Ettore wormed his way through the crowded bar to a larger room in the rear where several tables and booths were positioned for the clients to see a second television set showing the same program as the one up front. He peered round the room, then walked over to a booth where a short, chunky Chinese man was seated drinking a beer.
He slid into the opposite seat, Dominic sitting down beside him. “Are you Ching Li?”
The Chinese man nodded. “Care for a drink, Mr. DiStephano?”
“No, thanks. Can we get down to business?”
“Yes, sir. I work at the Empire Celeste. You were there yesterday. Do you remember?”
“I remember it.”
Ching Li drained his glass of beer. “I’d better tell you now, Mr. DiStephano, that the information I’m about to give you will cost me my job - and probably get me into a lot of trouble.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Would you give me some idea of what information you have so I can decide how much I can contribute to offset the financial loss you may suffer?”
“I’ll be glad to. I can tell you which restaurant your daughter ate in a week ago Thursday and who she was with.”
“That’s worth a thousand dollars,” said Ettore.
“I’ll lose much more than that. You’ll understand once I explain the circumstances.”
“How much more?”
“Five times as much. Maybe more.”
Ettore turned to Dominic. “How much money do you have with you?”
“About five hundred.”
“I have two thousand.” He turned back to Ching Li. “Will a check for the additional twenty-five hundred be acceptable, or would you prefer to come to my house? I have more there in the safe.”
“A check will be quite all right.”
Ettore handed over his two thousand, the five hundred from Dominic, then wrote out a check.
Ching Li nodded his thanks. “Your daughter was in our restaurant a week ago Thursday with a young man named Chet Bonazzi. I think his first name is Caesar, but everyone calls him Chet. While you were at the restaurant yesterday, I heard Charles Wong, the owner, tell the cashier not to give you any information. So when she showed the picture around, she asked the waiters if they knew her name, not whether she had ever been there. I don’t think any of them associated the picture with the death of your daughter.”
Dominic was studying Ettore’s face. “What’s the matter, Papa?”
Ettore relaxed the rigid muscles of his jaw. “I think I know of the Bonazzi family.” He turned back to Ching Li. “Have you any idea why the owner, Charles Wong, is trying to conceal the truth?”
Ching Li shook his head. “I don’t know. If I hadn’t heard you mention your name when you came in, and then overheard Mr. Wong give instructions to the cashier, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it. It was only when I reached home last night that it struck me that I had seen them both that night. I guess Mr. Wong did it because Mr. Bonazzi and his friends are frequent customers at the restaurant, and didn’t want any trouble.”
“How do you remember it was a week ago last Thursday?” asked Dominic.
“I’m off Fridays and receive my pay Thursday nights. Mr. Bonazzi left a sizeable tip, so I was happy that it made the week rather good.”
“And my daughter,” said Ettore. “How do you know it was her?”
“Mr. Bonazzi usually brings in the more....ah, fancy kind of woman. I remember thinking what a nice person your daughter was. Then when I went through some old newspapers last night and saw her picture, I knew right away it was her.” His voice softened. “She was a very nice young lady, very polite. Mr. Bonazzi’s women friends are not generally like that.”
Ettore looked at Ching Li carefully. “I’d like you to come home with me and sign a statement.”
The Chinese man shook his head. “I won’t do that, Mr. DiStephano. I will be in enough trouble if this leaks out.”
Ettore passed over his notebook. “Please write your address so we can contact you later on.”
Ching Li did as he was asked and handed back the notebook. Ettore motioned to Dominic to start out. “Thank you Mr. Li. If you have any further information, please don’t hesitate to call me. I will be quite willing to pay you for it.”
When they were out on the street, Dominic said, “Papa, why didn’t you make him sign a statement?”
“I said I know of a Bonazzi family. If this is the same one, the father is a Mafia don.”
Dominic whistled.
Two men came out of the shadows. At once Dominic poised himself on the balls of his feet.
