“Mr. Testa’s adult daughter, Lucia, has no interest in running the business, yet she’s set to inherit the store and building when her father finally decides to retire. I think she may have hastened that retirement by having that fire set.
“Then there’s the widow Quadrelli. That woman clearly views the caffè as the only thing standing between her and Enzo having some sort of ‘happily ever after’ scenario.
“And I also think you should look at the two men who run the Red Mirage nightclub: Theo and Kareem. These guys have been losing business since the economy tanked and may have tried to get a fire insurance payout by starting a suspicious fire next door, in Enzo’s caffè, hoping it would spread to their property.”
I listened for a reaction. But there was none. The line went silent. “Marshal Rossi?”
“Hold on, Ms. Cosi—”
Damn. “I really do think this is important information.”
“So do I, ma’am. I’m taking notes . . .”
I blinked. He’s actually listening to me? “So you’ll follow up then?”
“That’s my job.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say that.”
“Do you have anything else to add, Ms. Cosi?”
“I do. If Lucia Testa is responsible for setting that blaze—or even if she conspired to do it with Rita Quadrelli—I doubt very much she would have created the actual firebomb herself.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s a fastidious fashionista, that’s why. Building a firebomb set on a timer might ruin her manicure. Ditto for the widow.”
“So what’s your theory?”
“I think it’s possible that Lucia hired an accomplice or persuaded one to help her, either for personal reasons or a monetary payoff.”
“And . . . ? Do you have any thoughts on who Ms. Testa or Mrs. Quadrelli may have worked with on that?”
“Yes. I believe there are two strong suspects. The first man is Lucia’s boyfriend Glenn Duffy . . .” I told the marshal all I knew about Duffy, including his expertise as a mechanic. “And the second man is . . . actually, I don’t have a name, but I know for certain he’s a fireman.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Testa told me that a fireman’s been sniffing around after Lucia. It sounds like a sexual relationship. I would have tried questioning Lucia herself, but she’s not in town right now. She went away for the weekend, just a few hours before the bomb went off, which is highly suspicious timing, don’t you think? I mean, getting out of town certainly helps her look completely detached from what happened . . .”
Rossi said nothing.
“Anyway,” I added. “I think she may have used this fireman and his knowledge to help set off a firebomb and burn down the caffè.”
“And you don’t have any other information on this man’s identity?”
“The only thing I can tell you concerns the firefighters who responded—”
“You’re talking about Ladder 189 and Engine 335?”
“If that’s who responded.”
“It is.”
“Well, Enzo confessed to me that his daughter liked to play with men. And the captain of the firehouse that responded told me that a lot of his guys liked to frequent Enzo’s caffè, so . . .”
“So you think a member of the FDNY from Ladder 189 or Engine 335 helped Lucia Testa set the fire?”
“It’s one theory, but yes, I do . . .”
After another moment of silence, Rossi asked, “Are you sure you can’t get me a name, Ms. Cosi?”
The question confused me. It took me a moment to process it. “Marshal Rossi, are you saying that you’d like me to investigate further?”
“No comment.”
I took a breath. “You can’t officially ask me to investigate, can you?”
Rossi didn’t answer directly. What he said was: “Like I told you before, Ms. Cosi, if you have any new information for me, just give me a call.” He lowered his voice. “Call me anytime, okay?”
“I’ll see what I can do . . .”
I hung up and stood staring for a moment.
Given Mike’s talk with me last night, I shouldn’t have been so astonished by Rossi’s reaction. The man was a detective, after all, and I was an informant bringing him leads. It was no different from a street cop using snitches. Sure Rossi might have gotten the same leads once he started questioning Enzo, but I’d given him a head start and he knew it.
Obviously, the fire company was another matter. Those guys were tighter than family. James Noonan and Bigsby Brewer even referred to each other as brothers. The second an investigator like Rossi started asking questions, they’d stonewall him, especially if it