The Alibi Read online

  The Alibi

  Damien Harrington Legal Thriller

  Rachel Sinclair

  Tobann Publications

  Contents

  Also by Rachel Sinclair

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Also by Rachel Sinclair

  Also by Rachel Sinclair

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  Copyright © 2017 by Rachel Sinclair

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  I had to admit, Gina Degrazio, my current client, entertained me to no end. She had no filter to her mouth, zero, so that was refreshing, in and of itself. I was used to people trying to bullshit me. That was what my clients usually did. They told me the story that put them in their best light, and it was up to me to figure out what the truth was. Criminal defense required you to be a great study of human nature. It was human nature to not admit to faults and to try to highlight virtues, and criminals were no different. That was why I chose not get too angry with my clients for hiding the truth – they were humans, so they were going to naturally be hesitant to admit to what they did wrong.

  But with Gina, it was different. I felt that I could trust what she said, because she came across as being refreshingly honest. She seemed to not understand that sleeping with her husband’s identical twin brother was wrong, and she also didn’t seem to understand that admitting, out loud, that she fantasized about burning her husband alive in a car would be something that most people wouldn’t want to admit to on a first meeting.

  Still, I knew that I couldn’t get too taken in by the brash New Yorker. She was a mob wife, after all. A low-level mob wife, as Vittorio Degrazio was more of a street-level thug than anything else. In the hierarchy of the mafia, Vittorio was considered to be a soldier. If there was someone to be beat up, he was the one who did it. If there was a cop to be shaken down, or a store owner to be threatened, Vittorio was your man. He was 45 years old and hadn’t risen through the ranks, which told me that he probably wasn’t terribly bright. Or, maybe he was bright, but he was just violent, and wanted a job that expressed that violence.

  Gina had explained to me that she had an air-tight alibi – she was with Enzo Degrazio, Vittorio’s identical twin brother. “Yeah,” she said, “me and Vittorio hadn’t hit the sack in years and years.” She shrugged. “So I started having sex with Enzo instead. I figured, he looks just like Vittorio, so it was really just like shtupping my own husband, you know?”

  I nodded my head as I wrote. “I guess. So, you were arrested for his murder and you’re now out on bail.” I looked at my notes. “The bond was set at $3 million.” I looked at her and raised one of my eyebrows. “Suffice to say you know somebody who has access to that kind of cash. Who would that be?”

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I know people,” she said. “Pay no mind to that. I wanna keep talking about my case. I didn’t kill that bastard. It’s so stupid that I’m even here. Vitty was a mob enforcer, for the love of Christ. Those goddamn pigs who arrested me told me that they have evidence that I was the one who did it. Evidence. Like what? That’s what I asked. Like what? They tell me that they got evidence that the gun that was used in the hit on Vitty matched the caliber and barrel of a gun that was registered to me.” She shook her head. “I’m thinking that they’re full of shit. If I was going to off my own bastard husband, I wouldn’t have been dumb enough to use a gun that I registered. Jesus Christ, can those assholes please use just a bit of plain logic?” She shook her head. “But I didn’t say that to those pigs. I didn’t tell them nothin’. But I sure was thinking it in my head, let me tell you.”

  I didn’t like her evasive answer on who paid her bond. Somebody had access to that kind of money. She couldn’t just post 10% of the bond, and, even if she used a bondsman, she was going to have to come up with at least 10% to give to the bondsman. And most bondsmen wouldn’t touch a bond that high without some kind of collateral. Gina didn’t look the type who would have access to that kind of cash. She looked cheap, with her blue eye shadow, teased black hair, bright red lipstick, red dress that was at least two sizes too tight, and faux fur coat. She was probably in her early forties, although she looked much older – her skin was crepey, and slightly grey and there already were deep lines that were playing around her mouth. She kept hacking the deep cough of a heavy smoker, and I smelled the faint scent of old cigarettes on her clothes.

  She looked like the wife of a two-bit gangster, which was what she was. Yet, somehow, she managed to make a $3 million bond. How?

  “We’ll get back to the details of the case,” I said. “I want to circle back around to my original question. You posted a $3 million bond. How did you manage that? Who gave you the money?” I looked again at the documents in my file, and I didn’t see the name of anybody but Gina. That told me that somebody just gave her the cash to post her bond. I just couldn’t imagine who would do that.

  She nervously brought her index finger and thumb to her mouth and rubbed the sides of her lips. One bony hand with long red nails flew up to her stiff hair and patted the side of the tangled mane while she furtively looked me in the eye and then looked away. Then she sat up straighter in her chair, seemingly determined that she wasn’t going to let me intimidate her. “Enzo got me the money,” she said, almost defiantly. Her body language told me that she was nervous as hell, but she managed to get it together long enough to proudly pronounce, to me, just who was bankrolling her. “Anything else you need to know?”

