“Now that you’ve mentioned it, that whole protective rogue thing describes the next person on my list.”
“Oh, really? Is he protective or a rogue?”
“Both. His name is Kilbride. Clinton Kilbride.”
“Italian, obviously,” Riordan joked.
“Yeah, by way of County Wicklow,” she quipped. “Hmm ... how old are you?”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’d say Kilbride’s about your age, that’s why.”
“Ah, ‘twenty seven,’” he said aloud and etched a pair of numbers into the notebook with the soft lead of the pencil.”
Rosie couldn’t help but laugh.
“What? You don’t believe me? I can show you my driver’s license.”
“No, I believe you.” She giggled.
“Either you’re lying or you need glasses. So, back to Kilbride.”
“Oh, he’s ...” She placed a level hand about seven or eight inches above her head. “Um, six foot.”
“Were you wearing those shoes when you last stood next to him?” Riordan used the pencil to point at Rosie’s feet.
She looked down at her cork-heeled loafers. “Yes, why?”
“One-inch soles. Five foot eleven,” he corrected. “Weight?”
“I’m a terrible judge of that when it comes to men. He’s thin, but”—she felt the color rise to her cheeks as she recalled the way the shirtless Kilbride had leaned against the chain link fence of the yard—“umm, not without muscles.”
Riordan noticed Rosie’s sudden awkwardness and cleared his throat. “Ehem. Athletic build,” he said aloud and jotted it in his notepad. “Hmph. So what’s his story?”
“F-Finch ...” She hesitated.
“This is no time for modesty, Mrs. Keefe. I’m a police officer. I’ve heard it all.”
“He raped Kilbride’s girlfriend.”
Riordan sighed heavily. “Jeez.”
“Yeah. She, um ...” Rosie scratched her head and mustered the strength to utter the final words of the statement. “She killed herself shortly afterward because she couldn’t bear to live with the memories.”
They sat in silence for several seconds as the streetlights cycled on and the sun cast its final beams over the East River.
“Listen, I know what Finch tried to do to you,” Riordan stated. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. This investigation, the suspicion, listening to these other women. And now Kilbride’s fiancée? I can’t imagine how those stories must make you feel.”
“Lucky. It makes me feel lucky that I got out of there when I did. Unfortunately, it also makes me less than enthusiastic about finding Finch’s killer. If it weren’t my head on the chopping block, I’d be happy to let whoever murdered Finch go scot-free. They provided a great service to the women of this world. I know that must sound terrible... .”
“No. It doesn’t sound terrible at all. I’ve had those same thoughts myself on occasion,” he commiserated.
“How do you go on being a cop? How do you keep doing what you do?”
“I remember the times—and there are quite a few—when justice was served and things worked out the way they should.”
“That’s what gets you through? Memories? I don’t know if that would be enough for me.”
“Sometimes it isn’t. That’s when I try to imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t do what I do. The innocent people who might have gone to jail.” He slid his eyes in her direction. “The criminals who may have gone free. The victims and families who’d go unvindi-cated. The system might not always work, but the majority of times it does, and I’m glad to be part of it.”
Rosie had guessed that Riordan was a hardworking police officer, but she had no idea how committed he was to the concept of justice. As the crowds left the riverfront and darkness descended upon the city, she wondered how she could have misjudged him. “May I ask you something? Not about the case—well, it is, indirectly—but about your job.”
“Sure.”
“Well, you seem pretty dedicated to your work, so why did your captain only give you five days for this case? Why not let you solve it as you see fit?”
“That’s a long, complicated story, but I’ll try to summarize it in two words: Frank Costello.”
“The mob boss?”
“Yeah. I’ve been trying to get him since putting Lucky Luciano in jail.”
“That was you?” Rosie exclaimed. “I remember reading about it in the papers. Didn’t you get an award or commendation or something like that?”
“Commendation, yeah. A little too soon, though.”
“What do you mean? You put Luciano behind bars, didn’t you?”
