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“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.”
“I see I’m wasting my time,” Agent Cerone said. “Anything you want to say before we end this?”
“Just that I’d like to speak to my lawyer.”
Agent Cerone gathered his things, not the least bit surprised. “Of course. Hang tight. It’ll take a while to get you released, but we should have you out in plenty of time for the funeral.”
“Whose funeral?”
“Vincent’s.”
“Vincent’s dead?”
The agent shook his head. “At least you’re consistent. But yes, he is. They should be alerting the next of kin any moment.”
As Agent Cerone stood to leave, Corrado’s expression fell. He was much too weary to keep up the charade. He sat still in the seat and stared at the far wall as his stomach twisted again . . . this time with something much closer to anxiety. He hardly noticed the stench anymore, his grief strong enough to overpower it.
“Wait,” he said, stalling the agent’s footsteps.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“I need to make a call.”
The agent sighed. “Your lawyer’s already next door with Carmine DeMarco. I’ll send him over as soon as we’re done there.”
“I don’t need to call my lawyer,” he said. “I need to call my wife.”
