The Heavenly Fugitive

by Gilbert, Morris

  Phil left the cellblock and made his way toward the front gate. When he stepped outside, he breathed in an invigorating breath of the cold February air. He got into his car, and as he often did, he thought of his grandmother and how she had given him the car on his graduation from college not quite two years ago. He kept it spotless and clean, the nickel headlights and the radiator still glowing as they had the first day he had climbed into it. Starting the car, he threaded his way through the traffic until he came to the fifth precinct. He parked and went inside. Stepping over to the desk, he said, “Hello, Sarge, how you doing today?”

  “Why, Counselor, it’s you.” The sergeant’s name was Murphy, a typical Irish cop with a ruddy complexion and a pair of penetrating blue eyes. He had grown heavier since his days on the beat, but he was known as a good cop. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Winslow?”

  “I just need to get one paper signed by one of your guests here, Sergeant. Tommy Bentley.”

  “Are you sure he can write?” Murphy grinned. “Sure. Go on back.”

  “Thanks, Murph.” Phil turned and started toward the door that led to the interior of the building, where prisoners were held until they were either released on bail or sent to the city jail for longer terms. He had not gotten far, however, when a loud screaming suddenly brought him up short. He turned around and saw that two burly policemen were hauling in a young woman, each one holding an arm firmly. She was wearing a thin gold lamé dress with fringes. A headband held back her black hair, but as she struggled, butting her head at one of the officers, it came loose, and the hair fell down before her face. She was screaming unintelligibly, and one of the officers winked at the sergeant.

  “Well, Murph, we got a live one here.”

  “What’d she do, Sullivan?”

  “Tried to beat a girl’s head in with a chair. I think the other flapper was stealing her boyfriend or something.”

  “Steal my boyfriend? That bleached blonde couldn’t steal anything of mine!”

  Phil stared at the woman with shock, for he recognized Rosa Morino. He had not seen her now in over a year and then it had been only briefly. Since her father had forbade her to see anybody connected with the law, it was almost as if the earth had swallowed her up. He had sent her a present for her eighteenth birthday, but it had been returned unopened.

  Sergeant Murphy put his chin in one hand and tilted his head to one side. “Is that all she did?”

  “She was drunk in a public place. That’s against the law. She assaulted another woman, and she was screaming she was going to bring charges against us.”

  “Well, we’ll have to charge you then, miss.”

  Rosa’s eyes were dull, not the flashing bright that Phil remembered. She was obviously severely intoxicated. Her makeup was smeared, and there was a wild look about her as she struggled with the officers. She cursed them both, then the sergeant.

  “You’d better call a lawyer, miss. That’s my advice. What’s your name?” the sergeant asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “If you won’t give me your name, you’ll stay here a long time.”

  Phil did not move forward. He waited until Rosa had been led away, still fighting. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, and a worried expression crossed his face. He then made a quick decision, and without even bidding the sergeant good-bye, he left the precinct.

  ****

  “Leo’s gettin’ out of jail, Mr. Morino.” Dom held the paper out to Tony and watched his boss scan it. “I thought they’d keep him in at least five years.”

  “Not with his connections and his pull. Somebody was bought off.” Morino grunted.

  “I think we’ll have trouble with him,” Dom said.

  Tony Morino was sitting down behind his desk. He ran his hand through his thinning hair and shook his head. He had lost weight recently, and it had not improved his appearance. The facial muscles that had once been so tense and tight now sagged, and his eyes had sunk back in their sockets. He had been a tough young kid and then an even tougher man, but the years were beginning to creep up on him. He was sixty-three now, and for a man in his profession that was a ripe old age indeed.

  Dom waited for Morino to remark and then nudged him a little bit. “We’d better put somebody on this. We’ve got to double our security, Mr. Morino.”

  “Okay, you take care of it, Dom.”

  More and more, Dom realized, Morino had lost the keen cutting edge that had brought him to the top of the criminal world in New York. He’s gonna get his head chopped off if he doesn’t wake up, Dom thought but merely said, “All right, I’ll take care of it.”

