Murder on Mulberry Bend (19 page)

“Because she met you on Thursday morning. She wanted you to see her new dress. She wanted you to see how pretty she was and make you sorry you threw her out. She made you angry, so you stabbed her to death.”

“No!” he cried frantically. “I no see her, long time! She nothing to me. She go to mission. I no see no more. I think she die. I no kill. Why I kill? She nothing to me!”

Either he was a better liar than he had a right to be or he was telling the truth. Frank was afraid he was telling the truth. Coming here had been a long shot in any case, but he’d run out of suspects. No one, it seemed, had any reason to want Emilia Donato dead.

Maybe if he had some more time, he could figure it out, but they’d told him yesterday at Headquarters to close the case. Emilia’s parents weren’t going to offer a reward or pressure the police to do anything. Even they didn’t care that she was dead. No one cared.

No one except Sarah Brandt.

 

Frank didn’t ask himself why he was walking down Bank Street. If he didn’t ask himself, he wouldn’t have to make up a lie to satisfy his pride. The truth was, he only needed the slightest excuse to come here, and this time his excuse was pretty substantial.

Darkness had fallen on the city, even though the hour wasn’t particularly late. The days were growing shorter as October wound to a close. As soon as he’d turned the comer, he’d seen a light on in Sarah’s front room. There was always a chance she’d be out on a call, but his luck seemed to be holding. The darkness would keep Mrs. Ellsworth inside, too, since even the busiest of busybodies couldn’t sweep her front steps in the pitch dark. He didn’t feel much like answering her questions tonight, no matter how well intentioned they were.

Sarah Brandt opened the door at his knock. She said, “Malloy,” but she didn’t smile the way she usually did. She looked worried, maybe even a little nervous. “Is something wrong?”

So that was it. She was worried about Brian. “No, nothing’s wrong, except that I haven’t found your murderer.”

That seemed to reassure her. “Come in. Would you like some coffee? Have you eaten?”

“Just some coffee,” he said, hanging his hat in her hallway the way he always did. He followed her into the kitchen, admiring the shape of her body in the worn housedress. Apparently, she hadn’t given
all
of her old clothes to the mission.

For an instant he remembered the way she had felt in his arms in that emotional moment he’d forgotten himself at finding her alive and well. The memory brought the heat to his face and to other parts of him, too, so he quickly banished it. Still, he wondered if she thought about it and how she felt when she did. She’d certainly never mentioned it, thank God. If she was willing to pretend it hadn’t happened, so was he.

“Sit down,” she said, pointing to the kitchen table, and began making the coffee.

He watched her work, enjoying these few stolen minutes of false intimacy when he could pretend he belonged here, with her. Too soon she was finished, and she sat down across from him at the table. Her eyes were guarded, as if she was afraid to hope too much.

“What did you find out?” she asked when he didn’t speak.

“That nobody had any reason to kill Emilia.”

“Did you find her lover?”

“Yeah, and her pimp, too. She wasn’t a very good prostitute. Even when this fellow Lucca beat her, she wouldn’t earn any money for him.”

“Wouldn’t that give him a reason to kill her?”

“Not months after he’d thrown her out, and he’d found a new girl. He didn’t even remember her name.”

“How awful!”

“Pimps aren’t usually known for their social graces,” Frank reminded her.

“What about that Ugo, the man who seduced her in the first place?”

“He was finished with her, too. I took him down to Headquarters and let him sit in a cell for a while. He was pretty scared, so I’m fairly certain he didn’t kill her either. Neither of them had seen her recently, not since she went to the mission, at least.”

“What about our theory that she wanted one of them to take her back?”

“If she met a man in the park that morning, it wasn’t either one of them.”

She frowned. She didn’t like this one bit. “It must have been the Black Hand, then. They’re the ones who use stilettos,” she decided.

“I did some research into the Black Hand. Her family is too poor to attract their attention. Besides, every Italian man in New York owns a stiletto.”

She wasn’t going to let it rest. “What about her family then? Did you talk to her father and her brother?”

“I didn’t see her brother, but why would her family want her dead?”

“They’re Catholics,” she reminded him. “Emilia had left her faith.”

