Wet Work
Stephen Tillman
Jodi Cinto hunkered down behind the retaining wall a split-second before a fusillade of shots passed over where her head had just been. She shivered in the chill night air. She’d lost her phone in her impromptu dive into the river, so she was on her own. Events leading up to her current predicament had started innocently enough two days previously.
***
Angela Carmasino called Izzy Feinstein, a notoriously expensive criminal defense attorney. She’d been arrested for killing her husband, Guido Carmasino. Feinstein and Cinto, his chief investigator, met with Angela in her hotel room. She’d been released on bail, but had to wear an ankle monitor. She admitted she shot Guido, but claimed it was self-defense. Guido burst into her bedroom when she’d been with his assistant, Stanley Kopeck.
“Was this an ongoing affair?” Cinto asked.
“What has that got to do with anything?” Angela asked in return.
“Perhaps nothing,” Feinstein replied. “On the other hand it might help in planning our defense. Especially if Guido was the jealous type. It would lay credence to your claim that you feared for your life.”
“Okay,” Angela said after thinking things over. “Stan and I had done it several times over the past month.”
“Would Kopeck testify to that?” Cinto asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s moot,” Angela replied. “He’s disappeared. I suspect his body is under the foundation of one of the building projects of Carmasino Construction. Either that or he’s in Mexico or someplace like that.”
“Did Guido have a gun?” Feinstein asked.
“Yes, but when the police arrived it wasn’t with him.”
“Start from the beginning,” Feinstein ordered. “Describe the sequence of events. Be as precise as possible.”
“Are you a voyeur?”
“Do you want me to represent you or not?” Feinstein asked, testily.
“Okay, okay,” Angela muttered. She sighed. “Guido was off doing something or other with his sons from his first marriage. I expected him to be gone for the day, so I thought that was a good time to... get it on with Stan. I called him and he came over. We went to my bedroom and started... you know. I was straddling him. He’d just... finished, but I hadn’t so I was annoyed. Suddenly Guido barged into the room waving a gun and screaming. I dove to the right. Stan scrambled left. Guido froze momentarily, as if deciding which of us to shoot first. That gave me enough time to get my gun from the night table and shoot him. Stan grabbed his clothes and took off. I called 9-1-1.”
“What happened to Guido’s gun?” Cinto asked. “The police report says he was unarmed.”
“Junior and Bud, Guido’s sons, arrived before the police. I thought they might kill me. I told them the police were on the way and would be there any second. They went to look at the body. A few minutes later, when the cops arrived, there was no sign of the gun. Junior told the detective in charge that he, his brother, and his father got to the house at the same time. Guido went upstairs. They heard shots, ran up, and saw me with a gun in my hand and their father on the floor. Of course their story is a freaking lie. They want me to be arrested and convicted of murder. Then when I’m in prison they’ll arrange for me to be shanked. I don’t know why they didn’t ace me on the spot.”
“Was Guido mobbed up?” Cinto asked.
“He didn’t have a Mafia bumper sticker, but he was in the construction business, and doing quite well when other companies were having a tough time.”
“Do you stand to inherit?” Feinstein asked. “And if yes, how much?”
“His sons and I each get one-third of his assets. I’m not sure of the precise worth, but his portfolio alone is at least high seven figures, maybe low eight. Then there’s the business.”
“That’s probably why the sons didn’t kill you,” Feinstein said. “Legally you can’t benefit from committing a crime. If you’re convicted of killing him you get nothing, which would increase their shares. If you’re dead, however, your heirs could get your share.”
“Did you and he fight a lot?” Cinto asked.
“Only constantly,” Angela replied, rolling her eyes.
“Had he ever hit you?”
“A couple of times, but not hard enough to cause any damage.”
“If you knew he had a violent temper and might be connected, why did you start in with Kopeck? I saw his picture. The guy was not exactly Adonis.”
Angela bit her lip and looked at her feet without replying. Feinstein made a “come on” gesture. Finally she said, “Guido was screwing my sister. I wanted to get back at him.”
“Would your sister testify to that?”
“No way. She and I don’t get along. Besides if her husband found out, he’d divorce her and she’d get nothing.”
“It’s getting tough,” Feinstein said. “There’s no substantial history of abuse. You admit you shot him. You stand to inherit a large amount of money.”
“Does this mean you won’t take my case?” Angela asked in a panicky voice. “I swear it happened just like I said.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll represent you,” Feinstein said. He mentioned a figure. “I’ll need that for a retainer.”
“That’s a little steep,” Angela murmured. She took a deep breath. “But I knew you’d cost a bundle. I can cover the retainer. If you win and I get my inheritance I’ll be able to pay the rest of your fee.”
“Let’s get down to business,” Cinto said. “Are there surveillance cameras at your house?”
“On the outside, not inside.”
“Still if there’s video evidence of Kopeck arriving and leaving that would bolster your story. If we’re in luck we’ll also see that Guido arrived several minutes before his sons. What happens to the recordings?”
