Murder on Mulberry Bend (15 page)

He really was in a bad mood. She couldn’t help wondering how much of it was due to Richard Dennis. “I’m sure she wasn’t thinking about him beating her up. She was probably thinking about him falling in love with her and
wanting
her back. Then she could reject him and have her revenge.”

“Italians get real excited over revenge,” he observed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Malloy.”

“Okay, let’s think about this seriously,” he suggested. “The girl gets all dressed up, looks in the mirror, and decides she wants her old lover to see her and regret throwing her out. Even though she hasn’t seen him in months, she goes straight down to City Hall Park, where she meets up with him. They have a fight, he pulls out a stiletto and shoves it in her neck. Then he walks away. Is that about how you figured it happened?”

When he said it like that, it didn’t sound very convincing, but Sarah wasn’t going to give in without a fight. “I hadn’t thought about it. Maybe she’d seen him around before that day. Or maybe someone had told her he’d be in the park that morning. She’d probably known about the clothes since Sunday, when I dropped them off. Why did she wait to go out looking for work? Maybe she’d arranged to meet him that morning and only told Mrs. Wells she’d be looking for work so she wouldn’t get suspicious.”

There, that was plausible! She watched him drinking his coffee and trying to figure out what was wrong with her theory. “Okay, then why did he kill her? And why did he kill her
like that?”

A very good question. “He ... She made him angry,” Sarah improvised.

“Why didn’t he just walk away then? Or hit her and walk away?”

“He didn’t want to cause a scene or draw attention to himself. The park is a busy place.”

“Not that busy. A girl got killed without anybody noticing,” he reminded her.

“Which is why he stabbed her instead of hitting her.”

“Yeah, he killed her so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself by slapping her. That makes sense.” Sarah glared at him but he ignored it. “So why did he stab her there?”

“There? You mean in the park?” she asked in confusion.

“No, in the neck. And by the way, Dr. Haynes, the coroner, agreed with you. The girl was killed by being stabbed the way you thought. But why there? I’ve seen lots of people get stabbed in lots of places, but never in the back of the neck.”

Sarah hadn’t thought about this aspect of the case. “That is strange. Whoever stabbed her must have known it would kill her.”

“How many people would know a thing like that? Would you?”

“I ... I knew it when I saw where she’d been stabbed, or at least I knew a wound there could have damaged the brain. But I don’t think I ever would have thought of it as a way to kill someone.”

“Would a doctor know it?”

Sarah shook her head. “He’d know how dangerous it is to injure the brain, but I can’t imagine anyone choosing it as a method of murder. In any case, it couldn’t have been a crime of passion. Whoever did it had planned it.” Then she thought of something else. “Maybe this is a traditional way the Black Hand kills people!”

“They usually like to kill people in very dramatic ways — like blowing up their store or something. They only kill as a last resort. You can’t collect money from a dead man, so they do it to make an example, to scare everybody else into submission.”

“But don’t they assassinate people, too? This could be one of those things they brought over with them from the Old Country.”

He shrugged. Sarah figured he knew she was right but couldn’t bear to agree with her. “What else did you find out from Mrs. Wells that I didn’t?” he asked, without much apparent interest.

“I’m not sure. Did she tell you Emilia had a pimp?”

He frowned. Malloy wouldn’t approve of a lady knowing about pimps. “She claimed she didn’t know his name.”

“Did you ask her parents? Maybe they know.”

“The subject didn’t come up. What color hair do your parents have?” he asked suddenly.

Sarah stared at him in surprise. What did that have to do with anything? “My mother’s is blond, like mine. My father’s is brown.”

“Emilia’s parents both have black hair.”

Sarah needed a moment to recognize the significance of this. “And hers was blond. That’s unusual, but not unheard of, I suspect.”

“I didn’t see any other blond girls in that neighborhood. Everybody is from Southern Italy, like the Donatos. They’re all dark.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

Sarah considered this information. “Do you think Emilia wasn’t really their daughter?”

“The old woman — her mother — kept saying she didn’t have a daughter.”

“Are you sure you were talking to the right people?”

