He’d been crying all night.”
People making their way down the sidewalk were jostling the pair and muttering impatiently since they were blocking progress. Malloy took her arm and led her to a doorway where they’d be less of an obstacle.
“Sarah,” he said, the frustration thick in his voice. “I told you not to go down there. You could’ve told them to call a doctor if the baby was sick.”
“He wasn’t sick,” Sarah said, sympathetic to his concern but knowing she was justified. “Besides, if I’d told them to call a doctor, I wouldn’t have found out anything that might help you find Nainsi’s killer.”
“And did you?” he challenged.
“I’m not sure yet. But if I didn’t this time, I can find out next time I visit. You’ll just have to tell me what you need to know.”
Few people were as ungrateful as Frank Malloy, Sarah observed. Instead of thanking her, he looked like he might cheerfully strangle her. Fortunately, he wasn’t likely to do so on a public street. “Where are you going now?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Home to have supper with Aggie.”
“Then you’d better get going before I decide to lock you up for your own safety.”
“I’m fine, Malloy,” she assured him. “No one is interested in me.”
“Unless you start meddling in other people’s business, and then they’ll be very interested in you. Ugo Ruocco doesn’t care who your father is or how many times you’ve dined with the Astors. If he thinks you’re a nuisance, he’ll have you killed.”
“I’m not a nuisance,” she protested. He looked like he was ready to argue the point, so she added, “You should know that he’s got some of his men posted down by the restaurant. If any Irish boys try to start trouble again, they’ll be ready for them this time.”
Malloy sighed. “Go home, Sarah, and stay there.”
“Don’t you want to know what I found out today?”
He rubbed a hand wearily over his face. “Not right now.
Right now, I want you to go home.”
Sarah took pity on him and went, giving him a cheerful little wave which he ignored. Perhaps it was just as well he didn’t want to meet with her tonight. She needed some time to think about everything she’d seen and heard at the Ruoccos house today. Maybe if she took some time to remember everything, she’d figure out what would be really helpful.
After sending Sarah on her way, Frank met Gino Donatelli on the corner nearest Mama’s Restaurant, as they had previously arranged.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” Frank warned him.
He sobered instantly. “I didn’t realize—”
“And stop thinking this is fun. It’s not fun,” Frank added sourly. “I know it’s your first big case, and you’re thinking about finding the killer and being a big man, but nothing good ever comes of murder.”
“But punishing the killer—” he tried.
“Doesn’t bring the victim back to life,” Frank reminded him. “You can’t fix something like that. Punishing the killer might keep him from killing somebody else. It might even make another person think twice about taking somebody else’s life, but the dead person is still dead. There’s no justice for that, and sometimes . . .”
“Sometimes what?” Gino prodded when Frank hesitated.
“Sometimes punishing the killer makes innocent people suffer.”
Gino frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean if you put a man in jail or execute him, he might have a family that’s left to starve . . . or worse. Half the children living on the streets have a father in jail and a mother who died after selling herself too many times. Now do you still feel like grinning?”
“No, sir,” Gino replied, properly chastened.
“Good. We’re going to visit the Ruoccos. Your job is to translate if they say anything in Italian and to help me make sure they answer all my questions.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
Gino followed him respectfully for the short distance to Mama’s Restaurant. Frank noticed the young men loitering on the street corners. Sarah was right, they’d make sure the Irish didn’t get very far if they tried to start another riot.
None of them would meet Frank’s gaze, and he walked into Mama’s unchallenged, with Gino on his heels.
The aroma of garlic and tomatoes washed over them, making Frank’s stomach clench with longing. The dining room was starting to fill up, and Frank saw Joe and Lorenzo moving through the room with trays held aloft, delivering plates heaped with mouth-watering food to the diners.
“Looks like we came at a bad time,” Gino observed.
“They’re all busy.”
“That’s good,” Frank pointed out. “The rest of the family won’t have time to interfere when we question our suspects.”
When Joe’s tray was empty, he looked over to see who had come in. The welcoming smile froze on his handsome face.
He called something to Lorenzo, who frowned when he saw the cops. Lorenzo hurried back into the kitchen as Joe made his way across the room to meet them.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“We’ve got a few questions for some members of your family,” Frank said.
“It’s suppertime. We are very busy. Come back tomorrow.”
“We don’t want to come back tomorrow. We want to ask our questions right now,” Frank informed him with a glare that drained the antagonism right out of him. “Where’s Antonio?”
“In . . . in the kitchen,” Joe admitted reluctantly. “He’s helping Mama.”
“Tell him we need to see him.” Frank glanced around the noisy room. “And we’ll need someplace private to talk to him, unless you want everybody here to know what we’re asking him about.”
Joe looked like he wanted to punch somebody, but he said, “I’ll tell him to take you upstairs. I’ll get him.”
The people in the restaurant were starting to notice Frank and Gino, and the noise level in the room lessened considerably as people stopped conversing and started whispering and staring. Frank gave them his best effort at intimidation, and soon most of them were at least pretending to mind their own business.
“Here he comes,” Gino said softly, and Frank looked over. Antonio had come out of the kitchen, pulling off a sauce-stained apron. He glanced around the room nervously and found to his horror that everyone was staring at him.
Then he spotted Frank and Gino near the front door, and paled noticeably. He motioned for them to join him at the stairway door. By the time they got there, he’d opened the door and started up the stairs. They followed, closing the door decisively behind them.
Antonio stopped at the first landing on the second floor, and led them down a short hallway into a family parlor.
“What do you want with me?” Antonio asked before they were even in the room. “I don’t know anything.”
“I’m sure you know a lot of things, Antonio,” Frank said, taking stock of the room. The furniture was comfortably shabby. A shawl hung over the back of a chair and a pair of slippers had been left in front of the sofa. A pillow rested at one end of the sofa, and a blanket had been folded up and laid on top of it, as if someone had been sleeping there. “Tell me how you met Nainsi, Antonio,” Frank said.
Antonio frowned. “Why does that matter now?”
“Everything matters now,” Frank snapped. “Answer my question.”
“I . . . At a dance. I used to go to the dance houses with my brother, and I met her there.”
“When was this?”
He frowned, as if trying to remember exactly. “August.
I remember because it was right after Valentina’s birthday.”
