“That Leary wouldn’t recognize him,” Derek supplied.
A shaky nod.
Derek pulled up a chair. “I need to know the whole story. Why Leary went with you. What this plan of his was. What happened between the two of you and Xiao Long. Everything.” Studying the top of Martino’s bowed head, Derek added, “You can call a lawyer if you’d like.”
Martino’s response was an ironic laugh. “What lawyer—my own? He handles wills, real estate—not criminal cases. Sloane? She works with you. Besides, once she knows about this, she’ll never speak to me again. Neither will her father. He’ll hate me. And I don’t blame him.”
Slowly, Martino raised his head, and the raw pain on his face was almost too agonizing to see. “I don’t want a lawyer. What I want is never to have been born. You can’t give that to me. No one can. So ask me whatever you want to. Any way you slice it, I’m going to hell.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Phil’s wake was held that Friday at the Thomas Mackie Funeral Home in Rockville Centre, Long Island. He had grown up there, his family was there, and his two grown children had made all the arrangements. He was to be buried at a local cemetery beside his wife, who’d passed away ten years ago after a long bout with cancer.
Given the circumstances of Phil’s death, it was a closed casket, and the attendees were markedly solemn. Many of them were still in shock.
Matthew and Rosalyn were already there when Sloane and Derek arrived.
Sloane went over and squeezed her father’s arm, blinking back her own tears. She’d spent a lot of time with her father these past few days, comforting him and explaining as much as she could—which wasn’t much. He knew that Phil’s bookie was in custody and that a search was being conducted for the killers. He knew—from Ben himself—that Ben was under investigation for hiring illegals, and that Xiao Long owned the employment agency he dealt with. He also knew that the FBI had upped the security on all the remaining partners in his art investment group.
Matthew wasn’t stupid. With or without further in-depth explanation, he knew that Phil’s death had something to do with Xiao Long and that the whole group of them were in danger.
The partners hadn’t talked, except by phone, since the murder. Each of them needed to grieve alone, and in his own way. The wake was the first time they’d all be together since Phil’s death.
Leo was the next to arrive. He was pale and grim, with dark circles under his eyes. He went over to Matthew, and the two men hugged in mutual sorrow. Then, Leo went wordlessly over to pay his respects to the family.
Watching everyone’s suffering, hearing the quiet weeping that accompanied the loss of a loved one, Sloane felt more tears dampen her lashes. Maybe if she’d solved this damned case by now, Phil would still be alive. Maybe if she’d put together just a few more pieces…
“Don’t even go there,” Derek murmured in her ear. “There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this. All we can do is try to stop it from going any further, and bring the right people to justice.”
“I know,” Sloane replied. “But we’d better hurry up and do that. Because my gut tells me time is running out.”
Wallace and Cindy were en route to the Hamptons for their weekend alone. Part of Wallace wanted to block out the reality of Phil’s murder. Still in shock and denial, he wanted nothing more than to escape to the Hamptons with Cindy and make the world go away. But there was no way that he could do that without stopping first to pay his respects to his longtime friend. Much as he cared for Cindy and as much as he tried to squelch his pain, he was sick to his stomach about Phil’s murder. And scared to death about its ramifications. A forty-year friendship among five men. Slowly being destroyed, along with the decent men who composed it.
God help him.
God help them all.
Cindy was very understanding. She was even supportive. She could have waited in the car. But she agreed to go in with Wallace and offer him the comfort of her presence.
He felt humbled and grateful as he pulled off the Southern State Parkway and headed toward Rockville Centre. Losing a close friend was painful enough. Grieving alone would have been even more painful. He knew. He’d done it before.
He’d just parked his car and was opening the door for Cindy when Ben’s sedan came careening around the corner and zigzagged into the parking lot. He swerved diagonally, then slammed on the brakes and turned off the ignition, taking up two parking spaces. He practically fell out of the car.
As soon as Wallace saw the drunken state Ben was in, he rushed forward, trying to head his friend off b
efore he caused a scene.
“Ben, wait.” He grabbed his arm. “You can’t go in there in this condition…”
“I’ve got to see Phil,” Ben slurred, shaking off Wallace’s grasp, “before it’s too late.” He was up the stairs and inside the funeral home before Wallace could stop him.
“Phil!” he bellowed, shoving his way into the room. “I need to talk to you. I need to explain. You’re my friend. I have to make you understand.”
“Ben, for the love of God.” Matthew clenched the sleeve of Ben’s rumpled jacket, blocking his path as Ben struggled to get past. “This is a wake. Phil’s wake. It’s not the time for you to bare your soul at the top of your lungs.”
Ben gazed at Matthew as if he were some nebulous object. “I can’t talk to you now,” he announced. “I have to find Phil.”
“Phil!” he shouted again, oblivious to the sea of shocked faces staring in his direction. “Remember the cockroach races in college? The all-night cram sessions that got me a C in accounting? I was flunking the course. I would’ve failed. You made sure I passed. I won’t fail you either. I’m here. I’ll fix things. You have to let me fix things…”