Betty nodded. So far, the story seemed reasonable.
“Now, I knew Pinzolo had dealings with the L.A. mob,” Abraham said, “but I could never lay anything on him. This Salucci guy’s name had come up a few times over the years, and I heard that at the time he was killed, he’d been stepping on a few toes. The LAPD were working on it at their end and we had the body here in New York. One of their informants suggested that Salucci was interfering with a drug trafficking ring I’d been trying to pin on Donny’s son, Marco. So, it made sense that maybe Donny or Marco had called on someone over in California to take him out for them. Over here, they were brought in for questioning. Both Marco and Donny denied it, of course. I had nothing to link them to the body in the red trunk.”
Abraham stroked his beard, thoughtfully. “And this is where Malinov comes into it. The travelling doctor is called back for questioning again. This time he says there were a couple of men acting suspiciously at Emeryville, where he began his journey. They were hanging around the porter’s room, listening in on conversations, that sort of thing. He said he never saw them on the train.”
“Looking to plant the trunk on someone?” Jacob asked.
“That’s what we thought. So, the LAPD go back to Emeryville and interview anyone that caught that first train. There was a witness, a teenage boy who said he saw the same two men bring a red trunk up to the porter’s station and leave it there. The two men had Russian accents. The kid figured they were passengers. The LAPD got a good description and they eventually tracked down one of the men in a Russian Bar in San Francisco.”
“Which one?” Golda asked, eyes wide as she put down her cup of tea.
“Not Malinov – the other one,” Abraham continued. “He knew we had witnesses and he was up for murder. He wanted a plea bargain for giving us Malinov. He claimed Malinov was the brains behind the operation and he was just ‘helping out.’ This other guy, Dimitri or something, said Stretch Salucci was a hit they did for Marco Pinzolo, but they’d been shortchanged, so they sent Marco the body as a warning to pay the rest. The Russians had attached a delivery address to the outside of the trunk when they left it with the doctor’s luggage, but the address had come off at Grand Central. The red trunk was meant to end up at a warehouse Marco owned down at the docks. Some place they’d met him to discuss business before when they’d come to New York. They figured the body would either scare Marco into paying them off or incriminate him if it was picked up by the police first. It turns out that Malinov was the California end of Marco’s drug trafficking operation. But Marco was making a habit of ripping them off. They wanted to teach him a lesson.”
“So you convicted them?” Jacob asked, “A confession is watertight –”
“No,” Abraham said, wearily. “The one that confessed turned up dead in his cell the next morning. His cellmate claimed he hung himself, but the LAPD didn’t believe it. So, they went back to the witness, the boy that saw them at Emeryville, but the kid had gone missing. He was never seen again. They had nothing left to pin on Malinov and he vanished without a trace.” Abraham sighed, as if he were reliving the frustration of those days on the force. “Of course, we searched Marco Pinzolo’s warehouse at the docks, but by the time we arrived, it was as clean as a whistle. A few years after I retired, Marco was found there himself, murdered, along with a few of his goons. I guess his habit of shortchanging crooks finally caught up with him.”
“I remember,” Jacob said, dryly. “I had to clean up the mess. I was the lead detective on that case. Frozen fish everywhere. We never did find the killer.” He raised an eyebrow to Betty.
And I remember too, she thought to herself, looking as outwardly innocent as can be. Killing Marco, and his bullish sycophants Ernie, Vito and the snowbird Freddie the shiv in that frozen warehouse had been her first foray into the revenge business. It had been a pleasure to get rid of them.
“Well, that’s it then, that’s all I have on Malinov,” Abraham said. “He was still in California during the investigation, but we never tracked him down. I don’t know what contacts he had here in New York, other than Marco Pinzolo and that ship has sailed.”
They all sat for a moment with their teacups in hand, thinking through the facts, trying to make sense of the story.
“So, what possible locations do we get from that?” Jacob asked. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Grand Central Station? The warehouse at the Docks?”
“Pinzolo sold that warehouse after Marco was killed there,” Abraham said. “Some private company that was buying up real estate around the docks. Bad investment, I’d say.”