“Easy as she goes,” said one of the men. “We’re police officers.” He turned to Ettore. “I’m Detective Lieutenant McPherson, Mr. DiStephano. Could I have a few words with you? Either at the station or at your home.”
“We’re going home now,” said Ettore. “Follow us there if you want.”
“Thank you. We’ll be right behind.” They walked diagonally across the street to a plain black car and climbed in.
Ettore and Dominic got into their car. Junior started the motor. “Take us home,” said Ettore.
“Who were those men?” asked Bob.
Dominic chuckled when he saw a jack handle lying on the seat beside the boy. “The fuzz,” he said. “Were you going to protect us with that?”
Bob shrugged. “Like Grandpa said, it’s a tough ball game.”
Ettore leaned forward and patted him fondly on the shoulder. “Good boy. You’re more of a DiStephano than some of my sons.” He looked out of the rear window and saw the police car following theirs. “When is Vince getting back?” he asked Dominic.
“He’ll be here tomorrow. Do you expect trouble with the fuzz?”
“I don’t know. But when they show up at a meeting nobody else knows about, then call you by name, it’s time to add things up.”
“Maybe they have the phone tapped, Grandpa,” said Junior.
Ettore pursed his lips. “You’ve got a point there, Junior. We’d better pass the word along to watch what we say over it.”
Junior turned into the driveway and stopped. “Shall I park it in the garage or leave it outside?”
“Leave it outside,” said Ettore, getting out of the car. “This night may not be over yet.”
The police sedan had parked at the curb, the two officers already walking up the flagstone path. Ettore opened the door and motioned them inside. He introduced them to Rose and Vito, then they took seats in the living room, the two boys sitting quietly to one side.
“Mr. DiStephano,” said Lieutenant McPherson. “Would you mind telling me what Ching Li told you?”
“Not at all,” said Ettore. “If you will tell me how you knew I received information from him.”
“I will be frank with you. We’ve heard that you and your son have been checking restaurants which serve Chinese food. We’ve been doing the same. Two days ago we received a tip that your daughter might have eaten at the Empire Celeste. We spoke to Mr. Wong, the owner, but he was somewhat evasive, so we’ve been keeping his eight waiters under surveillance.”
Ettore stood up, his face tight with barely suppressed anger. “You can leave now,” he said curtly. “I don’t like being lied to.”
Lieutenant McPherson pulled at his nose, then raised his hands in acknowledgement of his deceit. “I’m sorry, sir, but I would be revealing confidential information if I told you exactly what I know.”
“I might be in the same position, too,” said Ettore stiffly.
Lieutenant McPherson shrugged. “We’re on your side, you know. We want to get our hands on the murderer of your daughter almost as much as you do. You see, you’re a pretty solid citizen, and the boys in the department are bitter about a nice girl like your daughter ending up that way. So, if you help us, you’d be helping yourself.” He looked straight into Ettore’s eyes. “We also have a general idea what you’re trying to do. Every police officer on the force would like to turn over the killer to you and your so
ns. But it doesn’t work that way, no more than if some fellow down the street wanted to be a judge, like your son.”
Ettore sat down. “Ching Li said my daughter ate at the Empire Celeste the night she was murdered. She was with a Caesar Bonazzi.”
“Is that all he said?” asked McPherson.
Ettore sat more erect in his chair. “You already know about him?” he asked accusingly.
McPherson pulled at his nose again for a few seconds. “Yes,” he finally admitted.
“Have you questioned him?”
“Yes. He stated that he took your daughter to supper, then drove her to her car. He said it was about ten o’clock when he let her off. He then went to a private club and played cards until three in the morning. There were five other men in that card game. All swear that Bonazzi came in before eleven and left after three.”
“What kind of men are they?”
“I wouldn’t believe four of them on a stack of bibles, but the fifth one is a reliable type.”
“How about a lie detector test?” asked Dominic.
“It’s not quite that simple. You can’t force them to take it.”
“Yes, but if they refuse, I would suspect them of lying.”
“The law doesn’t look at it that way.”