  “And where did he get the money?” Enzo, according to my notes, was apparently not in the mafia business. He owned an Italian restaurant downtown. Of course, I was going to have to look into the finances of said business. Chances were that restaurant was just a front, a laundromat, so to speak. Dirty money usually poured through legitimate businesses and came out “clean.” Whether or not Enzo’s restaurant, which was simply called “Enzo’s,” was one of those legitimate businesses that cleaned dirty money was something that remained to be seen. I was determined that I was going to figure that one out.

  “From his bank,” she said. “You can check that out if you want.”

  “Then why didn’t you want to tell me that in the first place? Why all the smoke and mirror
s, all the nervous tics? You’re hiding something from me, Mrs. Degrazio, and, believe me, I’m the last person you want to lie to.”

  Gina looked out the window and then rapidly looked back at me. “I knew that you would think that there’s a rat in my story,” she said. “Enzo is my alibi, and he got me the money to get out. That maybe you would think that Enzo was behind this murder all along and set me up. That’s what I thought you would think, so I didn’t want to tell you that Enzo got me out.”

  I dropped my pen and just stared at Gina for a few minutes. Then I shook my head. “Mrs. Degrazio,” I began.

  “Gina,” she said. “I don’t answer to no ‘Mrs. Degrazio.’ Not no more, I don’t.”

  “Gina,” I began. “I don’t understand why I would think that Enzo was the one that killed his brother, just because he was the one who supplied the money to get you out. It’s interesting that your mind went there. It’s also interesting that you offered this explanation to me unprompted.” I put the words Enzo a possibility? on my sheet of paper and then looked back at Gina. Gina was definitely the type who spoke before thinking. It was odd that those particular words came spilling out of her mouth.

  She shrugged. “You’re gonna think that about me. That maybe me and Enzo were in on it, and maybe we agreed that I was gonna take the fall, and that’s why Enzo would get me out of jail.” She nodded her head. “But that’s not how it went down.”

  “Then how did it go down?”

  “I told you, I don’t know how it went down. I didn’t even know that the rat bastard died until I got the pigs showing up at my door to arrest me. Showed up at Enzo’s door to arrest me, that is.” She shook her head. “I got no idea how they knew to look for me there, but somebody narced on me, that’s for goddamn sure.”

  I looked down at my notes. “Okay,” I said. “Now, let’s see. Vittorio was found at his home, shot in the chest. It looked like he had been dead for several days at the time that he was found. It looks like he was reported missing by one Vincenzo Delagarza. Do you know who that is?”

  She shrugged. “Never heard that name in my life. Who is he to Vitty?”

  “Looks like he’s a friend. I guess that Vittorio was supposed to show up to a weekly poker game that he never misses. When he didn’t show, it looks like Vincenzo went to Vittorio’s home and found him in the living room. As I said before, he had been dead since Wednesday of that week, and he was found on a Saturday.” I looked at Gina. “So, I can assume that you and Vittorio weren’t living under the same roof at the time he was murdered.”

  “No. I told you, I’ve been shacking up with Enzo.”

  “And that’s where you were at…” I looked at the police report and my notes. “February 18, at around 10 PM?” I squinted, seeing that the time of death was estimated to be between 9:30 and 10 PM that night. “You were with Enzo Degrazio, right?”

  “Right.” She nodded her head. “That’s where I was when that rat bastard was being shot down like a dog. Like the dog that he is.”

  “Please,” I said, putting my hand up. “I hate expressions like that. I happen to love dogs.”

  “It’s just a saying,” she said. “Somebody came into Vitty’s home and shot him dead.”

  “Right. And there was no forced entry,” I said. “At least, it doesn’t appear that there was a forced entry.” I clacked my pen on the desk. “No forced entry, so it was probably somebody that Vittorio knew. Can you give me a list of people who would be seeing Vittorio on a regular basis? That would be the place to start to try to figure out who might have done this.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll give you that. It’s a long list, I’ll tell you that. Vitty was into all kinds of nonsense.”

  “Was he seeing anybody? Any woman? Or anybody else who might have been intimate with him? Maybe staying with him? That would be extremely helpful to know.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know who he was shtupping. I don’t think that there was anybody special sleeping with him. I’ll try to find that out for you though.”

  “Please do.” I went further down the police report, and then scanned the interrogation transcript that was included in the file. “Okay, it looks like you did the right thing. You asked for a lawyer right away, and they didn’t really get a chance to ask you any questions.”

  “Yeah. Look, I don’t know why I was arrested for this. Aside from the fact that my gun was apparently used in the killing, but, come on. I’m really going to register a gun and then use it to kill my husband? Seriously? How stupid do they think I am?”

