Part 14 (2/2)
”So far we've turned up a female torso and a couple of limbs. Tedesco will have to test the DNA to be sure they're from the same kid.”
”How old?”
”You'll have to ask him that.”
”He never talks to the press.”
”Not my problem, Mulligan.”
The coffee was ready now. Simona poured us each a fresh mug, took a seat at the table, picked up a string of rosary beads, and wrapped them around her wrists. To me, they looked like handcuffs.
”Who found the body parts?” I asked.
”Joe Fleck,” Cosmo said.
”One of your workers?”
”Yeah. He upchucked his breakfast and then came running for me. I took a quick look and called the captain.”
”Fleck just found the torso,” Parisi said. ”My men unearthed the rest in the same garbage heap.”
”That garbage been here long?” I asked.
”Came in on a truck this morning,” Cosmo said.
”Any idea where it was picked up?”
Cosmo started to answer, but Parisi cut him off. ”That's still under investigation.”
”What about the arm from last month? Could it be from the same kid?”
”I can't talk about that on the record, Mulligan.”
”No?”
”Absolutely not.”
”Why is that?”
Parisi glared at me.
”Okay, off, then.”
”Definitely a different kid.”
”You know that how?”
Five seconds of silence, and then: ”The torso's just starting to decompose. And the two limbs we found today?”
”Yeah?”
”They're both arms.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. For a moment, no one spoke.
”What the h.e.l.l are we dealing with here, Captain?”
”Hard to say.”
”A serial killer?”
”Don't jump the gun.”
”What it looks like.”
”I'm going to ask you not to write that, Mulligan. It would cause a panic. If I see the words serial killer in the paper tomorrow, you and I are done.”
”Okay, I'll play along. But it's gonna get crazy once the Van Susteren wannabes at the end of the drive get wind of this.”
”From what I've seen of their journalism skills,” he said, ”that could take a while.”
As it happened, it took only three days.
20.
By the time I got to Hopes, Attila the Nun had three dead soldiers on the table in front of her and a fourth in her sights.
”You're late,” she said.
”Sorry, Fiona. The copydesk was shorthanded, so I got drafted to edit state house copy and just finished up.”
”What'll you have?” she asked, and waved for the waitress.
”Club soda.”
”Ulcer acting up?”
”It is.”
”Maybe you should give up the cigars.”
”I don't eat them, Fiona.”
”No, but I read somewhere that they're bad for what you've got.”
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