The baby’s tiny face screwed up, and he began to wail.
Maria started bouncing him absently as she continued her rant. “Mama, you cannot let that woman have him. You cannot let him die!”
To Frank’s surprise, Lorenzo went to her and took the baby out of her arms. “Stop it, Maria,” he said gently, as he awkwardly shifted the crying infant into the crook of his own arm. “We will not let him die.” As if he understood the words, the baby stopped crying and gazed up at Lorenzo in wide-eyed wonder.
“But what can we do?” Joe asked, his voice an annoying whine. “Even Uncle Ugo’s men can’t protect us! Last night they broke in here. Who knows what they will do tonight or tomorrow night?”
“Then I will take the baby away someplace,” Maria said, her voice quivering with anguish. “He will be safe, and they will forget about all of you when he’s gone, and then you’ll be safe,” she added with a touch of contempt to her husband.
“I have a better idea,” Sarah said, startling everyone, especially Frank.
He looked at her with apprehension, trying to read the serene expression on her lovely face. She hadn’t told him about any other ideas, and he certainly hadn’t given her permission to have any.
“Mrs. Brandt, we should go now,” he tried, but she ignored him completely.
“The reason the newspapers got everyone so angry in the first place is because Nainsi was murdered in your house,”
she reminded them. “They’re saying you don’t have a right to her baby because you kidnapped and killed her to get it.”
“That is lie!” Mrs. Ruocco cried.
“Of course it is, but people believe it because they don’t know the truth.”
“What truth?” Lorenzo asked skeptically.
“They don’t know who really killed Nainsi,” she said, making Frank wince. “When her killer is caught and punished, everyone will understand you had nothing to do with it.”
They all stared at her, dumbfounded. Frank felt pretty dumbfounded himself. Her logic was so reasonable—and so wrong! They still didn’t know for sure who had killed Nainsi. If one of the family members had done it, all hell would break loose. Didn’t she realize that? No, she didn’t, he remembered, because she thought one of Ugo’s men had killed Nainsi.
Frank watched their faces as they began to comprehend her argument. Joe and Lorenzo didn’t quite know what to think. Maria’s face seemed to glow with a desperate hope.
But Mrs. Ruocco . . . She understood. She knew someone in her family must have killed the girl, and the truth would destroy them.
“Get out my house!” she said furiously, pointing one gnarled finger at the door. “Get out now!”
“But Mama,” Maria pleaded. Mrs. Ruocco silenced her with a gesture.
Before she could protest, Frank grabbed Sarah’s arm and hauled her to the door. She almost stumbled, but he didn’t loosen his grip or slow his pace. He had to throw back the bolt one-handed, but he got them both outside.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, outraged. “We have to convince them to cooperate, or you’ll never find Nainsi’s killer!”
He just kept walking, dragging her along with him until they’d crossed the street into the next block. Then she finally dug in her heels and forced him to stop.
“What are you doing? Don’t you want to solve this case?” she asked breathlessly, her cheeks scarlet with fury.
“Of course I do, but that’s not the way to do it!”
“You won’t find the killer without their help,” she insisted.
“And they won’t help if the killer is one of them.”
“But one of Ugo Ruocco’s men killed her,” she argued.
“Maybe, but we don’t know anything for sure. Did you see Mrs. Ruocco’s face? She isn’t sure either. She knows as well as I do that it might’ve been one of her children and she’d cut off her arm before she’d help us find out.”
“But if it wasn’t one of her children—”
“She’s not going to take that chance,” Frank said. “She’ll protect them the way Maria is protecting that baby. If she knows who did it . . . if any of them know . . . it’s a secret they’ll take to their graves.”
So much for Roosevelt’s plan to have Sarah reason with them.
“ You should’ve taken me with you,” Gino Donatelli said later, after Frank had escorted a chastened Sarah back home and returned to Headquarters. “I might’ve been able to convince them.”
“First of all, you didn’t see Maria Ruocco with that baby.
She isn’t giving him up, no matter who wants her to,” Frank said. “Second, none of them are going to help us find the killer because they’re all afraid it’s somebody in the family.
Third, that’s true in any language, so you couldn’t have helped.”
“But I know how they think,” he argued.
“So do I,” Frank replied acidly. “They think we want to put one of them in jail, and they’re right.”
Gino ran a hand over his face in exasperation. “Maybe Mrs. Brandt was the wrong person to deliver the message,” he said.
“I think we agree on that,” Frank said sarcastically. “Who else would you suggest? Maybe Commissioner Roosevelt would go down and talk to them.”
“They’d never listen to him, either,” Gino said as if Frank had made a serious suggestion. “They’d listen to Ugo, though.”
“Mrs. Brandt said he already told them to give the baby up, but they refused.”
“Things weren’t so bad then. The stakes are higher now.
He doesn’t want his men fighting the Irish in the streets any more than we do, and he must know he can’t beat Tammany Hall.”
“He’s not going to turn in one of his own family members, and his men won’t follow him anymore if he turns in one of them,” Frank pointed out.
“No, but he might force Maria to give up the baby to make peace, and then . . .”
“And then what?”
