Дэвид Балдаччи: Daylight

Blum refocused on Evie and asked her what kind of bread she liked to bake. Pine quickly searched through drawers and bent down to look under the bed. If Evie noticed this she made no sign. She was still kneading her scarf.

Pine next started riffling through the closet and finally spied a cardboard box behind a mound of clothes, stacks of People magazines, and a collapsed walker. The box was packed with papers.

She pulled it out of the closet. “Mrs. Vincenzo, do you mind if I look through this?”

She was now lightly tapping the scarf while Blum looked over and shrugged at Pine.

“I don’t think she can give informed consent,” noted Blum.

“It’s not like I’m going to use anything I find to put her in jail.”

“But it might her husband.”

“Don’t go all lawyer on me, Carol. This could be my only shot.”

Pine sat down and went through the box while Vincenzo had set the scarf aside and now stared happily at her pink lampshade, seemingly having forgotten that they were even there.

There was so much in the box that Pine ended up giving Blum a stack to look through. “Old photos of her kids. Here’s one of her and Ito, I think. Looks to be on their wedding day.”

“These photos have the names on the back. Here’s Teddy,” said Blum as she went through a stack. “He looks to be a teenager. And this one is of Tony when he was a baby; someone’s written his name at the bottom. He looks so innocent. They all do at that age, of course, because they are.”

“And then some of them grow up to be felons.”

“Keeps us gainfully employed,” said Blum.

“Look,” Pine said excitedly. “Here’s an article on Bruno Vincenzo’s conviction. This is his picture.” She showed Blum the clipping with the photo of Bruno.

Blum recoiled a bit at the image. “He looks like he’d kill you over a piece of chewing gum.”

Pine scanned the article. “It says he was convicted of murdering two people, one of them a witness for the prosecution. The trial was in New Jersey, which still had the death penalty back then. He got a death sentence, but then it was commuted to life after he agreed to cooperate.”

“And then he was later killed in prison?” said Blum.

“Right. He was in solitary at the prison, but apparently somebody paid off a guard, and an inmate knifed Bruno.” She pulled a folded, yellowed newspaper out of the box, and when she opened it something fell out from between the folds. It was a piece of paper with writing on it. Pine started to read it and her eyes widened as she did so.

“What?” asked Blum, trying to read over her shoulder.

“This is a letter from Bruno to Ito. From the date on it he must’ve written it after he went to prison but obviously before he was killed there.”

“What does it say?”

“Bruno says he discovered a snitch but didn’t out the person to his mob bosses.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. He told his brother that the snitch had screwed him over somehow and that’s why he’d been arrested and was in prison now. He asked Ito to come see him.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to write down anything too sensitive. He wanted to tell his brother in person.”

“Yeah, to tell him that it was my mom who screwed him over. But this letter still doesn’t tell me how Bruno found out where we were living. Because he had to know. That was the only way Ito would have known.”

“I guess this confirms once and for all that he was the one to take Mercy.”

“I can’t think of another possibility. But what did he do with her?” She looked over at Evie Vincenzo, who was still staring in fascination at her lampshade. “And this poor woman isn’t going to be able to answer that question.”

“But maybe her son can.”

They finished searching the box but found nothing else nearly as earth-shattering as the letter. Pine slipped it into her pocket along with a few other items, including photos of various family members.

She rose and said to the woman in the bed, “Mrs. Vincenzo, thank you for seeing us.”

“I so miss my stove.”

She started kneading her scarf again.

Blum watched Evie for a moment, her eyes glistening, and then she followed Pine out.

It was much like every other prison that Pine had been in: loud, reeking of foul odors, chaotic and at the same time rigid in organization mainly because of the walls and bars. It was a sophisticated chess match between the imprisoned and the guards, but sometimes the guards shirked their duties in exchange for the profits associated with allowing access to drugs, girls, and other things that made whiling away years of one’s life in a cage somewhat bearable.

While Fort Dix’s classification topped out at medium security, such was the state of the inmate population at federal facilities that men who would otherwise have deserved maximum-security status had been relegated to installations like Fort Dix. Maybe the authorities hoped that the prison’s being on a military base would keep the inmates in line. That was wishful thinking, she believed.

She and Puller cleared security together, reluctantly giving up their weapons. Then they were led to the visitors room.

“He won’t give things up easily,” noted Pine as they took their seats.

“Never assumed otherwise. The reverse, actually. He’s apparently got a brain, at least my sources say. He’ll want his pound of flesh for cooperating.”

“What else can you tell me about him?”

“He’s a bad guy through and through. Been in trouble since he was a teenager. Petty stuff to start, and then he rapidly graduated to more serious crimes. He’s in here after being busted for heading up a burglary ring that was targeting senior citizens. One of them was nearly beaten to death when he showed up at his own house unexpectedly. Teddy’s got a good lawyer, but he’ll still be in here for another eight years at least.”

“Does he have a relationship with Tony?”

“From what we’ve found, Teddy would never qualify as father of the year. He wasn’t around much. His mother did what she could with Tony before she called it quits and got the hell out of Dodge, but he nonetheless seems to have followed in his father’s footsteps.”

“Crime runs in the family. Teddy’s uncle was a mobster.”

“Right, the Bruno Vincenzo you mentioned before.”

Pine nodded. “And now here comes the mobster’s nephew.”

Two guards escorted Teddy Vincenzo to a seat at the table across from them.

He was about five nine, his frame hard and wiry. Corded muscles lined his forearms. He carried himself with as much confidence as anyone in leg irons could. At over fifty, he had hair that was more gray than black, and coarse in texture.

From his expression Pine could read the man clearly. He was curious but guarded. He was looking for an advantage. For anything to get him out of here at the earliest possible moment so he could get on with his criminal career.

“They said FBI and CID,” began Vincenzo, and then he stopped right there, sat back and eyed them. “To what do I owe a visit from so many alphabet letters?”

He had selected his opening move with a pawn, thought Pine. Nothing too dramatic. He was here for info, too.

Puller said, “We’re interested in your son, Tony.”

Vincenzo said nothing to this, but he also didn’t seem surprised by the statement. He looked at Pine. “And you?”

“I’m actually interested in your father, Ito.”

The inmate showed a glimmer of surprise at this request. He folded his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“I’d like to talk to him.”

“Same question.”

“He’s a person of interest in a case I’m looking into.”