“Who’s Eddie?”
“Is that her lover?”
“Did he kill Pollock?”
Fortunately, he heard the bolt being drawn and then the door opened, slamming shut the instant he was back inside.
“Would you really club them?” Eddie asked.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure, but nothing would get me fired faster either, so probably not. Unless they were threatening Mrs. Pollock, that is.”
“They’re like rabid dogs,” Mrs. Pollock said, hovering in the parlor doorway. “Will they leave now?”
“No. I doubt they’ll stay all night, though. It’s too cold for that, but they’ll stay until the house is dark and be back at first light, I’m sure. Did Truett get away?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“I think he did,” Hattie said, hurrying down the hall. “He started running when they saw him. There was some men hiding out back, too, I guess, and they started shouting when he got to the alley.”
“Will you stay until they’re gone, at least?” Mrs. Pollock asked.
“I’ll stay until morning, if you like.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie said quickly. “I’ll look after Mrs. Pollock.”
She gave the boy a grateful smile that made him drop his gaze, embarrassed. “Do you really think I need protection?” she asked Gino.
“Somebody did break in the other night.” He didn’t mention that the crook probably hadn’t gotten what he’d come for, which was exactly why Gino was here. But was Truett the burglar? Was that why he’d shown up here this evening? Certainly, he was looking for the money, and Mrs. Pollock was still claiming ignorance, whether that was true or not.
“Yes, and they emptied my husband’s safe, so I have nothing left worth stealing.”
That much was true, of course. “The question is, do any other possible burglars know that?”
“I can’t imagine I have more than one possible burglar interested in robbing me. A few days ago, I would have sworn I had none at all.”
Of course the one burglar was probably still interested in robbing her, since he hadn’t gotten what he’d come for, but he couldn’t say that. “It’s no trouble for me to stay.”
“You wouldn’t have no place to sleep, what with Mrs. Pollock home and all,” Hattie said.
He hadn’t thought of that. He remembered the empty bedrooms upstairs with a sigh, and glanced into the parlor. The sofas there didn’t look very inviting or nearly long enough to accommodate him, and spending the night in the room where Pollock had been murdered wasn’t particularly appealing, but he’d slept in far worse circumstances in Cuba during the war. “I can sleep on the floor if necessary.”
“We can’t ask you to do that,” Mrs. Pollock said. “There’s no reason for you to stay all night, but I do think it’s a good idea for you to wait here until the reporters have gone. I’d hate for you to have to run down St. Nicholas Avenue to escape them.”
Gino would hate that, too. “I’ll be glad to stay for a while.”
“Good. Have you eaten? Mr. Truett’s visit delayed my supper, and I’m starving. I’m sure Velvet can manage to feed us both.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’d appreciate that.”
Gino thought he caught Eddie giving him a black look. The poor boy really was besotted with Mrs. Pollock if he was jealous of Gino.
Mrs. Pollock sent Gino to wash up while she went to instruct the cook, and he took the opportunity to comb his hair, too. Of course, he’d combed it earlier in preparation for dinner with the Deckers and Maeve, but that was hours ago. He found Mrs. Pollock in the dining room, sitting at the head of the long table. Someone had set a place for him at her right.
“Do you know much about trials, Officer . . . ? I’m sorry, in all the excitement, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Donatelli.”
“That’s Italian, isn’t it?” Her eyes were an amazing color of blue. He’d never seen anything like it.
“Yes.”
“Officer Donatelli,” she said as if she were trying out the taste of his name on her tongue. The thought made a little shiver go up his spine. “Do you know much about trials?”
“A little.”
“My attorney, Mr. Nicholson, is he really good?”
“He gets a lot of people off.”
“Off what?”
Gino was glad to see Hattie come in with a tray to serve their supper. It gave him a minute to think. He should have realized Mrs. Pollock would have no experience with the justice system and its particular jargon. By the time Hattie had served them the fried beefsteak, roasted potatoes, and stewed tomatoes, he’d thought through what he wanted to say.
“I meant to say that a lot of Mr. Nicholson’s clients are found not guilty at the end of their trials.”
“But not all of them?”
He couldn’t help smiling at this. “Some of them are just too guilty for even him to help.”
She smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach her beautiful eyes. She was worried and rightly so.
“Your mother asked us to help you,” he said. “You could help yourself if you could remember what happened that day.”
She took a sip from her glass, then turned her attention to cutting her steak. For a minute he thought she wasn’t going to reply at all, but at last she said, “I really can’t remember what happened, no matter how hard I try. Apparently, my husband had a visitor that morning, the brother of his first wife, or so I’m told.”
“Mr. Yorke.”
“Is that his name? I didn’t meet him, of course. I’m sure his visit wasn’t pleasant, and Randolph would have wanted to protect me from that.”
“So you don’t know what they talked about?”
“Of course not. Randolph may have told me before . . . Well, I can’t even say that for sure, because if this Mr. Yorke is the one who killed him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell me anything at all about the visit.”
“Do you remember finding your husband?”
She stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth, then slowly lowered it again. “Thankfully, I do not. I vaguely remember the police arriving and taking me away in this horrible wagon, and of course I remember being at the jail.” She shuddered delicately. “What an awful place. I think I’ll die if I have to go back there.”
Gino didn’t tell her that if she was found guilty of killing her husband, she’d go to a place far worse than the Tombs. “The best way to keep from going back to jail is to figure out who really did kill your husband.”
She smiled sadly, which made him want to help her somehow. “You are not the first person who has suggested this to me. Believe me, I would tell you what happened if I knew. In the meantime, please eat your supper, Officer Donatelli.”
To his surprise, he realized he hadn’t taken so much as a bite, even though he’d been more than hungry when he’d arrived at her door. He obediently began to eat, conscious of her gaze resting on him now and then.
After a few minutes of silence, she asked, “How did you come to know Mr. Decker?”
He looked up in surprise. Knowing a man like Felix Decker as well as he did—he’d been invited to eat at his house this very night, in fact—was certainly a marvel. He was the son of Italian immigrants. He was an immigrant himself, in fact, although he’d been too young to even remember making the trip, while Felix Decker’s ancestors had settled New York generations ago. Gino was also a cop, a far-from-respectable profession, while Felix Decker’s name was on the Social Register. Still . . .
“I used to work with his son-in-law,” he said, which was the simplest explanation.
“Mr. Decker’s daughter is married to a policeman?”
She had a right to be surprised. Frank Malloy was pretty surprised himself. “He’s not with the police anymore. He . . . he’s do
ne pretty well for himself.”
She thought that over for a minute. “Does he live on Bank Street?”
“Yes.” For a minute, he couldn’t imagine how she knew.
“And that girl, Maeve, she works for him?”
So that was it. Mrs. Pollock had been to Malloy’s house to pick up her trunk. “Yes.”
She nodded as if he’d confirmed something important. “The son-in-law is a private investigator, then.”
“Where did you get that idea?”
“The girl told me she works for a private investigator.”
Of course Maeve had said that. “I guess she does. Mr. Malloy, he helps people out when they need it.”
Her beautiful blue eyes went cold. “People like my mother.”
“Yes,” he said, uneasily.
“Well, you can tell this Mr. Malloy that I don’t need help from him or anyone else, and I want all of you to leave me alone.”
9
The house had been dark for half an hour now. Gino had argued his case with Mrs. Pollock again, but she had been adamant that she didn’t need a bodyguard. He could have forced her to accept his protection, but he didn’t want to upset her any more, so he was just waiting for the right time to leave. He’d sent her and the female servants upstairs to their beds, with instructions to extinguish all the lights in hopes of discouraging the reporters. He and Eddie had waited downstairs, also in the dark. For understandable reasons, Eddie had refused to wait in the parlor, so he sat in a chair in the front hall while Gino positioned himself near a crack in the lace curtains on the parlor’s front window, watching the people milling on the sidewalk.
Earlier, the crowd had contained a few women, the ones who typically reported on social events and fashion, but they had left at some point while Gino and Mrs. Pollock were eating supper. As the night grew colder, the crowd grew smaller, and finally, the last of them pedaled off on their bicycles. He waited awhile, just to make sure nobody was planning to sneak back in hopes of scooping the other newspapers, but no one did.
“I think they’re gone,” he called to Eddie, who appeared instantly in the doorway.
“Are you leaving now?”
He seemed awfully anxious for Gino to go. Gino figured Eddie was jealous of the attention he was getting from Mrs. Pollock, and he couldn’t blame him. He felt sorry for the boy, knowing that when everything got sorted out, he and the other servants would most likely be moving on and he’d probably never see Una Pollock again. “Yeah, I guess it’s time.” Gino went out into the hall, where Hattie had left his bag, and as he left the parlor, he remembered something.
“What happened to the rug?” The bloodstained rug had been rolled up in front of the door last night.
“Mrs. Pollock had me take it to the basement.”
That made sense. She wouldn’t want it around to remind her. “Lock up behind me.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll look after Mrs. Pollock,” the boy said.
Gino was sure of that. “Don’t forget, if anything happens, send for Mr. Decker.”
“Missus won’t like that.”
Gino had no answer for him. He stepped out onto the porch, bracing himself for the blast of cold, then waited to hear Eddie throw the bolt. Satisfied that he’d done all he could, Gino set off down the steps and down the street. No one accosted him or even seemed to be around. The only sound was his own shoes slapping against the pavement as he hurried to the El station. Too bad it was so late. He desperately needed to tell Maeve and the Deckers about Truett’s visit, but it would have to wait until morning. He only hoped Truett was spooked enough to stay away from the Pollock house until they’d had a chance to figure out what to do about him, because he didn’t think for one second that Eddie would be able to handle him.
* * *
Because it was Saturday, Maeve, Mrs. Malloy, and the children were still at breakfast when someone knocked on the door the next morning.
“That will be Gino,” Maeve told Mrs. Malloy, signing for Brian’s benefit.
Both children wanted to jump up and run to the door, but Mrs. Malloy told them sternly to finish eating, and she went to answer it.