“I must be missing something.” Jacob got to his feet again and resumed his pacing. “If Donald Pinzolo gave us your phone number, that story must mean something. He knew you were looking for Malinov for the Salucci murder, and he must have known Marco was working with the Russians at the time. Marco Pinzolo knew Malinov. That means Donald Pinzolo knew of Malinov. Nothing gets by Donny, nothing. The man sets his pulse on every breeze that blows through this city, always has.”
After another cup of tea discussing the ins and outs of the Salucci case, the group had decided to mull on it separately. There seemed to be no obvious way of tracking down the notorious Tin Man, as Vladimir Malinov had now become, from the remnants of the long-cold case. Betty and Jacob made their way to the front door, the latter ushered along with effusive cheek-kisses from his mother, and Betty found herself delighted to find Jacob’s parents so unchanged.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” Abraham said, regretfully, as they paused on the front steps. “I’ll keep thinking on it. Perhaps there is something small that I missed. Something important.”
“I’ll keep thinking too,” Jacob said. “This couldn’t be more urgent.”
“How is Adina, bubbeleh?” Golda asked, as they turned to leave. “I’m sorry, I should have asked before.”
“She’s not speaking to me,” Jacob said, curtly. “We had a disagreement over –” He refrained from turning his head toward Betty, but the shift in his weight was telling enough. “In any case, I imagine she’s rather anxious at the moment,” he said, trying to even out his tone of voice. “Malinov’s partner, the woman, Violet Mills, came to the orphanage library searching for a child. Her own child, I believe. But the boy Violet is searching for, happens to be one Adina has taken under her wing. She’s extremely fond of him, no, more than that – I think she almost sees him as her own child. A five-year-old called Teddy. Adina had no idea who she was talking to at the time, of course, but she was pretty shaken up after she found out. The last thing we need is a serial killer breaking into an orphanage to steal a child. I’ve put the child in protective custody, for now.”
“Hob rachmones,” Golda exclaimed. “Of all the things.”
“It just keeps getting better,” Jacob sighed. “Anyway, we should go.”
“I’ll be in touch if I think of anything more,” Abraham promised.
“Thanks Abba.” Jacob leant forward to hug his parents. “Bye, Ima.”
Nancy kicked out her feet a little, letting the swing drag her boots back through the powdered snow. Her mouth was turned down, and her dress collar turned up against the winter chill. She knew she wouldn’t last long outside in the cold – she’d forgotten her coat and scarf – but when Georgie and Teddy had come to her with yet another broken part on Georgie’s model plane, she had huffed her way out the front door and not looked back. It’s not that she didn’t love her brother, but there was only so much Scotch tape the wooden Mustang P-51 could take before it looked plain ridiculous. She was sick of babysitting. Sick of being told what to do. Sick of being lied to by her mother. And especially, sick of being treated like a child.
She’s probably home by now, Nancy thought. Her mother had left after breakfast to do her Avon sales rounds. It was nearly lunch time now though, and she was always home in time to make lunch on weekends. I suppose I should have made sandwiches,
Nancy squirmed uncomfortably. Why is it always up to me? Georgie doesn’t lift a finger. And now there’s two of them. No one asked me if I wanted another noisy little pain in the house. Her irritation returned.
Nancy kept swinging and tried to shake off that feeling that made her neck tingle and her feet itch inside her boots. They’ll be fine alone, she tried to convince herself. It was only another half hour or so before mom was due home. A flutter of worry hit her when she thought of the scolding she would receive, yet again, when she returned home to face the music. It was always her fault, of course. No matter what her younger brother might do to pester her, it was always Nancy that got the reprimand when she finally bit back and he burst into crocodile tears.
She kept swinging. Not enough to look like she might be enjoying herself in case anyone walked by, but just enough to keep up the steady motion that soothed the sharp edges of her anger. Nancy was so lost in her thoughts, that she didn’t notice the black Mercury pull up in the street adjacent to the park, nor the lady with the long, dark hair walk towards her. When the young woman spoke, Nancy startled.
