CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Felix Mancuso was still in my office, and he was on his cell phone. I remained standing until he finished, and I said, “Mrs. Sutter is not feeling well, so we should reschedule this.” I offered, “I can come to your office tomorrow, if that’s convenient.”

He looked at me, then asked, “Is everything all right?”

I replied, “She’s upset.”

He nodded and said, “This is very stressful for her. But I do need ten more minutes of your time.” He added, “And I’ll need to speak to her when she’s ready.”

I replied, “I don’t think there’s much more she can add to what I’ve said, or to what you already know, but that’s your decision.” I suggested, “You can phone her.” I sat at my desk and said, “Please continue.”

He looked at me again, then began, “First, you should know that Anthony Bellarosa seems to have disappeared.” He explained, “We’re not sure if that has anything to do with this problem or problems of his own, or with John Gotti’s death, or if it’s just one of his normal disappearances.” He explained, “Many of these people just disappear for a time. Sometimes it’s business, but more often it’s pleasure.”

I wasn’t fully attentive to Felix Mancuso, because my mind was still on Susan, but I did manage to ask, “Could he be dead?”

Mr. Mancuso replied, “He could be. But we’re not hearing that, and according to Detective Nastasi, Bellarosa’s wife, Megan, didn’t seem to be particularly upset that he left with no explanation other than business.”

I suggested, only half jokingly, “Maybe she also wants him dead.”

Mancuso did not respond to that, but said, “The police would have liked to speak to him, to put him on notice that you’d made a complaint, and to let him know he was being watched. And of course, they’d have liked him to make an incriminating statement so they could place him under arrest. But unfortunately, for reasons unknown, he has disappeared.”

Ironically, if I had been his consigliere, I’d have advised him to make himself available to the police, and politely tell them that he refused to answer any questions without his attorney present. In my world, this is what you do – but in his world, you didn’t play along with the cops. So, yes, disappearing, before the police instructed you to keep them informed of your whereabouts, was a very street-smart move. Plus, it’s not illegal to leave home. I did ask, however, “Can you or the police get a warrant for his arrest?”

He replied, “We’re working on several ways to present this to a state or Federal judge, but other than the fact that he is wanted for questioning, based solely on your complaint, we don’t have a lot to convince a judge.” He added, “But we’ll give it a try.” He further informed me, “I’m discovering, since 9/11, that my new job with the Terrorist Task Force is easier in regard to what the courts and the law allow, but Anthony Bellarosa is not a suspected terrorist. He’s an old-fashioned mobster, with all his civil liberties intact.”

I said to Mr. Mancuso, “Did I mention that I saw a signed photograph of Osama bin Laden in his den?”

Mr. Mancuso smiled and continued, “In any case, Anthony Bellarosa’s disappearance, while not unusual, is troubling in regard to this problem, and perhaps interesting in regard to his problems in the organization.”

I asked, “Do you mean problems with Salvatore D’Alessio?”

“Perhaps.” He said, “We’ll see if Anthony Bellarosa surfaces for John Gotti’s funeral.”

“Well,” I said, “I hope someone finds his body so I can get a good night’s sleep.”

Mancuso asked me, on that subject, “Do you own a gun?”

I replied, “We have a shotgun.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

I replied, a bit curtly, “You put a shell in each chamber, take it off safety, aim, and pull the trigger.” I added, “I was in the Army, and Mrs. Sutter was a skeet and bird shooter. It’s her shotgun.”

“All right.” He advised me, “Neither the FBI nor the police encourage civilians to confront an intruder, or to own or buy a weapon for the purpose of-”

“Mr. Mancuso, I understand. Rest assured that neither I nor Mrs. Sutter is going to ambush Anthony Bellarosa on his front lawn, but if anyone enters this house with intent to do bodily harm, then we will take appropriate action.” I reminded him, “I know the law.”

“I know you do.” He continued, “If Anthony Bellarosa returns to his house, or if we discover his whereabouts, then someone from the Bureau or the local police will advise you of that.”

“I hope so.”

He went on, “I’ve confirmed with the Second Precinct that their patrol vehicles have been alerted regarding this situation.” He further informed me, “The Bureau may also have a presence in the area.”

I nodded, and he continued on to a few more points, and also asked me to clarify or expand on a few of my previous statements. He seemed to have good short-term recall for everything I’d said, and I already knew that he had a good long-term memory for events that happened ten years ago. In that respect, we had something in common.

I was still not quite myself after what happened with Susan, and though I was relieved that I’d finally gotten that off my chest, I realized that digging it all up, yet again, had put me in a bad mood. And in addition to my full confession to Susan, I had to revisit my humiliation at being America’s Number One Cuckold of the Week.

“Mr. Sutter?”

I looked at Mancuso.

“I asked, is anyone else living in this house?”

“No… well, an old family friend has just passed away – Mrs. Allard – and we’re expecting house company for the funeral.”

He inquired, “And who will that be?”

I replied, “Our children, Edward and Carolyn.” I gave him their ages, and he made a note of that. I continued, “And possibly Mrs. Sutter’s parents, William and Charlotte Stanhope, though they may stay elsewhere.” I added, “Also, Mrs. Sutter’s brother, Peter, may be here for Father’s Day.”

He nodded, and said, “That’s right. It’s this Sunday. Hard to believe the month is going so quickly.”

“It’s not for me.”

He didn’t respond to that and continued, “Is anyone living in that small house I saw near the gates?”

I explained, “That is the gatehouse, where the recently deceased lady, Mrs. Allard, lived, and where I was living until Sunday.”

“I see. Is anyone there now?”

“The gatehouse has passed into the possession of Amir Nasim on the death of Ethel Allard.”

“She left it to Amir Nasim?”

It would have taken too long to explain to Mancuso about Ethel Allard fucking Augustus Stanhope, and life tenancy, and all that, though as a lawyer himself, Mr. Mancuso would understand the legal concept; but as an ex-seminarian, he wouldn’t be happy to hear that the wages of sin were sixty years of free rent. In any case, I said to him, “Mrs. Allard was a life tenant.” I added, “It’s my understanding that Nasim wants to beef up his security, so he may put some people in there.”

Mr. Mancuso nodded and inquired, “Do you know anything about the situation in Nasim’s house?”

I replied, “I know the house has fifty rooms, and it would take an assassin a week to check them all out.” To be less flippant, I added, “As far as I know, he lives there alone with his wife, but there could be live-in help. I saw one female servant.” I advised him, “You can ask Mrs. Sutter. She’s more familiar with the domestic situation at Stanhope Hall.”

Mr. Mancuso noted that, then asked me a few questions about our living habits, our travel plans, if any, and so forth. He suggested, “You might consider an alarm system and a dog.”

“We’re working on that.”

He also advised, “If you have the resources, you should seriously consider engaging the services of a personal security company.”

I suggested, “How about Bell Security?”

He forced a smile and replied, “That might be counterproductive.”