“How about the hair on Maria’s clothing? And the skin under her nails?” pressed Dominic.
McPherson seemed to fold up into a tightly closed shell. “I can’t answer that.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Look, you’ve got to understand that we have rules like any organization. I’m here only to explain that we’re working around the clock to solve this case. Mr. DiStephano, you’ve got a lot of friends downtown, and the department has assigned over twenty men to look for the murderer. But the rules say we are not to give out confidential information. They’re good rules, and every time a police officer breaks them he generally hurts his own case, besides getting into hot water. So, please don’t push me.” He rose from his chair. “Did you pay Ching Li any money?”
“Yes. I gave him five thousand dollars,” said Ettore.
“Well, I can’t tell you how to spend your money, but please lay off the case. Some of the officers have complained that you visited the restaurants before they did. You could have alerted a suspect.” He nodded his head about the room as a form of farewell, then led out his associate. Vito saw them to the door.
“Who is this Bonazzi?” asked Vito, upon returning to the living room.
“He’s a Mafia don,” said Ettore.
“Mafia!” exclaimed Rose. “Whatever would Maria be doing with people like that?”
“It’s not like it was twenty years ago, Rose,” said Ettore. “They don’t wear flashy suits and carry guns. On the surface they’re respectable business men. Bonazzi owns several companies, big ones. One of them wanted to buy some of my downtown property a few years ago. It was all on the up and up - just a business deal.”
“Did you sell it to them?” asked Rose.
“No. It was good property. It’s doubled in value since then.”
Dominic mixed himself a scotch and soda, swirling it around in the glass to chill it against the ice cubes. “Now what, Papa?”
“I want to learn everything possible about Caesar Bonazzi.” He turned to Vito. “Vince and Mike will be here tomorrow, won’t they?”
“Yes. But Tony phoned to say he will be a day or two longer than he expected.”
“All right. Let’s organize to gather information about Bonazzi. What do you suggest?”
“I would start with the places he lived and the schools he attended. Are they Chicago people?”
“Yes.”
“Then it shouldn’t be too hard. Dom, go to the newspapers tomorrow and check out their morgues. If he played any sports or got into any trouble, it will be listed there. Check his father’s files too - they could give some information. Papa, how about your business contacts?” His voice became casual. “I could use some of my people to obtain information.”
Ettore shook his head. “Thank you, Vito, but we’ll keep it among ourselves for the time being. If we run into a stone wall, then I will consider outsiders.”
CHAPTER 5
Dominic drained the last of his glass of beer, picked up the change from the five dollar bill he had given the bartender, and walked out into the bright sunlight. He checked his watch again - Junior should pick him up at any minute. He had sent off the boy to get his hair trimmed a bit. A full head of hair was okay, but shoulder length was carrying it too far. Junior hadn’t argued. If his Uncle Dom had said to get a crew cut, he would have marched directly onto a barber’s chair and passed on the order without a moment’s qualm.
He drove up right on time. Dominic stepped inside. From the glove compartment he took out a folder. “We have an appointment with a Henry Wiley. He was Bonazzi’s homeroom teacher at high school.”
“Uncle Vito said that Bonazzi had gone to a parochial school.”
“He did, for a few years. Then he was switched to a private school. We don’t know why yet. Uncle Tony is checking that out.”
“Those newspaper clippings Uncle Vito showed us. Bonazzi must have been a real jock. Letters in boxing, football and hockey. What could make a fellow like him kill Maria?”
“We don’t know that he did,” said Dominic tightly. “There’s a parking place,” he said, pointing it out. “Wiley’s house is right over there.”
Junior expertly backed into a space. They locked the car doors and walked up the front steps of an old-fashioned frame building. Dominic rang the bell. A few moments later, a small wiry man in his mid-fifties came to the door.
“Mr. Wiley, I’m Dominic DiStephano. I phoned you at school this morning.”
