Part 38 (1/2)
”Then don't try,” she said.
”What about the p.o.r.nography business?” I said. ”n.o.body being exploited there, either?”
”It's pretty much the same as with the clubs, except for one thing.”
”What's that?”
”With p.o.r.n, the men aren't exploited, either. They get laid and paid.”
”A perfect world,” I said.
”Smart-a.s.s.”
”I can't help it. It's genetic.”
”Then I'll try to make allowances.”
”So how does child p.o.r.n fit into this perfect world?”
”It doesn't.”
”Never dabbled in that?”
”Of course not. It's an abomination.”
”Never cut up any little kids and fed them to Cosmo Scalici's pigs?”
”And we were having such a nice conversation up till now, Mulligan. I can't believe you would ask me that.”
The waiter cleared away our plates and took our dessert orders. Vanessa ordered the chocolate tower truffle cake. I asked for another club soda.
”While you're mulling our job offer,” Vanessa said, ”do you think you could refrain from poking into my family's business?”
”Hard to say.”
”I could have the ex-SEALs pay you another visit.”
”Wouldn't do any good,” I said.
”Yeah,” she said. ”I kinda figured that.”
52.
”The Maniellas offered me a job,” I said.
”Doing what?” Lomax said.
”They were a little vague about that.”
”I've seen you in the shower at the Y, so it can't be on-camera work.”
”f.u.c.k you.”
”What's it pay?”
”A hundred grand to start.”
”Then if you don't want it, I'll take it.”
”This could be our chance to find out what the h.e.l.l is going on,” I said.
”How do you mean?”
”I take the job undercover, see what I can learn from the inside.”
”No way.”
”Why not?”
”Because we don't do things that way. You know that.”
”Maybe we should reconsider.”
”Uh-uh. These things always go badly. ABC's undercover investigation of the Food Lion grocery chain ended up costing them a fortune in legal bills. We don't tell lies in order to report the truth, Mulligan.”
53.
A mystery that began with a single murder more than five months ago now had tentacles that stretched from Newport's scenic Cliff Walk to a b.l.o.o.d.y bedroom in the Chad Brown housing project, from a Pascoag pig farm to a bullet-riddled strip club in Providence. It had taken the lives of an exnavy SEAL, three snuff film producers, a Brown University dean, a New Jersey child p.o.r.n aficionado, and a pedophile priest in Michigan. I didn't give a s.h.i.+t about any of them, but it had also snuffed out an uncertain number of children.
I'd gotten some page one stories out of it, but I still didn't know what the h.e.l.l was going on. I decided to take another stab in the dark.
A half hour on Google turned up several dozen charities dedicated to finding missing children and protecting them from s.e.xual predators: the Polly Klaas, Amber Watch, Bring Sean Home, Child Alert, Tommy, and Molly Bish Foundations, the National Child Safety Council, and a bunch more. Most were organized as 501(c)(3) charities. That meant the names of their benefactors were a matter of public record.
As it turned out, Sal Maniella had donated money to five of them-more than three million dollars over the last ten years. His daughter, Vanessa, had contributed another quarter of a million. I wondered why. I figured the easiest way to find out would be to ask them, so I called the lake house and got them both on speaker.
”Your numbers are correct,” Sal said, ”but is it necessary to put this in the paper? We understand that it's public information, but we prefer to keep a low profile.”
”That's right,” Vanessa said. ”We don't want every bleeding heart on the planet hitting us up for a donation.”
”I understand that,” I said, ”but can't help wondering why you are so generous with this particular cause.”