Pitt drew a deep breath. “He asked if I knew someone who could help him with a particular matter.”
“What kind of matter?”
“He didn’t actually say, but…Well, he led me to believe it might involve violence. He asked me who I used to handle the troublesome tenants. That was the word he used,
“So you told him about Angotti.”
“Yes, but I made sure Mr. Devries understood that Mr. Angotti doesn’t actually do the work himself. He has men under him. They are the ones who …” He gestured vaguely.
“Who handle the troublesome tenants.”
Pitt swallowed. “Yes.”
“So did you set up a meeting or what?”
“I…Yes, I arranged for Mr. Devries to meet with Mr. Angotti in a restaurant in Little Italy.”
“Were you there?”
“Of course not. I merely delivered the invitation to Mr. Angotti.”
“When did they meet?”
“About a month ago, I think. At least that was when their meeting was scheduled. I have no way of knowing if it even took place.”
Frank considered this information, giving Pitt an opportunity to remember anything else that might be helpful.
After a moment, Pitt said, “Did Angotti really kill Mr. Devries?”
“I don’t know yet, but they had an appointment on the day he died. I need to see Angotti.”
The prospect seemed to alarm Pitt. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Do you see Angotti alone?”
“Yes, but…I have business for him.” Pitt wiped his forehead again.
Frank wondered if Pitt sweated like this when he went to see Angotti. “Can you arrange for me to meet with Angotti?”
“I…I wouldn’t like to get involved in something like that.”
Frank could easily understand his reluctance. “Then tell me where to find him.”
“You won’t mention my name?”
“Why would I?”
Pitt snatched a scrap of paper from his desk and picked up the pen he had discarded when Frank had burst into his office a few minutes ago. He dipped it carefully into the inkwell and scratched out an address.
Frank took the still-wet message. He recognized the neighborhood, which wasn’t too far from Police Headquarters. “Do you think Mr. Devries wanted Angotti to kill someone for him?”
Pitt’s shock was almost comic. “I…I have no idea! I can’t imagine Mr. Devries wanting someone killed at all.”
“And now Mr. Devries himself is dead.”
Pitt had nothing to say to that.
FRANK DIDN’T HAVE TOO MUCH TROUBLE LOCATING OFFIcer Gino Donatelli. As one of the few Italians in the New York City Police Department, he worked mostly in Little Italy, and everyone there knew him well. Frank distributed pennies to some street urchins and sat down in a cafe to wait, although the other patrons eyed him suspiciously over their pastries. The place smelled pleasantly of anise and baking bread.
Before he’d finished his first cup of coffee, Donatelli appeared.
The handsome youth grinned broadly when he spotted Frank sitting at a table with his back to the wall. “I heard you were looking for me,” he said, taking a seat.
Before Frank could answer, the owner of the restaurant had brought Donatelli something that looked like coffee but in a tiny cup. The two exchanged some pleasantries in Italian before the owner slipped away again.
“Aren’t you old enough to drink a full cup of coffee?” Frank asked, eyeing the miniature cup.
“This is espresso. Extra-strong Italian coffee. You’re only supposed to drink a little. Want to try some?” Donatelli raised a hand to catch the owner’s eye.
“No, I’m fine.” Frank thought he’d feel silly drinking out of a cup that small, no matter what was in it.
Donatelli grinned again and took a sip of the mysterious brew. “How can I help you, Detective Sergeant?”
“What do you know about Salvatore Angotti?”
Gino’s grin vanished, and he glanced around anxiously. “Don’t say that name too loud around here. Why do you want to know about him?”
Frank leaned forward and spoke softly. “A man died yesterday after he had a meeting with this Angotti. He was stabbed with a long, thin blade, like a stiletto.”
“He probably deserved it, then.”
Frank couldn’t argue with that. “The dead man was a friend of Felix Decker.”
“Mrs. Brandt’s father?”
Frank didn’t like the way Donatelli’s face lit up when he said Sarah’s name. The boy adored her. “That’s right, and he was just as rich as Decker, too, so a lot of people want to find out who killed him.”
“Why would a man like that be meeting with Mr. Angotti?”
“Devries owns a lot of tenements. Angotti’s goons help get rid of tenants who don’t pay their rent.”
“Which means Mr. Angotti has a good reason to keep this Mr. Devries alive and healthy.”
“Up until a month ago, Angotti never even met Devries. He just dealt with Devries’s goons. But Devries had a job, something personal, he wanted Angotti to handle. I need to find out what it was.”
Donatelli was already shaking his head. “You can’t go to a man like this and accuse him of murder, Mr. Malloy.”
Frank bristled, even though he knew Donatelli was right. “I’m not going to accuse him of anything. I just want to know why Devries wanted to see him.”
“He’s not stupid. He’ll know what you’re trying to do. If this rich fellow was murdered, the police would love to get an Italian for it.”
“If he did it, he deserves it.”
“I don’t think he did.”
Angry now, Frank forgot to whisper. “You don’t know anything about it.”
Donatelli glanced around to see if they were attracting any attention. Frank realized everyone in the cafe was watching them intently even though they couldn’t have overheard much of the conversation.
Donatelli leaned over the table, practically whispering. “I know Salvatore Angotti isn’t going to stick a knife into some rich man in this city no matter how much he might want to. Something like that would ruin him.”
“One of his goons did, then.”
“Nothing that could be traced back to him. I told you, he’s not stupid. The police, we don’t care what he does to his own people so long as he doesn’t scare the legal citizens who vote, but if he raises his hand against somebody important …” Gino shook his head.
“Then he needs to help me find out who really killed this Devries fellow, because if I don’t, sooner or later somebody is going to figure out how easy it would be to convince a jury he did it.”
Plainly, Gino didn’t like any of this. He sipped from his tiny cup, probably trying to decide if he could refuse to help. “That might work.”
“What might work?”
“Telling Angotti you’re trying to help him.”
The very thought made Frank wince, but he said, “Would he believe it?”
“No, but it would get you in to see him. After that, it’s up to you to find out what you need to know.”
“Can you arrange it?”
Frank waited patiently while Gino thought this over. If necessary, Frank would remind him of the way he’d let Gino assist him on cases when no other Irish detective on the force would have worked with an Italian. But Frank didn’t think that would be necessary. Italians never forgot a slight, but they never forgot a favor, either.
“You’ll have to show him respect,” Gino said.
“What does that mean?”