  The two men spoke of a few more business matters when suddenly the door opened, and one of Morino’s trusted workers, Dion Madigen, stuck his head in. “Somebody here to see you, Mr. Morino.”

  “What somebody? Who is it?”

  Madigen chewed his lip thoughtfully as if reluctant to speak. “Well, he’s from the district attorney’s office. His name is Winslow. We weren’t going to let him in, but he said it concerns your family.”

  A rich flush colored Morino’s face. “Tell him to get out of here. He’s not welcome here.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Morino,” Dom said quickly. “He wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t pretty important.”

  At one time Morino would have brushed aside his body-guard’s warning, but now he was more willing to listen. “All right,” he muttered. “Tell him to come in.”

  Dom had kept up with Phil Winslow’s career. It was his job to keep tabs on the enemy, and anybody in the district attorney’s office fit that category. He studied young Winslow as he stepped inside, calculating that he must only be about twenty-three. Not many could have accomplished so much by such a young age. He remembered reading in the papers that he was the youngest law-school graduate in the history of New York, having completed his studies in only a year and a half. After his January graduation, he had immediately been offered a position with Gordon Land, the DA.

  Phil was wearing a dark suit and maroon tie, and his hair was mussed from the strong breeze outside.

  “What do you want, Winslow?” Morino snapped.

  Phil glanced at Dom’s expressionless face, then looked back at Morino. He was shocked at the deterioration of the big man, for he appeared to have aged at least ten years in only two. “You’ve got a problem, Tony.”

  “You’re not my lawyer.”

  “No, I didn’t come here as a lawyer.”

  “What is it, then? Tell me and get out.”

  “It’s Rosa. She’s been arrested.”

  Instantly Dom rose and stared at Winslow. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “She’s at the fifth precinct. She wouldn’t give them her name, so they had to book her under a Jane Doe, but if I were you, I would get your attorney down there right away. That’s a rough place. I’d hate to see Rosa stay there.”

  “What were the charges?” Dom asked sharply.

  “Drunk and disorderly conduct, maybe some kind of an assault charge. I think she broke a chair over some woman’s head.”

  Tony could do little more than stare at Winslow, but the news hit him hard. He was breathing heavily, and he sat down again and slumped back in his chair. He did not speak for a moment, and then he put his eyes on the young lawyer. “What are you doing this for?”

  Phil said quietly, “I’ve always liked Rosa. I wouldn’t waste any time about this, Tony. That’s a rough place.” He turned and walked away, and the two men watched him without saying a word.

  As soon as the door closed, however, Morino got up and began to pace the floor. “What’s the matter with her, Dom? Has she gone crazy? Lately she’s done nothing but give her mother and me trouble. I gave her everything she wanted—everything. Now look at her.”

  Dom listened, but he had heard it all before more than once. “We can talk about it later, Mr. Morino. You’d better let me get on it.”

  “That’s right. Go get Reyn
olds. Whatever he’s doing, jerk him out of there. Get her out right away and bring her home.”

  “I’ll get right on it, Mr. Morino.”

  ****

  J.D. Reynolds was a man of means as well as a man to be reckoned with. He had risen in his profession, not because of his astute knowledge of the law, but because of Tony Morino, who had hired him after Kildare had gone into hiding, and paid him exorbitantly. Reynolds was unbeatable in front of a jury. He was a tall man, in good shape and only forty-five years old. He had fair hair and strange green eyes that could mesmerize any jury, making them forget the facts and listen instead to their emotions.

  Reynolds’ home was in the most exclusive district of New York, as might be expected, and he dined with the top level of politicians and celebrities. He had defended several movie stars, and on this particular evening he was entertaining Miss Lila DeNucci, whom he had just gotten off from a serious drug-dealing charge. He had arranged the dinner with care, for Miss DeNucci was one of the current sex symbols in Hollywood. Now as he looked over at the young woman, whose figure strained at the thin fabric of her dress, Reynolds smiled in anticipation.

