“We were talking about who might have killed that poor Chinese girl,” Sarah said.
“And about whether her brother has a pigtail or not,” Maeve added sheepishly. It did sound a little silly when one tried to explain.
“A pigtail?” Mrs. Ellsworth echoed doubtfully.
“Yes, the long, single pigtails that Chinese men have,” Sarah said.
“Oh, yes, I know what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Ellsworth said brightly. “Like that boy had, the one who came for you the other day.”
FRANK WAS SITTING ON THE SOFA, HOLDING HIS SON Brian in his lap while the boy showed him the signs he’d learned that day, and Frank’s mother translated. “Pretty soon he’s going to know more words than I do,” Frank remarked to her.
“Won’t take much,” she replied tartly.
Before he could think of a suitable response, someone knocked on their door.
“Who could that be at this hour?” his mother grumbled, getting up to answer.
Brian hadn’t heard the knock, of course, but he stopped his signing to watch her expectantly. When he saw she was going to the door, his little body tensed with anticipation, and his blue eyes sparkled. A visitor was always exciting, and when he saw who it was, he scrambled down from Frank’s lap and ran to the door, babbling incoherent sounds of delight. His grandmother wasn’t nearly so happy.
“Good evening, Mrs. Malloy,” Sarah Brandt said. “How are you?”
“I’m alive,” Mrs. Malloy said sourly. “How are you, Miss Catherine?” she asked the child accompanying Sarah with much more enthusiasm.
Frank got to his feet as Brian fairly dragged Catherine into the room. Sarah came more slowly, having to sidle around Mrs. Malloy, who hadn’t moved quite enough to allow her easy entrance.
“Good evening, Mr. Malloy,” Sarah said with an impish gleam in her eye.
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Brandt,” he said. “What brings you out?” He knew it had something to do with Angel Lee’s murder. Nothing less would have brought her here where she knew she wasn’t welcome.
“I needed to discuss something with you,” she said with a strained smile.
Frank looked at the children. Brian had taken Catherine over to the corner where he kept his toys, and they were already engrossed in examining his wooden train.
“Ma, would you keep an eye on them while I get Mrs. Brandt a cup of coffee?”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, directing it to his mother, who ignored her.
She knew the way to the kitchen, and Frank followed her. “I really don’t need anything,” she said, taking a seat at the table before he could pull out a chair for her. “Have you arrested anyone for Angel’s murder yet?”
“No,” he said, sitting down opposite her at the table. “What’s wrong?”
“Maeve asked me about the case tonight while we were doing the dishes. I was telling her how the witness said the killer had a pigtail, and Maeve thought that Harry Lee had one. Remember I thought he had one, too? Maeve thought she’d seen one the day he came to tell me Angel had been murdered.”
“But he doesn’t have one,” Frank reminded her.
“I know! I remembered seeing him the day Cora Lee’s baby was born, and I didn’t think he had one then. And the day Angel died, when his father brought him home from the opium den, he also didn’t have one. But earlier that day, when he came to get me, he did have one, Malloy. I thought I remembered seeing it, and so did Maeve, but Mrs. Ellsworth is positive she saw it!”
“Mrs. Ellsworth? Was she there when he came?”
“No, but you know that nothing happens on Bank Street that she doesn’t know about. She just happened to be looking out her window when I came out of the house with Harry.”
Frank couldn’t help his grin. Mrs. Ellsworth was famous for just happening to notice things. They knew better than to complain, though. Her nosiness had once saved Sarah’s life. “And she got a good look at Harry?”
“Just his back, she said, but she distinctly remembers that he had a pigtail.”
“That’s impossible,” Frank said as kindly as he could.
“I know, but I saw it, too! When she was so certain, I finally remembered that I’d noticed it when we were walking up the stairs to the train station that day. He was in front of me, and people were staring at him. I guess I didn’t think about it being out of the ordinary because I was so upset about Angel.”
Frank frowned. He’d never known her to be fanciful. “But he didn’t have it later that day, when his father brought him home,” he reminded her.