“I did, but he’s still in control of the mob. Never mind, you don’t want to hear this... . I’m sorry.”
“No,” Rosie insisted. “No, I do want to hear about it. How can someone in jail still be in control of anything?”
Riordan leaned back in his seat and drew a deep breath. “The thing you need to understand about the Mafia is that bosses can pull strings from anywhere. From prison, from another country, while in hiding. They use underbosses to do their bidding for them.”
“And Costello is one of these underbosses,” she surmised.
“Yeah, although with Luciano in prison he’s more like the acting boss.”
“So, what’s the point of putting a boss in jail if someone else just takes over?”
“The point is that by putting the boss in jail, you typically shut down whatever operations they ran. Will the mob try to start something up elsewhere? Sure. But at least you’ve curtailed the spread of those operations.”
“Okay, so by putting Luciano in jail you helped limit crime and got a crime boss off the streets. I still don’t understand why the captain would give you a tough time about me. You’d think you’d be the star of the force.”
“When you put someone like Luciano away, someone the public sees as a vicious killer, you are a star. Everyone congratulates you. But when you go after someone like Costello—someone more subtle, more charismatic—you have to take a more roundabout approach.”
“What does it matter? A criminal’s a criminal.”
“No, that’s where you’re wrong. Some are more influential than others. And Costello?” He took the last sip from his bottle of Coca-Cola. “He’s the prime minister of the underworld, a consummate diplomat. If a politician needs to be reached or a judge fixed, Costello has just the right contacts to organize it. The trouble is when I went after Costello and named him as the city’s next public enemy, I upset a lot of his friends. Friends in some pretty high places. Kinney, my captain, got the heat for it.”
Rosie’s jaw dropped. “I’d always heard of crooked politicians, but I had no idea it was that widespread or that it existed at such high levels.”
“It wasn’t. Not until Costello got into the mix.”
“And so, because you went after Costello ...”
“Kinney, and the powers that be, want me to make an example of you.”
“An example of what? Convicting an innocent woman?”
“Doesn’t matter if you’re innocent or not. They want an arrest to prove that the system still works and that we’re not just focusing on Costello, but solving ‘real’ cases.”
“Why me? What did I do to deserve to be made an example of?”
“Luck of the draw. Truth is, they’d have chosen any case that would result in an easy arrest and an easier conviction. But don’t worry, I haven’t given up yet.” He eyed the gathering darkness around them and smiled. “Say, I’d better get you home before we have another city scandal on our hands.”
After discarding the remnants of their meal in a nearby trash can, Riordan escorted Rosie to the passenger seat of the Ford and then climbed into the driver’s seat. With his foot applying steady pressure on the clutch, he gave the ignition key a turn, causing the car to jolt back to life.
After performing a three-point turn, Riordan steered the Ford Deluxe
back onto Flushing Avenue. From there, it was a short drive to the Manhattan Bridge.
“So, now that I’ve told you everything I know, it’s time for you to share,” Rosie prompted. “What have you found out about Finch? Or aren’t you allowed to tell me?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you, but under the circumstances. . .”
“Yes?”
“Not much. We checked into Finch’s past and found a bunch of women he had been linked to at various times, but given what you’ve unearthed, that’s not shocking.”
“Do any of them seem like they might be suspects?”
“Not really. Like I said, Finch was ‘linked’ to them, but we couldn’t learn many details. They simply weren’t willing to open up to the cops the way they would to another woman. Not to mention that some of those relationships go back so far that it seems unlikely they’d take revenge now.”
Rosie sighed and leaned back against the passenger seat headrest. “And you found nothing in Finch’s office? Or his home?”
“The shipyard office contained nothing more than employee records and standard paperwork. Not surprising since Finch shared it with the second-shift supervisor. And his apartment was clean. So clean, in fact, that we needed to contact the bank in order to secure his financial records.”
Rosie sat up. “There was no paperwork at the apartment at all?”