Gino grinned smugly. “And then she’ll hate all of them so much, she’ll help us find the killer.”
Sarah walked far enough to make Malloy believe she was going home, but as soon as she was out of sight, she cut over to Broadway and turned south again. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, but she knew that on a pleasant day like this, plenty of people would be out in the street, and someone would be able to give her directions.
Howard Street teemed with life. Teamsters guided their wagons through the narrow passage, shouting and swearing.
Homeless urchins darted in and out of the traffic, dodging wheels and horses’ hooves. Women argued with street vendors over prices and gossiped on porch steps.
Sarah only had to make three inquiries before she found the right tenement. As she made her way up the dark stairs, stepping carefully to avoid tripping over refuse and heaven knew what else, she could easily imagine how a young girl would grasp at any chance to escape such a dreary place. The Ruoccos weren’t really rich, unless you compared them to this.
The door to the flat stood open to catch the breeze, and Sarah saw a woman sitting at the kitchen table with her back to the door. The room held only the rickety table and chairs and a battered stove, which was cold on this spring day. Crates nailed to the walls held a few kitchen utensils and dishes. The walls were an indeterminate color beneath years of grime.
“Mrs. O’Hara?” she called, tapping lightly on the door frame.
Nainsi’s mother turned in her chair to see who was calling. “Mrs. Brandt,” she said in surprise, pushing herself to her feet. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing new,” Sarah said with a smile. “I just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”
“Is the baby all right? Have you seen him?” she asked anxiously. “They won’t let me near him, them damned murdering dagos.”
Sarah managed to maintain her cheerful smile. “He was a little colicky at first, but we tried feeding him goat’s milk, and that helped a lot. The last ti
me I saw him, he seemed to be doing fine.”
She murmured something that might have been a prayer and crossed herself. “It ain’t right,” she said bitterly. “They got no claim to the boy at all. He’s nothing to them. Why would they even want him?”
“If it’s any comfort, Maria is taking very good care of him,” Sarah said.
“It’s a little comfort,” Mrs. O’Hara admitted. “I wouldn’t put it past the rest of them to let him die, just for spite, but that Maria, she wouldn’t let it happen, I know. She’s a good girl, for being Italian and all.”
“How are you doing, Mrs. O’Hara?” Sarah asked. “I know this has been very hard on you.”
She waved away Sarah’s concerns. “I’m doing all right, all things considered. Take more than this to do me in, I’ll tell you that. Well, now, where’s my manners? Come in and sit down. Can I get you something?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine, thank you,” Sarah said, knowing the woman wouldn’t have any food to spare. She took a seat at the table. She saw that Mrs. O’Hara had been working at making men’s ties.
“I won’t have to do this anymore once I get the baby,” she told Sarah, moving her work aside. “I don’t even have to take in lodgers anymore. Them politicians, they already give me some money, and they said they’d make sure I got a regular pension so I can take care of the boy proper.”
“That’s very nice of them,” Sarah remarked, wondering why the politicians would have taken such an active interest in a woman like Mrs. O’Hara, much less champion her cause.
“Ain’t nothing nice about it,” she sniffed. “They seen a chance to get a leg up on the Italians, and they took it. They gotta make folks think they’re doing something important, or they won’t get reelected.”
Sarah had to admit this was a rather astute observation from a female who couldn’t vote and probably couldn’t even read. “I would never have thought of asking for that kind of help,” she admitted.
“Don’t know why not,” Mrs. O’Hara said in amazement.
“That’s what everybody does. Got some trouble, you go down to Tammany Hall, and they fix you right up.”
“I had no idea!”
“Well, they can’t fix everything, mind you. But lots of things. A word here or there to the right people, and life goes a little better. That’s why people vote for ’em. I didn’t know what they’d’ve said about Nainsi’s baby, but I guess after I told my story to them reporters and it was in the papers, they didn’t have much choice.”
Once again, Sarah was impressed by Mrs. O’Hara’s political astuteness. “It’s a shame about the riots, though,” she tried, hoping to make Mrs. O’Hara see the unpleasant re-sults of her efforts. “A lot of the Irish boys ended up in jail.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mrs. O’Hara said philo-sophically. “If it wasn’t for that, they’d be in for something else. Besides, we need to scare them Ruoccos so they know they gotta give up the baby.”
Sarah still had one weapon left in her arsenal. “Yes, well, another reason I came today was to talk to you about taking care of him.”
“I know how to take care of a baby,” Mrs. O’Hara scoffed.
“I raised Nainsi, didn’t I? She had a brother, too. He’d be twenty now, but he got the diphtheria and died when he was four. I don’t need no lessons in how to take care of a baby.”
Sarah smiled sympathetically. “Of course you don’t, but taking care of this one will be a little different. I’m sure you nursed your children, but your grandson will have to be fed with a bottle unless you can afford a wet nurse for him. That means you’ve got to buy milk for him every day.”
“Every day?” she asked doubtfully.
“Yes, because it needs to be fresh, and as I said, he needs to have goat’s milk or else he’ll get sick. You’ve probably never used baby bottles, so I wanted to be sure you understand that they have to be thoroughly washed and boiled after each use.”