  “Oh, Mr. Reynolds, I don’t know how to thank you!” Lila was empty-headed, but that did not seem to matter in Hollywood. The fact that she was beautiful and every move she made was suggestive was more important in the making of starlets, and now as she leaned forward, she whispered, “You’ve been so good to me.”

  Reynolds laughed and reached over and put his hand on her bare shoulder. “Well, I’m always glad to help a beautiful lady in distress. Why don’t we have a few drinks and then—” Reynolds did not finish his sentence, for his manservant entered, announcing, “A gentleman to see you, sir.”

  “Tell him to come back.”

  “I will tell him, sir.”

  Reynolds turned back to the young woman and traced her jawline with an aristocratic forefinger. He heard the muted sound of the butler’s voice speaking with someone outside; then the door flew open again and before he could move, he found his arm seized by a powerful hand. “What—!”

  “So sorry to interrupt, but it’s time to go, Counselor.”

  Dom Costello enjoyed this part of his work. He had never liked Reynolds. He was a good enough lawyer, but he treated anybody below the level of a crime lord or a governor with disdain. Dom was not intimidated by the man’s arrogance and now pulled him across the room simply because he could. “Better get your coat on,” he said coldly.

  “What are you talking about? Let go of me, Costello!”

  Dom’s fingers tightened, and he saw a strain come into Reynolds’ eyes. As the lawyer struggled, Dom continued to increase his force. “Mr. Morino says you need to come along with me. Now, do you want me to drag you out, or do you want to walk like a real lawyer?”

  Reynolds was not accustomed to taking orders—but he knew Big Tony Morino and said quickly, “Why, of course, Dominic, I was just startled.”

  Dom released his grip and said, “It’s cold out. You’d better put your coat on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll fill you in on the way.” Dominic turned and said, “Don’t go away, baby. He’ll probably come back in two or three hours. If he doesn’t, I’ll come and keep you company.” He laughed at the movie star’s panicked expression, then moved inexorably outside, herding Reynolds with not-so-gentle nudges.

  ****

  Rosa was considerably more sober by the time she was brought out of the cell. She had been throwing up and had not been able to clean herself properly. Now as she moved out into the station house itself, she saw one of the officers wink at the sergeant. She also saw big Dom Costello standing there and glared at him as if he had done her some harm.

  Dom said nothing to her, but turned to the officer in charge. “Can she have her things back, Sergeant?”

  “Sure. Just sign right here.”

  Dom signed the release, then collected the purse and wristwatch. He took Rosa’s arm roughly and led her outside, ignoring her objections. “The car’s over here,” he said.

  Rosa got in the car but turned her face away, staring out the window. Dom got in, started the engine, and said, “We should stop somewhere and get you cleaned up. You don’t want to go home looking like that.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  Dom Costello was accustomed to this behavior. He had watched this young woman go steadily downhill for the past year, and he thought it was a shame. She was a sweet kid, but she had sure changed. Now he shrugged, knowing all he could do was take her home.

  ****

  The noisy scene at the Morino estate shook Maria badly. She had tried to comfort Rosa in her gentle way, but her wayward daughter had yanked herself away and now stood with her back to her mother, her arms folded in defiance. Tony, as usual, had plowed right in and started shouting at the girl.

  “I’m ashamed of you! Drunk and disorderly!”

  Rosa turned to face him fiercely. “What do you think happens to that liquor you bootleg, Daddy? Do you think only the people on the street drink it? No, young girls like me drink it too.”

  Her words hit Tony Morino like a blow to the midsection. Looking at this girl who had the been the pride of his life only a short time ago, and now having her throw in his face that he was responsible for what she had become was more than he could take. He looked over at his wife and pleaded, “Can’t you do anything with her, Maria?”

  “She’s not the bootlegger, Daddy. You are!” Rosa screamed.

