Murder on Pleasant Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

  Now the parents were upset in an entirely different way and were both asking questions a mile a minute, but of course Maeve couldn’t understand them, so she just continued to look virtuous until they wound down. When the brother would have translated, she held up a hand to stop him because she figured she already knew what they’d want to know.

  “The man Gino is accused of killing is Nunzio Esposito,” she explained. Mr. Donatelli’s eyes widened at that, so he’d probably heard of him. “He’s the head of a Black Hand group in East Harlem. Gino and Mr. Malloy were investigating a kidnapping they thought Esposito’s men had done, and a policeman found Gino in the apartment with Esposito’s body, so they arrested him, but Gino didn’t do it of course.”

  “Of course,” the brother said faintly.

  His mother started demanding some answers, so he took some time to explain what Maeve had just told him.

  When he stopped, Maeve didn’t wait for another question. “They don’t need to worry, though. Like I said, Mr. Malloy bailed Gino out and plans to keep him hidden away until we find out who really killed Esposito.”

  The brother nodded. “Away from the police.”

  Maeve blinked at that but realized she shouldn’t be surprised. Naturally, they were suspicious of the police, who always showed a particular eagerness to arrest Italians for anything at all. “No, from the Black Hand. If they think he killed Esposito, they would want revenge.”

  “Vendetta,” he murmured, making his parents frown.

  “Exactly,” she said. “And if one of them did it, they’d want to pin it on Gino and kill him to make people think he was guilty.”

  He nodded and explained this to his parents in solemn tones. His mother crossed herself again. His parents had a few more questions, which Maeve answered as well as she could, since she hardly knew much more about it than they did.

  She tried to be reassuring. “Like I said, you don’t need to worry because Mr. Malloy will get this all sorted out and find the real killer, and meanwhile, Gino will be safe at our house.”

  “Our house?” the brother asked suspiciously. “You live there, too?”

  Now here he was, getting the wrong idea again. “I take care of the Malloy children.”

  “But you work for the agency, too. Gino told us.”

  “Sometimes I do.” Whenever she could, as a matter of fact.

  “Gino told us all about it. He talks about you all the time.”

  “He does?”

  He smiled the same smile Gino did whenever he was up to mischief. “Yes, which is why when you came here looking for him . . . Well, I’m sorry about the . . .” He made a helpless gesture.

  “Misunderstanding?” she offered.

  “Yes, the misunderstanding.”

  She’d have a thing or two to say to Gino about that. What on earth had he been saying about her to his family? “Gino asked me to pack him a bag. We don’t know how long he’ll be at the Malloys’ house, but he’ll need some clothes and—”

  “Sure,” he said, and translated for his mother.

  She frowned at Maeve and said something to her son before jumping up and leaving the room.

  “She’ll pack his things,” he explained. He said something to his father, who grumbled and then got up and left, too. Plainly, they were finished with her.

  When she and the brother were alone, Maeve said, “What’s your name?”

  “Oh, I should have introduced myself. I’m Enzo.” He took the opportunity to sit down in the chair his father had vacated.

  “And which one are you?”

  He grinned at that. “I’m the second oldest, after Rinaldo. Gino is the third.”

  “Are you married, too?”

  His grin widened. “No. Are you interested? Because now that I know you’re not Irish . . .” He did look an awful lot like Gino.

  But he wasn’t Gino. “I’m not Catholic.”

  He shrugged, as if that were of no consequence.

  “What does Gino say about me?”

  “Well, he never said you have red hair.”

  She should have known better than to ask. “I’ve met Teodora.”

  “Did you?” He was impressed. “Did Gino introduce you?”

  “No, she came to the office to tell us Gino had been arrested.” No sense telling him she’d first come about Miss Harding’s kidnapping, since that was still supposed to be a secret.

  “Oh. For a minute, I thought he might be trying to win Teo over first, before bringing you here to meet Mama.”

  That would have been interesting. “Why were you so quick to think I was trying to get Gino to marry me?”

  He sighed, a little chagrinned. “Well, a young woman, who looks very serious, comes to the house asking for my parents, a young woman I know my brother is, uh, friendly with, and what could she possibly want to see our parents about?”

  When he put it that way, she could understand. “Let me just assure you that is not even a possibility and never will be.”

  “Never is a long time.”

  It certainly was. “What do you do for a living, Enzo?”

  “I work with Pop at the shop. He wants one of us to take over the business when he’s gone.”

  “Do you like it?”

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “What does that matter?”

  “Gino likes his work. A lot.”

  “Now that I see who he works with, I can understand that.”

  But she shook her head. “He liked it a long time before he met me. Besides, he mostly works with Mr. Malloy, who isn’t a bit pretty.”

  “I know. I’ve met him. So why is Gino supposed to have killed this Esposito?”

  “Because he has been kidnapping women and children in East Harlem. Italians mostly. His men also make the local businesses pay them money to protect them.”

  “Protect them from what?”

  “From the Black Hand.”

  “But they are the Black Hand.”

  “Which is why Gino was mad. In fact he was so mad, he went to tell Esposito to his face how mad he was.”

