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Marge buzzed Spinogatti on an old intercom and a gravelly voice came through both a door and the intercom speaker.
“Yes, yes, ask them to come in. Did you cancel Schneider? Good.”
Marge said, “Go right in,” and pointed to Leo Spinogatti’s door. A gray-haired man of about seventy in a black suit opened the door from inside and said “hello” in a voice ravaged by burning cigarettes.
Spinogatti had hooded eyes, large ears, and an expression weighed down by grief.
“Condolences, Lindsay. What happened to Marty is horrific.”
He shook my hand with both of his, said hello to Alvarez, then ushered us into his office. The room was bright, with traditional furniture and a wedding photo of Leo and Marge on his desk.
Alvarez and I took the two side chairs and Leo lowered himself behind his desk. Pressing the intercom button he said, “No calls, Margie.”
Then he asked, “How can I help?”
I had many questions but started by asking when and where Leo last saw my father.
“Around seven or eight yesterday evening. Marty and I had pulled a long day, especially for a Sunday. We got together at Briny’s for drinks. Marty was in good spirits,” he told us. “It’s unimaginable. Unthinkable, that in a few hours, he’d be dead.”
CHAPTER 9
SPINOGATTI REACHED FOR a pack of Camels in front of him, tapped the package, reviewed his inventory of smokes, and put the pack down beside what looked to be a solid gold lighter. He saw me looking and said, “A gift from Marty.”
Alvarez asked, “Mr. Spinogatti?”
“Leo, please.”
“Leo,” she said. “Did Mr. Boxer say where he was going after drinks with you?”
“You know, I didn’t ask. I thought he was going home. I walked him out. Said ‘See you tomorrow,’ and went back here to the shop. Marge worked for another hour, then we shut out the lights and drove home.”
I asked my father’s former partner, “Do you have any idea who may have wanted Marty dead? Was he on anyone’s radar?”
Spinogatti said, “Lindsay, Marty has been my friend for decades. I loved him. Brought him in as a partner a few years back. And for the record, I had no reason to kill him. We both have wills. Marty made provisions and his lawyer will give you that information.”
The big gray man punched the button on the intercom, leaned over and spoke into the mic. “Marge, Lindsay’s going to need Mitcham’s contact info.”
“I’ve got it right here, love,” Marge replied.
I asked my father’s old friend, “So, to your knowledge, no one threatened my father? He had no enemies?”
Leo swiveled in his chair, then turned back to us.
He said, “He’d mellowed some, but… Marty said I was an idiot to worry.”
I waited for him to go on.
He asked, “You ever hear of a guy named Goose Cavanaugh?”
I went on alert. “I have.”
“He’s a real SOB,” Spinogatti sighed. “I once had a client named Joanna Lake, a divorce lawyer, who wanted to hire me as protection because she was repping Cavanaugh’s wife and this bastard was on her case. Next thing I knew, she was already dead.”
“Tell me whatever you’ve got on Cavanaugh. The Goose is shaping up to be a person of interest.”
CHAPTER 10
FOR THE NEXT ten minutes we shared what we each knew about Goose Cavanaugh.