  Tony stared at his daughter, then whirled and stormed out of the room. He moved heavily, like a sick man, and the silence washed backward into the room after he closed the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Out of the Past

  Amelia had rather enjoyed her date with the wealthy playboy Lyle Deckerton. He was always amusing, and tonight he had seemed in particularly good spirits. Now as he opened the door and she stepped out of the car, she thought of the strangeness of their so-called affair. It was the newspapers that called it that, and of course, Lyle would have liked to put reality into the word.

  Amelia had refused several of his invitations to go out but finally had agreed out of curiosity. She had never before dated a man with more money than he could possibly spend. Deckerton was rich enough to meet that description. His father had made a fortune in the stock market, then had branched out into manufacturing. Since Lyle was the only son, the odds were good that one day he would control all of the millions his father had raked together.

  Deckerton had provided plenty of fodder for the nation’s gossip columnists. He was handsome enough, with fair hair and mild blue eyes and a dimple on each cheek, giving him a cherubic look. There were no lines on his face, for he had not overtaxed himself with studies while at college, nor had the cares of this world been a burden. His papa had seen to it that they never bothered him.

  The columnists had linked him with practically everybody, including the new acting sensations Mae West and Clara Bow. He had left behind a trail of diamond bracelets, rings, necklaces, cars, and furs. Amelia had been more amused by him than anything else. He was certainly the last man in the world she would ever want to marry.

  “How about if I come in, Amelia?”

  “Not tonight, Lyle. It’s too late, and I’m tired.”

  “Just for a few minutes.”

  “No, I’m sorry. Afraid not. Good night.”

  “Wait a minute,” Lyle said, wedging himself between Amelia and the door of her apartment. He had made his try at her virtue on the first date and had not been at all put off when she refused him. He never seemed to let things like that bother him. Now that Amelia’s curiosity about the rich man was satisfied, however, she was ready for him to leave.

  “I’m really tired, Lyle.”

  Deckerton reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a long plush-covered box. “Merry Christmas or happy birthday, whichever comes first.”

  Alarm ran lightly through Amelia. Sh
e took the box and opened it, shocked by the fiery sparkle of the diamond necklace that nestled against the black plush lining. She knew that the piece had cost thousands of dollars, judging by the size and number of diamonds in it.

  “Do you like it?”

  Amelia closed the lid on the box and shook her head. “Lyle, I told you before, I don’t take gifts from men.”

  “But why not? I like to give people things.”

  “Because when men give ‘gifts,’ they are more than that. You’d be expecting something back for it.”

  Deckerton’s eyes widened. “No, honestly, it’s just a gift. That’s all it is.”

  Amelia forced the box back into his hand. He began to protest, but Amelia said quietly, “Lyle, it would give you a hold on me, and I won’t have that. Now, good night.”

  She slipped by him and opened the door. When she turned she saw that he was standing there like a hurt boy, his blue eyes wounded. “You’ll find someone who will take it, Lyle,” she assured him. “Run along now.”

  When she closed the door, she put her back against it and rested for a moment, reflecting on their date. Straightening up, she said to herself, “Well, that’s the last of that, and it wasn’t all that much fun.” Remembering the look in his eyes, she laughed. “You know, if he weren’t worth millions of dollars, he would actually be a very dull fellow!”

  ****

  A harsh ringing awakened Amelia. She had slept poorly and groped blindly for the phone with her hair down in her eyes. When she picked up the receiver, she fell back on the pillow and said, “Yes?”

  “Miss Winslow?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “This is Faye Anderson.”

  Amelia assumed that a fan had gotten hold of her private phone number. It irritated her, for what was the point of having a private number if anyone knew it? Now she’d have to change it again. She told the caller, “I’m afraid I’m a little busy right now.”

  After a moment’s silence the woman said, “Don’t you remember me, Miss Winslow? But, of course, I forgot—you wouldn’t know my married name. I’m Faye Kildare Anderson, Ryan’s sister.”