“I’ve seen that look before,” the woman said. Her eyes smiled when she spoke. “In the mirror when I was about your age. Boy trouble, right?”
When Nancy didn’t reply, the woman winked. “Let me guess, you must be about fourteen? Right again?”
Nancy considered this for a moment, then drew up a little taller on the swing. She nodded, flattered that someone as sophisticated as this woman might think she was older than she really was.
“May I?”
Nancy shrugged. The young woman settled into the seat next to Nancy and pushed off her toes a little to get the swing moving.
“It’s been a long time since I was on a swing,” she said, pleasantly. “I should do it more often. Being an adult is rather dull. But this,” she kicked a little higher, “this almost makes me forget my problems.” She let the swing cascade back to almost still. “My husband is away at training camp, you see,” the woman said, throwing Nancy a little smile. “I miss him terribly. When I drove by and saw you sitting here looking so forlorn – just how I was feeling too – I thought perhaps we could cheer each other up. Or at least, commiserate with each other. I’m a good listener, and you look like you could do with a friend. Or at least, someone to swing your troubles away with.” She laughed a little as she kicked off, a tinkling, soft laugh that reminded Nancy of a Christmas bell.
Nancy kicked off again too. She gave the woman a hesitant smile. She suddenly liked this stranger who had come to commiserate with her and who spoke to her like an adult. An equal. She was so sick of being treated like a child.
“I’m Nancy,” she said, deciding to be polite. After all, the woman was only being nice. Nancy envied the woman’s long dark curls and fancy white coat with fur muffs and hems. Her boots were heeled and stylish, which was unusual these days, when new shoes were hard to come by. She was beautiful. Nancy had never seen anyone quite so impressive.
“And I’m Violet.” The woman’s eyes were a startling blue. They were mesmerizing. “So, Nancy, now that we’re friends, will you tell me why you’re wearing such a frown? A pretty doll like you ought to be out having fun with your friends, not looking so down in the dumps on your own. What’s up?”
Nancy considered this question for a moment. She looked up at Violet. The woman’s face was sincere, but Nancy’s instincts, propelled by her mother’s training, told her to be careful. Gathering her courage, Nancy let down the mental shields she had developed over the last half year, the ones that kept her from absorbing the endless thoughts of others. She dove inside the woman’s mind. It was nothing extraordinary.
Violet’s thoughts were indeed harmless, and her intentions seemed good. She was married to a man named Roger and he was serving in the Army. Her mind was oddly uncluttered, as if it were a room that had recently been tidied and dusted of the random and unhelpful thoughts that overfed a person’s imagination. But her thoughts were kind. Comfortable. There was no hint of malice or deception behind her smile.
“My mother kept a secret from me,” Nancy said, her shields returning. “That’s why I’m upset. She stops me from doing everything. She treats me like a child, as if I can’t manage anything myself, when I know I can. I’m really responsible, you know.”
“I believe you.” Violet’s voice was sincere.
“Well, she scared off this boy I liked, so now he won’t talk to me –”
“Oh, dear –”
“And she doesn’t let me do the things I know I can do –”
“You’re obviously very clever –”
“And I can look after myself –”
“Of course you can –”
“And she’s always busy and expects me to look after my little brother and now another boy as well –”
“Another boy?” Violet’s consolations faltered, but Nancy, caught up by her plight, didn’t notice.
“Just a boy from St. Augustine’s. One of Georgie’s friends. And they’re such pains, the two of them, always running around and making a mess and bothering me.”
“What’s his name?”
“Who?”
Violet’s knuckles were white, wrapped around the frozen chains.
“The orphan’s name?” She said again, her lips frozen in a sympathetic grimace, her attention diverted from Nancy’s diatribe.
“Oh, Teddy,” Nancy shook her head. “He’s five and bothersome and an oddity as well. He keeps stealing Figaro from my bed – that’s my cat – thinks he’s Dr. Doolittle or something. I’m so tired of looking after them.”
