Blue Smoke

Carbionellis. New Jersey family.”
    “Your childhood nemesis got himself connected?”
    “It’s going to be worth finding out. I’ll run the three names who backed him up.”
    “Meanwhile, Senior’s currently unemployed. Had work cleaning a couple of bars, lost it for helping himself to too much of the booze. Six weeks ago.”
    “One or both,” Reena added. “One or both are in Baltimore.”
    “Oh yeah. Why don’t we call our friends in New York, ask them to check it out?”
    Her stomach was knotted, something she wasn’t ready to share even with her partner. She offset it by concentrating on the routine of the work. Gathering data, drawing the lines, writing it up until she was ready to update both her partner and their captain.
    A case. She had to think of it as a case, objectively, with just that sliver of distance. Because she couldn’t actively—officially—investigate thevehicular fire, she signaled Younger and Trippley before she went with O’Donnell in to the captain.
    “You two need to hear what we’ve got,” she told them.
    Captain Brant gestured them in.
    “Working on a theory,” O’Donnell began and nodded for Reena to take the lead.
    She ran through it, from the fire at Sirico’s the summer she’d been eleven, to the destruction of Bo’s truck the night before.
    “The younger Pastorelli is known to pal around with three members of the Carbionelli family, out of New Jersey. He did some time in Rikers with a Gino Borini—a cousin of Nick Carbionelli. It was Carbionelli, Borini and another low level who alibied Pastorelli for the night the garage was hit.
    “It looked like kids,” she continued. “Five months since he’d gotten the ax, and it was set up to look like a bunch of kids, or amateurs. Destruction, petty theft, a half-assed fire to cover it. They didn’t look at him very hard.”
    “We’ve got the locals doing some legwork,” O’Donnell added. “It’s not on their priority list, but they’ll send two detectives out to last known addresses.”
    “There was a lot of similarity between the car fire several years ago involving Luke Chambers and the one last night.” She looked at Trippley. “Maybe he used the same device in the gas tanks.”
    “We’ll look at that.”
    “Captain, I want to reopen Joshua Bolton’s case.”
    “Younger can take it. Fresh eye, Detective,” he said to Reena. “You’ve been looking at that case regularly for years. Let’s get the tap on your phone. Goodnight’s phone. Take another pass at the wife.”
    L aura Pastorelli’s shift had ended, so they headed to her address. It was a small, tidy house on a narrow street. An old Toyota Camry sat in the drive. Reena noted the St. Christopher’s magnet on the dash, and one of the trinkets called a parking angel perched on it.

    When they knocked, the door was opened by a woman of about the same age as Laura, but with a lot less wear on her. Her face was round and carefully made up, her dark brown hair styled. She wore navy pants with a white camp shirt tucked neatly in the waistband.
    A fluffy orange Pomeranian sat at her legs, yapping its lungs out.
    “Be quiet, Missy, you old fool. She’s an ankle nipper,” the woman said. “Fair warning.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Reena held out her badge. “We’d like to speak with Laura Pastorelli.”
    “She’s at church this time of day. Goes by every afternoon after work. Was there trouble at the store?”
    “No, ma’am. What church would that be?”
    “Saint Michael’s, over on Pershing.” Her eyes narrowed. “If there wasn’t trouble at the store, this must be about either her worthless husband or her worthless son.”
    “Do you know if she’s been in contact with either Joseph Pastorelli Senior or Junior?”
    “Wouldn’t tell me if she had. I’m her sister-in-law. Patricia Azi. Mrs. Frank Azi. You might as well come in.”
    O’Donnell looked dubiously at the still yapping ball of fur, and Patricia smiled thinly. “Give me a minute. God sake, Missy, will you put a lid on it!” She scooped up the dog and carried it off. They heard a door slam before she came back.
    “My husband’s in love with that idiot dog. We’ve had her eleven years now, and she’s still half crazy. Come on in. You want to talk to Laura, she’ll probably finish wearing her sackcloth and ashes in another half hour.” She sighed heavily, gestured toward a small, cozy living room. “Sounds bitchy, sorry. It’s not easy living with a