Katie Beers by Buried Memories: Katie Beers' Story Read Free Book Online Page A

will say that.”
    A reporter then asked the Sibens about their simultaneous representation of both John Esposito and Sal Inghilleri. It wasn’t lost on the press corps that both men were suspects in the disappearance of Katie Beers, with possible conflicting interests.
    Sidney was dressed in a pin-striped suit, contrasting striped shirt and impossibly patterned tie. From behind his enormous black square-framed glasses, he answered authoritatively, “I can tell you they are free to go; they are suspects like everyone else.
    “I think it’s fair to say that until they find the girl, dead or alive, they will never be able to prove our clients did it, John or Sal.”
    Andrew, clad in a different variation of pin stripes upon pin stripes added with conviction, “John and Sal both are concerned about the well-being of the child. They both want to see her safely returned.” He nodded his head for emphasis.
    Then Sal seemed to speak out of turn. Andrew was too late to reel in his client this time. The words were coming out of Sal’s sweat beaded lips.
    “Let me say this again—and let me say this explicively . The man, John Esposito, is,” he paused, “I have no problem with him and I don’t think he is capable of doing any horrendous act like this. Yous may want to press him in the papers, but that’s my opinion.”
    He couldn’t be stopped.
    “Never heard of him doing anything to a twelve-year-old child. Never heard that till yesterday on the news.”
    Someone, a reporter this time, changed the subject back to Marilyn.
    “The only reason I ever tolerated her is because of my wife. I never really cared for Marilyn—I had her number from years ago and I always told my wife ‘you be careful of that woman because one of these days she’s gonna turn around and back stab ya.’ Howeva yous fellas wanna write it up in the papers fine, I have nothing to hide.”
    Sensing his client’s bravado beginning to swirl anew, the senior Siben then announced with a booming voice, “Let’s bring this to a close. Two questions: Do you know where Katie is now?” he asked, playing journalist.
    “No I have no idea,” Sal said innocently.
    “Did you have anything to do directly or indirectly with her kidnapping?”
    “No sir.”
    The press, though, wasn’t taking direction.
    What do you think happened to her?
    “It’s a mystery. It’s a mystery.”
    So you think any of this has anything to do with her disappearance— this conflict between you and Ms. Beers?
    He stammered, “N..no, it don’t have nothing to do with her disappearance.”
    John Esposito’s house on Saxon Avenue was next on the list of venues to shoot for the evening newscast. The house was peculiar as its design was a patchwork of brick, split cedar and partially painted shingles. The apparent work of an indecisive builder, it was a collage of mismatched architectural features such as columns and port windows. The builder’s work was only further muddled by the homeowners who had added in the front yard a small statue of Saint Francis inexplicably paired with a plastic flamingo and stone lions. If they were intended to convey class, they failed miserably.
    Is Mr. Esposito here?
    Surprisingly, a plainclothes cop at the door spoke withouthesitation, even though he seemed aware the camera was rolling.
    “Mr. Esposito is here, but he wishes no contact with the press.”
    From the front door, dead ferns were visible on the sills inside the picture windows. Tony and I noticed a brown shingled two-story garage in the back, behind the main house, shot video of it, but didn’t pay it much attention.
    Neighbors back at the Inghilleri house, however, were offering a view of the missing girl’s life that was more difficult to ignore. Mike Bergo, a heavyset young man in a Georgetown University sweatshirt, was one of the first to give reporters reason to believe that all was not well in Katie’s world—even before she disappeared.
    “Katie’s a great kid, a