“Oh, yeah, they were her family. The father acted the way he should have, shocked and sad. The mother was just mad. She hated the girl. Sounded like she’d disowned her. When she first saw me, she thought Emilia was just in trouble with the police, and she didn’t want me to tell her husband because he’d help her.”

“That’s strange,” Sarah mused. “Usually, it’s the mother who tries to protect the child, and the father who gets angry and wants to disown her. Does Emilia have sisters?”

“Just a brother, according to Mrs. Wells. He wasn’t home.”

“Is he older or younger?”

“I don’t know yet. Look,” he said, growing solemn and setting his coffee cup down firmly, “they aren’t going to let me spend much time on this. I can only give it another day or two, not even that long if somebody upstairs realizes nobody cares about this girl.”

“Then you’ll need my help,” Sarah said, certain that’s what he was getting at.

“No,” he said impatiently, “you don’t understand. I’ll question this Ugo and try to find the pimp and her brother. After that, if I haven’t found out what happened, I’ll have to close the case. Nobody will ever find out who killed her.”

“But you can’t — ”

“Yes, I can,” he corrected her firmly. “You are not going down to Mulberry Bend and start asking questions about the Black Hand. This isn’t like the other cases you were involved in. These aren’t respectable killers who made a bad mistake. These people are pure evil. I don’t want to see
your
body on a slab in the morgue. Do you understand?”

She’d never seen anyone look so angry and so vulnerable at the same time. She swallowed. “Yes, I understand.”

S
ARAH SHIFTED THE BASKET FROM HER LEFT ARM TO her right. She’d been a little overgenerous in filling it, and now she was paying the price. Not only was the basket heavy, but carrying it along crowded sidewalks was difficult. She kept bumping people with it, earning irritated looks and even more irritated curses as she made her way down Mulberry Street.

When Mrs. Wells had described where Emilia’s family lived, Sarah had immediately recognized the area. She’d delivered several babies in these tenements. Few of those babies lived to celebrate their first birthdays, but at least they’d arrived alive and well into the world.

The fall weather was holding, and today was even warmer than yesterday, with the sun shining brightly. All the residents of Mulberry Bend seemed to be out in the street, standing on their fire escapes or leaning out their windows, shouting back and forth to each other. Women of every age sat lined up on the curbs and stoops, some nursing babies, some screaming at children who had wandered too far away, others just talking and gossiping.

Sarah’s basket bumped a young mother carrying an infant in a sling. “Excuse me,” she apologized.

The woman smiled.
“Signora
Brandt?” she asked.

Sarah looked more closely. “Maria?” Sarah had delivered the baby who slept so peacefully at his mother’s breast. “How is your baby doing?”

Maria was carrying some vegetables in her apron, but using her free hand, she obligingly shifted the fabric of the sling to reveal the child. He looked healthy and fat.

“Buono,”
Sarah said with an approving smile, using one of her few Italian words. She stroked the baby’s thick, dark curls.

“Sì, è bello,
” Maria agreed, smiling back. “He is fat like pig!”

“That proves your milk is good,” Sarah said. “You’re a good mother.”

Maria beamed with pride. “You here ... more baby?” she asked.

“No, I’m visiting the Donato family. Do you know them?”

Maria nodded, and her smile faded. “I know Emilia, before she go away.”

“Have you heard what happened to her?”

Maria shook her head warily.

“Someone murdered her.”

Maria’s eyes widened in surprise. She crossed herself quickly and murmured what might have been a prayer or a blessing.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “Were you good friends?”

Maria shrugged one shoulder. “I know her. That is all. Who kill her? Lucca?”

“Who is Lucca?” Sarah asked, trying not to sound too eager.

Maria glanced around nervously, afraid someone would overhear. “He bad man,” she said.

Sarah knew there had been two bad men in Emilia’s life. One of them had been named Ugo. “Was he her pimp?” Sarah whispered, wondering how she would explain this if Maria wasn’t familiar with the word.

Maria’s dark eyes grew wide again. Sarah supposed she was surprised Sarah knew the word. “Sì,” she said, nodding vigorously. “Very bad man.”

