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“Yes, sir.”
He stared at Carmine for a moment as he sat up. “We’ll have to take you in for questioning, but you’ll be out by morning as long as you cooperate. Do you want to make a statement now?”
He wiped his face, trying to get rid of the tears, and groaned when it did nothing but smear blood on his cheek. “Abby,” he said quietly. His throat burned from screaming, the word barely audible.
“Abby?”
“The girl inside,” Carmine said. “Her name is Abby.”
37
The interrogation room at the Cook County police station smelled like someone had attempted to clean up week-old piss. Corrado grimaced as he took a deep breath, the harsh stench of ammonia and bleach burning his lungs. Gazing across the metal table in front of him, he eyed the federal agent with distaste.
Agent Cerone started to speak, but Corrado cut him off before he could get started. “I wasn’t there. I was home, I was alone, I was asleep, and nobody saw me.”
The agent gaped at him. “I saw you tonight, Mr. Moretti.”
Corrado raised his eyebrows. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
“You were even arrested at the scene.”
“Was I?”
“Is there something wrong with your memory?”
“Maybe,” Corrado said. “I suppose I don’t recall a thing from tonight, then.”
Corrado forced a look of indifference on his face as Agent Cerone stared at him with disbelief. The agent pulled himself together quickly, gritting his teeth as he flipped through pages of notes. He had hundreds of documents, but nothing to prepare him for facing Corrado. “You know, Vincent DeMarco was a good man.”
“Was?” Corrado asked. “Did something happen to him?”
The agent shook his head exasperatedly. “You’re really going to play ignorant, aren’t you?”
Corrado merely shrugged.
“As I was saying, he was a good man. I judged him wrong. He wasn’t callous or selfish. He cared about his family, would do anything for them. And I got to thinking . . . maybe you’re the same way. Maybe I was wrong about you, too.”
The corner of Corrado’s lips turned slightly with amusement. “I doubt it.”
The agent stared at him for a moment before genuinely laughing. Corrado was much too street smart for the psychological tactics to work on him. He had been through it all before and knew their tricks. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Out of curiosity, would you be willing to take a lie detector test?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “It goes against my religion.”
His brow furrowed. “How?”
“Only God can judge me. I certainly don’t trust a machine to do it.”
“You only have to worry if you’re untruthful. Do you plan to lie?”
“No, I prefer to sit, thank you.”
The agent sighed. “When did you get to be so sarcastic?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Corrado said. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”
