The Woman In Blue (Nick O'Brien Case Files)

by David G. Johnson

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Burt continues, “but we have a confidentiality agreement with our clients. They pay for secure parking and confidentiality. I would know the man by sight, but I couldn’t tell you his name even if I wanted to.”

  Jimmy chimes in. “What about the condition of the car when it was dropped off? Was the back window damaged?”

  Burt shakes his head emphatically. “No, sir. The car is in tip-top shape. It is a beauty, and not a scratch on her. I dare say I’d lose my job if there were. I wiped her down good before I left last night. Wasn’t a scratch on her then or now.”

  I rub my chin.

  “Officer Browning, would you mind taking a look at that Buick? Besides the back window I’m sure I put a slug or two in the rear. Check for anything that looks like it may have seen some trouble recently.”

  The officer exits to examine the car.

  “If that will be all, sir, my ride is waiting and I have to get back to the garage. If you need to check the logs or anything, I’ll be there until midnight.”

  “Yeah, you go on, Burt, and thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

  Officer Browning passes Burt on his way out.

  “Sorry, Mr. O’Brien, that car looks like it just rolled off the lot. Not a thing wrong with the window or the rear.”

  The fire leaps back into Gabriella’s eyes.

  “Now are we finished? Or do you plan to keep on harassing me after two witnesses say I can’t have done what you say I have?”

  Jimmy pulls me aside.

  “Nicky, two hours to replace a window, bang out bullet holes, and repaint a car? I don’t think so. Like it or not, her story seems to check.”

  “Maybe, but two hours is plenty of time to switch cars and move a license plate. We may not have enough to take her in on this right now, but I’m telling you her clamming up about this mysterious friend is too fishy for me to leave alone.”

  We walk back toward the others.

  “Gabriella, we are going to let this go for now, but you aren’t off the hook yet. You don’t make any out of town plans anytime soon.”

  “I’ve done nothing, so I don’t plan on going anywhere. The next time you show up, though, you had better have a warrant or you can stand on the stoop until your legs fall off.”

  As we walk out the door, I send Gabriella my parting shot.

  “Don’t you worry, toots. If I show up here again, it ain’t going to be with questions. I’ll have a fist full of answers, and they will all point to you.”

  After saying my goodbyes to Jimmy and thanking the officers for coming out, my mind is swimming with the confusing collection of near-misses and improbabilities of this case. My best lead to who tried to end Marjorie’s and my budding…whatever it is…before it got started, has turned up blank. At least it seems that way for now. I can think of one or two ways it still could have been Rosario’s car last night, but all of them would take them knowing or expecting to need a switch-out car and being set for it. The time window the witnesses put together between when we were shot at and when the car showed up at the garage is too tight for something put together on the fly. It’s possible, but it’s a tough pill to swallow.

  I need a little time alone to take my mind off this. My wheels are spinning on the case. It seems I’m stuck even worse with Marjorie. On top of all that, now somebody’s trying to kill Marjorie, or me, or both. I hop a cab and head back to my apartment.

  I sit stewing in the dark about how all this is going to come together. This case is getting to me. Every time I think I got a line on a solid lead, it turns out I’m grabbing smoke. Then this dame that hired me, I can’t tell if she’s coming on to me or playing me for a sucker. To top it all off, somebody tried to shorten me a few inches with a Tommy gun. All in all things are pretty lousy right now.

  The phone rings. It’s Liam.

  “Hey, Ace!”

  “Hiya, Lee. What’s up?”

  “I got some news for you. You know that Boston job you was askin’ about?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “You know about Frank Scalice, the Mineo boss that got demoted when Lucky Luciano put Frankie Mangano in the top spot?”

  “Yeah, doesn’t everybody?”

  “Well, word is a few weeks ago Scalice was poppin’ off about how he had something big lined up that was gonna let him buy his way back into the big chair of the Mineo/Mangano family. All of a sudden last week, all that gum-flappin’stops and Scalice’s been stompin’ around like somebody shot his grandmother.”

  Well ain’t that a kick in the teeth?