“The cameras contain a storage disk. The files are also sent to our computer via wi-fi. To access them you would need to get in the house. How would you do that? Junior and Bud live there. They won’t let you have the files.”
“Don’t they go out in the evening?”
“Most of the time. Always on Saturdays. They rarely get home before the wee hours.”
“That’s when I’ll do it,” Cinto said, handing a notepad to Angela. “I’ll sneak in while they’re away. It’s your home. You can write a permission slip for me to enter. That way I won’t be breaking and entering. Also give me the code to the alarm and any computer passwords you can remember.”
***
Midnight. Cinto parked her car about a mile from the Carmasinos’ riverfront home. Staying near the river, she headed for their property. There were no lights showing. There was enough ambient light from the crescent moon and the stars for her to approach the house without using her flashlight.
As she neared the house she stumbled over a rock. That might have saved her life. She heard the whine of a bullet passing over her body as she fell. Several others followed. She turned and raced toward the river, weaving back and forth to throw off the shooter’s aim. She felt a tug and a sting on her left arm as a shot grazed her. She dove into the river, but before she was completely submerged a bullet skimmed her left foot, knocking her sneaker off and causing her leg to go numb up to her knee.
The river water was disgusting, but not as bad it would’ve been in the city. Staying underwater, she swam downstream for as long as she could hold her breath. When she surfaced she saw that she’d traveled about a hundred yards. She took care not to splash as she made her way toward shore.
My phone is history, she thought. Will my gun still fire? Damn it’s cold. How did they see me? I’m wearing black clothes with lampblack on my face. For that matter how did they know I’d be here?
Cinto disassembled and cleaned her gun. She was now grateful for the training she’d been forced to do blindfolded when she was a cop. At the time she considered it a pain in the butt.
With her weapon ready to fire, Cinto peered around the edge of the retaining wall. There was a man slowly making his way toward her. His head seemed to be strangely shaped. ?Holy crap! He’s wearing night-vision goggles. No wonder he could see me. He’s probably wearing body armor also.
Careful to keep her gun dry, Cinto ducked back into the river and out again. The chilly water should keep her heat signature down, making her difficult to see with night-vision goggles. She slithered around the edge of the wall, staying nearly prone. When the approaching man was about fifteen feet away she shone her Maglite directly into his eyes, effectively blinding him. He fired wildly. Taking careful aim, Cinto put two slugs into his head.
She darted out, grabbed his submachine gun, took the time to get another magazine from his pocket, and once more ducked behind the wall as another burst of bullets passed where she’d just been.
She picked up a stick, took off her sweatshirt, and used the stick to hold her shirt over the top of the wall. The shirt was quickly shredded by a round of shots. She screamed as if she’d been hit and scurried to the far end of wall.
“We got the bitch!” a man called exultantly.
“We got to make sure,” another replied. “I think she got Bud.”
Two shadowy figures appeared at the opposite end of the wall. Cinto sprayed them with the submachine gun, firing low to avoid the body armor. Both fell screaming. She approached slowly, hugging the wall. When she was close enough to use her handgun, she held the Maglite as far away from her body as she could and shined it on the men. One of them fired at the light. She returned fire, heard a gurgling sound, and then silence.
After a few seconds, a man moaned. Cautiously Cinto approached and shined her light on his face. The wounded man was Stan Kopeck. He had a shattered femur. The other two men, Junior and Bud Carmasino, were dead.
***
After a seemingly interminable session with the police, Cinto was allowed to leave, though they did confiscate her gun. She was told she’d get it back after the inquiry was completed. The authorities were not happy with the fact that she’d killed two men and seriously wounded a third, but both the physical evidence and a confession by Kopeck backed up Cinto’s claim of self-defense.
Cinto and Feinstein called on Angela and told her she’d been cleared. Although Junior and Bud had destroyed the files from the cameras, they were not technologically savvy and didn’t realize the files had been backed up to the cloud. Armed with Angela’s passwords, Cinto had downloaded them. They’d clearly showed Kopeck arriving and leaving. Guido appeared several minutes before his sons. Not only that, a gun was visible beneath his jacket, backing up Angela’s statement that he’d been armed when he entered the bedroom.
“What was Stan doing with them?” Angela asked. “And why would he confess everything?”
“I, ah, gave him the impression that he was dying,” Cinto said with a grin. “I told him if he confessed I’d try and save him. Since he survived he may regret speaking, but I recorded him using his own phone. It appears that Junior and Bud hatched a plot to get rid of their father so they could take over the business. You were the scapegoat, which would allow them to get your share also. Stan was roped in with the promise of $250,000.”
“How did they know you’d go after the surveillance files?” Angela asked.
“Where did you get those?” Cinto asked, pointing toward the large, ornate earrings Angela was wearing.
“They were a gift from Stan. I wear them all the time.”
“They’re bugged. He was able to listen in on every conversation you had as long as you were wearing them.”
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