“I know, and he didn’t have it when I met him at Cora’s, either. When I saw him that first time, I thought how he didn’t look at all Chinese except for his clothes. I’m sure his hair was short then.”
Frank ran a hand over his face. “All right. We agree he didn’t have it before Angel was killed, and he didn’t have it the evening after she was killed,” he said patiently. “How could he have one earlier that day?”
“I can’t be positive, of course, but I think we may have figured it out. That was the only time I saw him wearing a hat.”
“A hat? I thought we were talking about a pigtail.”
“He was wearing one of those round hats the Chinese men wear. It looks like a dome.”
“I know the kind you mean,” he said.
“I think the pigtail must have been attached to it.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “Attached to it?”
“Yes. I remembered that you told me Harry said his mother had made him cut his pigtail off a year ago.”
“Two years,” Frank corrected her.
“Two years, then. But what if he’d kept it? What if he felt he needed a pigtail in order to really look Chinese? You said yourself he almost always wears Chinese clothing.”
“That’s what he said,” Frank allowed.
“Then he could have attached the pigtail to the hat. When he was out, he would be wearing the hat, and no one would notice it wasn’t his real hair.”
“Why didn’t he have it when his father brought him home from the opium den, then?”
“I don’t know, but he wasn’t wearing a hat at all then. Maybe it fell off along the way, or maybe he left it behind. All I know is that he had a pigtail and a hat earlier that day.”
Frank considered the ramifications of what she was telling him. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yes, it means Harry might have killed his sister. I don’t think he did it on purpose, though,” she quickly added. “I think he must have gone there to convince her to come home. She probably refused and argued with him. Whatever happened, he got mad and put his hands around her throat. He didn’t mean to kill her. He probably was frustrated and angry. You know how brothers and sisters fight.”
“The coroner did say she died real quick. There’s a small bone in your neck, and if somebody squeezes it just right…” He let his explanation trail off when he saw the expression on Sarah’s face. He cleared his throat. “But whether he meant to kill her or not, Angel is dead. That means Harry is guilty of murder.”
“I know. That’s why I hurried over here tonight. I wanted you to find out from me before you figured it out yourself and arrested Harry.”
“You don’t want me to arrest him?” Frank asked in amazement.
“We still don’t know for sure that he did it,” she reminded him. “We only know he might have. I wanted to be sure you knew that Harry could be a suspect, so you didn’t arrest an innocent person. And to ask you…”
“Ask me what?” he prompted her with a feeling of foreboding.
“To ask that if you do find out Harry killed his sister, you pretend you couldn’t solve the case and let him go.”
11
FRANK HAD NEVER THOUGHT HE’D SEE THE DAY WHEN Sarah Brandt wanted to let a killer go free. He could almost understand it in this case, though. The Lee family hadn’t done anything to deserve losing a daughter in the first place. It wouldn’t be fair
to find out their son was responsible, at least to Sarah’s way of thinking. The problem was, in order to find out if Harry did kill his sister, he’d have to question him. If Harry wasn’t guilty, that meant someone else was, someone Sarah didn’t mind if he arrested, someone who needed punishment very badly. Frank wasn’t going to let that person get off just because Harry might be guilty. But if he found out Harry was guilty, then he’d have to decide what to do about it. Sarah might want to let him go, assuming he’d killed Angel in the heat of passion, but Frank wasn’t so sure.
So Frank was back at the Lees’ flat the next morning. Mrs. Lee opened the door. This time she tried to control her hope, and Frank helped by instantly saying, “I need to ask Harry a few more questions.”
She invited him inside. “He’s still in his room. Can’t get him to come out for anything, and he’s still wearing that awful sackcloth suit. Even Charlie told him he was being silly. Angel never would’ve wanted that.”
Frank thought Harry’s excess of grief for his sister was more than suspicious. “Whatever happened to his hat?” Frank asked as if it didn’t matter. “The one that has the queue on it?”
