“Theory number three: the Fireman’s Wife and the Arsonist . . .”
The stars of my third scenario were Valerie Noonan and Dean Tassos. I laid out Dean’s motives for arson and Val’s desire to see her husband gone. As I talked, Sully and Franco both leaned farther forward in their chairs. The glances they shared felt increasingly energized.
“. . . and I think those two set the chain coffeehouse fire and sent a fake letter to the papers to throw off the authorities,” I said. “If James Noonan knew about Dean’s arson and gave evidence to the captain, Val could have tipped off Dean. She may not have killed her husband with her own hands, but she could have agreed to look the other way while Dean murdered James and made it look like a suicide, then beat down Michael Quinn and made it look like a robbery.”
“I think she’s got something here,” said Sully.
“So do I,” said Franco, “and it makes a helluvalot more sense than Homeland Security’s current theory.”
“Is that who’s in charge of the arson investigation now?” I asked.
Sully nodded. “They’re all over the threat you got here at the Blend. Word is they’re making a case against some anticaffeine fanatic connected to one of your customers.”
“Which customer?”
“Barry something or other.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “Barry wouldn’t hurt a fly. And it’s hard for me to believe he’d hook up with a bomb-setting terrorist.”
“That’s the rumor,” said Sully. “This friend of Barry’s supposedly has a checkered history and some memberships in activist groups that have gone nuclear in the past. He lives in an apartment near the chain coffeehouse that burned, was seen near Caffè Lucia the day of that fire, and has friends near the coffeehouse in Brooklyn that went up—that’s where the backpack was purchased that held the package that threatened you. I’m not supposed to know any of this, of course, and neither are you, Clare.”
I blinked. “Who am I going to tell?”
“Your friend Barry for starters,” Sully said flatly. “So tell him to get a good lawyer for his boyfriend.”
Off my shocked look, Sully simply shrugged. “I’m ready to hang with Mike.”
“No!” I said. “I don’t want anybody to hang!”
“Ladies!” Franco sang. “Before you two get your panties in a twist over Barry and his buddy, can we come up with a strike plan?”
“Yeah . . .” Sully shot him a sour look. “And let’s make sure it’s better than our last one.”
“Hey, Sully, my intel was golden. Last night’s op failed because those dealers are smarter than the badges who conducted the stop-and-search. The drugs are in that pizza delivery car. I know it.”
“You know it, but you’re the only one,” said Sully. “Try, try, again, Detective . . .”
It took me a moment to catch up: These two were talking about their squad’s operation last night, the one that went down badly or else Mike would never have shown up at Saints and Sinners. Val had called it “bad timing.” I closed my eyes again, wondering what else it was.
“Clare, you okay?” Sully asked.
“No,” I whispered. “I’m thinking about Mike again and what happened last night in Queens . . .”
“Well, don’t beat yourself up. After our op went down in flames, Franco was almost made, which meant his life was endangered not just his cover. Believe me, Clare, by the end of it all, Mike was ready to punch out a choirboy, never mind the cousin who pawed you up.”
I opened my eyes. “Do you think Mike knows I never meant for it to happen? Does he know I’m not Leila?”
Sully put a hand on my shoulder. “Of course he does. Mike knows who you are, Clare. And he knows who his cousin is.”
“Mike trusts me?”
“Not just trusts, Clare. The man loves you. When he lost it last night at that pub, the reason was his cousin, not you.”
“Yeah . . .” Franco shifted, scratched the side of his head. “What he said.”
“So have you got anything more on this guy, Tassos?” Sully asked.
“Just his business card.” I went to my bag, brought it over.
Franco nodded as soon as he saw it. “I know this club. The Blue Mirage? It’s in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, on the same block as the coffeehouse that burned down.”
“That’s two connections,” Sully looked to me. “Right, Clare?”
“That’s right.” The pieces were falling into place. “Lorenzo Testa was hassled by guys from the Red Mirage