“It’s not exactly clear to us from your financial statement just where the cash is coming from.”
Mary Ann spoke up. “The cash is a gift from my father,” she said.
“I see; how very generous. You have one child, as I understand it.”
“A son,” Dino said. “He’s four years old.”
“And where will he be attending school?”
“He’ll be going to Collegiate,” Mary Ann said, surprising her husband, who had never heard of Collegiate.
“Ah, yes; fine school. Do you have any pets?”
“No,” Dino said.
“And you are of Italian extraction?”
“I am.”
“Can you tell me a bit about your family background?”
“My family seat is Venice, where my ancestors have been Doges for twelve hundred years,” Dino lied.
“Ah, Doges, yes,” Whitfield said. The thought seemed to excite him. “And when did your family come to this country?”
“I am a tenth-generation American.” Minus nine.
“And Mrs. Bacchetti, are you of Italian extraction as well?”
“Yes. My people have always had lands in Sicily, from time immemorial.” There was only the tiniest trace of sarcasm in her voice.
“I see. And your family name?”
“Bianchi.”
“Ah.” Whitfield seemed to have heard this name before, somewhere, but he apparently didn’t remember where.
“Mr. Bacchetti, I see your father is deceased; may I ask what work he did before his death?”
“He was curator of a private art collection. His specialty was Renaissance drawings.” The closest Dino’s father had ever been to a Renaissance drawing had been the pictures in the girlie magazines in his candy store.
“How very interesting. And Mrs. Bacchetti, what does your father do?”
Dino felt Mary Ann shift; irritation was boiling off her in waves. He squeezed her hand, and she seemed to relax a bit.
“My people have always been in the revenge business,” she said sweetly.
Dino, unable to control himself, burst out laughing. To his amazement, Whitfield and his wife were laughing, too, as if Mary Ann had made some very clever joke.
“Just one more question,” Whitfield said when he had composed himself. “Mr. Bacchetti, I see that you are employed by the city of New York.”
“I am.”
“In what capacity?”
“I am a lieutenant with the New York Police Department; I command the detective division of the Nineteenth Precinct.”
“I see,” Whitfield said, not at all certain that he did. “And how did you come to choose that particular line of work?”