“I ain’t seen it,” she said with a hint of disgust, instantly confirming Sarah’s theory. Frank had to cough to cover his reaction. Luckily, she was too distracted to notice. “I’d be just as happy if it was lost for good. He used to have a queue clear down to his waist. Grew it for years. I finally told him he had to cut it off. His father said the same thing. He didn’t want Harry to look like a coolie, he said.”
Knowing how Charlie had wanted to protect his daughter from the indignities of being Chinese, Frank shouldn’t have been surprised that Charlie also wanted his son to rise above his Chinese heritage. “But Harry still dresses like a Chinese,” Frank said.
Mrs. Lee’s expression changed. She looked away and walked over to a chair. She started rearranging the lace doily that lay over the back, even though it had looked perfectly straight to Frank. “Yes, he…I guess he likes it,” she said stiffly. Then, “I’ll tell him you’re here to see him.” She hurried out, leaving Frank to wonder what he had said to disturb her.
A few moments later, she was back, with Harry following at her heels. He looked like he’d been on a three-day drunk. His hair—his short hair—was uncombed, and his eyes were red-rimmed and sunken.
“What do you want?” he asked listlessly. If he’d killed his sister, he didn’t seem too concerned about being questioned by the police.
“I want you to come down to Police Headquarters with me,” Frank said.
“What for?” Mrs. Lee asked in alarm before Harry could even react.
“I’ve got some questions—”
“You can ask them right here, then,” she insisted, a shrill edge to her voice.
“I’m going to take him down to Headquarters, Mrs. Lee,” Frank said firmly, taking the boy by the arm. His eyes were wide with confusion. He didn’t know why he should be afraid, but his mother certainly was.
She grabbed his other arm. “No! You can’t take him! He didn’t do nothing!”
“He’s not under arrest,” Frank assured her, although she’d know that didn’t make any difference. Frank could beat him up and do a lot of damage without ever arresting him.
“No!” she screamed, pulling on the boy and trying to wrest him from Frank’s grip.
The door burst open, and Officer Donatelli, who had been waiting outside, charged into the room. Frank had worked with the large Italian before, and he knew he could trust him. Frank nodded at Mrs. Lee, and Donatelli wrapped his arms around her and plucked her away as if she were a little child. She was screeching now and flailing her arms and legs, but Donatelli held her easily, lifting her feet off the ground so she couldn’t make any progress.
“Ma!” Harry cried frantically, but Frank was already wrestling him out the door. “He’s hurting her!” he shouted.
“No, he’s not,” Frank said. “He’s just holding her until we’re gone.”
“What are you going to do with me?” he asked, his mother’s hysterics finally having convinced him of his danger.
“I told you,” Frank said, catching the boy when he stumbled slightly on the steps. “I want to ask you some questions.” The doors of the other flats were opening as the neighbors tried to see what was going on without getting themselves involved.
“Why can’t I stay here then?” he started to struggle.
Frank took his wrist and twisted his arm up behind his back until he howled. “Because you can’t,” he replied mildly. When they reached the front door, two other officers were waiting. Frank thrust the boy into their waiting arms, and they quickly deposited him in the back of the ambulance. Frank climbed into the front and settled in for the short ride to Headquarters.
SARAH WAS UPSTAIRS, READING CATHERINE A STORY, when someone started pounding on her front door. Even the most desperate expectant father didn’t pound like that, so Sarah told Maeve and Catherine to stay upstairs while she went to see who was there. Sarah’s concern evaporated when she saw a woman silhouetted on the glass door, and when she opened it, Minnie Lee nearly collapsed into the room.
“Minnie, what’s wrong?” Sarah asked, helping her inside. She wasn’t wearing a hat or a coat, and her hair was flying everywhere. She looked as if she’d run all the way here.
“Harry,” she gasped as Sarah led her to one of the two stuffed chairs that sat by the front window in her office.
“Is he sick?” Sarah asked, then called Maeve to come down.
“No, no,” Minnie said breathlessly, waving away the very idea. “Malloy took him!”