Frank didn’t know whether to laugh or take offense. “I know you Protestants think Catholics eat babies for communion, but we don’t kill people just for leaving the church.”

He was gratified to see her instant contrition. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to sound so ... so bigoted,” she said. “I just ... I thought maybe ... Her mother, at least, didn’t seem to care about Emilia at all.”

“If they didn’t like her, all the more reason why they wouldn’t have killed her for leaving the church,” Frank said before the real import of her words struck him. “Wait a minute, when did you meet Emilia’s mother?” he asked suspiciously.

She would have been a terrible failure as a criminal. Her guilt was as obvious as a scarlet brand on her forehead. “I ... That is ... one of my patients told me. I deliver a lot of babies in that neighborhood and — ”

“You went to the Donatos’ flat even after I told you how dangerous it was to get involved in this!” he accused her furiously.

“I just took her mother some food for the funeral. It was the Christian thing to do,” she added hastily when he clenched his fists on the table. “I also found out some very interesting information.”

“Then you wasted your time. It doesn’t matter what you found out, because the case is closed,” he told her, somehow managing to restrain his impulse to reach across the table and shake some sense into her.

“You mean you found the killer? I thought you said — ”

“I said I didn’t find the killer, and I’m not going to,” he snapped. “Headquarters ordered me to close the case.”

“But what about the person who murdered Emilia? Does he just go free?” she demanded, horrified.

“Like hundreds of others do every year,” he said. “There isn’t much justice in the world, Mrs. Brandt, and hardly any at all in New York City. You should know that by now.”

The coffee was boiling, splashing out of the spout to sputter on the stovetop. She jumped up to save it. He waited, trying to rein in his anger while she filled two cups and carried them to the table.

She was angry, too, if he could judge by the way she set the cups down. Coffee sloshed over the sides into the saucers. She didn’t even notice. “Somebody wanted her dead,” she reminded him, planting her hands on her hips. “Because she is dead. And it wasn’t a robbery because she wasn’t robbed, and it wasn’t an assault, because she wasn’t assaulted. Someone killed her deliberately and efficiently, and that person had probably planned it carefully ahead of time.”

“Fine,” he replied. “Tell me who it was, and I’ll arrest him.”

She looked like she wanted to spit nails, but she sat back down in her chair instead. “It had to have been someone who knew her.”

“She probably knew a lot of people. People in her neighborhood, people in the mission ...”

She perked up at that. “I hadn’t thought about the mission. She probably met lots of unsavory people there.”

“Unsavory people do seem to be their specialty,” Frank observed, earning a black look for his efforts.

“I’m serious, Malloy. She could have made an enemy of someone who came to the mission but didn’t reform.”

He nodded. “Yeah, a girl who also happened to be a doctor or a nurse and knew that stabbing somebody in the back of the head would kill them without making a mess.”

“Other people could know that, too,” she argued, undaunted. Her persistence was amazing.

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. Someone who worked in a slaughterhouse or maybe a butcher ...”

“I guess a lot of those girls at the mission used to be butchers.”

“Malloy, if you aren’t careful, I’m going to pour the next cup of coffee in your lap!”

He managed not to grin because she just might do it if he provoked her any more. He decided to try reason. “I’m just trying to point out that none of these theories make sense. Is this the important information you got when you visited Mrs. Donato?”

“Of course not!” In an instant, her anger was gone. He’d never known a woman who calmed down so quickly. But then, he’d never known any women like Sarah Brandt before. “I found out that Emilia wasn’t Mr. Donato’s daughter.”

He wasn’t sure what difference this could possibly make, but he’d humor her. “Who was her father then?”

“Her mother was ... attacked by some sailors on the ship coming over. That’s why she had blond hair. She was only half Italian.”

That explained a lot about Mrs. Donato’s attitude toward her daughter. “I’m surprised Donato agreed to keep the girl.”

“He didn’t know. Mrs. Donato never told anyone about the attack.”

“He must’ve thought it was funny she had light hair.”

“I’m sure lots of people did, but Mrs. Donato claims he never suspected. She couldn’t bring herself to love Emilia, though. I’m sure that made life hard for her. No wonder she was deceived by the first man to pay her any attention.”

