by Lee Strauss
This time she took the initiative and sauntered over to his desk. His eyes—quite handsome, Samantha had to admit—widened in surprise when she propped herself on the edge of his desk.
“Are you going to ask me out?” Johnny said with a sly glance.
“No. But I do have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you know a Mr. Mulryan? He’s the secretary at St. Stephen’s church.”
“You nosing about in that murder?”
“And if I am?”
“I want in?”
“In how? And no, this is my story.”
“Then, sorry, I don’t know him.”
“Johnny!”
“Sorry, doll. This is how the game works. I give a little, you give a little.”
“Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“We can share the byline, but only if you do your share in breaking the story. I’m not gonna do all the work and give you half the glory.”
Johnny let his feet fall to the floor and held out a hand, insisting they shake on it.
“Partners.”
“Not partners.” She shook his hand. “Just coworkers on this case. And my name goes first. Now, what do you know?”
“Mulryan’s known to the police.”
Samantha scowled. She knew the police knew Mr. Mulryan. She’d been there when they questioned him.
“I mean, he’s been arrested before. Gambling.”
Samantha thought about the terse conversation between Mulryan and Delaney. “What kind of gambling?”
“That’s the bit that’s tough to break. Underground fight clubs. They move from location to location and, word has it, there are dirty coppers involved that help keep it hidden.”
“Do you know a fellow named Delaney?”
Johnny smiled crookedly with a look of admiration. “Look at who’s the newshound. William Delaney’s a rumored organizer of the fights. How do you know about him?”
“He was at mass last night. I overheard him talking with Mulryan. It sounded like a threat. Mulryan owes him money.”
“See? Gambling.”
“What else do you know? Did you recognize the body?”
“Didn’t see the face. Cluney’s as tight as a drum when it comes to information. My contact at the station says he’s keeping info close to his chest. You know what that means?”
“It’s a big story?”
“That’s right, doll. It’s a big story.” Johnny leaned in, stubbed out his cigarette, then said, “You got pictures?”
“Why would I have pictures?”
Johnny pointed to his temple with a long finger. “Cuz, you were there covering a ladies’ thing. Had your little camera with you. Guarded the darkroom like a mama bear with cubs.”
“Fine. I do.”
“If you show them to me, I might be able to tell you who the unlucky guy is.”
“If you can do that, so can the cops.”
Johnny held out his palms. “Fine. Go talk to the cops.”
Samantha sighed. If she wanted Johnny to play fair with her, she needed to do the same for him. She stepped back to her desk and waved him over. Removing the manila envelope from her messenger bag, she pulled out the top photograph with a close-up of the face. The twisted way the body was dumped was a detail she planned to keep to herself. At least for now.
Johnny emitted a low grumble.
“Do you know him?”
“He looks an awful lot like Sean Keating, but I don’t think it’s him.”
“Why not?”
“Because Keating died in a cocaine raid a year ago. I covered the story.”
Boston had ethnic quarters, and the largest one in the North End was Little Italy. According to the residential files collected by the paper over the years there were five Keating families in the area. With only the patriarch’s name listed, Samantha had no way to find out if any of these people were related to Sean Keating, and if they were missing a family member. Chances were high that the cops had figured out the identification already, but if they had, they hadn’t put out an official announcement to the press.
Samantha lifted the receiver of her standard black telephone, a new introduction to her desk—a reward of sorts for showing her mettle when she’d broken the last big story. Without hesitation, she dialed the morgue.
“Please connect me to Dr. Higgins.”
Samantha turned her back to the room, and especially to Johnny, as she waited for Haley to answer.
“Hello, Haley,” she said once Haley was connected, “It’s Samantha. I think Johnny came through, though I had to make a deal with the devil to get him to talk. He says our guy looks like another guy who kicked the dust last year, a man named Sean Keating.”
“A brother to our John Doe,” Haley said. “Or a cousin?”
“That’s my thinking. There are five Keating families in South Boston, but I don’t know if it’s worth trying to call. Have you heard anything from your cop friend?”
“Nothing. It’s like they’re trying to keep news of the death under wraps.”
Samantha’s spine tingled with the growing belief she might be sitting on a huge story. She and Johnny, that was.
“Should we go door to door?” Samantha asked. “I have the addresses.”
“Let me take a look at the morgue files first,” Haley said. “We have information on pretty much every family in the city, at least those who’ve lost a family member in the last fifty years.”
“Why do you think the police are keeping mum,” Samantha asked. “Johnny suggested dirty cops.”
“I hope not, though it’s hard to imagine a perfectly aboveboard station house. Why don’t you contact Officer Bell? Maybe he’ll feed you a nibble.”
“He was my next call. You should know that Johnny said Delaney is organizing fight clubs around the city. They move around, which makes them hard to track.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Haley said. “And I bet it’s safe to say, Mr. Mulryan is involved somehow.”
“At least as a gambler.” Samantha clicked her tongue. “He doesn’t look like much of a fighter.”