“Not a scrap. Which means either Finch kept his records elsewhere, under lock and key, or someone got rid of them.”
“Mrs. Finch?” she suggested.
Riordan pulled a face. “I spoke with Mrs. Finch. I have no trouble believing she’d be carrying on with the butcher or anyone else who paid her a bit of attention and treated her kindly, but I don’t think she has any idea what she’d be looking for when it comes to financial matters.”
“Are you sure? Still waters run deep.”
Riordan made a right-hand turn onto the bridge. “Not a hundred percent, but pretty certain. She’s led a sheltered life. Unless she was being coached by someone else—”
“Simonetti?”
“I guess it’s possible. But why would she destroy those records? Because she was tucking money aside? Maybe, but I find it hard to believe that someone like Finch wouldn’t have noticed it.”
“Maybe he did and that’s why she and Simonetti bumped him off.”
“Anything’s possible,” he shrugged. “But we can’t make a case out of possibilities. Until we get that paperwork from the bank and give it a thorough read, we don’t have proof of anything.”
“When will you get those records?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, most likely.”
“I have a half day tomorrow. I can stop by after headquarters after work and—”
“No,” Riordan said sternly. “I shouldn’t have shared what I did. You’re not getting the bank information, too.”
“But I don’t see—”
“No arguments. I’ll take care of things from here.”
The trip over the bridge had taken less time than anticipated. In a few short moments, they were at the brownstone apartment building Rosie called home.
Riordan exited the driver’s side of the vehicle and walked to Rosie’s side in an attempt at gentlemanlike courtesy. She, however, had already let herself out.
“Thank you,” she said graciously, but it was apparent she was miffed. “Thank you for everything. Dinner. The talk. I appreciate it.”
“I’m not going to let you take the rap for this, Mrs. Keefe,” he said earnestly. “I won’t stand by and let that happen.”
Rosie, however, couldn’t see how Riordan had any other choice. “No, I’m sure you’ll do your best,” she agreed as she mounted the front steps of the building. “Good night.”
He tipped his hat and watched as she stepped inside and shut the windowed wooden door behind her. “Good night, Rosie,” he whispered once she was safely inside.
Rosie, meanwhile, trudged to her second-floor apartment, where Katie, clad in a blue cotton, short-sleeved nightgown, sprawled upon the overstuffed couch, listening to Hobby Lobby. “So?” the blonde greeted upon Rosie’s arrival.
“So what?”
Katie sprung to her feet and switched the radio to off. “So, did you talk to Lieutenant Riordan?”
“I did.”
“Did he convince you to tell him what you found out?”
“Yes, we had a good, long discussion.”
“I’m glad. We need someone we can trust on our side. And, well, I kinda like him. I think he’s nice.”
“Of course, you would,” Rosie teased. “He bought you lunch.”
“Very funny!” Katie stuck out her tongue.
Despite her heavy heart, Rosie plastered on a smile. “I’m joking. I told Lieutenant Riordan everything I know, and he told me everything he’s uncovered. Especially that you were the heroine of the day. But he saved the details for you to tell.”
“Oh, that? It was nothing, really.” She blushed before launching headlong into the tale of Marie Finch, the love letter, and Robert Finch’s old flame.
“I can’t thank you enough, lamb.” Rosie embraced her sister tightly and then, slipping out of her loafers, plopped onto the sofa.
“Did it help? Will my findings keep you out of jail?” Katie asked eagerly.
“According to Riordan, they’ll definitely help.”
“Just help? What else do you need?”
“Nothing, honey. There are just a few financial records missing. Once we find those, I’m as good as home.”
“How do we find them?” Katie sat on the cushion beside Rosie.
“‘We’ don’t find anything.”
“Oh, come on. I did a great job playing detective, didn’t I?”
“You sure did. There’s no denying that.”
“So, what gives? Why keep me out now? Tell me what’s going on.”
