“Never,” Chester said. “And I don’t know anything about any organized crime. Sure, I heard rumors. But I never met anyone or saw anyone I would call a mobster type.”
“What about Pasta Pronto?” Lou asked. “I understand you had new business there.”
“I recently got some of their business, that’s true. But only a piece of it. I think they were just trying me out. I hoped to get more of their business eventually.”
“Did you know Steven Vivonetto?” Lou asked.
“Yes, but not well. He was a wealthy man.”
“You know he got shot last night as well?” Lou said.
“I know. I read about it in the paper.”
“Had you received any threats lately?” Lou asked. “Any attempts at extortion? Any kind of protection racket knocking on your door?”
Chester shook his head.
“Can you think of any reason your wife and Steven Vivonetto should have been killed during the same night, possibly by the same person?”
“No,” Chester said. “I can’t think of any reason why anyone would have wanted to kill Janice. Everyone loved Janice. She was the warmest, nicest person in the world. And on top of that, she was ill.”
“What was wrong with her?” Lou asked.
“Cancer. Unfortunately it had spread before they found it. She never liked to go to the doctor. If only she’d gone sooner, they might have been able to do more. As it was, she only had chemotherapy. She seemed okay for a while, but then she got this awful rash on her face. Herpes zoster they call it. It even got into one of her eyes and blinded it so that she needed to have an operation.”
“Did the doctors hold out much hope for her?” Lou asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Chester said. “They told me that they couldn’t say for sure, but they thought that it might be only a year or so, and shorter if the cancer came back quicker.”
“I’m so sorry to hear all this,” Lou said.
“Well, maybe what happened was just as well. Maybe it saved her a lot of suffering. But I miss her so. We were married for thirty-one years.”
After offering additional condolences and his business card, Lou bade farewell to Mr. Singleton. Driving back to Manhattan, he reviewed what little he’d learned. The organized-crime connection to either case was at best tenuous. He’d been surprised to learn that both victims were terminally ill. He wondered if their killers had known.
By reflex he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a cigarette. He pushed in the lighter. Then he thought about Laurie. Rolling down the window, he tossed the unlit cigarette into the street just as the lighter popped out. He sighed, wondering where that pompous Jordan Scheffield was taking her for dinner.
Vinnie Dominick came into the locker room at St. Mary’s and sat wearily on the bench. He was perspiring heavily. He was bleeding slightly from a small scratch on his cheek.
“You’re bleeding, boss,” Freddie Capuso said.
“Get out of my face,” Vinnie snapped. “I know I’m bleeding. But you know what bugs me? That bum Jeff Young said he never touched me and whined for ten minutes when I called a foul.”
Vinnie had just finished an hour’s worth of pickup three-on-three basketball. His team had lost and he was in a foul mood. His mood got even worse when his most trusted lieutenant, Franco Ponti, came in with a long face.
“Don’t tell me it’s true?” Vinnie asked.
Franco came over to the bench. He put one foot on it and leaned on his knee. His nickname since high school had been “falcon,” mostly because of his face. With a narrow hooked nose, thin lips, and beady eyes he resembled a bird of prey.
“It’s true,” Franco said. He spoke in a monotone. “Jimmy Lanso got whacked last night in his cousin’s funeral home.”
Vinnie bolted off the bench and hammered one of the metal lockers. The crashing noise reverberated around the small locker room like a clap of thunder. Everyone winced except Franco.
“Christ!” Vinnie cried. He began pacing. Freddie Capuso got out of his way.
“What am I going to tell my wife?” Vinnie cried. “What am I going to tell my wife?” he repeated, raising his voice. “I promised her I’d take care of it.” He pounded one of the lockers again. Perspiration flew off his face.