Chapter 23: The Commission Votes

The Commission sat in Rocco's dining room, at the table where Tullio had served his last supper.

The old boss took the head chair, with his cane across his knees.

The two cousins from New Jersey took the middle, and the widow from Staten Island sat at the far end with her rosary.

Rocco sat at the foot, still pale, in a clean white shirt.

I stood at his shoulder.

Nobody told me to sit, and nobody told me to go.

Two guards brought Tullio up from the cellar with his hands tied in front of him.

His camel coat was wrinkled, his curls were flat on one side, and he had no smile left.

"Tullio Barsanti," the old boss said. "You are accused of poisoning your father and of poisoning your brother. How do you answer?"

"I don't," Tullio said.

"Then we will tell you what we know."

The old boss nodded to Gia, and she stood with her ledger open.

She read it flatly, in her accountant's voice, line by line.

She read the hair results, six months of arsenic climbing to the day the old don died.

She read the resident's statement, and the voice on the unit phone that had said, I am the old don's son.

She read the tin of honey, and the gift basket Rensselaer Wealth had sent every quarter.

She read the name of the man in the Barsanti house who signed for it.

Her voice did not shake until the last line.

"Tullio Barsanti," she said. "My brother."

Tullio looked at her for a long moment.

"The two men who saw you at Rocco's coat last night are in the hall," the old boss said.

"Carson Rensselaer gave the detectives a statement this morning. He's trying to buy himself years."

He folded his hands on the cane.

"He bought us your name."

Tullio laughed.

It was short and tired, and it sounded like his father's.

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