said.
“I’ll check with him later and get his report. Thanks, Donatelli,” he said generously. “You did a good job.”
The young man looked pleased, but he didn’t smile.
“There’s one more thing.”
Frank didn’t want to hear one more thing about this case.
“What is it?”
Donatelli reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. When he unfolded it, Frank saw it was one of the penny newspapers. Then he saw the drawing.
“What the hell . . . ?” he muttered, snatching the paper from Donatelli. “Her throat wasn’t cut,” he protested as he read. “Where’d they get this?” he demanded of no one in particular.
“Mama’s is only a few blocks away from here,” Donatelli reminded him. “Somebody could just go over to the press shacks and tell them whatever they wanted to hear.”
The rooms in the two houses directly across the street from Police Headquarters were rented by hordes of reporters who spent their days watching the Black Marias arrive and disgorge their prisoners, hoping one of them would provide a good story. Donatelli was right, somebody with knowledge of a story like Nainsi’s would only have to stand outside on the sidewalk and wave to get all the attention he wanted. Or she wanted.
“Nainsi’s mother,” Frank guessed.
“Who else would care?” Donatelli asked. “I don’t think the Ruoccos wanted this story in the newspapers.”
“She’ll be sorry,” Frank predicted. “Ugo will make sure of it.”
Frank heard somebody calling his name. He swore.
“Maybe it’s about something else,” Donatelli offered.
“Malloy!” It was one of the Goo-Goos, a brand-new officer, breathless from running through the building in search of him. He sighed in relief when he saw Malloy sitting at his desk. “Commissioner Roosevelt wants to see you right away.”
“Yeah,” Frank said to Donatelli, rising reluctantly. “He probably wants my advice on running the department or something.”
Donatelli rose also and followed Frank down the hall toward the stairs to the second floor where Roosevelt kept his office. “If you need somebody who speaks Italian, you know where to find me,” he said in parting.
Frank just grunted and started up the stairs.
Miss Kelly, the girl secretary Roosevelt had hired in a break with decades of tradition of an exclusively male staff, greeted him and told him to go on in. The commissioner was waiting for him.
Frank wished he’d had a chance to clean up first, but Roosevelt would have to take him as he was.
“Been cleaning chimneys, Detective Sergeant?” Roosevelt asked with his toothy grin.
“Warehouse fire, sir,” he replied. “I just got back.”
“You were down at that Italian restaurant this morning, though.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, sir. I suspected the girl had been murdered, so I sent her body to the morgue for an autopsy.”
“Throat cut, eh?”
“Oh, no, she was smothered.”
“Then the scandal sheets are wrong.”
“They’re wrong about a lot of things, Commissioner,”
Frank explained wearily. “She wasn’t kidnapped. She was married to one of the Ruocco boys. He thought he’d gotten her in a family way. When the baby came way too early, he knew it wasn’t his. The whole family was pretty mad. The next morning she was dead.”
“What about the baby?”
“It’s fine, and the Ruocco family wants to keep it. Seems one of the other boys’ wives can’t have any of her own.”
“The girl was murdered, though. No doubt about that?”
“No, sir, no doubt at all, according to the coroner.”
“Who did it?”
“We don’t have any idea. And it’s Ugo Ruocco’s family.”
Roosevelt grimaced in distaste. “The girl married his son?”
“His nephew. He’ll try to protect them though. He’ll bribe and threaten whoever he has to.”
“A girl was murdered. We can’t let a criminal stop us from investigating,” Roosevelt insisted.
“He can make sure we don’t find the killer, though,”
Frank said. “If it was somebody in the family—and it probably was—they’ll never turn on each other. All they have to do is keep quiet.”
Even though he understood, Roosevelt didn’t like it.
Frank wished he wasn’t the one delivering the bad news, but it couldn’t be helped.
They could both hear the sound of a paddy wagon pulling up in the street below with its load of boisterous drunks. It was early for that, Frank noted. They didn’t start picking up that kind of crowd until long after sundown. Even then, they usually didn’t make this much noise.
Roosevelt must have had the same thought. He went to the window overlooking the street, and Frank followed. The men spilling from the wagon didn’t look drunk. They were much too feisty and coordinated as they dodged the officers’
locust clubs and managed to get in a few licks of their own.
One even successfully broke free and raced away down the street to freedom. The officers were too busy to even notice his escape.
“What’s this?” Roosevelt muttered. “It looks like a riot!”
Frank thought so, too.
Someone knocked loudly on the office door, and before Roosevelt could answer, it opened.
Minnie Kelly stuck her head in, her eyes wide. “An Officer Donatelli says he has to see you, Commissioner.”
“He was with me at the restaurant this morning,” Frank said to Roosevelt.
“Send him in,” Roosevelt said.
Donatelli didn’t wait for Miss Kelly. He was right behind her, and he stepped around her into the room.
“Mr. Roosevelt, sir, there was a riot down at the Ruoccos’
restaurant. I knew Mr. Malloy was with you, and you’d both want to know right away.”
“What kind of a riot?” Roosevelt demanded. “Who was involved?”
“A group of Irish boys, it seems, sir,” Donatelli said.
“That’s how it started. They got to reading the penny press about the girl who got killed, and they were drinking some, I guess. They worked themselves up into a fever and marched down to Mama’s, started yelling and then throwing rocks. A window got broke, and then all hell—I’m sorry, sir, then things started getting really rough. Some of the neighborhood toughs came out with sticks, and a lot of noses got bloodied. Our boys gathered up as many as they could from both sides and sent the others packing.”
“So that’s who they’re bringing in now,” Roosevelt said.
“Yes, sir, at least the ones that didn’t run away.”
Roosevelt removed his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’d better telephone the mayor before he hears this from someone else. Malloy,” he added as he put his glasses back on, “you’re in charge of this investigation. I want the killer found.”
Frank wanted to remind him how he’d just explained that the task was impossible, but he resisted the self- destructive urge. “An Irish cop won’t get far with those people,” he said instead. “They only trust their own.”
“I don’t have any Italian detectives to send,” Roosevelt reminded him.
“I’ll help in any way I can,” Donatelli offered. “I grew up in that neighborhood.”
“Dee-lightful,” Roosevelt said, his good humor restored.
“Take this young man, Malloy. Donatelli, is it? Good work, Officer Donatelli. And just tell Conlin if you need anyone else,” he added, mentioning the chief of detectives. “I want this matter settled before this little altercation turns into a full-scale war between the Irish and Italians.”