“Do you know his last name?”

She shook her head. “He just Lucca. Very bad
man,”
she repeated firmly, as if afraid Sarah hadn’t quite understood.

“Thank you, Maria. I’ll be careful.”

“Sì, careful,” Maria agreed.
“Molta attenta.”

Sarah smiled to reassure the girl. “Could you show me the alley where the Donatos live? I brought them a basket of food from the mission.”

Maria didn’t smile back.
“Signora
Donato, she not be sad Emilia dead,” she warned.

Sarah was actually counting on that. She hoped the woman’s anger at her dead daughter would loosen her tongue. “I know.”

Maria studied her face for a moment, making sure Sarah wasn’t going to waiver in her mission of mercy, before saying, “Come, I show you.”

“Do you know Emilia’s brother, too?” Sarah asked as Maria fell in beside her.

“Sì,
Georgio. He play ... organ?” She wasn’t sure she’d chosen the correct word.

For a moment Sarah pictured a man in a tuxedo playing a pipe organ in an enormous cathedral. Then she noticed Maria moving her hand in a cranking motion. “He’s an organ grinder,” she guessed.

“Sì.”
Maria was pleased she had made Sarah understand. “He ... no foot,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the ground.

“He lost his foot?” This would explain his organ grinding. He wouldn’t be able to hold a regular laboring job.

“No, he ... born, no foot.”

Sarah nodded her understanding. She thought of Brian Malloy’s misshapen foot and wondered if Malloy knew how lucky his son had been, even in his misfortune. At least Georgio Donato had managed to find a profession of sorts, even if it was nothing more than glorified begging.

“Does he play around here?” Sarah asked.

Maria grinned at Sarah’s naivete. “No, he play Macy’s,” she said, naming the popular department store on Sixth Avenue.

Of course, Sarah should have realized an organ grinder would have to go where people had enough money to give him coins for the entertainment he provided. She’d seen various musicians lining the streets in those neighborhoods, looking for alms from the passing throngs, but she’d hardly ever paid attention to them.

Maria had led her down one of the twisting alleys and now she stopped and pointed at the next building. “There,” she said.
“Tre
steps.” She held up three fingers and pointed up. Sarah understood the Donatos lived on the third floor.

She thanked Maria, wished her well, and insisted she take one of the small cakes from her basket as a reward. When the girl had gone, Sarah drew a fortifying breath and continued with her objective. By the time she had reached the third floor of the Donatos’ building, she was
extremely
sorry she’d filled the basket so full. She only hoped the Donatos were grateful enough to accept her offerings, because she had no intention of carrying them back down again.

The doors to some of the flats stood open to catch the breeze from the stairwell. This allowed some feeble light to guide her in the windowless area. When she reached the third floor, she saw a woman in one of the flats. She was sitting at her kitchen table. The makings of paper flowers lay on the table before her. Many families in the tenements made flowers or other crafts to sell in the street, putting children to the task as soon as they were old enough to do the work. This woman was simply staring blankly at the wall today. Sarah thought she looked like someone who had just lost her daughter.

“Mrs. Donato?” she tried.

The woman looked around slowly, squinting to make out who was standing in the shadows. Sarah stepped into the doorway. “Are you Mrs. Donato?”

“We pay rent,” the woman said defensively.

Sarah tried a reassuring smile. “I’m Sarah Brandt,” she said, too late realizing Malloy might have told them she was the one who had identified Emilia’s body. “I met Emilia at the mission,” she hurried on. “I was very sorry to hear what happened, and I brought some things I thought you might be able to use.”

Mrs. Donato gave no indication she’d ever heard Sarah’s name before. Count on Malloy to be discreet. When Mrs. Donato also didn’t offer any objection, Sarah pulled back the cloth covering the basket to reveal an assortment of delicacies she’d purchased at the bakery near her house. She’d been careful not to choose anything that might look like charity or indicate she thought the family couldn’t provide regular meals for themselves. “For the funeral,” she said. They would need something special to serve the mourners after the service.