Morelli was about to tell him to stuff it, but decided not to waste the energy. “Never mind the waitress. You know it’s always been Sally and only Sally for me.”
“Yeah, sure. You got about as much a chance of recovering Sally as I do of making chief. Anyway, while you’re waiting, you know?”
“Come on Flarrity, you know me, and I think you’ve got a good chance of making chief someday.”
“Ha! Come on, Morelli. This is me, you know?”
O’Neill sat checking the contents of the envelope. Morelli didn’t see any cash showing, but from the way he handled it, it was probably full of bills. O’Neill stuck the envelope into his inside coat pocket and sat back, smiling. It was a hard smile, full of greed. Not a likable smile. Fancy was getting ready to slink back to his hole. They shook hands again and Fancy walked away, the smile dying immediately. He disappeared behind the bar and into the back.
“A payoff. A goddamn payoff.” Morelli finished his drink and dropped the glass on the table in disgust. He looked at Flarrity. “Cops drink free here so the bar don’t have to pay. So, what’s all that extra dough for, Flarrity?”
O’Neill turned to look at them as if he’d heard what Morelli said, then turned back to his table and finished his drink in one gulp.
“We’re talking about your interest in the McElwaine girl, Morelli, not my partner.”
“Yeah, okay. You know me. I didn’t like this kind of thing on the force and I don’t now.” Morelli looked sharply at Flarrity. “As for this Mickey kid, I don’t know anything, and I’m not going to tell you my client’s name. That’s it. End of story.”
O’Neill pushed the glass away from him, pushed back his hair, and got up. He headed toward their table.
“That so?”
Morelli nodded again, watching O’Neill approach.
Flarrity looked disappointed in him, but there wasn’t anything more to say. O’Neill dragged a chair over from another table and sat down. He slapped his meaty paws down on the table and almost knocked everything off.
“Well, ain’t you the two sourpusses.” He roared with laughter. “Who’s this Ethyl?”
“Bull,” Flarrity introduced them, “this is Morelli.”
The monster squinted at him. “Morelli? Not Adriano Morelli? Holier-than-thou Morelli. In person? Well, my God, if it ain’t Adriano Morelli. A. Morelli hisself.”
Morelli picked up his glass before the Bull pounded the table anymore, ignoring the name game. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Charleston staring at their table, fire in his eyes. Morelli figured he would back him up in a bind, but he didn’t want to cause trouble here at his place.
The Bull wasn’t done baiting him, though. “You come here to cadge a few drinks, live on your former glory as one of New York’s finest?” He stared at Morelli real hard. O’Neil had joined the force after Morelli had left, but he was sure the Bull would have heard plenty of stories about him. About his accursed honesty.
“Give him a break, O’Neill, we’re just talking,” Flarrity said quietly.
“Sure, just talking,” the Bull muttered, glancing over at Charleston who was still eying their table. He seemed like he wanted to start something.
Flarrity turned to Morelli, “Okay, I think we’ve had enough of this pleasant chat, Morelli. Will you call me?”
He shrugged, “I honestly don’t know what we’re gonna say, but yeah, I’ll call you.”
O’Neill stood up. “Come on, Flarrity, this guy’s a waste of time. He isn’t gonna give us anything unless I beat it out of him.”
Flarrity pulled his watch from his pocket, and looked up at the Bull. “You don’t lay a hand on him, Bull.” Flarrity stood, shaking his finger at the bigger man. “Not one finger. He’s my man.”
Morelli just looked at both of them. “Nothing to tell. I don’t know anything.”
“Call me, Morelli. Just call me. For the good of both of us.”
The Bull and Flarrity turned and walked out of the speak, leaving Morelli to wonder what kind of a working relationship those two had got going. He finished his drink, said goodbye to Charleston and headed out.
***
Morelli walked back to Sheridan Square and looked for Danny’s car. There was no sign of him. He sat on the bench across from Eats to wait, in the hope that Danny would come back to look for him. The wind continued to whip through the park, blowing dead leaves, trash and grit along with it. Morelli waited for about an hour, his ears getting colder and colder. They burned in the wind, even with his collar up. Danny was too good a driver to have lost the tail, so either he was still following him or he’d come back earlier, before Morelli returned, and didn’t wait. Either way, it was time to call it a day.
He headed back south to his office. Danny knew he could leave a message with Otten if he had something to report. He’d try to call him at home and see what had happened with following Hart.
Morelli stopped at a little place around the corner from his office for a bowl of stew. He stared down at the photo of the Harts, wondering about their connection. She’d seemed very happy to be with him at the fight the other night and she really must want to get him back. But Hart certainly had a temper, and Maggie was definitely afraid of him. Morelli hoped that Danny had been able to track him down. Morelli needed to know more about this guy before he got too close to him. He was dangerous.
As he walked back into the building, he caught sight of Marlena in the window of the jewelry store, removing a display stand. He went inside.
“Have I gotten any messages, sweetness?”
“Do I look like your secretary, Mr. Morelli?”
“Please, do we need to take such a formal tone, Mrs. Ottensluffer?” Morelli leaned across the counter and smiled at her. Marlena giggled.
