Page 71 of Ultimate Justice

Ignoring the man’s question, Evan pressed on. “How long ago did you close your company?”

“About five years ago.”

He took the folder Brett handed him. Inside were color copies of all the children who went missing while Blue Waters was still in business—including Gracie—and spread them on the table. “During the time you owned Blue Waters, did you talk to any of these children?”

Constantino and his wife looked at all the photos. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t know. In thirty years of cleaning pools, I’m sure I met a lot of kids. Maybe even one of these. But I can’t remember.”

Nothing about the man’s responses or his demeanor pinged Evan’s radar, but with at least eight missing kids’ families using Blue Waters to clean their pools, there had to be a connection. “Did you ever spend time talking to kids while you were working?”

“Probably some, sure.” He held out his arms. “But mainly I just wanted to get the job done and move on to the next customer.”

“Did you ever convince a child to meet you somewhere?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Constantino shouted. “I would never do such a thing, and I resent the implication.”

Mrs. Constantino shot Evan a dirty look. “That’s disgusting.”

Yeah, it was. By no means was he done with his questioning, but so far nothing the man said seemed untruthful.

“Did you have any other employees besides yourself?” He already knew Constantino occasionally sent a helper to clean his family’s pool—a younger guy but not Frank Manello.

“No.” Constantino swallowed, avoiding eye contact with Evan for the first time since the interview began. “I worked alone.”

There it was. The bullshit. Manello had never been on the Blue Waters payroll, but something was off here. He pulled out the folded DMV picture of Frank Manello, unfolded it, and set it in front of Constantino. “Do you recognize this man?”

Constantino’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Mrs. Constantino twisted her lips, watching her husband intently.

“Do you know who this is?” At this point, Evan was positive they did.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Artie.” Mrs. Constantino rolled her eyes. “It was so long ago. You can’t get in trouble for that. Just tell them.”

Constantino hung his head. “That’s my wife’s nephew, Frank.”

“Frank Manello?” Evan asked, needing a full ID.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“Did he work for you at Blue Waters?” Evan asked, and again, Constantino nodded, clinching the link between Frank Manello and the other missing children. “You paid him under the table in cash.” Hence, why there were no payroll records for Manello working for Blue Waters, and why Constantino had initially lied. “Didn’t you?”

“Yeah. He needed the money. He didn’t have a pot to piss in.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” Mrs. Constantino rested a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “It was mine. After Manny was arrested for burglary, he couldn’t get any work. My sister begged me to talk to Artie about giving him a job.”

An image—one so hazy and buried down deep in his subconscious—sharpened at light speed in Evan’s memory. He whipped his head to stare at Mrs. Constantino. “What did you call him?” He pointed to the photo.

“Manny,” she answered. “Everyone called him that. We still do. That’s not a good picture of him. He hasn’t aged well at all. He used to be such a good-looking kid. All the girls used to chase after him. He had the gift of gab, you know? He was always so good with people.”

Fury threatened to cloud his vision to the point where he could barely see. The guy he and his sister knew twenty-five years ago who cleaned their pool called himself Manny. Not Frank. He remembered the guy being real chatty with Gracie.

Manny was probably a nickname for Manello, but he had to be sure.

“Mrs. Constantino, is there any chance you have old photos of Manny on your phone?” Say, from around twenty-five years ago?

“I don’t know. I can check.” She began scrolling through her phone. “If I don’t have one on my phone, I’m sure I have some at home in an old album, and, of course, my sister has a lot of old photos of her kids.”

Constantino scratched his chin. “I remember we used to set up one of the kids’ phones on a timer, so we could take family photos at Christmas.”

“Here we go!” Mrs. Constantino handed Evan her phone. “It’s not a clear picture, but that’s him, second from the left.”