Chapter 11
Ronan
Ronan sat in the backseat of Fitzgibbon’s SUV sandwiched between Tennyson and Jude. Greeley sat in the front with his father as they crossed the town line from Salem into Marblehead. According to Google Maps, the Marino estate sat overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
“Wow, this is quite a place,” Ronan said when Fitz stopped the car at the gate and rang the buzzer.
“Yes?” a stern voice asked.
“Salem Police. We’re here to see Sal Marino.” Fitz sounded matter-of-fact.
“Mr. Marino isn’t available,” the voice returned, with no hint of emotion.
“That’s okay, we’ve got a warrant.” Fitz held the paper up to the camera mounted beside the buzzer.
A loud click sounded and the gate swung open.
“Good call,” Greeley said. “There’s no way we would have gotten in here without the warrant.”
“None of these mob types ever want to talk.” Fitz rolled his eyes. “According to what Ronan said, Sal is ninety-three years old. Even if he told us anything incriminating, it’s not likely the case would get anywhere.” He parked the car in front of the house and climbed out.
The front door was jerked open before anyone could ring the bell. “Warrant!” a man with his hand out asked. He sounded to Ronan like the man who’d answered the gate buzzer.
“Holy shit! I know you!” Ronan said when he recognized the man who’d opened the door.
“Michael Martin Murphy. Triple M.” Standing before Ronan was his high school bully.
His dark hair was threaded with silver and he looked like he’d gained about seventy pounds since graduation, probably a combination of corned beef and lasagna.
“Ronan O’Mara from Sacred Heart High School. Small fucking world, huh?”
“What the fuck?” Triple M looked Ronan up and down. “Never saw you as a cop. I still owe you for that bullshit you pulled in high school. Half the guys we graduated with still think I suck dick.”
Fitzgibbon handed over the warrant, obviously having enough of Ronan and Michael’s high school reunion.
“Cold Case unit?” the man said, sounding surprised.
“We need ten minutes of Mr. Marino’s time. We’re not here to arrest or question him. You have my word.” Fitz flashed his captain’s shield. “We have information about his daughter.”
“He’s very weak and cannot handle a lot of excitement,” a second man said, as he joined the group.
“We understand,” Fitz said. “Who are you?”
“Alex Marino, Sal’s grandson.”
“Grandson?” Fitz asked, sounding surprised. “I thought Maria was his only child.”
“My aunt was his only child with his first wife. Sal remarried when Maria was in her teens and had three sons. My father, Guiseppe, is the oldest.”
Ronan hadn’t found any information about a second Marino marriage. “Are you close with your aunt?”
Alex stopped short, seeming to size Ronan up. “I am, but Sal is not. She cut him off. Do not upset him by speaking about Maria if she does not want to see him.” He led them down the hall to a room off the kitchen, knocking once on the door and then popping his head inside. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
Ronan smelled the room before he entered. It was a combination of bleach, canned pine-scented aerosol, and imminent human death. Fat Sal had one foot in the grave and the other was teetering on the edge. “Sal, my name is Ronan O’Mara. We’re with the Salem Police’s Cold Case Unit.”
“Cops?” the old man wheezed. “Got nothing to say to you.”
Ronan had expected as much. “We aren’t here to question you about a case. We need to talk to you about Maria.”
“Maria?” Sal asked. “Is she here? Did you bring her?” Sal reached out his bruised and withered hand.
Ten stepped forward, taking his hand. “No, she’s not here. Your daughter had a fall a few weeks ago and she’s in a rehab center after surgery.”
“She always was a clumsy girl. Had all the grace of a baby deer on the ice.” Sal grinned. “Why does the cold team need to talk to me about my daughter?”
Ten turned to Ronan, who nodded. “After the fall, Maria’s injuries were severe enough that she needs to move into an assisted living facility. Her great-niece and nephews were packing up the house when they made a disturbing discovery.”
“Which was?” Sal asked, sounding guarded.
“A frozen human head,” Ten said gently.
Sal didn’t seem surprised at the revelation, nor did he offer information about the remains.
“We’re trying to find out who the man was, so that his remains can be returned to his family. He looked to be in his early twenties and had a John Travolta-style hairdo.”
“Can’t help you, boys.” Sal reached for a glass of water that he wasn’t able to pick up.
Jude swiftly moved in to help. After the old man had a few sips through the straw, Jude grinned at him. “Why’d people call you Fat Sal?”