  “So you figure Frank’s score went sour?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “And I’m guessing, if I’m following you, that maybe Frank had something to do with the Boston diamond job and Tommy double crossed him?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

  “But that still leaves a couple of loose ends. If Lupo is in town for Scalice, he’s taking his sweet time getting around to him. And if Tommy ran off with the stones, he didn’t make it far. Jimmy thinks that the body they fished out of the bay is Tommy. Should know maybe tomorrow on that one.”

  “So why is that a problem?”

  God bless him, he’s a good kid but not the brightest candle on the birthday cake.

  “Lee, if Scalice caught Tommy, he wouldn’t snuff him without getting the diamonds first. If Tommy was the one dumped in the drink, and Scalice still ain’t got the diamonds, then somebody else shortened Tommy’s life.”

  “Ah, I get you, Ace. I don’t know if this helped or not, but you sound loads less sour than when you picked up the phone.?”

  “Yeah, kid, you brought a ray of sunshine back into my day. It’s a piece of the puzzle I didn’t have before, and it gives me a couple of new threads to pull on at least. Listen, Lee, I’ve got to go to Boston tomorrow and follow up on a few things, but you do me a favor, keep your ear to the ground. Just don’t go drawing any attention that you are too interested in this. You are right, Lupo is dangerous, but so is Scalice. The last thing I want is to be attending your funeral for trying to help me out.”

  “No worries, Ace, I’ll keep my head down and let you know if I hear anything worth repeating.”

  Chapter Fourteen – Boston Bound

  I thought I would get into Jimmy’s office early and get everything set for my Boston trip, but by the time I roll in, the place is already abuzz with clerks scurrying back and forth, phone calls, frantic secretaries making appointments, and Jimmy looking weary at his desk. I double-check my watch to make sure I didn’t sleep through half the day, but it shows eight-thirty, just as I thought.

  “Hiya, Jimmy. I thought you government types didn’t start until nine and were off by five, with a two-hour, two-martini lunch in the middle just to break it all up nice.”

  “I tell you what, Nicky, if you know where there is a job like that hiring, sign me up. The DA has been crazy lately with all the changes since Cullen-Harrison and the bootleggers smelling the impending doom of prohibition in the wind. Add to that his obsession with finding out what one of Boston’s chief heavies is doing in the Big Apple, we’ve been in by seven and out who-knows-when every day. Say, you doing all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  “Getting shot at can rattle your nerves.”

  “Eh, flying around in a wood and canvas crate with a sky full of Germans spitting machine-gun bullets at you, now that’s nerve-rattling. Some punk in a Buick lighting up the shrubbery with a Chicago typewriter, that’s just annoying. An annoyance I intend to address as soon as I unwind this little tangle I’m hung up in. Speaking of which, any luck on getting up with your guy in Boston and arranging a sit-down with me and Abrams? Lee slipped me some new information last night which puts me even more eager to have a word with the Boston boss.”

  “I’m sorry, Nicky,” Jimmy looks dismayed, “I’ve been so swamped since I got here, I haven’t had a chance to call
. Take a seat and I’ll ring him now. Would you like a drink?”

  I crack a wry smile.

  “You got hooch in the DA’s office? Why you might be coming around after all.”

  As he is dialing the phone, Jimmy laughs.

  “Hardly, brother. I have some club soda, some tonic water, or I’m sure I could have one of the girls wrangle up some juice if you like.”

  “Nah, I try to avoid the hard stuff before noon. I’m all right for now.”

  I pull a cigarette out of my silver case inside my jacket pocket and offer one to Jimmy. He refuses, as always, so I take one and strike a match, taking a seat in one of the red leather and cherry wood chairs parked in front of Jimmy’s desk.

