Page 79 of Bad Bishop

Tate’s motive was flimsy at best. He was happily married, his wife had just given birth to their son, and, judging by the fact he had almost set the entire city on fire when I kidnapped her, it seemed unlikely he’d jeopardize his relationship for a quick shag. Then again, Angelo was a member of the Chicago Outfit. Touching the Camorra princess was a war declaration. One the New York–based Mafia would win by a landslide.

I was hitting one dead end after the other. The crime scene was contaminated now, and my suspects were high-profile enough to refrain from conducting themselves sloppily. Their phones and computer records all came back spotless.

“It’s not Angelo who did this,” Achilles said.

“He’s my best bet.” I cracked my knuckles.

“Let me spell it out for you, in case I wasn’t clear enough.” Achilles stacked his feet on my desk at Fermanagh’s, sitting back leisurely. “I’ll be fucked and damned if I let you drag an Outfit and family member into my dungeon and watch you shred offhis skin with a kebab slicer to interrogate him based off your hunch.”

“It’s not a hunch,” Fintan said heatedly. “He disappeared right after she did for an entire hour before he came back. He’s also the single, childless one between the suspects, so fewer strings attached.”

“So did the fourteen other men,” Achilles pointed out.

“Thirteen, seeing as we crossed off oxygen tank fella.” Tierney was keeping score.

“Shut up,piccola fiamma. The grownups are speaking now.”

“Piccola fiamma?” I arched an eyebrow.

“Little flame.” Tierney rolled her eyes coquettishly. “He has a slight obsession problem. I tried to gift him an autograph and a pair of used underwear, but he’s relentless.”

I scowled at Achilles. I didn’t appreciate him shutting my sister up. I appreciated even less that he seemed to haunt her no matter where she went.

“Oh, and no one’s asking for your permission to talk.” Tierney skewered him with a glare. “Mr. They-Haven’t-Built-a-Condom-Big-Enough.”

“I’ve good news, sweetheart. The condom’s been built. Wanna give it a try?”

“I could do without watching my sister and brother-in-law engaging in verbal foreplay while we work.” I returned my attention to the suspect list in front of me. “Let’s stick to the subject.”

“Luca’s in Chicago, so I’m speaking here on his behalf,” Achilles said. “And I’m telling you he won’t be game to interrogate his wife’s brother unless you come to him with a concrete piece of evidence.”

“Okay, can I play devil’s advocate here?” Tierney paced along the small office.

“Doing the devil’s PR is actually the perfect job for you, if you weren’t too lazy to hold one,” Achilles mused. Tierney shot him a deadly glare but continued.

“Angelo is basically family to the Ferrantes. He’s going to be seeing Lila socially for decades to come. Why would he run the risk Lila would snitch?”

“How the bleeding hell can she snitch?” Fintan frowned. “She’s nonverbal.”

Achilles shook his head. “It was a misdiagnosis. She is hard of hearing, but intellectually astute.”

“What?” Fintan’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets, and he turned to look at me. “You knew about this?”

I nodded.

“When did you find out?”

“Pretty much on our wedding night, when she tried to kill me several times,” I said dryly. “She confessed a few days ago.”

“She speaks?”

“ASL, yes. It was obvious from the get-go intelligence wasn’t the issue.” Tierney stopped at the open-space kitchenette, pouring herself a three-hour-old coffee. “Jury’s still out on her brother, though.”

“I’ll have some of that coffee.” Achilles pointed at Tierney with the hand that held his cigarette. Everyone in the room, including the coffeepot, knew the order wouldn’t fly.

Astonishingly, Tierney poured another cup. She strutted her way to Achilles’s side of the desk, raised her arm, and poured the dark liquid over his head. He snatched the paper cup quickly—no more than a few droplets of coffee grazing his attire—and flicked it on Tierney’s dress. She sucked in a breath, staring at him in rage. Her miscalculation surprised me. He was, among other things, an assassin. Killer instincts were what kept him alive.

“You asshole!” she growled.