Maeve had wanted to jump up and run herself, so she was actually glad Mrs. Malloy had gone. No sense in giving Gino the impression she was anxious to see him, even if she was. She could hear his voice as he chatted with Mrs. Malloy on their way to the kitchen, and even though she couldn’t understand the words, she knew he was charming her the way he always did.
“Good morning, Officer Donatelli,” Catherine sang out politely, just the way Maeve was teaching her to do.
“Good morning, Miss Catherine,” he replied, charming her as well. Really, it was disgusting.
“And good morning to you, Mr. Brian.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, earning a grin and a flurry of signs that Mrs. Malloy interpreted as his greeting.
“Sit down,” Mrs. Malloy said. “I’ll get you some breakfast.”
Maeve was certain Mrs. Pollock’s cook wouldn’t have sent him off without feeding him first, but she didn’t say a word.
“Thank you, Mrs. Malloy,” he said, just like he was starving, and pulled out the chair at the end of the table, which just happened to be at a right angle to Maeve’s. “Good morning to you, Miss Smith,” he said with a twinkle in his dark eyes that almost softened her resolve not to completely melt.
“And how is Mrs. Pollock this fine morning?” Maeve asked.
“You wouldn’t be jealous, would you?” he asked with a wicked grin.
Mrs. Malloy set a cup of coffee down in front of him and gave him a little pinch on the arm.
“Ow!”
“Don’t tease the girl,” she said.
The children giggled until Mrs. Malloy shushed them, and Maeve didn’t bother to hide her grin.
Effectively chastened, a more sober Gino turned back to Maeve and said, “I have no idea how she is because she shooed me off last night after the reporters gave up and went home.”
“Reporters?” Maeve said, gladly changing the subject.
“Oh yes. They showed up shortly after I got there last night. There was probably twenty of them, banging on the door and wanting to interview Mrs. Pollock.”
“That’s disgraceful the way they bother people,” Mrs. Malloy murmured from where she was cooking Gino some eggs.
Maeve couldn’t seem to work up any sympathy for Una Pollock this morning, though. “I’m guessing you protected her from them.” She didn’t sound like she approved.
“I got them to stop pounding on the door,” he admitted with fake reluctance. “They almost caught Truett, though.”
“Truett was there?” she almost yelped.
“Oh yes. We were right. I think Truett was the one—”
“Here’s your eggs,” Mrs. Malloy said, plopping a plate down in front of him. Maeve saw Mrs. Malloy had scrambled at least three eggs for him. Maeve hoped he was hungry. “Come along, children. Maeve and Officer Donatelli have business to discuss.”
Brian was protesting with flying fingers and Catherine dragged her feet and pulled a miserable face to let them know how sad she was to leave. Neither tactic moved Mrs. Malloy, and soon Maeve and Gino were alone in the kitchen.
He was shoveling in the eggs as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. “Didn’t Mrs. Pollock feed you last night?”
He stopped long enough to give her a smirk. “I had supper with her in the dining room.”
Maeve could’ve kicked herself for even asking. “So what is it you think about Truett?”
He swallowed and took a sip of his coffee. “He was pretty mad when I got there. The maid said he’d been shouting at Mrs. Pollock. He claimed there were ‘valuable papers’ missing, and he thought she knew where they were.”
“And you think the valuable papers are really the missing money.”
“What else could he mean? So Truett could be the one who broke into the Pollock house and that’s how he knows the money is missing.”
“Except that the Deckers told him about the robbery, and that could be how he knows,” Maeve reminded him. “And I suppose poor Una had no idea the money was even there.”
“Truett didn’t mention money when I was there, just ‘papers,’ but she did say she didn’t know anything about Pollock’s business.”
“I guess she was crying and all hysterical.”
Gino started to smirk again but stopped when he saw her expression. “She was holding up pretty well when I got there.”
“I can’t believe she’s still pretending she didn’t know about the money,” Maeve said in disgust.
“Don’t forget, I don’t know what she might’ve said to Truett before I got there. For all I know they started out with Truett telling her the money is missing and what did she do with it, and her saying she had no idea because she was in jail when it all happened. But when I got there, Truett was very careful not to say exactly what the missing papers were, and he actually accused me of wanting to steal them myself.”
“Poor Gino,” she said, only half sarcastically.
“I don’t think it was personal,” he said cheerfully. “He just hates all cops.”
“So I guess we need to talk to Mr. Truett.”
“I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to question him. After last night, he’ll be suspicious. But Mr. Decker could, I think.”
“He’ll have a busy day. He and Mrs. Decker were going to visit the widow of the man who killed himself, and he was going to see that other fellow whose name he recognized, too.”
“That doesn’t leave much for you to do today,” he said.
“Which will make Catherine happy. We haven’t spent much time together lately. Oh, I know. I can take the children to see the Deckers this morning and tell them what you found out about Truett. Catherine and Brian love playing in the nursery there, and Mrs. Decker will be happy to see them. She doesn’t have much to do today either.”
Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue Page 15
