It could be…
"The murder of Daniel Santino, of course," Jameson says, looking between us. "Is there another we should be looking into?"
"Of course not," the lawyer says. "And as far as Daniel Santino goes, we have humored your questions numerous times, and the answers have always remained the same. Mr. Vitale had no reason to want to harm the man. There was no bad blood between the two of them. With no motive, and no evidence, it's clear you're just grasping at straws, and you have been for quite some time."
"Oh, but we have a motive," Andrews chimes in, sitting up in his chair attentively. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, Vitale, but your fiancée was one of Santino's students at the time of his death."
"So?"
"So our sources tell us she had a bit of trouble in his class, so you did something about it."
"Sources?" I chime in curiously. I hate that word. Sources. They're rats. "And who, exactly, would your sources be?"
"Now that we can't tell you," Jameson says. "But the informant is credible."
Informant. Yet another synonym for rat.
"Let me get this straight," the lawyer says. "A nameless source told you Mr. Vitale murdered a lifelong acquaintance because of conflict in a college class? Your motive is a bad grade?"
"It goes a bit deeper than a bad grade," Jameson says. "Santino was giving her a hard time."
"Is there any record of this?" the lawyer asks. "Complaints to administration? Grievances filed? Requests to transfer out of his class? Any proof she struggled? No, of course not. Instead you're relying on secondhand stories from anonymous sources. I have to tell you, detective, you're probably better off trusting the testimony of Pinocchio if you're looking for a grain of truth."
Neither detective is amused by the declaration, but I find it quite humorous. I would laugh if I weren't so uneasy by what he just said. I have suspected it for a while, but they all but confirmed it for me this afternoon.
Someone has loose lips that I'm going to have to seal shut again.
"Speaking of lifelong acquaintances," the detective says. "I want to talk about John Rita."
"Then talk about him," I say, "but I can't promise I'll listen."
My lawyer shoots me another look that tells me to be quiet. This time I listen.
Jameson glares at me. "It's curious that tragedy befalls everyone around you. Do you have any childhood friends left, Mr. Vitale?"
I shrug as the lawyer interjects, threatening to end this conversation if he doesn't get to the point.
"The point is he seems to be the only one left standing. Maria Angelo... Daniel Santino... John Rita..." He pauses, eyeing me. "You haven't seen Carmela Rita recently, have you?"
I say nothing.
It goes on and on, the same inane questions tossed at me, none of which I answer. It's after nightfall when I walk back out of the police station, a free man as usual. For as many times as they've dragged me down to this place in handcuffs, they've never once booked me into the system or paraded me in front of a judge. Suspicion alone can't make a charge stick, but this time they have something they never had before, something that gets them closer to making a case.
Information.
It takes me about an hour to collect my car and get on the road home. The house is lit up when I make it to Brooklyn, loud voices carrying through outside, feminine laughter that does nothing to ease my nerves.
Karissa has friends over again.
Unlocking the door, I step inside, immediately seeing the three of them. Karissa is sitting on the living room couch with Melody on one side of her, a surprising face on the other. I stare at the blonde visitor for a moment, stunned by her presence. Brandy.
Ray's girlfriend.
Guess befriending Karissa took precedence over Ray today.
"Hey," Karissa greets me, her voice tentative. "Look who we ran into today."
I'm not sure if she's nervous about my reaction, or if she's just not at ease with her company, but her apprehension is clear. Instead of questioning it, I offer a strained smile. "Hello."
"Vitale," Brandy says as she glances around. "Nice house."
Before I can respond, Melody chimes in, jumping to her feet. "Well, it's getting late, so I ought to get to getting, you know." She strolls my way, pausing in front of me. "Looking good, Ignazio. Can't wait to see what you look like in a penguin suit."
I regard her warily as she pats my chest, running her hand along the folds of my suit coat. Karissa grumbles, telling her friend to stop it, but Melody laughs it off.
"I should go, too," Brandy says, standing up. She avoids looking at me as she brushes past, heading for the door behind Melody. "We should share a cab back to Manhattan, Mel."
"Absolutely," Melody says, flashing a smile back at us. "You be good, kids. Drugs are bad, m'kay?"
I stare at them, watching as they leave the house. Karissa stands up once they're gone and strolls over, relocking the front door behind them.
"Sometimes I'm not sure if I even speak the same language as that girl," I say, pulling off my coat. "It feels like she's speaking in code."
Karissa smiles sheepishly. "I don't think even Melody knows what she's saying most of the time."
I unbutton my cuffs. "Penguin suit? Is that what I think it is?"
"Yeah, we were, uh..." Her cheeks flush. "They asked about the wedding."
"Did you set a date for it yet?"
"No."
Nodding, I walk past her, into the den, and kick off my shoes right in the doorway. I drop my coat down on the arm of the couch before plopping down on the cushion, stretching my legs out as I lay my head back. A slight pain knocks at my temples, the onset of a headache from hours of stressful interrogation.
"Are you okay?" Karissa asks, following me.
"Just a bit of a headache," I respond, watching her as she sits down beside me. "Long day."
"I bet," she says, tucking her feet up on the couch beneath her as she shifts her body to face me. "I thought you'd be home early, but I figured… well, I just assumed you were… working."
Working. She says the word tentatively, barely a whisper from her lips. Her eyes are peeled to my face, narrowed contemplatively, like there are questions she wants to ask but might not want to hear the answers to.
"I had a drink with Ray this afternoon," I offer, hoping she won't ever ask me the tough questions about how exactly I fill my hours. "I would've been home hours ago, but I ran into a little predicament."