Lethal Lullaby-Chapter 4
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
Salvatore sat in a chair in Lieutenant Tragg's office, his dignified silence grating on the older cop's nerves. His posture was straight, his head held high, his eyes bright and clear. All offers of cigarettes or beverages were met with a smile and a polite shake of the man's head. Truly, he took the advice of counsel to heart and did not say a word until his lawyer might be present.
Finally, as Tragg was about to demand the man start talking, a knock on his door forestalled his temper, causing him to shout.
"Stop pounding on the damned door and get in here!"
His mood did not improve when Perry's head peeked around the door. The scowl on his face deepened and his eyes shot daggers in the defense attorney's direction. Then Della appeared at Perry's elbow and the foul fog in the detective's brain lifted slightly.
Perry read him like a newspaper headline. Grinning and making his voice as pleasant as possible, he greeted, "Hello again, Lieutenant. You made fast time." Tragg's eyebrows drew together, so Perry pressed on. "Now you haven't been intimidating my client, have you? You know better than that."
Salvatore raised his hand to cough, very obviously disguising a laugh.
Tragg's withering frown deepened, but he controlled his voice. "You know I haven't had time to intimidate anyone." He shot a scowl at Salvatore, who nearly choked on another laugh.
"Lieutenant!" Della scolded, then smiled sweetly at him, "Perry was teasing. I can tell just by looking that you kindly made Salvatore comfortable. Thank you."
He flushed but said nothing. Then rising slowly from his chair, he met Perry's eyes. Studying the lawyer's expression, he grunted, "I'll give you five minutes with . . . your client. Then I'll be back to take Mr. Pinelli to booking."
Perry smiled at the older man. "Of course, Tragg. Thank you."
Tragg snorted then growled, but he managed a good-natured smile as he left the office, barely refraining from slamming the door behind him.
Della looked thoughtfully after him, her hazel eyes troubled. At the estate he had reserved judgment. But here . . .
Salvatore could no longer contain his amusement. He laughed out loud. "Your lieutenant and I will never be friends, I fear."
Perry perched on the corner of the desk while Della took the lieutenant's vacated chair, pulling her ever present notepad out. He looked at her and his blue eyes lightened and smiled in approval. Then he focused on his client.
"You're probably right." He lit a cigarette, staring hard at Salvatore. "Okay, we have only a short five minutes. Let's get to it. What is your version of events?"
"Perry, I honestly have no idea what happened this morning. I do not know why whoever did this thing should involve Vincent. He has never been involved in my. . . business." He saw Perry arch his eyebrows. "Yes, I set him up in his restaurant. But that is all. No more than what I did for Rico, or any other of my children. What they choose to make of themselves . . ."
"Did you have a meeting with Richards?" Perry kept Salvatore on point.
"Yes. Last night. He wanted to talk to me about the IOUs. He had the money to pay them off. He wanted my assurance his wife would be banned from all the houses—not just my establishments. I told him I would make sure my managers knew, and that I would do my best to convince the other owners to do the same."
"And did he take the IOUs?"
Now Salvatore shook his head, looking at Perry with worried eyes. "This is what puzzles me. I tore those slips up—at his request—and put them in an ashtray on my desk and burned them. That was what Richards wanted. I had Tony check just before . . . The ashes . . . Richards said he needed to see them destroyed. I thought it was odd that he did not want them but, well, he seemed very concerned that he not possess those slips."
Perry stubbed out his cigarette, running the facts over in his mind. If Salvatore had destroyed the notes as he said, where did the ones pinned to the body come from? And how did his prints, and only his prints, get on them?
Della, as if reading Perry's thoughts, scribbled a couple of extra notes for herself to ask Perry later.
Perry sighed, glanced at his watch, and said, "Okay Salvatore. As soon as you've been booked, I'll get a judge to have you released on bail."
Della's head flew up. Her pencil was frozen halfway to the pad and her eyes were wide. "Perry?"
He turned to look at her. "Problem, Della?"
She nodded. "There is no bail for a charge of murder."
He smiled reassuringly at her. "I know. And if that is the charge the district attorney is going to bring, I doubt I will win bail. But . . . I plan to talk with him before that happens." He nodded at Salvatore. "Trust me."
"Thank you, Perry. Della. Did Tony get in touch with our family lawyer?"
"Yes, he did. I will check on him next."
Della stood, and coming around the desk, gave Salvatore a hug and kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry. I know you didn't do this. And Perry will prove it."
"Thank you, Bella Mia. Oh, by the way, who did you leave with the party?"
Now Della let out a tinkling laugh. "Aunt Mae and Mildred Tragg. We'll be lucky if the police haven't been called to raid the place."
Perry and Salvatore exchanged looks and then joined in the laughter.
Benedict Caruso was the family lawyer. He was a man in his late fifties with prematurely gray hair and intelligent dark brown eyes that met and held those of whomever he addressed. He had been with the familia since graduating from law school and passing the bar. His uncle was the accountant for the Pinelli family and had gotten him the job. When he had first come to work for Don Pinelli his worries about the legitimacy of the family business had kept him from committing fully to one client. But he soon learned that the man did keep his business on the right side of the law—barely.
