Harris moved in his chair and suddenly looked more relaxed. There's a thing you've got to remember about a guy like Niscemi -- he has friends. Take a look at his record; reform school, petty assault and so on. Then suddenly, four years ago, no more police record. He was still a criminal and still small time, but he no longer got into trouble. He'd acquired friends.'
'Who were , . .?'
'Mr. Wheale, you're English and maybe you don't have the problems we have in the States, so what I'm going to tell yon now might seem extraordinary. You'll just have to take my word for it. Okay?'
I smiled. 'After meeting Mr. Fallon there's very little I'll find unbelievable.'
'All right. I'm interested in the weapon with which Niscemi killed your brother. Can you describe it?'
'It was a sawn-off shotgun,' I said.
'And the butt was cut down. Right?' I nodded. That was a lupara; it's an Italian word and Niscemi was of Italian origin or, more precisely, Sicilian. About four years ago Niscemi was taken into the Organization. Organized crime is one of the worse facts of life in the United States, Mr. Wheale; and it's mostly run by Italian Americans, It goes under many names -- the Organization, the Syndicate, Cosa Nostra, the Mafia -- although Mafia should strictly be reserved for the parent organization in Sicily.'
I looked at Harris uncertainly. 'Are you trying to tell me that the Mafia -- toe Mafia, for God's sake! -- had my brother killed?'
'Not quite,' he said. 'I think Niscemi slipped up there, he certainly slipped up when he got himself killed. But I'd better describe what goes on with young punks like Niscemi when they're recruited into the Organization. The first thing he's told is to keep his nose clean -- he keeps out of the way of the cops and he does what his capo.....his boss -- tells him, and nothing else. That's important, and it explains why Niscerni suddenly stopped figuring on the police blotter.' Harris pointed a ringer at me. 'But it works the other way round, too. If Niscerni was up to no good with regard to your brother it certainly meant that he was acting under orders. The Organization doesn't stand for members who go in to bat on their own account.'
'So he was sent?'
There's a ninety-nine per cent probability that he was.' , This was beyond me and I couldn't quite believe it. I turned to Fallon. 'I believe you said that Mr. Harris is an employee of an oil company. What qualifications has he for assuming all this?'
'Harris was in the F.B.I.,' said Fallon.
'For fifteen years,' said Harris. 'I thought you might find this extraordinary.'
'I do,' I said briefly, and thought about it. 'Where did you get this information about Niscemi?'
'From the Detroit police -- that was his stamping-ground.'
I said, 'Scotland Yard is interested in this. Are the American police collaborating with them?'
Harris smiled tolerantly. In spite of all the sensational stuff about Interpol there's not much that can be done in a case like this. Who are they going to nail for the job? The American law authorities are just glad to have got Niscemi out of their hair, and he was only small time, anyway.' He grinned and came up with an unexpected and parodied quotation.' 'It was in another country and, besides, the guy is dead.''
Fallon said, 'It goes much further than this. Harris is not finished yet.'
'Okay,' said Harris. 'We now come to the questions: Who sent Niscemi to England -- and why? Niscemi's capo is Jack Gatt, but Jack might have been doing some other capo a favour. However, I don't think so.'
'Gatt!' I blurted out. 'He was in England at the time of my brother's death.'
Harris shook his head. 'No, he wasn't. I checked him out on that. On the day your brother died he was in New York.'
But he wanted to buy something Tram Bob.' I said. 'He made an offer in the presence of witnesses. He was in England'
'Air travel is wonderful,' said Harris. 'You can leave London at nine a.m. and arrive in New York at eleven- thirty a.m. -- local time. Gatt certainly didn't kill your brother.' He pursed his lips, then added. 'Not personally.'
'Who -- and what -- is he?'
'Top of the heap in Detroit.' said Harris promptly. 'Covers Michigan and a big slice of Ohio. Original name, Giacomo Gattini -- Americanized to Jack Gatt. He doesn't stand very tall in the Organization, but he's a capo and that makes him important.'
'I think you'd better explain that.'
'Well, the Organization controls crime, but it's not a centralized business like, say, General Motors. It's pretty loose, in fact; so loose that sometimes pieces of it conflict with each other. That's called a gang war. But they're bad for business, attract too much attention from the cops, so once in a while all the capos get together in a council, a sort of board meeting, to iron out their difficulties. They allocate territory, slap down the hotheads and decide when and how to enforce the rules.'
This was the raw and primitive world that had intruded on Hay Tree Farm, so far away in Devon. I said, 'How do they do that?'
Harris shrugged. 'Suppose a capo like Gatt decided to ignore the top bosses and go it on his own. Pretty soon a young punk like Niscemi would blow into town, knock, off Gatt and scram. If he failed then another would try it and, sooner or later, one would succeed. Gatt knows that, so he doesn't break the rules. But, while he keeps to the rules, he's capo -- king in his own territory.'
'I see. But why should Gatt go to England?'
'Ah,' said Harris. 'Now we're coming to the meat of it. Let's take a good look at Jack Gatt. This is a third- generation American mafioso. He's no newly arrived Siciliano peasant who can't speak English, nor is he a half- educated tough bum like Capone. Jack's got civilization; Jack's got culture. His daughter is at finishing school in Switzerland; one son is at a good college in the east and the other runs his own business -- a legitimate business.
