“Please do, I’m listening,” Gomez answered, pulling over the metal chair, and Mary began telling him about Amadeo while he started to take notes on a pad that rested on his crossed legs. She went on to tell him about Montana and how she figured out that Amadeo’s suicide was really murder, but then she slowed the story when she got to the part about her breaking into Frank’s office. Oops. Detective Gomez looked up sharply, his Bic poised above the legal pad. “Did you say you broke into Cavuto’s office last night? The office on South Broad?”

Gulp. “Well, yes.”

Detective Gomez frowned, a tiny pitchfork appearing on his otherwise smooth forehead. “That office is a crime scene, Ms. DiNunzio.”

“Please, call me Mary.”

“Mary, it’s a crime scene. My crime scene.” The detective set the Bic down and leaned back in his chair, and Mary could see they were about to have their first fight.

“I didn’t compromise any evidence, and I don’t think of it as a crime scene, since I knew Frank so well.”

“Are you trying to tell me, if it’s not a crime scene to you, it’s not a crime scene?” Detective Gomez’s dark eyebrows flew upward, so Mary shifted gears.

“There’s no way he was killed during a robbery, Detective. Frank Cavuto wasn’t the type to work at his desk late at night. I think he had arranged to meet the bad guys, Chico and Saracone Junior, or maybe the wife, at the office. And there’s also that reporter I told you about, we can’t forget about him. I showed him the circle drawings and told him about Frank.”

Gomez made another note.

“It’s possible that Frank let them in, that’s why there was no sign of a break-in, and they killed him to silence him.”

“Silence him about what?”

“About whatever he knew about Amadeo’s death, and Saracone.”

That pitchfork again. “The evidence points to a robbery gone wrong. The vault was taken, and the secretary said it had almost ten thousand dollars in it. The whole office was ransacked, all the petty cash stolen, as was everything else of value. Computers, adding machines, a portable TV, even gold earrings the secretary kept in her top drawer.”

“They took that stuff after the fact, to make it look like a robbery. And in the files, I found -”

“You looked in the files?”

“- a series of legal bills from Frank to Saracone, who owns the thug who hit me in the face. The bills totaled five hundred thousand dollars a year for five years. That’s over two million dollars in payments, for no apparent pending case, which I still can’t explain, but at least I got Saracone’s address from the bills and that’s what led me to -”

“You found bills where? In that file room, where the vault was?”

“Yes.” Mary noted that Detective Gomez was getting bogged down in the details. “I had the bills with me last night when I went to Saracone’s, but they took them after they beat me up.”

“Mary.” Detective Gomez folded his arms, testy. “Are you telling me you took evidence from a crime scene, in an uncleared case? I can’t imagine you would take evidence from a crime scene and carry it around with you.”

Uh. “Yes.” Sorry. Mary felt her face flush with embarrassment.

“And now, thanks to you, this evidence is gone?”

“But I can testify that I saw them, because I did. And we can subpoena the files and maybe find copies of them.”

Gomez had stopped listening. They were beyond pitchfork now. “That’s hindering, obstruction of justice. Tampering with evidence. Destroying the chain of custody.”

“You could still bring Saracone and Chico in, ask them about the bills, and investigate their connection to Frank. Saracone has some kind of investment business and maybe Frank had dealings with that.”

“You want me to pick up a dying old man who you think is guilty of a sixty-year-old murder?” Detective Gomez looked at her like she was nuts. She was rapidly losing any credibility she’d earned by her busted cheek. “Whose only connection to Cavuto’s murder you carried around in your purse and then lost?”

“They took it, I didn’t lose it,” Mary said, but it sounded lame, even to her. “Don’t you think it’s strange that the Saracones didn’t call the Birchrunville cops? That I’m the one who had to come to you?”

“No, I don’t.” Detective Gomez was shaking his head. “Not everybody would call the cops on a prying lawyer, and who knows what they got out in that burg? The force can’t be that big.”

“Why don’t we go over to the Saracone house and investigate? I swear, if I confront that old man in front of you, he just might admit that he killed Amadeo.” Mary had thought about it all night. As pathetic as Saracone had been, he was still a murderer and he should still be brought to justice. For Amadeo. “He was this close to telling me last night. He wants to confess. He knows he’s on his deathbed and he’s getting religion. I can see it, it’s an Italian thing.”

“No, no, no. I can’t take you over to Saracone’s. I can’t get involved with this, or you. I have to talk to my sergeant.” Gomez shook his head. “Obtaining evidence by burglary! You should know better, as a lawyer.”

“Okay, so don’t take me over, then.” Mary switched tacks. “Just go to the Saracones yourself. Talk to them. Don’t tell them I was here and told you what happened last night. Tell them it came in through an anonymous tip.”

Detective Gomez thought a minute. “Were there other witnesses to this conversation you had with Saracone?”

“Sure. A nurse was right there. Saracone’s nurse.” Mary flashed on the gold lapel pin. “Keisha, from HomeCare. I’m telling you, I think Saracone, or at least this Chico guy, killed Frank Cavuto. I’ll testify that I saw the bills from Frank to Saracone. They exist, and I bet they exist in back files, too. If we ask Frank’s secretary and -”

“Quiet now, I’ve heard enough.” Detective Gomez stood up and hoisted his pants by his thin black leather belt. “I need to end this interview, Ms. – Mary.”

“Why? We’re just getting started.”

“For your own good. I do have to talk to my sergeant. What a mess.” Detective Gomez kept shaking his neat head, solid as a cinder block. “We’re sitting here, you tell me you have information on the Cavuto case, and you end up confessing to burglary, obstruction, and evidence tampering.”

“I didn’t tamper with evidence, I lost it.” Eeek. “I mean, somebody stole it from me.”

“After you stole it!” Detective Gomez rested his hands on his hips and eyed Mary unhappily. “You need to get yourself a lawyer.”

“You’re going to charge me? I’d have a criminal record?” It was almost beyond belief for Mary DiNunzio, valedictorian at St. Maria Goretti High School. She didn’t even curse. Out loud.

“If I have to, I assume. I’m new, and I can’t say I have a lot of experience with this type of thing. Evidence stuffed in a purse.” Detective Gomez snorted. “I heard your law office was like this. My partner warned me about the Rosato firm, but I didn’t listen. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Now, I don’t think I have to arrest you -”

“Arrest me?” Mary jumped to her feet and felt instantly dizzy, either because she got up too fast or her career was over.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, yet. But don’t you dare make a fool of me.” Detective Gomez pointed a thick finger in Mary’s face. “I’m releasing you on your own recognizance. Don’t leave the jurisdiction, you hear me?”

“I won’t, I promise. I love this jurisdiction. It’s my favorite jurisdiction.”

“Well, then, this is ass-backward, since you’ve already incriminated yourself, but I’ll play it safe and inform you of your rights under Miranda. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right…” Detective Gomez recited the Miranda warnings, facing Mary squarely in an on-the-spot ceremony that reminded her oddly of being sworn in to the Pennsylvania bar. He cleared his throat when he finished. “Do you have any questions?”