Now some thirty years later the Don's business was completely legitimate, much to the dismay of some of the other families. Salvatore had worked hard to distance himself from the typical mafioso image, had incorporated philanthropy into his worldview, and had prioritized family over expansion.
In the months following the events at his son Rico's nightclub, things had seemed to have calmed down. Until he had gotten the call from Tony. Now as he walked into the ninth precinct he wasn't sure what had happened, but he knew both of his friends were in serious trouble.
Striding up to the scowling, sour-looking desk sergeant, he identified himself and asked for Tony. Three long minutes later he followed another scowling police officer back to a holding room.
Benny wasn't sure if it was his name, his client or both, but a feeling of unease was settling in his gut. And his gut had seldom failed him. Finally, after twenty minutes Tony was led into the room. Benny pushed his chair back and immediately went to his friend.
Both eyes were swollen shut, and a purplish-black color was starting to predominate. His lip was split and still oozing blood and there was a cut above his eye that was probably going to need a couple of stitches. He was walking as though he dared not breathe and step at the same time. It didn't take a doctor to guess he had multiple fractures.
"What the hell!" Easing Tony into a chair, Benny glared at the cop who had brought him in. "You! Get a doctor in here right now! My client needs medical attention."
The cop gave Benny a smirk. "You hold your breath, lawyer. The doc was called, but he's on vacation someplace. Besides, ain't our fault your client's clumsy. He fell down…a lot." He gave a nasty laugh as he walked back into the cell area.
Benny took his handkerchief out and ran cold water from the cooler in the corner over it then handed it to Tony. But the man didn't even have the strength to wipe at the cuts.
At that moment the door opened, and Perry and Della entered. Seeing Tony, Perry let out a long, profound curse. Della, one step behind, had to stifle her small scream with a fist to the mouth.
She rushed to kneel in front of her friend, taking the wet cloth and gently dabbing at his lip and the cut above his eye. He tried to swallow his moans, but she soothed him. Looking up at Perry, she didn't attempt to hide the tears that pooled in her eyes. His mouth set and he nodded.
Without another word he left the room. Della continued to dab at the injuries, the tears now freely streaming down her face.
"Tony, can you talk? What on earth did those goons do to you? Who did this?"
He winced as she touched his split lip. "The two detectives, the ones who came to the estate. The one in charge seemed to take offense at," he winced again, drew in a ragged, pained breath, then finished, "my ethnic makeup, my professional associations, my eye color, and my association with you and Perry." He attempted to look at her through swollen, slitted eyes, but couldn't. His mouth crooked at one corner in a pitiful attempt at a smile. "I seem to have fallen down several times."
Della's temper steamed. She hated to see injustice. Over the course of her time working with Perry she had seen only a handful of their clients treated so poorly. One of the reasons she had fallen in love with Perry had been his unwavering defense of innocent victims. Even when she herself had jumped to assumptions about some of them, he never did. He always took his clients' stories at face value.
"Oh, Tony, I am so sorry. Perry has stepped out for a minute, but believe me, we will take care of you."
Benny, momentarily nonplussed at the sight of his client coupled with Perry and Della's arrival, had stood by silently. Now, after observing this absolutely beautiful woman care for Tony, he motivated himself into action. Clearing his throat, he caught and held her attention.
Della gently pressed the cold cloth back into Tony's hand. Then standing and smoothing her skirt, she turned to face Benny directly. Her eyes swept him in a quick, but appraising look. Then she extended a hand and graced him with a warm smile.
"Please pardon my rudeness. I am Della Street. The gentleman who just entered and left is Perry Mason, Salvatore Pinelli's legal counsel, and my boss."
He tried hard not to gape. At a complete loss for words, he dumbly shook her hand. She was distractingly beautiful, but it was her warmth, grace and unyielding loyalty that hit him hardest. And her hazel eyes. The most expressive eyes he had seen.
Della Street. A nice name for a beautiful lady. Lady. Now there's the word for her. His eyes fell to her left hand and his heart nearly arrested. There, on the third finger, was an exquisite ring which stated quite clearly that some other man obviously thought the same thing and had done something about it.
Finally recovering his power of speech, he stepped forward and dropped her hand. "Benedict Caruso. Benny, actually, since I am sure we'll be working together. I'm the Pinelli family lawyer."
"It's nice to meet you, Benny," she said simply, but he could tell the words meant more to her than the usual platitude.
They were saved from an awkward moment by Perry, who returned wearing a frown on his face which spoke volumes. He looked at Tony first, then to Della, and finally to Benny. It only took him a moment to read the undercurrent in the room.
Giving Della a reassuring smile that didn't reach his eyes, he informed the room, "Dr. Baxter is on his way. I've also sent for Tragg." He extended his hand to Benny. "My name is Mason. I take it you're Benedict Caruso?"
Benny shook his hand. "Yes, sir. Yours is a name with which I am familiar. It is a pleasure to meet you."