  “That’s stupid,” Enzo said.

  “Of course it is. He’s lucky Esposito was already dead.”

  “So you’re going to keep Gino locked away at Mr. Malloy’s house?”

  “We’re going to try.”

  “He won’t like that.”

  “Which is why we need to find the killer quickly.”

  They heard some thumping on the stairs, and Mrs. Donatelli called for Enzo, who jumped up and ran to help. A minute later, he returned carrying a rather worn-looking satchel. Mrs. Donatelli was right behind him, still looking a bit angry. Maeve hoped the woman didn’t blame her for Gino’s predicament.

  “Will you be sure to tell your mother that Gino got himself into this mess?” she asked Enzo. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Of course. I’ll be happy to get him in trouble. I’ve been doing it all my life.” He hefted the bag. “This is pretty heavy. How far are you going?”

  “I was going to get a cab.”

  “You won’t find one in this neighborhood. I’ll walk with you over to Broadway.”

  Mrs. Donatelli was frowning, obviously not approving of Enzo’s kindly expression.

  “Are you sure that’s all right with your parents?”

  “They raised me to be a gentleman.” He said something to his mother, and while her scowl told Maeve she still didn’t approve, she made no move to stop him either.

  Enzo followed her out of the house and down the front steps. “I hope you’ll tell Gino how nice I was to you.”

  “Oh, I will,” Maeve promised. “Right after I tell him you thought he’d run off rather than marry me.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Frank hadn’t really
expected the police in East Harlem to be helpful. Yesterday, no one had been willing to give him any information about Esposito’s death at all, and they had claimed the officer who arrested Gino had gone down to the Tombs with him and wasn’t available. Today he’d expected more reluctance to cooperate, but he certainly hadn’t expected them to lie right to his face. First they’d told him the cop he was looking for worked in another precinct, and they had sent him on a wild goose chase. By the time he found his way back to the original precinct, he was ready to take on the whole lot of them. They must have realized it, too, so they sent him to the right street, where he finally found Officer Ogden.

  Because it was such a nice day and still early, Ogden was walking his beat, swinging his locust stick with a jaunty air instead of sitting in a saloon or dozing in a doorway. He was a big man with a bushy mustache and a bulbous nose that spoke of many evenings spent bellied up to some bar. His eyes were bloodshot and held no visible spark of intelligence.

  He stopped when Frank called him by name and looked Frank up and down. “And what might you be wanting with me this fine day?”

  “I’m a private detective, Frank Malloy.” He handed Ogden one of his business cards. “You arrested my partner yesterday.”

  “You’re partners with a dago?” Ogden scoffed, squinting to examine the card.

  “Gino Donatelli and I were both cops.”

  Ogden frowned, not sure how that answered his question. “If Donatelli was a cop, he should know better than to kill somebody.”

  “You know as well as I do that he didn’t kill Esposito. Why should he?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he wanted Esposito’s woman. He was keeping a woman in that flat, you know. Everybody’s saying so.”

  “I heard. Donatelli didn’t want her, though. He didn’t even know who she was.”

  “Why was he there, then?”

  “He was looking for Esposito. He wanted to ask him some questions about a case we’re working on.”

  Ogden was not impressed. “How did he know where to find Esposito? Nobody knew about that flat.”

  Which was of course not true. Apparently, a lot of people knew about it. “Somebody at the saloon said he’d be there. Probably the same person who took you there to arrest Donatelli.”

  “Who said somebody took me there?”

  “Everybody who saw you.” Frank figured that would be true if he’d asked any of them.

  Ogden didn’t like that at all. Once he’d thought about it, he’d realize that most people would be afraid to tell Frank anything like that, but for the moment, Frank would let him think they had.

  “Who sent you up there, Ogden? Was it Balducci?” Frank asked, taking a wild guess.

  Something flared in Ogden’s bloodshot eyes that might have been alarm, but he said, “Why would Balducci send me anywhere?”

  “Because he’d just sent Donatelli to the flat, and he already knew Esposito was lying dead up there and he wanted you to accuse Donatelli.” Most of that was a guess and the rest was an outright lie, but Frank wasn’t too concerned.

  Ogden raised his locust and started slapping it into the palm of his other hand in what he probably thought was a menacing manner. “I don’t take orders from the Black Hand.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but maybe he just suggested you’d get your big chance to catch Esposito’s killer. Nothing wrong with that, but didn’t you wonder how he already knew Esposito was dead?”

  “He never said Esposito was dead.”

  So Balducci really was the one who had sent Ogden. “What did he say?”

  “He said . . . Wait a minute. He didn’t say anything,” he quickly amended. “I just saw a suspicious character going into the tenement, so I followed him.”

  “So you were right behind Donatelli, then. Do you really think he had time to kill Esposito before you got up the stairs?”

