sign alerting passersby to what went on inside. A burly fellow stood outside, ready to keep out unwelcome visitors. He eyed Frank and Gino suspiciously.
“This is Detective Sergeant Malloy. Mr. Angotti is expecting him,” Donatelli said.
The fellow grunted and rapped on the door. Another unfriendly-looking fellow opened it a crack. The two men exchanged some words in Italian, and the door swung wide. Donatelli let Frank go in first. Frank suspected it wasn’t out of courtesy.
Little sunlight penetrated into the main room. Dark curtains covered the windows, shielding the occupants from observation by anyone passing by on the street outside. Gaslights illuminated tables where men played cards or other games of chance. He felt as much as saw the players peering at him through the haze of cigarette smoke. All conversation ceased. Frank felt their hostility like a force as he followed his guide through the room to another door on the far side.
“Wait here.” The man knocked, then went inside.
Frank couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to stick a knife in him and dump his body in the river. Would Donatelli defend him or would he side with his own people? Was he a cop first or an Italian? Frank didn’t know. He didn’t even know if
The door opened and his guide beckoned them inside.
This smaller room was furnished like a parlor, with sofas and chairs and side tables arranged around a fireplace. A gaming table stood off to one side, almost as an afterthought. The light in here was better, and the cigarette smoke not so thick. Several somber men stood around, their attention focused on Frank and Donatelli. Frank soon realized his host was the well-dressed man seated on one of the sofas.
“Gino,” he said, reaching out a languid hand.
Donatelli stepped forward and took the hand, nodding respectfully. “Thank you for seeing us, Don Angotti.”
“How is your mother?”
“She’s very well. She said to tell you she is baking you a
“I should tell you that isn’t necessary, but I like your mother’s
They both chuckled.
“You have brought someone to see me,” Angotti said.
Angotti’s accent was slight but unmistakable. Frank suddenly realized they were speaking English for his benefit.
“Yes, Don Angotti. This is Detective Sergeant Malloy, the man I told you about.”
Frank stepped forward and waited for Angotti to size him up. Angotti wasn’t a big man, but his dark eyes were shrewd and cunning. He didn’t have to use his muscles to get what he wanted. The suit he wore probably cost more than Frank made in a month, and Felix Decker probably didn’t own a finer one. His shirt was pristine.
“Gino speaks highly of you, Detective Sergeant Malloy.”
“Officer Donatelli is one of our finest men.”
Angotti’s lip curled. “It is a pity to waste him on the police department.”
Frank refused to be baited. He merely nodded.
Donatelli cleared his throat. “Mr. Malloy would like to ask you some questions.”
“And I will decide if I answer them or not.”
“Of course,” Frank said. “You know we are investigating the death of Chilton Devries.”
“So Gino tells me.”
“He had an appointment with you the day he died.”
“Did he?”
“He thought so. The question is, did you see him that day?”
Angotti’s gaze was sharp as broken glass. “And if I did?”
“Mr. Angotti, Chilton Devries died because somebody stabbed him in the back.”
“Gino told me he died at his club. Have you questioned the men he saw there?”
“He died there, but he was stabbed someplace else. He was stabbed with something long and thin…like an ice pick.”
“Or a stiletto, Gino tells me.”
“Or a stiletto. He probably didn’t know how badly he was injured, and he didn’t bleed much on the outside. But he did bleed to death, and he died at his club, but he’d been stabbed earlier in the day.”
“And you think I stabbed him?” He seemed only mildly concerned.
“No, but Mr. Devries was a wealthy man with lots of powerful friends. His family is telling them that he came to see you that day, and then he died. I believe his family and his friends would be happy to blame you for killing him.”
“Because I am a foreigner.”
“Because you’re not one of them.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want to find out who did kill him, and I need your help.”
Angotti frowned. “I do not understand you, Mr. Malloy. Why do you not want to blame me when everyone else does?”
“I told you, I want to find out who really did it.”
“And you do not think I did?”
“No, I think you’re too smart to kill someone like Chilton Devries, even if you wanted to, and I can’t figure out any reason why you would.”
“That is because you did not know Mr. Devries very well. If you did, you could figure out many reasons.”
“Are you saying you had a reason to kill him?”
“Not personally, but I know things about him that make me glad he is dead.”
“Could you tell me what those things are?”
“Why should I?”
“So I can find out who really killed him and make sure nobody bothers you about it.”
“Why would you do this for me?”
“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it because I want to find out the truth.”
Angotti chuckled again. “No man cares so much for the truth, Mr. Malloy. Why are you really doing it?”
“Because one of Devries’s powerful friends asked me to, and he does care for the truth.”
“Would this friend not be happy to find out a foreigner killed Mr. Devries?”
“He would be very happy, but only if it was true.”
“I would like to meet this friend. He sounds like a man worth knowing.”
Frank let a moment go by, in case Angotti had something else to say. “So, did you see Devries yesterday?”
“He came here, yes.”
“I know he’d seen you before. Can you tell me what he wanted?”
Angotti studied Frank with his sharp gaze. “He wanted me to kill someone.”
Frank blinked, and Gino Donatelli gasped.
“Who? Why?”
Angotti smiled, amused by their reaction. “I would be very foolish to tell you who I killed, would I not?”
He would, indeed, even though Frank knew he wouldn’t have done the work himself.
Before Frank could figure out how to answer him, Angotti said, “Yes, I would be foolish to tell you if I had killed someone, but I did not, Mr. Malloy. Would you like to know why?”
“Yes, I would.” Frank was glad to hear his voice didn’t sound as flustered as he felt.
“Mr. Devries came to see me. He thought I was a man who would do anything for money. He did not have respect for me. He told me a story about a woman. He told me she was evil and had done terrible things. He wanted me to have her killed.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I did not believe Mr. Devries. I thought the story he told me about this woman was a lie, but I did not