Perry smiled at that. "I wish it could have been at a Bar Association dinner rather than these circumstances. Still, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Caruso."
With the pleasantries out of the way, he came to stand beside Della. She leaned close to him and he instinctively placed his hand on her elbow.
"What happened?"
Della looked down at Tony again, noticed that he had given up pressing the cloth to his lip, and returned to her ministrations of his injuries. Even then she answered Perry's question.
"Evidently the senior detective took offense to our association with Tony."
Perry cast a look at Benny, then grabbed a chair and positioned it opposite Tony. He straddled it, then murmured, "I'm so very sorry this happened."
Tony attempted a weak smile. It still didn't make the grade. "It's alright, Perry. How's the boss?"
That produced a smile. "Salvatore is going to be fine. His main concern was for you. When Dr. Baxter arrives I will have him give a detailed report, and then I will have him sign a sworn affidavit." Tony tried to break in, but Perry continued, "Then I'm going to find this detective and—"
Della put her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "Perry, I don't really want to come visit you in jail. Couldn't we postpone that confrontation until we've dealt with the present situation?"
Perry looked into his wife's beautiful eyes and immediately his tone softened. Forgetting all about Benny, he reassured, "Of course, Darling. I'm sorry."
Without knocking Tragg entered the room. "Okay Mason, what's the big . . ." At the sight before him he stopped, pushing his battered hat back on his head. "Son of a b—"
Della came over to him. "Lieutenant, I don't have to tell you Tony didn't look like this when he left Salvatore's estate. Perry thought you should be here. He has called his doctor—you remember Dr. Baxter, don't you?—to come look at Tony's injuries." Nodding her head at Benny, she continued. "This is Mr. Caruso, Tony's lawyer. Now, why don't you come sit down while we wait for the doctor." She was leading him over to the table and the older man was following like a meek little boy.
Perry resisted the urge to smile at seeing the power his wife had over the man. I love her. She never believes me when I tell her she's my secret weapon. Tragg and Burger know it's true, though. Forget volcanoes . . . She could have canceled the Spanish Inquisition with a soft smile and a raised eyebrow!
The wait was a relatively short one. Dr. Baxter knocked once, then poked his head in the door.
Perry's face cleared as he instructed, "Come in, James. We have a patient for you."
As the doctor looked Tony over, Perry turned to Tragg. "Alright. Here's what I want, Tragg. I want those two detectives thoroughly investigated by internal affairs. I want charges filed. Start with assault, then work your way up. You owe Tony that much. Besides . . . these men have sullied the reputation of the L.A.P.D. And you can believe me, I have a fine relationship with the press. They will get word of this. It isn't going to be swept under the rug." He took a breath, then added, "I'll file them myself. And then, when this mess is cleared up, I am going to file a suit against them personally."
Tragg held up his hand. "I know, I know. If I don't come across, there will be nothing to stop you from naming the entire police force in your suit. I get it."
"Can you blame me?" Feeling Della's hands on his shoulders, he took a deep breath. "Sorry, Lieutenant. I know you weren't a party to any of this. Arthur, I . . . Bullies upset me."
The older man took his hat off, laying it on the table, watching as the doctor tended to Tony.
"Perry, I understand completely. This Detective Sinclair is known for his less-than-ethical tactics, but we've never been able to pin anything on him. His fellow cops won't go against him and the . . . well the men he . . ."
Della smiled softly, her hands still gently kneading Perry's shoulders. "We understand. But Perry is determined. Something can be done about him."
"Believe me, Della, we have tried."
The doctor broke into their conversation. "As frustrating as this conversation is, gentlemen—and Della—this man needs to be at a hospital. Along with the facial injuries which are quite bad, he also has some severe damage to his ribs. The extent of his injuries aren't going to be known until I see x-rays."
Perry looked at Tragg, who nodded wearily. "Very well, I will have him transported. But—don't try to leave, Mr. Anzellmo."
Tony gave a weak half-smile. "I don't think I could even if I wanted to. Thank you, Lieutenant."
Perry stood and wrapped his arm around Della's waist. "Lieutenant, we'll go to the hospital too. These injuries will be documented. The days of police brutality are coming to an end."
Tragg nodded absently. "I'm not disagreeing with you, Perry. I am appalled and sickened. He went willingly with those detectives. And I may be an old, seasoned veteran, but I am a human, first and foremost." He glanced at Della. "What a way to bust up Katherine's party. Della, I—I wish things were different." He looked back at Perry. "Counselor, I suggest you get the paperwork started."
Walking over to where Tony and Dr. Baxter were, Tragg helped the battered man to his feet. Together the trio left the room.
Turning to Benny, Perry put out his hand. "You're welcome to ride with us."
He shook his head, declined. "Thank you, Mr. Mason. But I believe I better check in with Mr. Pinelli. I'll join you soon."
"In that case, we'll be in touch. Ready, Della?"
At her nod, Perry cupped her elbow and guided her out of the room. Benny let out a low whistle.
"What a woman! What a lawyer! No wonder the boss wants him on our side." Then picking up his briefcase, he headed out to find his boss.