“I’ve read about William Delaney,” Haley said. “I didn’t put it together at first, but he owns several apartments and tenements in the city.”
Samantha felt her cheeks warm. How could she have missed that? Her own building was owned by an elusive businessman with the name William Delaney.
“What are you going to do now?” Samantha asked.
“I’m going search my files for information on the family name of Keating, and then take a drive through South Boston. Should I pick you up?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Samantha hung up and risked a look at Johnny, who looked back with questioning eyes. “That was Dr. Higgins. She’s going to check the morgue files on Keating.”
The morsel seemed to satisfy him. Samantha had no time to waste. Unlike the men in the room, she had to keep up with the ladies’ pages alongside other newsworthy leads. It was the deal Archie August had made with her if she wanted more leash.
She’d written up the church fundraiser as if a dead body hadn’t marred it and focused on the social side of the story and the efforts of the volunteers. Matching it up with a life tip seemed like a good idea. She searched the ladies’ magazines—an expense Mr. August had approved so she could research for the columns—and found a recipe for making toothpaste. It was okay to copy the information, using her own words, so long as she mentioned her original source.
All it takes is sea salt, baking soda, and peppermint.
After a short while, Samantha heard the faint sound of three short blasts from a car horn. Without looking at Johnny, she grabbed her things and hurried outside. She pretended not to hear him when he shouted, “Hey, Sam!”
Just as she climbed into Haley’s car, she caught sight of a man hovering around the corner. She could’ve sworn it was Seth.
8
Haley watched with amusement
as Samantha ran out the front doors of the Boston Daily Record building.
“Is it on fire?” she said as Samantha jumped into the DeSoto.
“Just go. I don’t want Johnny to follow.”
Samantha stared over her shoulder, and Haley wondered if her friend was a little paranoid.
Haley pulled into traffic. “What makes you think Mr. Milwaukee’s going to follow us?”
“I had to agree to share the story with him to get the information we wanted, and knowing Johnny, he’s going to pull the carpet from underneath me and take the scoop to Mr. August himself.”
“You don’t trust the guy, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Which is a shame, but it’s the nature of the beast.”
Haley and Samantha drove to South Boston were many Irish immigrants had settled. Haley eased to a stop in front of an apartment then stared at her notes. “The first address I have is here, on the first floor.”
They were greeted by a little white-haired old lady who had trouble hearing.
“Are you Mrs. Keating?”
“Huh?”
“Mrs. Keating?”
The woman shook her head. “No-no-no.”
For a moment, Haley felt confused. Had she gotten the address wrong?
“My daughter is Mrs. Keating.” The lady had a definite Irish lilt. “I’m Mrs. Joyce.”
“Oh, is Mrs. Keating home?” Haley asked.
“Huh?”
Haley raised her voice. “Is your daughter home?”
“She’s not home. She’s shopping.”
Haley gave Samantha a look of defeat. They weren’t going to get far with Mrs. Joyce.
“We’ll come back later,” Haley said.
“Huh?”
Haley worried she’d have the neighbors pouring into the hallway if she spoke any louder, but the arrival of a frazzled dark-haired woman rescued her.
Samantha opened the door. “Let me help you.” She eased a bag out of one arm, and Haley did the same with the other.
“Thank you,” the lady said. “It’s my brother’s birthday, and in my family, birthdays involve big celebrations. I feel like I live at the grocery mart.”
“Are you Mrs. Keating?”
“I am.” She nodded with her head for them to follow her inside the apartment. “It’s okay, Mam,” she said loudly. “Friends!”
She looked at Haley and Samantha apologetically. “It’s just easier than explaining.” She set her bags on the kitchen counter, and Haley and Samantha did the same.
The apartment was surprisingly spacious and well cared for.
Mrs. Keating faced them. “What can I do for you?”
“Are you related to someone called Sean?” Samantha asked.
“I’m Irish,” she answered with a smile. “We’re all related to someone called Sean.”
Samantha clarified. “Sean Keating.”
“Sean’s my son.”
Haley and Samantha shared a look. Mrs. Keating looked too young to be the mother of the man in the photograph. “How old is he?”
“He’s twelve. Why?”
“We’re looking for a family with an older Sean,” Samantha said, showing the photograph. “And someone who looks like him.”
Mrs. Keating furrowed full, dark brows. “Who are you again?”
“Please pardon our manners,” Haley said. “I’m Dr. Higgins, assistant chief pathologist, and this is Miss Hawke with the Boston Daily Record.”
Mrs. Keating’s good nature darkened. “Sounds serious. But I’m afraid I can’t help you. Now, unless you’d like to stay for the party, I really have to start cooking.”
“Nice lady,” Samantha said as they headed back to the car. “My gut tells me she’s telling the truth.”
“Mine too,” Haley said. “Maybe we’ll have better luck at the next one.”
The next three calls were equally futile, which made Haley a little nervous because the next one was sure to be uncomfortable. Driving back to the North End, she parked on Stillman.
Samantha stiffened. “What are we doing here?”
“This is the final address.”
And the tenement building Samantha lived in.