Sarah’s heart clenched in her chest, but she couldn’t let Minnie see her concern. “Where did he take him?”
“To jail!” Minnie said, her voice breaking on a sob.
Maeve had come clattering down the stairs, Catherine at her heels. Both girls stared, wide-eyed.
“Maeve, will you fix some tea for Mrs. Lee?” Sarah asked, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and passing it to Minnie. She couldn’t help noticing it was the one in which Mrs. Ellsworth had tied the knot. To protect her from evil.
Maeve and Catherine disappeared into the kitchen while Sarah tried to comfort Minnie.
“Did Mr. Malloy arrest Harry?” Sarah asked, remembering that he hadn’t actually promised that he wouldn’t.
“What does that matter?” Minnie asked in despair. “He took him. You know what they’ll do to him!”
“Mr. Malloy won’t harm him,” Sarah assured her, silently praying it was true. She’d never known him to be cruel. Well, not needlessly cruel, at least. “Why did he say he was taking him?”
“To ask him questions,” Minnie said, her tone indicating she didn’t believe that for a moment. “Mrs. Brandt, you’ve got to help me! I went to the Headquarters building, but they wouldn’t let me in. There’s a man there, he keeps the door…”
“Tom,” Sarah said, remembering the times he’d opened it for her.
“He said I shouldn’t go in. Said it was no place for me!” Minnie explained, outraged. “But my boy’s in there!”
“I know,” Sarah soothed her. “But he was right. You really shouldn’t go in there. It’s an awful place.”
“You’ve been there?” she asked in amazement.
“Oh, yes,” Sarah said. “But you mustn’t worry. Mr. Malloy will let Harry go when he’s found out what he needs to know.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked doubtfully.
Sarah realized she couldn’t be sure at all.
FRANK GAVE HARRY SOME TIME ALONE IN THE INTERROGATION room to consider his sins and to work himself up to a good state of terror. He didn’t wait as long as he usually did, though. Harry didn’t look like he needed much softening up.
Gino Donatelli accompanied him this time, taking his place by the door while Frank seated himself at the table opposite the boy. Frank felt a small stab of guilt when he saw how small and terrified Harry looked. He was even tr
embling slightly.
“What did you think about your sister marrying O’Neal?” Frank asked.
The question surprised him. “I…She shouldn’t of done it.”
“Why not?”
Harry needed a few seconds to think that one over. “She…she didn’t have any right. Papa…he already picked her a husband.”
“Didn’t you think Angel was a little young to be getting married?” Frank asked as if he were merely curious. “Especially to somebody as old as Wong.”
“She wasn’t going to get married right away. Not until after she finished school,” Harry explained. His nervous gaze kept darting to Donatelli, who did look menacing, Malloy noted with satisfaction.
“Didn’t you want your sister to be happy?” Frank asked.
“Happy?” Harry repeated, as if he’d never heard the word before.
“Yeah, happy. She’d be happy if she married somebody she loved.”
“She wasn’t going to be happy with Quinn O’Neal,” Harry scoffed.
“Is that what you told her when you went to see her?”
He seemed surprised Frank knew this. “Yeah, I did.”
“You must’ve been pretty mad at her.”
His face twisted at the memory. He felt guilt, but why? “I was. She didn’t have the right.”
“You said that before,” Frank reminded him. “What do you mean by that?”
Harry glanced at Donatelli again, then back at Frank. The color had risen in his face. “Nothing,” he tried.
“Nothing?” Frank let his voice harden slightly.
Harry noticed immediately. He straightened in his chair. “I mean, I don’t know what it means.”
“Yes, you do,” Frank said, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me.”
Harry’s gaze darted around wildly. “It means…The Chinese, you have to obey your father. You have to do what he says.”
“Do you always do what your father says?” Frank inquired.
“Yes…no…I mean, I try. I have to be a good son.”
“Do you?”
“Yes! That’s what a good Chinese does!”
Murder In Chinatown Page 17