“Boiled? Whatever for?”
“If you leave milk in the bottles, even just a little bit, it will go bad and make the baby sick. I know you don’t want that to happen.”
Mrs. O’Hara glanced around the kitchen, and Sarah knew what she was thinking. No one in the tenements used their stoves in the summertime. The buildings were already unbearably hot. The residents would buy their food from the vendors in the streets, which was actually cheaper than buying fuel and hauling it up to their flats.
“Well, maybe Tammany will help you pay for a wet nurse,”
Sarah went on. “That would be the best thing anyway.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mrs. O’Hara with a frown. “I don’t know about any of this. Nobody said he needed anything special.”
“I know, that’s why I came. Maria would have explained it all to you, I’m sure, but I didn’t want you to be surprised.
Or unprepared.”
The older woman raised a hand and rubbed her forehead.
“I never thought . . .”
“Mrs. O’Hara, I know how worried you must be. You’ve already lost your daughter, and I don’t want you to lose your grandson, too,” Sarah said. “That’s why I came. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”
“I never dreamed it’d be so hard,” she said.
“Taking care of a baby under the best of circumstances is difficult,” Sarah reminded her. “The sleepless nights, the diapers, keeping them safe. I’m sure you remember that from your own children.”
“I lost two others, too,” she admitted sadly. “I don’t like to remember them. One was stillborn, and the other . . . the other just died. We never knew why.”
Sarah felt the other woman’s grief like a lump in her own chest. “I’m sorry.” Then she waited, giving Mrs. O’Hara a chance to make the right decision.
The other woman stared at something only she could see for several minutes, and then her eyes hardened with resolution. “I love that baby, Mrs. Brandt. It would kill me if anything happened to him.”
Sarah nodded, holding her breath and silently praying.
“But those people got no right to him. He’s my flesh and blood, the only family I got left. I can’t leave him in that house, Mrs. Brandt, because somebody in that house killed my Nainsi.”
Sarah let out her breath on a sigh. She’d done her best, but she’d lost.
In all the years he’d been a cop, Frank had faced many dangerous situations, but none quite so dangerous as bearding Ugo Ruocco in his own den. He could feel the wave of hostility wash over them when he and Gino entered the saloon where Ugo held court. Every eye in the room turned toward them, all filled with hatred.
One of the men challenged them in Italian, and Gino replied in Italian, his tone polite but firm. Several of the men got up from their tables and walked slowly toward them, their expressions taunting as they formed a loose circle around them. The threat of violence was blatant, but Frank knew better than to show a trace of fear. He glared back at them, silently daring them to risk attacking the police. They might win this battle, but they would start a war that would bring down the wrath of the Irish and the police and the city government, too. Frank sincerely hoped they realized that.
After a long moment, an older man sitting at a table on the other side of the room stood up and gave a curt order.
He was short and round with graying hair and a well-worn face. The thugs fell back, opening a corridor between him and them. “You want to see the Padrone, Gino Donatelli?” he asked.
“Yes, we do,” Gino replied. Frank had to admire the way he refused to be intimidated. Maybe letting dagos on the force wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“I will ask if he will see you,” the man said, his tone implying that he sincerely doubted that would happen. He turned and walked through a door at the back of the room, closing it softly behind him.
As they waited, Frank could hear the words “fool’s errand” echoing in his head. That’s what his mother would’ve said
about him walking into a dago saloon. Frank carefully made eye contact with each of the men in the room, silently letting them know they didn’t scare him one bit.
Even if it was a lie.
After what seemed like an hour, the older man returned and motioned for them to follow him. Gino led the way. The thugs closed in a bit as they passed, letting Frank and Gino feel their presence without actually making any threatening moves. Frank figured ordinary citizens would be terrified.
Although the saloon itself looked exactly like every other saloon in the city—its furnishings plain, functional, and worn with hard usage—the back room was clearly the office of an important man. Velvet drapes hung at the windows and a handwoven carpet covered the floor. Gilt-framed pictures of European landscapes hung on the wallpapered walls, and Ugo Ruocco sat at a large round table with a bottle of wine and a half-empty glass before him.
Their escort held the door for them and then closed it behind him, standing with his back to it to observe their meeting and prevent interruption.
“Gino,” Ruocco said with apparent good cheer. “What brings you here? And who have you brought with you?”
Gino whipped off his hat and nodded slightly in greeting. “Good afternoon, Padrone,” he said with more respect that Frank would have shown. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“How could I turn you away? I would never know why you came, and I am very interested to know that. Please, sit down,” he said, waving magnanimously at the empty chairs at the table. “You, too, Detective,” he added less enthusiastically.
Gino exchanged a glance with Frank before taking one of the offered chairs. Frank took the one beside him. Frank sized up Ruocco across the expanse of tablecloth that separated them. He was a man supremely confident in his place in the world and the power he wielded. Someplace else, he might not be so confident, but here he was in total control of everything and everyone. Frank and Gino were suppli-cants come to beg a favor of the great man. The knowledge burned like gall in Frank’s mouth, but he knew better than to betray it.
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