  “Yes, this is ADA James O’Brien out of New York. Is ADA Wilkins in yet? Yes, I’ll hold…Robert, how are you this morning?...Fine, thanks, but I need a favor. We have a consultant working with us on a murder case that may have some connections to your folks in Boston, and possibly linked with the diamonds stolen from Hyman Abrams recently…Yes, I know who he is, but I was wondering if maybe you could leverage the insurance investigation process to put my guy in front of Abrams for a brief chat…No, we don’t think Abrams is involved, but this is in relation to one of Abrams’s people and closing some loopholes with the possible diamonds connection…Yes, I know this will put us about even on favors, but it would really do me a solid if you could work it out…Okay, well his name is Nick O’Brien…Yes, my brother. Nick will be on the nine-thirty train this morning so should be to you by early afternoon…Okay, I will give him Nick Abrams’ address and let him know one of your guys will meet him there and walk him in. I really appreciate this, Robert. Will talk to you soon…Okay, goodbye.”

  Jimmy hangs up the phone looking a bit brighter than before the call. He begins scribbling an address on a piece of paper and hands it to me.

  “Okay, Nicky, you are all set. Get the morning train and someone from Robert’s office will meet you at this address.”

  “Thanks for setting that up. Say, before I leave, any word back from the coroner on that floater they fished out of the bay?”

  Jimmy nods and scrambles for a report among the pile of papers scattered over his desk. After a brief moment, he finds what he is looking for and pulls it up.

  “Yes, Nicky. The fellow they fished out of the bay had seven slugs and eight holes in him. One, in his neck, seems to have gone straight through, but the rest lodged pretty solidly in his torso. The ballistics match the slug the lab boys carved out of that crate in the warehouse and are consistent with the 8mm shell casing you found at the scene. Blood type matches what they scraped off the concrete. Looks like he met his end in that warehouse.”

  “Did they get a positive ID on him? Is it Tommy DeLanz?”

  “Height, weight, blood type, hair color, all seem to match DeLanz, but that body was pretty far gone. As far as the coroner could tell trying to match his jacket photo with what is left of the body, it seems to be. Matching a black and white photo from two years ago with a severely degraded corpse is iffy at best. There is a tattoo on the left shoulder of a dolphin, which is mostly intact, but nothing in his jacket about that. If someone who knew DeLanz could ID the tattoo, we might be able to rule it a match for sure.”

  Man this is going to be hard on Marjorie, but she is the only one besides Rosario who might know about the tattoo.

  “Look, Jimmy, maybe you could drop by the New Yorker and chat with Marjorie today. She might be able to clear up the question of whether or not Tommy had a tattoo. Either way, why don’t you swing by and get her in the morning and meet me at my office, say nine o’clock, and we will unwind what I find out in Boston and see where we go from there. Keep an eye out though. Whoever took a crack at us Saturday night might be looking for another shot.”

  “You got it, Nicky. We will see you in the morning.”

  As I get up to leave, Jimmy looks at my dress pants, suspenders, tie and lack of a suit jacket, just my overcoat, and frowns.

  “Don’t you have a decent suit? That raggedy trench coat and suspenders look makes you seem more like a Bowery bum than a consultant for the DA’s office.”

  I wave my hand in an exaggerated flair.

  “Pardon me, your majesty. I have a little time before the train, so I will see what I can do, but I will have you know I just bought this coat yesterday, so it ain’t had time to get raggedy yet. Tell your boss if he paid a little better for consultants, maybe they could afford proper attire.”

  He stands and playfully shoves my hat off my head from behind as he walks me to the door. I catch it and, with a dexterous flourish, flip it back into place.

  “Nice try, Jimmy. Don’t make me tackle you right here in front of all your paper-monkeys. It’d undermine your authority.”

  Jimmy grins. “Okay, little brother. But if you need me to spot you for an actual suit, just say so.”

  “Nah, I got just the spiffy togs for a meeting with a mob boss, don’t sweat it.”

  Jimmy looks anxious again as I shoot him a sly smile and walk out the door.

  I step out of the taxi at the address Jimmy gave me for Abrams. I have exchanged my typical tan suit pants, suspenders, trenchcoat, and beige fedora for a dark gray, chalk-striped, double-breasted suit. Inside is a vest, a striped black and white tie, and to top it all off a black fedora with a wide silk band. It is the epitome of gangster-wear, and while I may look classier than my normal attire, I am as likely to be mistaken for one of Abram’s goons as I am a consultant for the DA. The obvious poke in the eye that this suit should bring to the conversation will hopefully rattle Abrams enough to make him more chatty than usual.