Wiley opened the door wide. “Come inside, please.” He guided them through a long hallway into a simply furnished room containing a battered desk and four or five hard backed chairs. Inexpertly made shelves held a large collection of books. Wiley motioned them to chairs, seated himself behind the desk, then clamped an unlit pipe between his teeth.
“Sorry I was unable to meet with you earlier,” he said, “but it is school policy not to allow personal affairs to interfere with classes.”
“I quite understand, Mr. Wiley,” said Dominic. He leaned forward. “We are checking the background of a Caesar Bonazzi, who was in your homeroom class several years ago. It’s a personal matter, so I hope you won’t become offended if I don’t go into the details of why I want this information. Could you please tell me what kind of boy he was?”
“Bonazzi? Well, he isn’t hard to remember. He was one of the brightest boys in the class. Always prepared with his subject matter, prompt, well-behaved. One of the few who did well both academically and athletically. I wouldn’t call him a leader - nor a follower. Nor would I class him as an extravert or introvert. Frankly, he defied compartmentalization somewhat. He could move from one category to the next with ease, and wasn’t restricted to any one specific characterization.”
“Sounds like a model student. Any idiosyncrasies, quirks? You know what I mean?”
“Well, there was an incident. Or rather the rumor of a possible incident. It was a bit hard to believe, so the teachers didn’t take much stock of it.”
“What was it?”
“Bonazzi was a strong boy. Not only physically, but in his aura. The roughnecks generally left him alone because of this air of strength. One somewhat obnoxious bully, Cotarro, by name, as I recall, decided to challenge Bonazzi. Since Bonazzi dressed neatly, was self-contained, and kept to himself, it was quite easy to mistake his attitude for weakness. Cotarro probably thought it would enhance his reputation to cow Bonazzi, so he began insulting him. Bonazzi ignored him, which encouraged Cotarro to continue his bullying. This went on for a period of days until Cotarro made the mistake of shoving Bonazzi against a locker while changing clothes for gym. The body contact must have triggered a reaction. Directly afterwards Cotarro was literally carried to the school nurse. One arm was broke
n quite violently.”
Dominic shrugged. “That happens. It’s nothing unusual. Kids get into a scrap and one gets clobbered.”
“Yes, I agree. Cotarro explained the break as a result of having fallen in the locker room. But he had another wound which he absolutely refused to discuss. On the broken arm someone had bitten out a piece of flesh over a half inch in diameter.”
Dominic sat up straighter. “Bonazzi?”
Wiley gestured with his hands. “No one said for sure. The class was graduated two or three weeks later, and amid the excitement of preparing for commencement, the incident was glossed over.”
“That’s strange,” mused Dominic. “No matter how excited kids become with graduation, biting a hole in a bully’s arm would sweep throughout the school like wildfire. You can’t hide a thing like that. Weren’t there any witnesses?”
“I don’t know. Nobody came forth to say anything. The doctor who treated Cotarro for the broken arm was convinced that the wound was the result of a bite by a person. Students had mentioned seeing Cotarro bully Bonazzi on occasion and build up bad blood between them. Ergo, Bonazzi bit Cotarro and broke his arm.”
“What do you think?”
Wiley tamped a small amount of tobacco in his pipe, took up a pack of matches from his desk, and fired the tobacco. He let out a stream of smoke while he pondered the question. “It’s hard to say one way or the other, Mr. DiStephano.” He took another drag at the pipe, then tapped out some ash. “I have an idea why you are asking these questions. Your sister was a teacher. She was foully murdered. You are here asking about Bonazzi. Therefore, two and two make four. I suppose you know that Bonazzi’s father is politically powerful. Had he heard of the incident and taken action to quiet it down, it could explain the silence on the part of any witnesses. Therefore, I can’t render judgment. The only opinion I could offer would be based upon my evaluation of him.”
“And that is......”
“Bonazzi seemed to be the type to break an arm, club someone over the head, or use a knife. But biting another boy..... That’s more indicative of an unbalanced person.”
I Contadini (The Peasants) Page 9