Rosie undid the belt of her canvas coveralls and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. She knew she couldn’t tell Katie about her imminent arrest, but she reluctantly told her about the lack of documents at the shipyard office and the apartment. “The police did a search of Finch’s apartment and came up empty.”
“Empty how?”
“Empty as in they found no bank records or other financial documents.”
“Oh, is that all!”
“What do you mean, ‘Is that all?’ Katie-girl, sometimes you worry me.”
“Huh? All I meant is that Pop always hid money and stuff from Ma.”
Rosie jolted upright. “He did? I didn’t know that.”
“Well, if you’d have stopped arguing with Ma long enough, he might have told you.” Katie smiled smugly.
“‘Well, if you had’ blah, blah, blah,” she mocked. “You forget that most of the times I argued with Ma it was on your behalf.”
“Oh, please. You two would have gone at it even if Pop and I weren’t there.”
“Maybe,” Rosie said. “Just tell me about the money and the bills, will you?”
Katie leaned forward eagerly. “Okay, do you remember when Ma had that hat fetish?”
“Of course. Who could forget it? She saw that Hedda Hopper photo in the paper and decided she wanted to model herself after her.”
“Uh-huh. Once he got a huge bill from the milliner’s, Dad kept all his spare cash and other stuff under lock and key.”
“Lock and key where?”
“The toolshed in the backyard. He knew Ma would never have gone back there and gotten her hands dirty. That’s why he kept the racing form back there, too.”
“Is that where he kept it? You know, I always wondered about that. Ma would remove it from the paper in the morning and yet Pop would always have it back again by supper.”
Katie nodded. “He made me promise to keep it a secret.”
“Oh, and you keep that a secret. Meanwhile, you ratted me out for ...” Rosie’s voice trailed off. “Wait a minute. If Ma and Pop, who otherwise got along okay, kept secrets from each othe
r, it only makes sense that Finch, a man with a lot of secrets—”
“Scads of them,” Katie confirmed.
“—would have had even more reason to keep his bank records and bills under lock and key.”
“Did the Finches have a toolshed at their apartment building?”
Rosie laughed. “Afraid not, but I’m sure he would have picked a hiding place he could be sure his wife wouldn’t check. Now, if I could only get into that apartment... .”
“Oh, but you can. Simonetti’s note said that Marie Finch is staying with her sister all weekend. That means their place is empty.”
“You’re forgetting something. I don’t even know where the Finches live.”
“I do,” Katie happily said.
“You do? Really?”
“Yep.” Katie rose from the sofa and collected her handbag, which hung from the back of the bedroom door. Reaching inside, she removed a scrap of paper and read the words scribbled hastily in pencil. “‘253 Van Brunt Street, upstairs apartment.’”
“You’re amazing, Katie. How did you get that?”
“I overheard it at the butcher’s shop and scribbled it down as soon as I left, just in case it might come in handy for something.”
“Handy? You have no idea how handy,” Rosie said appreciatively. “Hmm ... So all I have to do is find a way to get into the apartment and hope I find what I’m looking for.”
“‘We,’” Katie corrected. “All ‘we’ have to do is find what we’re looking for.”
“Katieeee,” Rosie sang. “No. If you won’t listen to me, listen to Lieutenant Riordan.”
“Lieutenant Riordan?”
“Yes, he told you you’re not to do any more sleuthing, didn’t he?”
“Well, maybe ...” Katie stared at her feet awkwardly. “Since when do you listen to what he has to say?”
“I don’t ... Well, not much anyway. But he wouldn’t approve of me breaking in, let alone you acting as my accomplice. It’s best you stay home, sweetie.”
“You’ve been telling me to stay home since we were kids,” Katie whined, “and I’m tired of it! You said yourself that I did a great job as a detective. Besides, it seems to me that you could use a lookout when you check out Finch’s place. You know, someone to give a whistle should the cops or anyone else show up.”
Don't Die Under the Apple Tree Page 15