaving the service look over, startled at the loudness of her voice. “That’s what mothers are for! That’s a mother’s job, Matty.”

A yellow cab stops at the light, and I wave it down.

“Look at Maria, Veet,” says my father, momentarily cheered. “Just like a big city girl.” My mother looks at me proudly. I’ve hailed a cab,mirabile dictu.

“Please, guys. Don’t embarrass me in front of Ned, okay? I’m trying to make a good impression.”

My father smiles, and my mother gives me a shove. “You. Always with the jokes.”

The cab pulls up and Ned opens the door for them. I lean down and give them both a quick kiss. Ned helps my father into the dark cab, but my mother is tougher to shake. She grabs me by my coat and whispers, “Call me. I want to talk to you about this young man.”

“Okay, I’ll call you.”

She whispers loudly into my ear. “It’s good to see you with someone. You’re too young to put yourself up on the shelf.”

“Ma…”

She looks at Ned sternly. “You take good care of my daughter. Or you answer to me!”

“I will,” he says, surprised.

“Time to go, Ma.” I fight the urge to push her into the cab.

“We love you, doll,” says my father, as my mother gets in.

“Love you too,” I say, closing the heavy door with relief. I feel like I’ve tucked them into bed. I wave, and the cab pulls away.

Ned gives me a hug. “They’re wonderful,” he says happily.

“The Flying DiNunzios. They’re something, aren’t they?”

“You’re lucky, you know.”

“I know, but let’s not get into it now. Help me find Lombardo.” I squint at the crowd coming out of the building’s narrow front doors.

“I don’t know what he looks like.”

“Fred Flintstone.”

Judy comes out with Kurt, who has managed to find a suit jacket for the occasion. She waves good-bye over the sea of people. I wave back.

Ned points over at the far edge of the crowd. “Is that him?”

“Yes!” Sure enough, it’s Lombardo. I flag him down and he finally spots me. Even from a distance, his expression tells me he wishes he hadn’t.

“Don’t get upset, Mary.”

“I’m already upset. I feel like I want to break his face.” I plunge into the crowd of people, with Ned beside me. Lombardo threads his way toward us, and we meet in the middle.

“Drunk driver, Lombardo?” I say to him. “You have to be kidding!”

Lombardo looks around nervously. “Mary, settle down.”

“That’s almost as absurd as gay-basher!”

Lombardo takes me aside, and Ned follows. “Look, Mary, it’s just a preliminary finding, we haven’t stopped the investigation. You said the car was driving crazy when it left the sidewalk. It crashed into the sawhorse. We know it was driving crazy to go up on the-”

“Bullshit!”

“Mary, don’t play cop. I’m the cop.”

One of the gay men in the crowd glances back. On his short leather jacket is a pink button that saysACT UP; they tangled with the police at a demonstration last year. There’s no love lost between the two groups. Lombardo says, “Let’s take it out of here.”

We regroup at the entrance to the Barclay Hotel, next to the Art Alliance. The canvas awning snaps in the swirling winds around Rittenhouse Square. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friend?” Lombardo asks.

“I’m Ned Waters, Detective Lombardo.” Ned extends a hand, but Lombardo hesitates before he shakes it. He’s remembering that Ned’s is one of the names I gave him in the hospital as a suspect.

“He’s okay, Tom,” I say.

Lombardo looks from me to Ned. Whatever he’s thinking, he decides not to say it. “Mary, I followed up on what you told me about your husband. I looked up the AID file on his accident. I even talked to one of the men who investigated. Your husband was hit on the West River Drive, going out of town, at that first curve.”

“I know that.”

“It’s almost a blind curve, Mary. I went out and checked it myself. I found out your husband’s not the only bicycle rider to be killed at the same spot. There was an architect, three months ago.”

“I read about him. He was only twenty-six.”

“Your husband and the architect were killed at about the same time-Sunday morning, bright and early. Probably by someone who’d been out partyin’ the night before and was drivin’ home to the subs.”

“But-”

“Wait a minute.” Lombardo pulls out his notebook and flips through it in the light coming from the hotel. “Wait. Here we go. A doctor was killed there too. An internist, who lived in Mount Airy. The guy was fifty-eight. Two years ago, the same curve. Now Brent was hit at a whole ’nother time and place. So I-”

“Isn’t that a distinction without a difference?” Ned asks.

Lombardo looks up from his little book. “What?”

“Does it really make a difference that one is in the morning and one is at night? Just because they happen at different times and places doesn’t mean it can’t be the same person.”

“Listen, Mr. Waters, I’ve been a detective a little longer than you.”

“I understand that.”

“My gut tells me it ain’t the same guy.” He turns to me. “I ran down your lead, Mary. I treated it serious, because I admit it looks strange, the two incidents bein’ so close together like that. But I gotta go on what makes the most sense, and it’s not homicide. I see two accidents, both involving booze. It’s too bad that one of them was your husband and the other was your secretary, but it’s just one of those coincidences. At least that’s what I think so far.”