  There is no room in this trimmer suit to hide my Colt and shoulder holster in their normal place, so I have it in a clip-on holster inside my pants at the small of my back. I have left the bottom buttons on the suit deliberately unbuttoned, ostensibly for fashion, but in reality it lets the suit jacket hang naturally enough to not draw attention to my hidden heater, and allows me quick access to it. I approach a nervous-looking chap, about six foot three and thin as a rail, pacing back and forth in front of the entrance to Abram’s driveway.

  “You ADA Wilkins’s guy?”

  After looking me up and down and doing a passable job of swallowing his own disapproving frown, the towering beanpole of a man answers.

  “Yes, I’m ADA Wilkins’s assistant, George McVey. I take it you are Mr. O’Brien?”

  “You got it. So we all square to meet with Abrams?”

  His eyes twitch nervously as he eyes my provocative attire.

  “Yes, I believe so. Again, I would caution you not to do anything to provoke Mr. Abrams. His patience is already worn thin with the police on this matter of his diamonds, and he was reluctant to agree to this meeting at all. Please try to be as brief as possible, and stay away from any…sensitive matters.”

  “Oh, so you mean I shouldn’t ask about him being a criminal mastermind behind half the Boston Jewish mafia? I understand.” His scowl shows my humor is wasted on McVey.

  McVey gets us inside and we are led to a lavishly-furnished study where a middle-aged, well-dressed man in an expensive Italian suit sits leisurely smoking a pipe in a plush velvet armchair. He is holding a snifter of what appears to be brandy in his left hand. I guess prohibition isn’t really enforced inside the home of mafia bosses. McVey pointedly ignores the glass as he makes the introductions, addressing the smoking man.

  “Mr. Abrams, thank you again for agreeing to meet us. This is detective O’Brien from New York. He has a few questions regarding your diamonds and a possible link to one of their open cases. We won’t take any more of your time than is necessary.”

  The sharply dressed man smiles a disingenuous smile.

  “Not at all. Always happy to help the authorities. Please, have a seat. That’s quite a suit, Mr. O’Brien. Not exactly standard detective wear I presume?”

  “No, just trying to blend into the environment.”

  Abram
s ignores the slight and flashes a condescending smile.

  “Would you care for a cigar, brandy, anything?”

  I take a seat near Abrams.

  “No thank you, Mr. Abrams. As Mr. McVey said, we won’t be long. I know you have probably been over this many times with the Boston boys, but could you tell me please about the situation with your stolen diamonds? I’m sure this caused you a great deal of concern.”

  Abrams laughs. “Concern? Why no, my boy, in fact, whoever the thief was, he actually did me a tremendous favor. Those stones weren’t going anywhere in this economy. My funds might have been tied up in those rocks for years. Whoever it was that stole them liquidated an asset I couldn’t move. To be honest, it was so great a favor that the police and insurance investigators have grilled me ceaselessly trying to determine if I engineered the whole thing. Truth be told, if I had thought of it, I probably would have. Fortunately for me, someone else thought of it first. The investigators just last week finally determined that there was no evidence I was involved, so they have closed the case and signed off to release the payment.”

  The eyes.

  Either this guy is being straight with me, or he’s better at lying with his eyes than anyone I’ve ever met. In his line of work it is possible, but there ain’t an inkling that he’s anything but tickled pink at those rocks being lifted.

  “I see. So your employee, Danny Lupo, wouldn’t happen to be in New York looking for this guy who did you this wonderful favor, then?”

  A flash of annoyance briefly crosses Abrams’s face before he returns to his composed calm.

  “No, detective, Mr. Lupo is running down some other loose ends with some of our business associates in New York. In fact, I expect him home very soon. I have no reason to send him to locate the wayward thief even if I knew who it was. Finding those diamonds is the last thing I would want, you see. If they turn up, then I get the stones back, and the insurance company keeps the money. Whoever has the diamonds, they are welcome to them, and good luck selling them.”

  “So we shouldn’t expect to find Mr. Lupo involved in anything related to our murder case, then?”