“That Ugo fellow has a wife and three kids back in Italy,” Malloy said, in case she was going to put any of the blame on Emilia.

“What?
That cad!” she exclaimed, outraged.

“He didn’t marry Emilia because he didn’t want to be a bigamist.”

“How very noble of him,” she said acidly. “He should be horsewhipped.”

“At least,” Frank agreed.

“Maybe Emilia found out about his wife and threatened to expose him,” she said. “That would give him a reason to kill her.”

“Only if he
cared
that his wife back in Italy knew he had a mistress. I don’t think Ugo is too worried about things like that.”

She frowned. She knew he was right and didn’t want to admit it. “Her brother is an organ grinder,” she offered after a moment.

“Is he?” Frank wasn’t sure why this was important.

“He plays outside of Macy’s.”

“Do you think
he
killed Emilia?” Frank asked, trying hard not to sound sarcastic.

Apparently, he succeeded because she didn’t take offense. “He’s a cripple. He was ... he was born without a foot.”

Frank couldn’t help flinching a bit. He’d instantly thought of Brian and the future he’d once imagined for his crippled, simple-minded son. Because of Sarah, Brian was no longer a cripple, and now Frank knew he was deaf, and not simple at all. He’d never be sitting on the pavement outside of Macy’s, begging for coins.

“That’s how I know he didn’t kill Emilia,” she went on. “He never could have come up behind her and stabbed her because he walks with crutches.”

Frank glared at her. “When did you meet
him?”

She didn’t quite meet his eye, which was a good thing because the look he was giving her would’ve curled her hair. “I ... I told you, he plays outside of Macy’s. I had some shopping to do, so I looked for him. He has a little daughter who dances for him.”

Frank decided it was a waste of energy to be angry at this bit of foolishness. At least she hadn’t been in any danger on a public street. “Are you sure she’s his daughter?”

“What do you mean?”

“A lot of those beggars don’t have children of their own or children the right size or that are cute enough, so they hire one.”

“How awful!”

“Not really. At least the kid isn’t working in a tenement sweatshop. She probably earns more money dancing than she would making cigars or paper flowers anyway.”

She frowned. “I guess that’s why he wasn’t very nice to her. She was so tired, she fell asleep sitting on the sidewalk, and he kicked her and made her get up and dance some more.”

“That doesn’t prove she’s not his daughter,” Frank pointed out. They’d both seen natural parents do far worse than that to their children.

“I suppose you’re right.” She sighed and studied her coffee for a moment. Then she looked up. “Mrs. Donato makes paper flowers.” Her eyes lit up. “Do you suppose she sells them in City Hall Park?”

“Do you think
she
killed the girl?” he asked skeptically. “Because she acted pretty innocent when I questioned her.”

She sighed again. “No, I guess I don’t think she did it.”

She looked tired. He figured she’d been delivering babies and hadn’t been getting enough sleep. Why did babies always come in the middle of the night?

“You aren’t going to find out who killed Emilia Donato,” he warned her. “Nobody is going to find out. Sometimes we can’t solve these cases. Most times, in fact. Girls like that, they take up with a stranger, and they end up dead. Maybe the girl herself didn’t know who he was.”

“But she wasn’t taking up with strangers anymore,” she reminded him. “She was going to get a job.”

“That’s what she told the woman at the mission. We don’t know what she did when she left there. And nobody knows why she was in the park that morning. She couldn’t have been there to look for a job.”

“Her killer knows why she was there,” she argued.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’ve got to accept the fact that sometimes there just isn’t an answer and some murders don’t get solved.”

“It’s not fair, Malloy.”

“No, it’s not. But you’ve got to accept it, and you’ve got to forget about Emilia Donato, Sarah.”

He waited for her to agree, but she never did.

S
ARAH PURPOSELY DIDN’T GLANCE OVER WHEN SHE walked past Police Headquarters on Mulberry Street. She was half afraid she’d see Malloy if she did. Of course, he didn’t have any right to stop her from what she was doing. Nobody did, come to that. Still, she didn’t feel like having an argument with him about it in the middle of the street, and she knew him well enough to know he’d want to argue if he saw her heading toward the Prodigal Son Mission.