arms likely would have gone.”
Cindy doesn’t respond, but instead looks at Laurie. After a few moments, she signals to the waiter and says, “The gentleman will take the check, please.”
“Let’s get one thing straight; I’m not going to say anything bad about my brother.”
It’s a strange way for Alex Solarno to start our conversation. All I had told him was that I wanted to talk to him about Richard; I certainly gave him no reason to think I was looking to hear bad things.
I had called Alex to ask him to see me, but he initially refused. He finally relented after I turned on the Carpenter charm, including endearing witticisms like “No problem; I’ll just have you served with a subpoena and question you under oath for eight hours.”
He had agreed to talk to me at his house in Closter. Taking into account the decline that housing prices in New Jersey have experienced along with the rest of the country, I’d estimate that his house is worth three million dollars. Throw in another couple of million for furnishing and art, and it’s fair to say that Alex Solarno is not hurting financially.
“I didn’t ask you to say anything bad about your brother.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want what I’m sure you want: to find out who murdered him.”
“A jury settled that awhile ago,” he says.
“That doesn’t make them right.”
“You got evidence that they were wrong?” he asks.
Why does everybody have to bring up that “evidence” thing? It’s really annoying.
“Here’s what I have,” I say. “I have reason to believe that Richard was the target, that he was involved in arms smuggling, and he pissed off the wrong people. I’m hoping you can tell me who those people are.” I’m taking a leap on this, especially the arms smuggling part, but it seems worth the risk.
“His bitch wife was the target.”
“That’s not quite the information I’m looking for.”
“Then you came to the wrong guy.”
I decide to try a different tack. “Why did you leave the company when you did?” Alex had stopped working there when the private equity sale was made, while Richard stayed on.
“I didn’t want to work anymore.” He motions with his hands, inviting me to take in the room and the house. “And I didn’t have to.”
“So that was it? You just suddenly decided to retire because you had money?” I can sympathize with that sentiment, since I pretty much made the same decision. But I refrain from mentioning that.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t have a falling out or anything with your brother?”
“No way.”
“You were close?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t he leave anything to you in his will? The house went back to the bank.”
“If he was here, we could ask him.”
“So you have no knowledge of any enemies he might have had, anyone who might have had a reason to kill him?”
“No.”
“No connection to the Desimone crime family?”
“No,” he says, though he does not seem surprised by the question. Most people, when asked about a connection to an organized crime family, would have a stronger response.
It’s been clear since I entered the house that I was not going to get anything out of him, and I haven’t really been trying to for a while. Which, of course, does not make this a waste of time.
“Here’s how this is going to work, Alex. I’m going to develop this information I have; my coming here today was simply to give you a chance to climb aboard the train. Based on your attitude, I’ve got a feeling that you’re going to tie yourself to the tracks. It’s a good way to get run over.”
“Get out of my house,” he says, a logical response to my threat. All I had really wanted to do was piss him off. Mission accomplished.
I leave, get into my car, and drive away. Once I’m out of sight of the house, I stop and call Sam Willis.
When Sam hears that it’s me, he says, “I’ve got your information.”
“Good, but right now I need you to do
Cindy doesn’t respond, but instead looks at Laurie. After a few moments, she signals to the waiter and says, “The gentleman will take the check, please.”
“Let’s get one thing straight; I’m not going to say anything bad about my brother.”
It’s a strange way for Alex Solarno to start our conversation. All I had told him was that I wanted to talk to him about Richard; I certainly gave him no reason to think I was looking to hear bad things.
I had called Alex to ask him to see me, but he initially refused. He finally relented after I turned on the Carpenter charm, including endearing witticisms like “No problem; I’ll just have you served with a subpoena and question you under oath for eight hours.”
He had agreed to talk to me at his house in Closter. Taking into account the decline that housing prices in New Jersey have experienced along with the rest of the country, I’d estimate that his house is worth three million dollars. Throw in another couple of million for furnishing and art, and it’s fair to say that Alex Solarno is not hurting financially.
“I didn’t ask you to say anything bad about your brother.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want what I’m sure you want: to find out who murdered him.”
“A jury settled that awhile ago,” he says.
“That doesn’t make them right.”
“You got evidence that they were wrong?” he asks.
Why does everybody have to bring up that “evidence” thing? It’s really annoying.
“Here’s what I have,” I say. “I have reason to believe that Richard was the target, that he was involved in arms smuggling, and he pissed off the wrong people. I’m hoping you can tell me who those people are.” I’m taking a leap on this, especially the arms smuggling part, but it seems worth the risk.
“His bitch wife was the target.”
“That’s not quite the information I’m looking for.”
“Then you came to the wrong guy.”
I decide to try a different tack. “Why did you leave the company when you did?” Alex had stopped working there when the private equity sale was made, while Richard stayed on.
“I didn’t want to work anymore.” He motions with his hands, inviting me to take in the room and the house. “And I didn’t have to.”
“So that was it? You just suddenly decided to retire because you had money?” I can sympathize with that sentiment, since I pretty much made the same decision. But I refrain from mentioning that.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t have a falling out or anything with your brother?”
“No way.”
“You were close?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t he leave anything to you in his will? The house went back to the bank.”
“If he was here, we could ask him.”
“So you have no knowledge of any enemies he might have had, anyone who might have had a reason to kill him?”
“No.”
“No connection to the Desimone crime family?”
“No,” he says, though he does not seem surprised by the question. Most people, when asked about a connection to an organized crime family, would have a stronger response.
It’s been clear since I entered the house that I was not going to get anything out of him, and I haven’t really been trying to for a while. Which, of course, does not make this a waste of time.
“Here’s how this is going to work, Alex. I’m going to develop this information I have; my coming here today was simply to give you a chance to climb aboard the train. Based on your attitude, I’ve got a feeling that you’re going to tie yourself to the tracks. It’s a good way to get run over.”
“Get out of my house,” he says, a logical response to my threat. All I had really wanted to do was piss him off. Mission accomplished.
I leave, get into my car, and drive away. Once I’m out of sight of the house, I stop and call Sam Willis.
When Sam hears that it’s me, he says, “I’ve got your information.”
“Good, but right now I need you to do
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