message: I'll be late, I got a complication…'
'Uh-huh,' I agreed. 'Like somebody tailing me, trying to get what l'm carrying.'
'What?' asked Brian.
'We're narrowing it down. But what about the chiming bells in the background? Which church is it?'
'Three bongs. Pretty deep bongs. Must be Park Street Church,' mused Joe, 'but somehow it doesn't sound like it. Three bongs means three o'clock. Let's consult Johnny's log and see where he was at three.'
Joe flipped out his pocket notebook and checked the page that he'd copied the log information on. He ran his finger down the list.
'Let's see. At three in the afternoon Johnny was making a cash delivery to National Distilling in Cambridge. That's right over near the Museum of Science. Hell, there's no church there. None at a1ll.'.
'It's gotta be Park Street Church,' said Brian. 'Do you know any other church that strikes the hours?'
Joe shook his head. 'Doesn't sound like Park Street. The bongs aren't deep enough. God knows I hear that church often enough. They play a little song and then chime the hours. The bongs are slow and deep. These bongs are more like chimes; they're fast and higher-pitched.'
'Is it Trinity Church in Copley Square?' I asked. 'I hear tons of people in the background- a lot of street traffic and pedestrians.'
'I don't think Trinity strikes the hours,' said Joe, rubbing his chin with his thumb. It made a raspy sound. He rewound the tape again, for the hundredth time. We were going to wear it out. There it was again: the barking, the squeak of the phonebooth door, and three bells, far off. Close by were lots of people walking and talking. Shouting and laughing.
'A mob scene,' said Brian. 'Sounds to me like lunch hour. Doesn't sound like three o'clock. Only on a weekend would it be so noisy at three. But it's gotta be either Park Street or Copley Square.'
'Wait a minute!' said Joe. 'I just heard the word fiari. That's Italian for flowers. Hell, Johnny's in the North End here. That must be Old North Church.'
We thought we'd solved the thing then. But several problems emerged. One was the fact that his log sheet showed him at the distillery at 2:45, over in Cambridge, not in the North End. Second, as Brian had observed, the mob scene outside the phone booth was too manic for three in the afternoon, even on a Friday.
And finally, on Joe's suspicion that Old North Church did not chime, we called and had this confirmed. Old North was silent. Great for lanterns in the window, but not for chimes. We called Trinity. Also silent. That left us with Park Street, except the bells didn't remotely sound like those in the Park Street belfry. Then I solved it.
'Listen again,' I said. 'You'll hear that the bells aren't spaced evenly. It doesn't go bong, bong, bong. It goes bong, bong,… bong. Two and then one. It's a ship's bell, don't you see? It's sounding three bells.'
'Three o'clock?'
'No. It would be, uh, five-thirty. Eight bells is four, then it starts all over again with a new bell for every half hour. Three bells is five-thirty in the evening. That would explain the heavy street traffic too.'
'I didn't realize the North End was so close to the harbor,' said Brian.
'Right smack dab on it,' said Joe, 'except that it's mostly hidden by all the crowded buildings. But there's no indication in the log that Johnny went back there after his last job.'
'You remember two of the jobs had a star after them. That meant they weren't completed. One was for my dental work, which is why Johnny called me in the first place. The other unfinished business involved the public library and a party in the North End.'
'Uh-huh. And at the end of the day he went back to the North End to complete that errand, and he was carrying your lab work too. He called to say he'd be late, and right there on Hanover Street, or nearby, he realized he was being followed. And I bet the party in the North End is named Andy.'
Joe got on the phone and rasped out a series of commands to Ten-Ten Comm. Ave.
1. He wanted the location of all phone booths in the North End near busy streets. Considering their rapid disappearance in favor of phone 'enclaves,' this wouldn't be difficult.
2. To check my theory, he requested information from Massport on any large vessels moored, anchored, or in transit near the North End on the day in question.
3. He called Sam Bowman at Dependable Messenger Service and requested further details on Johnny's errand to the library and the North End. Sam said he'd call back shortly with all the dope.
'Let's get coffee,' said Brian, and while we sat in the police squad room and sipped, Joe's headquarters called back and gave us the location of four phone booths that would answer the set of variables he had described. They also said Massport had given them the names of three big ships in the vicinity of the North End on the previous Friday. One, a cargo container vessel named Dunmore Hughes No. 8, out of Bantry Bay in the Republic of Ireland, was making her way down the Mystic River channel from the Charlestown port terminal to Boston Harbor at exactly three bells.
Then Sam Bowman called back. We went back to Brian's office, where Joe took the call. His face clouded over. The big brown eyes took on a steely hard squint, and the mouth turned down at the corners. He was unhappy about something.
'Sam, say those two names again please, real slowly.' He scowled.
'Uh-huh. Yes, I know them. They're very familiar. I just wanted to make sure. It's just that when I hear those two names, Sam, I get a knot in my stomach and want to slug somebody. What? You don't understand? Well let's see now, what happens to you when I say Scottsboro Boys?'
Through the receiver end of the phone Brian and I could hear faint yelling and cursing, even though the phone was pressed to Joe's ear.
'Well I thought so. So you see how it upsets me when I hear the names of Sacco and Vanzetti.'
'Sacco and Vanzetti?' said Brian.
'Sacco and Vanzetti!' I said.
'Sacco and Vanzetti,' reaffirmed Joe, who hung up and sat down wearily. He picked up his mug to take a sip; his hands were trembling. None of us said anything for a while. Then Joe spoke.
'Johnny's errand was to retrieve a portion of papers and effects willed to the Boston Public Library by the late Dominic Santuccio, a lawyer in the North End and a second-generation Italian-American. The papers and effects all concern the Sacco-Vanzetti case.'
He stopped there and sipped again. His hands were still shaking. We nodded at his statement, as if listening to a university lecture. He continued.
'I met Dom a few times in connection with court cases and Italian-American functions and benefits. Nice guy, and rich. His obsession was collecting and verifying documents and evidence relative to the case. Like most of us he was certain the men were framed. He hoped to write a book proving their innocence and restoring their reputations. He was not popular with a lot of establishment people for wanting to do this. He died three months ago of cancer and never got the chance to do it.'
'Yeah, I remember reading about him,' said Brian. 'What do you mean, us? You said that like most of us he was certain they were framed-'
'I mean us Italians, naturally. And also anyone who feels sympathy for the working-c1ass immigrants in general. Sacco and Vanzetti committed no crime; they were radicals who questioned the system and fought for workers' rights, so the system big shots had them executed. So it's, ah, no surprise that I get a little upset when I even hear the case mentioned.'
'I'm glad to hear you've got the case so goddamned buttoned up,' said Brian, who was swiveling his chair around, back and forth,'because I've read about a lot of evidence that says they were guilty. Guilty as all hell of murder and armed robbery. The only reason, in fact, that a lot of idealists and artists thought they were railroaded is because of the propaganda stirred up for them by the Communists and Wobblies.'
He leaned back and swiveled like a semaphore. If he was trying to get a rise out of Joe, then it worked. '
'Oh yeah? Well what about that blackguard and murderer Michael Collins? Bloodthirsty pig- it's a good thing. De Valera had him murdered, even though it was a double-cross. Of course, what would you expect from-'
'Don't you ever call Michael Collins a murderer,' snapped Brian. 'And don't ever accuse Eamon De Valera of killing him. Why I'd-'
'Now hold on a minute, you guys. Can't we just discuss- '
'Sacco and Vanzetti were doomed from the start. The mill owners and industrialists wanted them dead.
