about twenty-five years ago.”
Felton scrutinized her ID before stepping aside and ushering Dana into a large living room that was illuminated by the sunlight that streamed through high picture windows. An elderly man who was breathing from an oxygen tank sat in a wheelchair across from a stone fireplace.
“That’s my dad,” Felton explained. “I live in Florida, but he had a stroke and I’m back here to help him out.
“This is Dana Cutler from Washington, D.C.,” Felton told his father. “She wants to ask me some questions about an old case.”
Felton turned back to Dana. “He has trouble speaking, but Dad is still sharp.”
Felton sat in an armchair and motioned Dana onto an identical chair that was standing on the other side of a walnut end table. A photo of a much younger man who strongly resembled Felton’s father and a smiling, heavyset black woman stood in the center of the end table next to a lamp.
“So, what do you want to know?” Felton asked.
“Do you remember Anthony Watts and Donald Marion?”
“Sure,” Felton said without a second of hesitation.
“I’m surprised you recall a case that old so easily,” she said.
“There are some cases you never forget. I’m certain I know who killed those two but I could never prove it, and it’s always bothered me. Why do you want to know about Watts and Marion after all these years?”
“Richard Molinari has become a person of interest in a case I’m investigating.”
A cloud passed over Felton’s features. “Richard, huh. That’s a name I never hoped to hear again. What’s he involved in now?”
“Some very interesting stuff, and he doesn’t go by Molinari anymore. He changed his name to Charles Benedict, and he’s a criminal defense attorney.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Molinari moved from here to Pennsylvania and changed his name. Then he earned a GED, went to college, and graduated from law school at the University of Virginia, with honors.”
“I’ll be damned. I never saw that coming.”
“What can you tell me about Molinari?”
“He’s a stone killer, that’s one thing I can tell you. You’ve probably noticed the racial makeup of this neighborhood. It’s mostly black and Hispanic, and it has a very high crime rate. I tried to get my father to move to Florida because it’s not safe, but he’s stubborn. Even this area, which is mostly middle class, has more than its fair share of crime.
“There are a lot of gangs operating here, and it was worse twenty years ago. The most powerful gangs were African American, so figure out how tough a white boy would have to be to earn the position of enforcer in the Kung Fu Dragons, the dominant gang in the neighborhood. That was Richard. He was devoid of a conscience, owned a very high IQ, and was totally ruthless. No one wanted to fight him because you had to kill him or he’d never stop coming after you.
“Let me give you an example. Molinari’s family moved from somewhere back East when he was sixteen. The first day in high school three kids beat him up. After that, Molinari gave them his lunch money and generally acted like a coward toward them, but before the month was out, two of the boys were beaten with a baseball bat. The brain damage was so bad that they were useless as witnesses. The third boy was burned to death in a house fire that killed his entire family. The day after the assault and the arson, Richard showed up at school with a baseball bat. He never said anything, but word got around the school that he was not someone to fuck with, if you’ll pardon my French.”
“Was he arrested?”
“The principal told us the boys had beaten up Molinari, and about the bat, so Richard was our main suspect, but the kid was too smart for us.”
“Did you take a look at the bat he brought to school?”
“Sure, but it wasn’t the bat he used. That bat was found on the front steps of the burned-out house, covered with the victims’ blood but wiped clean of any prints. Someone, probably Molinari, spread the word around school that the kids had been beaten silly with a baseball bat.”
“How did he get into the gang if he was white?”
“The rumor was that he made a deal with the leader of the Dragons to take out the leader of a rival gang that was trying to take over the crack cocaine trade in the area.”
“He killed him?”
“We don’t know. No one could prove