Jacquie pulled a tissue from the box and wiped her face with it, before she balled it up in her fist. Mendoza continued his questioning. “And after that phone call in the middle of the day yesterday, you didn’t hear from him again?”
Jacquie shook her head, and another tear leaked out. “I texted him around ten to say goodnight, but he didn’t respond. I figured he was still with Sal, or maybe just asleep.”
Her voice broke again. “I should have… I should have called. Or gone out there. I should have checked on him.”
“He was fine,” I said, and ignored Mendoza’s look of exasperation. “He was fine at ten o’clock last night. Zachary followed him home at eleven-thirty. Before that, he was at the Tin Roof with his boss.”
“I could have heard his voice one last time,” Jacquie said tragically, and I supposed there was some truth to that, so I managed to keep from rolling my eyes in spite of the drama.
“Miss Demetros,” Mendoza said, pulling her attention back on himself. “When Nick didn’t answer, did you go to his home last night? Or anywhere else?”
She looked up sharply, and I saw the moment comprehension dawned. “No. I stayed here. All night.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“No. I was alone.” She had straightened slightly, and some of the grief was giving way to something harder. “Wait. You think I—you think someone killed Nick? You think I did?”
“I’m not saying that,” Mendoza said. “I’m not saying anything. I’m just trying to establish everyone’s whereabouts for last night.”
“I didn’t kill him!” Her voice rose, shrill and panicked. “Why would I kill him? I loved him!”
“You hired Mrs. Kelly to follow him,” Mendoza pointed out.
“So what? That doesn’t mean I’d—” She turned to me, her eyes wide and wet. “Tell him, Gina. Tell him I didn’t do this.”
I hesitated. “Detective Mendoza is just doing his job, Jacquie. He has to ask.”
“But you know I didn’t do it! You’ve been watching him for days. Did you see me anywhere near his house? Did you see me do anything?”
“No,” I admitted. “I didn’t.”
“There. See?” She looked back at Mendoza. “I didn’t do anything. I’ve been here, waiting for her—” she indicated me, “—to tell me whether Nick was cheating on me, and now—” Her voice cracked. “Now he’s dead, and I’ll never know.”
Mendoza’s expression didn’t change. “What can you tell me about Nick’s background? His family, his history? We came here because Mrs. Kelly felt she owed it to you to update you as her client, but if you’re not Mr. Costanza’s next of kin…”
She dabbed at her eyes with the now-sodden tissue. “His family’s dead. Or—I don’t know, actually. He grew up in foster care. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and I don’t want to pry.”
“So Costanza might not be his family name?” I shot in. “It might be the name of his foster family?”
She shook her head. “I think he was born with it. Or it’s what they called him when he was a baby. I don’t know. But he’s always been called that, I think.”
“What about his relationship with Sal Gomorra?” Mendoza wanted to know.
“Sal saved him.” Jacquie’s voice was fierce now, almost defensive. “That’s what Nick said. He got in trouble when he was a teenager. Stealing cars, joy riding. He could have ended up in jail, but Sal took him under his wing. Said if he liked cars so much, he could learn to work on them. Sal gave him a job and taught him a trade. Nick loved Sal like a father.”
“So you’d say they had a good relationship?”
“The best,” Jacquie nodded fervently. “Sal would never hurt Nick. If that’s what you’re thinking?—”
“I’m not thinking anything,” Mendoza said, and while he left out the ‘yet,’ I could hear it in his voice. “I’m just gathering information.”
He asked a few more questions—about Nick’s other friends, his habits, whether he’d mentioned anyone bothering him or anything unusual happening recently. Jacquie answered as best she could, but it was clear that she didn’t know much. She brought up Megan, of course, and Mendoza took down the information with a straight face, but I don’t think I imagined the little curl of his lip. When he brought up gambling, Jacquie gave him a blank face, so either she was a better actress than I gave her credit for, or Nick had kept her at arm’s length when it came to the darker corners of his life.
Finally, Mendoza closed his notebook. “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Demetros. Someone will be in touch if we have more questions. And we’ll need you to come down to the station to give a formal statement.”
“When?” Her voice was small again.
“Monday would be fine. Ask for Lieutenant Copeland.”