  “I—”

  “Because it’s hard to believe a man like Esposito would be taken by surprise like that by a stranger. And where did Donatelli get the knife? It was a big one, wasn’t it? Surely, he wasn’t carrying it. People would’ve noticed. And if he wasn’t carrying a weapon, he probably didn’t intend to kill Esposito, which means he would’ve needed time to argue with Esposito and get mad enough to kill him and then look around the kitchen and find the knife while Esposito just stood around waiting and not trying to fight back or get away, and—”

  “Stop!” Ogden cried, then glanced around to see who might have witnessed his outburst. No one passing by acted as if they’d heard anything untoward, which was probably a testament to Ogden’s usually brutal behavior. “I don’t know nothing about what happened up there. All I know is Esposito was dead and Donatelli was there, so I arrested him. I don’t decide who’s guilty and who’s not. I leave that to the lawyers.”

  “So you might be wrong about Donatelli killing Esposito?”

  Ogden glanced around again. “It’s none of my business, Malloy, and you’d be smart to start minding your own, too.”

  “Except my partner is charged with murder.”

  “You can get him out of that quick enough.”

  “Maybe with the law, but not with the Black Hand.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean if they decide he did it, they’ll take their revenge. They might even take their revenge if they know he didn’t do it.”

  Plainly, this confused Ogden. “Sounds like your argument is with Balducci. He’s the only one who can help you with that.”

  “Are you saying he’s already taken Esposito’s place?”

  Once again alarm flared in Ogden’s bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t say that. It’s just . . .” He glanced around as if looking for someone to get him out of this conversation.

  Frank was more than happy to oblige. “Thanks, Ogden. You’ve been a big help.”

  “I have?” He obviously had not intended to be.

  Frank left him scratching his head. He really should question Balducci, who seemed like the most logical person to know who killed Esposito, if he really was the one who had sent Ogden to arrest Gino and had already assumed Esposito’s duties as head of his Black Hand gang. But somehow confronting Balducci alone seemed like a bad idea. A man ruthless enough to be a member of the Black Hand and who might very well have killed his own boss wouldn’t hesitate to kill a bothersome private detective, given the chance. Frank wouldn’t be much help to Gino if he was dead either, never mind the inconvenience to himself. Sarah would be pretty mad about it, too.

  Knowing he wouldn’t have much luck trying to get information from anyone else in the neighborhood, he headed for the settlement house where at least he could reassure Teo that Gino was safe for the time being. And maybe she’d even heard some gossip that could prove useful.

  Frank half-expected Teo to be waiting for him in the front hall of the settlement, but he saw no sign of her among the people milling about. The “residents” were easy to spot, though, the do-gooders who, like Jane Harding, had taken up residence here to help the poor. They had an air of confidence that the people from the neighborhood lacked. The kind of confidence that came from never having to worry where your next meal was coming from or where you were going to sleep that night.

  The young female resident he spoke to didn’t know where Teo was, but she suggested he could find Christopher McWilliam in his office, so he did.

  “Mr. Malloy,” McWilliam said by way of greeting. He didn’t seem overly pleased to see Frank, but he didn’t groan out loud either. He got up and came forward to shake Frank’s hand. “I was sorry to hear about Mr. Donatelli’s arrest.”

  “Mrs. Donatelli told you, I guess.”

  He nodded. “Everyone’s talking about it. Nobody believes he’s really guilty of course. Everyone here understands how the police work, and I’m sure they’ll figure out that he’s innocent and let him
go. Please sit down.”

  Frank took a seat on the sofa where he’d sat before, and McWilliam pulled his desk chair over. “I was wondering how Miss Harding is today.”

  “I . . .” McWilliam sighed and looked away, obviously trying to get control of his emotions, although Frank wasn’t sure what emotions he was feeling. After a moment, he lifted his chin with what looked like determination and with what actually was a very sad smile, and he said, “She left yesterday.”

  Frank nodded, remembering what Sarah had told him about her intent to go visit with Lisa Prince. “My wife said she was going to stay with her cousin for a while.”

  “With Mrs. Prince, yes. Mrs. Prince came yesterday afternoon in her carriage. It caused quite a stir in the neighborhood, I can tell you.”

  Frank imagined it would have. “I can understand that Miss Harding wants to get away for a while.”

  “Yes but . . .” Were those tears in his eyes? “Mr. Malloy, she told me she wasn’t coming back.”

  Frank knew what that meant. Jane Harding had supposedly come to the settlement house to see if she could adapt herself to living there for the rest of her life as McWilliam’s wife. If she wasn’t coming back, that meant she had rejected more than life at the settlement. She was rejecting him, too. “I’m sorry, Mr. McWillam.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose it’s better to know this now rather than later.” Which sounded like something a man said to convince himself rather than something he really believed.

  “I know how important your work here is to you,” Frank said, not really knowing anything of the kind, but McWilliam’s feelings were obvious.

  “I don’t know if I could give it up for her, but she didn’t even ask. She simply said she was leaving because how could she remain in a place where she would never feel safe?”

  What would Sarah say to comfort him? She always knew the right thing. Did they teach that in those fancy schools rich girls attended? Is that what Catherine was learning at Miss Spence’s School? “Maybe she’ll feel differently after she’s been with her cousin for a while.”

  “Do you think so? I guess it’s possible. I should go to see her, I suppose. Make sure she’s all right.”