  “Then who would have access to that gun that was registered to you?”

  “I guess anybody who can get into that house. It was right there, that gun, right there. Underneath the bed. I didn’t keep it locked up or nothing like that. It was fully loaded, too.”

  “So, you moved out of Vittorio’s home and you were staying with his identical twin brother, and you didn’t take the gun with you? Can I ask why?”

  She sighed. “Because I moved out with nothin’ but the clothes on my back, that’s why. Vittorio beat on me, and got out the belt, and I ran out of there. That’s what happened. I didn’t go back, either, ever.”

  “And you never went back into that house for anything? Not to get clothes, or belongings, or your gun. Just moved out and never went back.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Just moved out and didn’t go back ever. I should have sent Enzo over there to get my things, but Vitty and Enzo, they don’t talk. They hate each other. Hated each other for years, even though they lived only a couple of blocks apart. So, yeah, I couldn’t exactly send him over there with a bundt cake to get my shit back.”

  “And there wasn’t anybody else who might have been able to do that for you? At least go back and get your gun out of there?”

  She rolled her eyes. “What’s somebody supposed to do? Go over there, all kinda casual-like, and say ‘excuse me while I go into your bedroom and look under your bed?’ I’m sure that was gonna work. No, nobody went over there to get my gun out of that house. I didn’t think it was gonna be a problem, until it was.”

  “Okay. Well, then, we can feel safe in assuming that whoever got that gun out of there must have known right where it was. Unless Vittorio moved it after you left the house. That’s a possibility. But you raise a good point – if there was a casual friend visiting him, or any other acquaintance, they would had to have known that the gun was underneath the bed. And then they were going to have to somehow sneak into the bedroom and get it. I suppose that that wouldn’t be difficult to do if they would have waited until Vittorio was in the bathroom or something like that, and then sneaked into the bedroom to get the gun while Vittorio was on the pot. So, let’s see, I should probably ask you about Vittorio’s house. Specifically, where is the bedroom, and does he lock the bedroom door?”

  “The bedroom is on the second floor,” she said. “Our home is one of the old homes with the three levels. We got bathrooms on every floor. I guess that somebody could have run up to the bedroom while Vittorio was using the bathroom, and got the gun beneath the bed. And ran back down and shot him in the living room. And then left. Yeah, that’s possible.”

  I sighed. “Is it possible? No, scratch that. Of course it’s possible, but is it probable? I mean, who knew that the gun was underneath the bed? Who was going to know that piece of information? I guess that you’re asking me to buy that it was a friend or an acquaintance who was there in the house, but you’re not really telling me how that friend or acquaintance was going to know exactly where to find your gun.”

  Gina narrowed her eyes. “You don’t believe me. You think that I did it, don’t you?” She crossed her arms in front of her and gave me the stink-eye. “Listen, you’re my lawyer. You can figure out why it was that somebody got in that house, without breaking in, and found my gun and shot Vitty with it. That’s for you to try to figure out. The cops aren’t doing nothing about finding the real killer. They think they got the real killer, and that’s
me. The cops aren’t doing nothing, so you gotta do the work for them. You gotta figure out who did it.”

  “Motive, means and opportunity,” I said. “I have to show the jury who had the motive, means and opportunity to kill him. So far, you’re looking like the one who covered all those bases. That’s what I’m trying to say. You knew where that gun was, so that covers the means and the opportunity. He was beating on you, so you say, and it’s pretty evident that you hated him. From everything you’ve told me here today, it’s more than obvious that you had motive to kill him. Now, I’ll admit that, because Vittorio was a gangster, there were plenty of others who probably had motive to kill him. And I’ll try to track down everyone who had motive. But we have to figure out who on the list of suspects not only had motive, but also would know how to get their hands on your gun. That’s where I’m stuck.”

  “Figure it out,” she said. “That’s your job.”

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s my job. And I’ll get my investigator on it as soon as I can. But you’re right about one thing. As your lawyer, I’m not going to lie to you. I think that you did it. For now, it looks like it was you. You told me that you have an alibi, but you’ve also said a few things about Enzo that make you look suspect.”

  “What did I say about Enzo that made me suspect?”

  “You told me that you thought that I would somehow think that you and Enzo planned this murder together. You volunteered that information. Now, you haven’t yet told me how Enzo managed to get his hands on $3 million, because it looks like you paid cash for your bond. No bail bondsman was even listed here in this file. You haven’t told me why it was that Enzo would put all that on the line for you anyhow. I’m sorry, Gina, but it doesn’t sound like you and Enzo have a great love. Why would he sacrifice that kind of money for you? Things in your story are just not adding up, Gina, so, yes, I think that you did it.”