“No, Adriano, we do not. And please don’t call me that.” She smiled. “I prefer your pet names to the formal one.” She walked back to the office. “Come and let me check.”
Morelli followed her back. The office was very tidy, clearly put away for the day. Marlena put the display stand in the safe and shut it. She spun the dial and then came to sit at her desk.
“I haven’t taken any messages for you, Adriano, and it doesn’t look like Otten has, either. I was out of the office for a time at lunch, so I might have missed one.”
“That’s all right. Can I use your phone now to call Danny?”
“Certainly. I’m just going to finish out in the main room.” She stepped past Morelli and he could smell her perfume—something flowery and sweet. She was a sweet thing.
Danny answered on the fourth ring. “That you, Morelli?”
“Yes, Danny. Did you manage to run our slick to ground?”
“I followed him down to Wall Street. He parked behind some bank and went inside. I thought that was kind of strange since it was Saturday afternoon and the bank was closed, but he had a key to the building. I waited all afternoon, but he didn’t show, so I came home. Hope that’s all right.”
“Sure, Danny, sure. What was the name of the bank?”
“National City Bank.”
Morelli wrote it down. “That must be the family bank. My client said that he worked there. Danny, does the name mean anything to you?”
“No. Fancy place like that, they’d have no use for the likes of me. I keep my pennies in a bank in the Bronx, good local institution.”
“I know what you mean.” Morelli thought about it. He had plenty of questions and he needed more information. “I think I’m going to have to go see my client again. Make a report about seeing them together. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Two Mrs. Harts
Sunday
Morelli walked a dozen blocks down Fifth Avenue, just to calm his breathing, and then slowed down, looking for a pay phone. He needed to clear his head and he needed to talk to Danny. Although Morelli worried that he might be in church, Danny answered on the third ring.
“Petucci here.”
“Danny, it’s Morelli. I got some bad news. She’s dead. My client, Mrs. Hart.”
“Wait, wait. Hold on. What happened?”
“I don’t know. After I talked to you last night, I decided I needed to have a talk with Mrs. Hart. Update her on what I’d found, but I also had some questions. So, I walked up here this morning.”
“Where did you find her?”
“In her apartment. No one answered the door when I knocked, and then when I knocked harder, the door opened, so I went in.”
“Of course you did. Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could ya?” Danny’s laugh turned into a cough.
“I thought it was strange that there was no maid to answer the door, not with a dame like that. But there was no answer in the apartment. When I got to the back, to the fancy parlor, I found her lying on the floor, her head caved in.”
“Did you just leave her there?”
“I checked to see if she was still breathing, but she wasn’t. Cold as ice. I checked where I’d walked to make sure I didn’t leave any marks, wiped down the doorknob on my way out and took the back stairs.” Morelli paused. “The doorman and the elevator boy both saw me, but I didn’t give ‘em a name. And they didn’t see me leave.”
“That might not have been such a good idea, Morelli.”
“What’s done is done.” Morelli wanted a drink so badly, he had to bite his tongue.
“So, did you see anything that would give a clue who did it? Do you really know anything about this dame?”
“Not really. There was a lot of broken glass around her, like a vase or something broke when she fell. She might have hit her head on the marble mantel.”
“Could it have been an accident?”
“She had a bruise on her cheek and the blood was all over the back of her head. Somebody hit her. Although they might not have meant to kill her. She could have stumbled back and knocked her head by accident. Or they could have broken the crystal vase over her head. Somebody wanted to hurt her, that’s for sure.”
There was silence as both men considered the situation. Danny finally broke the silence. “The best thing you can do now is go home and stay out of it.”
“But she was my client. I can’t just sit and do nothing.”
“What do you think is gonna happen if you go to the police? What if they decide you wanted money from her and killed her when she wouldn’t cooperate?”
“I know, I thought of that already. No, I need to find out who killed her my own way, without talking to the police. I bet if I figure out what was going on with that redhead and Mr. Hart, I’ll find out who killed Gladys.”
Danny groaned. “I think you should stay out of it, my friend.”
“Maybe so, but it’s what I have to do.”
***
The newspaper business never truly slept. While most people were in church on Sunday or at least taking a day of rest, the papers were getting ready for the Monday morning edition. Morelli walked into the New York News building and headed up to the third floor. He’d been there many times when he and Sally were together. No one stopped him or asked him who he was going to see. He moved like he belonged there.
The news floor was an open room covered with desks. Every one of them held a reporter, typing ferociously, or yelling into the phone, or smoking a cigarette and looking up at the ceiling, searching for a word. Sally’s desk was near the back. She sat facing the windows. She always said that she could think better watching the real pigeons come and go, rather than the ones she worked with.
Morelli saw that she had a pencil clenched in her teeth and knew she was working on a story. He watched her for a minute, remembering the softness of her curls, her delicate smell, the warmth of her. She looked up and recognized him and the moment was lost. Her face drew into a scowl.
“What do you want?”
“Hello, Sally.”
“Damn you, Morelli. Why don’t you go to hell where you belong? Why are you bothering me?”
Morelli sat down in the empty wooden chair beside her desk. “I don’t mean to bother you, Doll.”