“Are you aware of any Keatings in the building?” Haley asked gently.
Samantha swallowed. “Families are moving in and out all the time. I haven’t been keeping track.” She sighed. “Bina would know. She’s very distrusting of anyone who’s not Jewish and watches who’s who and where like an army general.”
“Or, maybe the directory by the door has been updated,” Haley said. They walked together to the front door and stared at the list of names.
“I never pay attention to this, but maybe I should.” Samantha pointed to a new entry. “Keating.”
The Keating family lived at the end of the hall on the third floor. The musky smells of cigarette smoke and fried fish dinners lingered. Haley caught a glimpse of Samantha swallowing back her embarrassment.
A radio played in the background on the other side of the door. Samantha knocked loudly, and an older man in a white shirt and suspenders answered the door.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” He started to close the door but Samantha put her foot in the way. “I’m a tenant in the building too,” she said with a smile. “Second floor. I’m just wondering if you know of a man called Sean Keating?”
“Alive or dead?”
Haley answered, “Dead, sir.”
“Died last year?”
Haley nodded.
“Second cousin. Dark horse. That’s all I can really say. What’s this about?”
“Did your cousin have a brother or another cousin who resembled him?” Samantha asked.
“Everyone in the family says he and Cormac could be twins.”
Haley lifted her chin. “Where’s Cormac now?”
“I have no idea.”
The first thing Samantha did when she got back to her desk was to call the police station and ask for Officer Bell.
“Hey, Samantha,” he answered cheerily. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Tom. I’m after a bit of information. Do you think you could meet me?” If Samantha wanted honesty from Tom about the possibility of unethical cops, she couldn’t expect him to talk to her with other officers listening.
“I’m on duty right now—”
“It’s about the John Doe found at St. Stephen’s Church. I might have information.”
“Oh, all right. How about Café Vittoria on Hanover.”
Samantha appreciated that Tom chose a place within walking distance for her. The late summer heat could still be oppressive, and she already felt wilted. After she hung up with Tom Bell, she spent some time in the restroom freshening up. She told herself it was only to stay professional looking, and not about Tom Bell and his interest in her.
The coffee shop had the advantage of being on a corner, giving it a light and friendly atmosphere. Round tables dotted the wooden floor with matching round-back wooden chairs with padded floral seat cushions circling them.
Tom was there, seated at one, and had ordered her a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. “It’s on me,” he said when she was about to protest. “Don’t make a fella eat alone.”
Samantha settled into a chair opposite Tom. “Thanks.”
He smiled back appreciatively. “You’re looking good, Samantha. The job treating you well?”
“Yes, fairly. I’m thankful to have a job. Any day now, I expect a guy to elbow me out, complaining that I’m stealing work from a man who needs it more.”
A look of indignation flashed behind Tom’s eyes. “You’re not getting hounded by that Milwaukee fella, are ya? Because, if he crosses a line—” He smacked his palm with a fist. “Just let me know.”
“Tom!”
He cracked a smile. “I mean it in the most legal of ways.”
“Well, it’s not necessary. I know how to manage Mr. Milwaukee.”
Her protestation didn’t bring a look of com
fort to her officer friend. Samantha took a bite of pie to change the subject. “Oh, this is good.”
Tom Bell relaxed his position and dug into his own pie. He followed up with a long sip of his coffee. “What’s the information that you have on the John Doe case?”
“I have a name. Cormac Keating.”
Tom swallowed hard. “How did you find that out?”
Find that out? He knew.
Samantha’s nerves tingled. Could Tom Bell be dirty? He was too nice. Too attentive.
Too nice. Too attentive. Exactly what a smart dirty cop would be.
“Samantha?”
Samantha blinked and went on the offensive. “Did you already know?”
“I can’t talk about an ongoing case.”
Malarkey! Tom talked to her about open cases all the time. He was her contact at the station. “You can’t or you won’t?”
“Samantha—”
Samantha pushed her unfinished pie to the side, her appetite destroyed by the possibility of this new revelation.
Tom stared back with intensity. “Where did you get that name?”
Samantha put on her gloves, hoping it signaled the end of their little chat. “I can’t give away my sources, Officer Bell. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a family to get back to.”
Samantha grabbed her purse and headed for the door, her mind swirling. If Tom Bell was dirty, then every cop on the force could be too. Her equilibrium faltered. Who, besides Haley, could she trust?
Tom Bell grabbed her elbow on the stoop outside. She stared at his hold on her and then shot him a withering look. He released his grip.
“I’m sorry. Samantha, please. I can’t tell you everything I know all the time. Just, this is dangerous. Really dangerous. Drop this story.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I can’t promise I can protect you.”
Samantha snorted as she walked away. She didn’t need protection. She needed answers.
And if Tom Bell thought he would ever get another date with her, well, he could just forget about it!
9
It was a divide and conquer approach: Samantha was to meet with Officer Bell while Haley intruded on Detective Cluney’s day.
The detective greeted her gruffly. “Dr. Higgins? Is there another body I don’t know about?”