“Such a burden for you –” Violet whispered.
“I have to pretend to be normal with my friends even though I feel so different – not that I’ve been able to see them since Christmas anyway. But I’m not normal, Violet. I feel like I’m a big bear all rolled up into a tiny drawer and no one will open it to let me out!” The girl was shaking now, her heels dragging hard in the snow as the swing shuddered to a stop. “And I just have to keep quiet and be good and practice, practice, practice… but for what? What’s the use of practicing if I’m never allowed to be who I really am?”
Violet stopped her swing, absorbed once more by the ranting girl who was shuddering as she spoke, trying to hold back her tears.
“And the worst part is,” Nancy blurted, “I just found out my father isn’t really, he isn’t even –” It was too much. She burst into wracking sobs.
“He isn’t what, darling?” Violet pushed, alighting the swing to wrap her arms around the girl.
“That he isn’t my real father!”
“Oh, my goodness.” There was an undercurrent of delight buried in the pity.
“But I don’t want to believe it, because he is my father.” Nancy sobbed into Violet’s soft white coat. “He has to be. I love my pop so much. And I’m tired of him being away. They might send him somewhere dangerous. Something terrible could happen to him and he might never even come back! I can’t bear it.” Nancy muffled her cries for a moment in the soft fabric, then lifted her head, miserably. “I miss him. He’s funny and kind and if he were here – he’d tell me the truth. My father has never lied to me, I know that for a fact!”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do, because I –” Nancy stopped herself from admitting she had read his mind. “I asked him,” she finished feebly.
“He sounds like a wonderful father.”
“He is.” Nancy pulled away, wiping her eyes. “If I could just see him for a day, an hour even, I feel like he’d make everything all right. He’d tell me it wasn’t true. And everything could be normal again.”
“You poor dove,” Violet cajoled. “What a burden you’re carrying in your heart. I only wish there was some way I could help you, Nancy. Some small thing that I could do.”
Nancy hiccupped and tried smoothing the long hair from her face that had been swept forward with tears.
“I can’t even write to him about it without causing trouble for my mother and the – the other man. My mom said letters to the soldiers are opened and checked for intelligence because of the war, and the ones to my father will certainly be checked because of, well because of her.”
“She must be a very important lady.”
“She’s not important,” Nancy said, angrily. “She’s just always causing trouble. So, I can’t write to him, and my mother would never let me go to see him. She never lets me do anything. I don’t even know when he’s coming home again.”
“That’s just rotten luck, little doll,” Violet said, sympathetically. “I know how hard it is being kept away from someone you love. Why, my Roger is stationed over at Pine Camp and sometimes I miss him so much I just want to get in my car and drive straight out there to see him. I could be there by lunchtime if I left early enough, and home by dinner! Just a few minutes is all I want. Surely they’d give Roger a break for just a few minutes to see me?”
“Pine Camp?” Nancy said, pulling up straighter. “That’s where my pop is, at Pine Camp.”
“You don’t say!”
“Do you really think you could drive there in a day? And back again?”
“Oh, sure,” Violet nodded. “I’ve done it before. It’s a long day of driving, of course. But if you leave at sunrise, you can be back after dinner, assuming you only stay an hour.” She looked at the winter sky wistfully. “That’s all I need, Nancy. Just an hour to see my darling Roger and tell him I miss him. It’s not much to ask is it?”
“Do you think we could really do it?” Nancy asked, a gleam in her eye.
“Do what? Just up and drive to Pine Camp?” Violet asked, amused.
“Well, I can’t drive,” Nancy said, “I am only thirteen, really. But you can, and I’ll be a good passenger. I can tell you stories, or we can chat about whatever you’d like. It’ll be swell!”
“Oh, you’d be in awful trouble if you did,” Violet warned. “You said your mother worries about you and that she thinks you can’t look after yourself and treats you like a child. Imagine what she’d do if she found out you’d run off to visit your father over 300 miles away with a perfect stranger.”
Lady Vigilante (Episodes 16 – 18) (Lady Vigilante Crime Compilations) Page 18