“Don’t call me that! What are you doing here?”
For a moment, her anger made Morelli wish that he could hide under a desk, but he knew he wouldn’t fit. He took a deep breath. “You referred a customer to me. I came to thank you.”
She looked at him strangely. “You’re welcome, I think. But I don’t remember giving anyone your name.” She laughed and it was a dry crackle. “I don’t know anybody I dislike that much!” The crackle became a cough and she bent over with it, coughing into her handkerchief. Morelli waited until she was done before continuing.
“Gladys Hart is her name.”
“Oh. Gladys.” She smiled suddenly, “I may have told her about you, but that was a long time ago. That was before this.”
She pointed to her scar, but Morelli wasn’t going to let her scare him. He’d seen it many times before. In his dreams. He didn’t want to argue with her about Gladys Hart.
“At any rate, she came to me and said nice things about you.”
“Okay, you thanked me. Now you can leave.” The smile was gone and she looked back down at her work.
“Look, Sal, I know how much I disappointed…”
“Disappointed?” Her voice started out low, but began to rise in disbelief. “Disappointed?” She stopped to take a breath. “I wasn’t disappointed, Morelli. I was horrified! Terrified! Hurt! But it was worth it.”
She stood, leaning over him, and her voice began to climb in volume again. “I found out just how much I could trust you, Morelli… not at all! That’s it. Not… at… all!” The last three words were punctuated with the point of her finger against his chest.
“I’d do anything, Sal…”
“Okay, Morelli, okay.” and she sat back down in her chair.
“I’ll tell you what you can do.” Her hooded eyes flashed at him as she spoke, quietly, “Get out of here. Get the hell out of here and never come back. Never speak to me again, Morelli. Get the hell out! Nobody needs you anymore, Morelli. Get out and louse up someone else’s life for a change.”
Morelli stood, trying to decide if he should leave or stay. The scar on her face was red and raw-looking in her anger. He knew there was nothing he could say to take away that scar, to make up for his failure. He had hesitated once, just for a second, in the face of her desperate need and he’d let her down. All of his apologies couldn’t bring back that moment when the knife had come down. He told himself that there was nothing he could have done, that she was standing too close to the rapist for him to shoot, that the knife was too quick. But he knew that he had failed before that moment. He should never have let her go out into the dark. He should have stopped her.
The tears hung in her eyes but didn’t fall. He knew she wouldn’t want him to see her cry.
“I loved you, woman,” he said quietly and unashamed. He realized that his own eyes were wet and wiped them with his coat sleeve. Sally lowered her head and composed herself. When she looked up, her face was calm and her eyes were dry.
“What do you want from me?”
“I need to use your morgue.”
“For what?”
“Something for Gladys.”
She stared at him.
“So, can I use the morgue?”
“Sure, Morelli. Sure. Anything for Gladys.” Her tone was bitter and resigned.
She stood and led the way. Morelli followed, trying to think of something else to say, but he had no words.
***
There was nothing as musty and dusty as a newspaper morgue.This one was located in the basement of the News building. Tall, concrete walls kept out the water and the city sewage, but not the damp or the smell. Morelli couldn’t figure out how people could work down there every day. It smelled like the sewer and he felt like the walls were going to topple in and crush them all any minute. He hated the idea of being buried underground.
It took several hours of searching through t
he large books of old papers to find what he was looking for. By the time he was done, he was sweating and gasping for air. He was also angry. The information he’d discovered made his blood boil. He didn’t like being lied to and he didn’t like being used. And the blonde who’d come to his office a few days ago had done both. Now she was dead, and he had a whole other problem on his hands.
The first thing he’d found was a wedding announcement for a Mrs. Gladys Eldridge and Mr. Aaron Hart. But the young lady who had come to see him was not Gladys. Then why did she give him a picture of herself and Aaron Hart and why were they together at the Dempsey fight? Was she Aaron’s mistress, rather than the redhead? And maybe jealous of Aaron having another woman on the side?
Second, he discovered that Hart and his wife lived in a mansion on Park Avenue rather than the apartment building that ‘Gladys’ had given as her address. Gladys Hart was rich, really rich. And one of the things the lady had inherited from her last husband was a bank. National City Bank. Aaron Hart was an employee of his wife’s bank. Morelli had looked her up in the society pages. Her former husband had died about a year before her marriage to Hart. He’d left her a great deal of money, and a child, a girl named Angel Eldridge. According to the paper, she was almost eighteen, but there were no pictures of her in the files.
However, the last piece of the puzzle remained unanswered. Who was the young woman who’s hired him and was now dead? Was she Angel Eldridge? Why was she looking for Aaron Hart and calling him her husband? Most importantly, who wanted her dead? Morelli headed back up to the news floor. Sally was working at her desk. She looked at him warily as he approached.
“Did you find what you were looking for, to help Gladys?” Sally asked.
“Tell me something. How well do you know Gladys Hart?”
“I met her at a charity event that she was hosting and I was covering for a story I was writing. I interviewed her about her charity work and she was very nice. I’ve seen her a few other times at other events.”
“Have you ever met her daughter Angel?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“What about the husband, Aaron Hart? Do you know anything about him?”
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