“Well, she . . . See, it was like always except at the end she puts it in! Wasn’t nothing I could do, either. It just happened. Then she laughs, like she did something funny,” he added in amazement.
“Did she tell you the baby was yours?” Frank asked, trying to figure out what Nainsi had been trying to accomplish by taking such a risk.
“She . . . hinted,” he admitted reluctantly. “When she comes in to tell me she’s leaving to get married, she sort of winks and tells me she’s in a family way. Says she won’t know until it comes who the father is, either.”
“So you told Brigit to let you know as soon as the baby was born,” Frank guessed.
“I needed to be sure,” he defended himself. “I can’t have some little whore bringing a baby to my front door and telling my wife it’s mine, now can I?”
“Is that what you thought Nainsi would do when the Ruoccos threw her out?”
Keith wiped his sleeve across his beaded forehead. “No, why would she?” he asked shakily. “She’d know it wasn’t mine.”
“Because she’d need money, and you’re the richest man she knows.”
“She’d never get a cent from me. It wasn’t my kid!”
“But your wife would know it might’ve been, wouldn’t she?” Frank said. “Is that why you killed Nainsi, Keith?
So she wouldn’t tell your wife what you’ve been up to with all the girls?”
“I didn’t kill her!” he cried.
Frank remembered when he’d first questioned Brigit.
He’d been sure there was something she hadn’t wanted to tell him in front of Keith. “But you did know the Ruoccos thought her husband wasn’t the father. Brigit told you that, too, didn’t she? You knew they were going to throw her and the baby out.”
“What if I did? It was nothing to do with me!” he insisted.
“It was everything to do with you if you thought she was going to talk to your wife. So you went over to the Ruoccos’
place, sneaked up the back stairs, and killed her.”
“I didn’t! I wasn’t anywhere near there that night!”
“Where were you then?”
“Here, right here! After Brigit came to tell me, I stayed until about eleven-thirty. Ask her. She was here, too.”
“Where did you go then?”
“Home to bed. My wife will tell you.”
“I’m sure she will,” Frank said. “Officer Donatelli, take him to Headquarters and lock him up for the night.”
“What?” Keith roared in outrage. “You can’t lock me up!”
“Don’t annoy me, Keith,” Frank warned. “It’s all I can do to keep from smashing your face in right now.”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
“You’ve done enough to deserve a night in the lockup,”
Frank told him pleasantly. “If Brigit and your wife vouch for you, I’ll think about letting you go.”
“You can’t ask my wife!” he cried desperately. “She’ll want to know why you’re asking. You can’t tell her!”
“Would you rather go to prison for murder?”
“What about the Ruocco boys?” Gino asked.
“We’ll have to catch up with them later,” Frank said.
“Don’t tell her! Please, don’t tell her!” Keith pleaded as Gino grabbed him by the collar and started hustling him down the sidewalk.
Frank ignored him. He was already climbing the steps back up to the dance house. The music was blaring again, and Frank stood in the doorway, watching the couples spin-ning by. He wondered what his mother would say if she saw the way these men held the girls so obscenely close. And the steps they did, so suggestive. The fellow guarding the door watched him glumly, probably expecting the worst, but this time he knew better than to challenge Frank’s entrance into the hall.
When he’d circled the room twice and looked at every woman there, he had to conclude that Brigit had escaped.
Seeing them carrying Keith out would’ve frightened her, of course. She had probably run out some back entrance as soon as they left. Well, he knew where she lived and where she worked. He’d find her soon enough. And the longer it took to check Keith’s alibi, the longer he’d have to stay in jail. That suited Frank just fine.
Frank had a pretty good idea of what Mrs. Keith would be like, so he found himself speechless early the next morning when the woman who opened the front door acknowledged she was indeed Richard Keith’s wife. Mrs.
Keith was a wisp of a woman, her face pale and drawn, and her eyes sunken and shadowed. She’d once been pretty. The evidence was still present, even though suffering had etched deep lines across her beauty.
“Is my husband dead?” she asked raggedly when Frank had identified himself.
“Oh, no,” he hastily assured her. “He’s fine.” But even still, she looked as though she might faint as her thin shoulders sagged in a sigh of relief.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Keith?” he asked, instinctively reaching to catch her in case she fell.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m . . .
I’ll be fine,” she said. When she opened her eyes, he saw resignation there along with the pain that he realized must be constant. “Do you know where he is? He didn’t come home last night.”
“Yes, he’s . . . he’s helping us with an investigation,”
Frank said, not really lying. “Can I come in for a minute? I’d like to explain what happened with your husband, and you look like you need to sit down.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said and moved aside to allow him to enter.
The Keith home was modest but well tended. The parlor where she led Frank had the comfortable look of a room where a family gathered to enjoy each other’s company. She took a seat near the fireplace where a coal fire burned on the grate, even though the day was mild. He realized she had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, too, as if she was unable to get warm.
Frank took the chair she offered.
“You’re certain my husband is all right?” she asked anxiously. “He’s never been away from home all night before.
He’s late sometimes, when he has to work, but he always comes home by midnight. I’ve been terrified for him.”
Nainsi had been killed in the wee hours of the morning, according to Maria’s account of her waking up when Joe came home. Mrs. Keith had just confirmed her husband’s alibi. He wouldn’t even have to question her, thank God. He didn’t relish the idea of causing this woman any more pain.
“He’s in perfect health, I promise. He’ll explain everything when he gets home,” Frank said, figuring that would be his small revenge on Keith. Let him come up with a believable story for this poor woman. He’d thought Keith was afraid of a harridan who would make his life miserable. Instead he’d been trying to protect a woman who had already suffered enough. Frank didn’t feel any more kindly toward Keith, of course. The man was adding to her pain, even if she didn’t know it. “We needed his help just a bit longer, so he asked if I would come and let you know not to worry.”
“Will he be late for work? He mustn’t lose his job,” she asked.
Frank had seen the photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Keith and their two children on the mantel. “I’ll speak to his em-ployer as well. We’re sorry to have caused you distress, Mrs.
Keith.”
“I’m very grateful that you came to tell me. If anything happened to him . . .” She bit her lip and managed not to weep.
Now Frank really did want to smash Keith’s face in. Unfortunately, he’d only be hurting this woman if he did.
Frank stopped at the factory next, but Brigit hadn’t come in to work that morning. The