Sal let out a happy laugh. “Because I was skinny as a rail. I ate like there was no tomorrow but never put on weight. My mother was beside herself, thinking she was a failure for not having a fat, happy, Italian son.”
“I love nicknames like that. My friends call me an asshole because I’m beloved!” Jude grinned brightly.
“Sure they do,” Sal muttered, causing Fitzgibbon to snort.
“We spoke to Brian Cullen today.” Jude kept his cool as he changed subjects seamlessly.
“Two-bit hood, trying to play tough guy.” Sal shook his head. “Wasn’t worth the powder to blow himself to hell.”
“It’s interesting you say that,” Jude continued, “he said you forced Maria to marry him.”
“I understand now why your friends call you an asshole.” Sal’s eyes darkened and narrowed in on Jude.
Ronan imagined this was the look Fat Sal’s enemies got just before he had them whacked.
“My daughter came home from college with a French boyfriend. Can you believe it? An honest to goodness, frog leg-eating, beret-wearing Frenchman. His name was Jean Paul or George or Ringo. Hell if I know. He was an architecture major. Wanted to build high-rises in New York. Maria wanted to marry him. I said no. She planned to elope, but things fell through at the last minute.”
“That must have been awful,” Jude said.
Ronan squeezed Tennyson’s hand and Ten shook his head. Sal was telling the truth, at least, so far.
“As my daughter, I had plans for her future. Ones that didn’t include eating cross-ants and snails.” Sal sat up a bit straighter. “We did things my way in this house.”
“I hear you,” Jude said. “If my daughter ever brought home a Frenchman, I’d disown her on the spot.” Jude dropped Ronan a wink. He was having the time of his life interrogating Fat Sal. “I want my daughter to be a doctor. What did you want for Maria?”
“I wanted her to join the family business. My Maria was brilliant, imaginative and good with numbers. I needed her at my side.”
“To butcher livestock?” Jude asked, somehow managing to keep a smirk off his lips.
“How the hell have you made it this far in life without someone giving you a kick to the head?” Sal cleared his throat and continued. “I needed her to do special errands. Things only a woman could do. Maria didn’t want to work with me.”
Ronan met Jude’s eyes. It was obvious they were thinking the same thing. “Hatpin Hattie, right?” Jude asked.
“Where the hell did you hear that name?” Sal asked, coughing. He reached for his water. “Don’t tell me, my big-mouthed son-in-law. What a prick! Don’t let that little girl of yours marry an Irishman either. The only thing they’re good for is sucking dick.”
“Tell me about it!” Jude said, looking as if he were in physical pain, not being able to laugh. “It was Brian who mentioned that name.”
“I would expect as much. Boy could never keep a secret. Hattie’s long gone. I don’t know where she is and she has nothing to do with the head in the freezer.”
Ten squeezed Ronan’s hand. Sal was lying, but why?
“Is my daughter going to be okay, detective?” Sal asked Jude.
“She’s recovering from the surgery, but there’s a complication.” Jude looked as if he didn’t know how to tell the man about his daughter’s cancer. “When was the last time you saw her?”
Tears slid down Sal’s wrinkled cheeks. “Thirty years ago. Told me she hated me and never wanted to see me again. I did what she wanted and haven’t tried to get in touch.”
“If I may be so bold, now would be a good time for you to visit her. Maria is at North Shore rehab in Salem. The sooner the better.”
“I understand.” Sal bowed his head. “I never got your name, young man.”
“Detective Jude Byrne.” Jude offered a shit-eating grin. “And these are my partners, Detective Ronan O’Mara and Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon.”
“Irishmen, the whole lot of you?” Sal barked a laugh. “What about the little guy?”
“Tennyson Grimm, sir. My parents are German. I’m Ronan’s husband and I can attest to the fact that the only thing the Irish are good for is sucking dick.” He burst out laughing along with Sal.
Ronan pulled out one of his cards and set it in front of Sal. “If there’s anything you want us to know, before it’s too late, call day or night. We’ll keep what you tell us out of the media. There are families who need closure. Let me know if you can provide that.”
Sal nodded.
Alex stepped back into the room and ushered them out.
Walking out to the car, Ronan couldn’t help but wonder if Sal would ever call. He had a feeling the old man knew the identity of the frozen head. The only question now was how to get him or Maria to say his name.