I stayed quiet, although I wanted to ask what kind of parents would let a five-year-old get near such a deep pond by himself. There was a point to this story. I just wasn’t quite sure what it was. IsuspectedJulian knew I’d done my time as a forensic profiler. Telling me about childhood traumas was too out of the blue, otherwise. But I couldn’t see the purpose.
As we sat there staring at each other for a few silent seconds, a creeping dread made its way up my spine, all the way to my neck, where I felt the hairs ripple. I tensed up, my fingers stretching out on my thighs in trepidation, my feet lifting up of their own accord to dig my toes into the ground, seeking leverage. My adrenaline began to spike.
But then Julian smiled at me, and the moment passed. “You love him,” he said. “Angelo, I mean. Not my brother.”
“Angelo and I love each other,” I replied at last.
He tipped his head to one side. “That’s sosweet. But what’s going to happen now that you’ve caught Greco? Things will have to change between you…won’t they?”
I felt my face screw up despite myself, and hoped that the darkness covered it. Somehow, Julian Castellani had put his finger right on my psychological sore spot.
He proceeded to poke at it. “Tell me,” he said, suddenly serious. “Are you planning to go back to the light side, Baxter Flynn? Do you think your Monster of the Morellis has changed his ways?”
“It’s not that simple,” I said, provoked into speech.
Julian laid a hand on my arm, gentle and comforting. “But what about you? You’re no more capable of changing sides than he is.”
Pointing out that he didn’t know either of us would be accurate but would end the conversation, and I still wondered about his purpose. Because therewasa purpose here.
“Maybe this Greco will refuse to testify,” Julian went on. “Or maybe he’ll escape again, go on the run.”
I’d been too well-trained by Angelo to share any information under so amateurish an interrogation. But I’d have to give Juliansomethingif I wanted him to keep talking, so I could figure out what was going on.
“Greco knows he’s done,” I said. It was no more than Don Castellani would already know, if Julian intended to feed back any information from me to his father. Jack had been there when Greco had said it, and if Jack was smart, he would already have informed his Boss. And Jack, though he tried to hide it,wassmart. “He’s tired of running,” I went on. “As for Angelo and me—right now, we just want to clear our names.”
“Do you really?”
I wondered for a moment whether I was being played, whether the psych was being psyched-out by Julian’s approach: the story to gain empathy and understanding, and then the bold question to extract information. Had I already given away more than I thought I had? I was out of practice at this kind of thing.
Julian's fingers moved, stroking my arm. I stood, letting his hand drop off. It was clumsy of him to talk about Angelo while hitting on me, if that’s what he was doing.
“Idowant to clear my name,” I told him. “Mine and Angelo’s. We want justice. And we’ll figure things out for ourselves after that.” I shrugged a little. “Grecowantsto talk. He’ll spill as soon as we get him back to New York.”
Julian began to speak again, but then jerked his head around. He was staring at the same hedges where he’d earlier described seeing the young, fish-murdering Alessandro Castellani. “I thought I heard something,” he said after a moment. “Must be my imagination.”
I stared hard into the darkness, but I saw nothing and heard nothing.
All the same, I was uneasy. “Let’s get back to the house.”
Chapter Fifteen
We went back up to the house while Julian told me the story of how he’d asked his father—Ciro, he called him, without exception, when speaking about him—if he could take his mother’s ashes to the family plot and inter them. Castellani had refused.
“Imagine that,” Julian mourned. “Even after she died Ciro wanted to control her. He displays her ashes like a trophy in that glass case in the salon. And even now…” We’d reached the French doors again. “Even now he controls her still, by controlling me.”
We’d run out of time. If I wanted to know something, I’d need to ask it outright. “Are you saying—do you meanhelocked you into that thing you wear? Your father?”
Julian’s face stayed still for three seconds before he collapsed into giggles. “You know what, Baxter Flynn? You aremuchless innocent than your boyish charms suggest. No. Ciro did not lock me into that thing I wear.” His last sentence was a mocking parody of the way I’d said it.
I probably deserved that. But I still had questions. “If that’s not what you meant, then tell me. How does your father control you?”
But Julian’s mirth died into a melancholic smile, and he flung open the door. “After you, Baxter Flynn.”
Inside, the scent of cigar smoke lingered, heady and expensive. Alessandro was the only one in the room, and he glowered at us when we entered.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Julian said to me, “I’ll go find my father, and your lover, of course. I’m sure Sandro will keep you entertained in the meantime.”
The look on Alessandro Castellani’s face suggested otherwise, but Julian left before I could suggest I go with him.
