Page 53 of Married to the Enemy

The silence stretched uncomfortably. The detective fidgeted again, tempted to say something, but Diane gave him a sharp look. She knew better. Raffe could feel Barry starting to squirm already. His lips moved once, then clamped shut. Barry glanced nervously at the detective, then the uniform posted in the corner, but found no relief there.

Finally, the man cracked. His voice came out in a harsh, panicked squeak. “It wasn’t my idea!” Barry blurted. Sweat beaded at his temples. “Vito Calvino ordered me to retrieve the old biddy and return her to the nursing home!”

Raffe didn’t flinch. He just let the words hang in the air like smoke. When he finally spoke, it was one word, flat and sharp. “Why?”

Barry’s lips pressed tight. His hand returned to his ribs, rubbing in a nervous, telltale motion, which Raffe noticed immediately. Calvino had roughed him up recently, no doubt a reminder of the cost of failure. For a long beat, it looked like Barry would turtle up completely. The detective leaned forward, about to speak, but Diane’s quiet shake of the head stopped him.

“Calvino wanted the old bat back!” Barry exploded suddenly, his voice rising, high-pitched with fear and rage. His face was red, blotchy, but his words faltered as he looked into Raffe’s expressionless eyes. Then his chin jutted. “Something about…her inheritance,” he grumbled, then sighed, resting his forehead on his open palm. “The old lady is worth a lot, from what he said.” Then the weasel sighed, dropping his hand, his chin lifting in renewed defiance. “But if you want any more information, you’re gonna have to offer me a deal.”

Raffe let the corner of his mouth quirk, not in amusement, but in condescension. He shook his head slowly, deliberately. “That won’t do you any good, Barry.”

Barry blinked, startled. “Why the hell not?”

“Because you’re already rubbing your ribs.” Raffe’s tone was calm, matter-of-fact, and edged with steel. “Which means Calvino has already hurt you. Badly.”

Barry’s hand froze mid-motion, then snapped away from his ribs, as if burned. His eyes darted nervously around the room, searching for someone to deny it. No one moved.

“See, here’s what’s going to happen.” Raffe leaned forward, his voice dropping into the kind of quiet that made men sweat. “You’re going to explain why Calvino wanted Ms. Santini back in the nursing home so badly. These gentlemen are going to book you for trespassing, maybe also vandalism. If that’s all you’re charged with, you’ll be in the county jail for a few weeks. But you and I both know you won’t last. Calvino will make sure of that. He’s got men inside. And they’ll do things to you that you can’t even whisper about in confession.”

Barry swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a trapped bird.

Raffe let that sink in, then continued. “However, if you give me enough ammunition, I can do something about it. I can bring Calvino down. Him and every soldier he’s got. That way, instead of you rotting in a cell with a target on your back, Calvino’s the one locked away in maximum security without access to the rest of the world. You’re going to have to do some hard time as well, but maybe, eventually, you might actually get to breathe fresh air again.” He paused, his gaze cutting into Barry’s. “Do you understand me?”

Barry nodded jerkily, fear and greed warring in his eyes. “Yes.”

“Then explain. What was so important about the nursing home to Calvino?”

For a moment, Barry hesitated, gnawing at his lower lip. Raffe could almost hear the gears grinding—whether to risk Calvino’s wrath or gamble on Raffe’s promise.

Patience frayed, Raffe pressed harder. “Here’s what I suspect.” He leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “You and Calvino were bleeding that nursing home dry through fake complaints. Stealing from residents’ safe deposit boxes. Keeping them drugged with sedatives, so they wouldn’t ask questions or complain to their families. You were probably charging insurance companies for fictitious tests and treatments. Maybe even siphoning funds from families by inflating invoices.” He let his voice drop. “How close am I?”

Barry’s face blanched. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t speak, but his silence was damning.

“Right on target, huh Barry?” Raffe pushed, his eyes locked on Barry’s.

The detective took a breath, visibly restraining himself from stepping in, the uniform at the door’s jaw tight as a coiled spring. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

And Raffe knew—Barry was one more push away from breaking wide open.

“Maybe, you were stealing from the residents’ rooms as well?” Raffe probed, his tone deliberately casual, though his gaze pinned Barry in place.

Barry shifted in his chair, frowning slightly.

Raffe shook his head slowly. “Nope. Not their rooms.” He let the pause stretch, making Barry sweat. “But…” He turned deliberately toward the detective, who was standing off to the side. “Look into the nursing home operations. We’ll need a forensic accountant to dig through every account. I’d bet there’s a safe or deposit box for each resident, where they keep their valuables. And I’m guessing, from how green he’s turning, that Barry was stealing from those as well.”

Barry’s eyes darted around the room.

Raffe stood, pushing the chair back with deliberate force, the scrape echoing through the interrogation room. He nodded to the detective. “Let’s go arrest Vito Calvino for insurance fraud, conspiracy, healthcare fraud, tampering with medication, and…” he stopped, pivoting back to Barry, holding him in that flat, cold stare, “money laundering.” He waited, reading the man’s every twitch. Barry swallowed hard, throat convulsing, and Raffe knew that he was right on target now. “Yes. That’s the main issue. Vito and Mr. Trello here have been laundering dirty money through the nursing home.” He shook his head, acting as if he was disappointed. “And because Mr. Trello here isn’t cooperating and providing testimony as evidence, then he’ll go down just as hard as Calvino.”

“It was his idea!” Barry blurted, bolting out of his chair, the legs screeching across the floor. His face turned red as he jabbed a finger in the air. “Calvino brought the idea to me! He told me how much dirty money there was, how much he needed back clean, and I—I only wrote up the invoices and service contracts! That’s all! He did the rest.” His voice cracked, wild with desperation. “I can prove it wasn’t all me! I kept notes. They’re in my office, in the locked drawer of my desk!”

Raffe didn’t move. His expression didn’t even flicker. “And the drugs?” he asked calmly.

Barry blinked rapidly, sweat dripping down his temple now. “In the medicine cabinet in my office,” he admitted, his voice faltering. “But that was him too! He handed them to me, told me to distribute them to all the nursing home residents. He said it would keep the residents quiet, stop them from whining to their families about the food and changes.” His voice dropped to a whimper. “I don’t even know where he got the sedatives. He just—just gave them to me!”

Behind Barry, the detective slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to choke back laughter at how the man was unraveling. Even Raffe had to admit, he hadn’t expected Trello to fold this quickly. But the bruises Barry kept rubbing, the way he cradled his ribs—it all made sense. Vito had scared Trello half to death already. This was a man terrified of pain.

Raffe nodded to the detective, then glared at Barry. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Barry Trello will be charged with unlawful surveillance, theft, and money laundering.” His tone was clipped, decisive. “He’ll be kept in a separate cell, away from others, until we secure Calvino. Otherwise, Calvino will get to him, and he’ll be dead before trial.”