The apartment looked spacious and luxurious to me, but it must have been much smaller than what the Onetos were accustomed to in Sicily.
I still heard weeping in Lina’s room, so I took the plate of cookies into the living room myself. Sebastian still stood near the door, expecting more mourners, I supposed. I hoped some turned up. He looked like he needed sustenance, so I took the cookies over to him. He took one and nibbled on it.
‘If we were in Palermo it would be different. Alessa had dozens of friends,’ Sebastian said, as if apologizing for the size of the reception.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘It’s wartime. Everything is different.’
‘Your friend Mrs Coleman told me that Alessa wore old clothes to your knitting group. That sounds like her. She would want to be treated the same as the other women there. She must have changed somewhere, because she always left here in her own clothing.’
I wondered where Alessa had changed. ‘She used a different name, too,’ I said.
‘Di Luca,’ Sebastian said. ‘Luca was her father’s name.’
A knock sounded at the door, and Sebastian opened it.
Outside stood a short stocky man dressed in a cheap suit that didn’t fit him. He was a laborer; the hands that held his hat were chafed and reddened from the scrubbing they received every day.
‘Please come in,’ Oneto said.
‘I shouldn’t,’ the man said. He reached out a calloused hand to Oneto, who took it without hesitation. ‘I’m Enzo Carini. I work in the hotel silver room. I ran a few errands for the Countess. I only want to pay my respects.’
‘Thank you, Mr Carini,’ Oneto said. ‘You’re welcome. Please do come in and have a cup of tea.’
Carini looked directly at the hotel manager, who nodded his permission.
Carini perched gingerly on the edge of a chair, looking uncomfortable and out of place. I brought him a cup of tea and a cookie, and he seemed relieved to have something to do with his hands.
Sebastian still stood alone next to the door, while the others in the room chatted. I couldn’t bear to see him there, waiting for mourners who would never come. I joined him.
‘You know,’ Sebastian said, without any prompting, ‘Alessa was rarely despondent, but she was quite somber when she returned from New York on Thursday.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It was as if she’d acquired a heavy burden.’
My heart raced. The name of the quisling! Alessa’s asset had given it to her! So where was it?
‘I should have paid more attention to her mood. But I assumed it was because of her brother. She was often quiet after seeing him.’
‘Her brother?’ I said. ‘She had a brother?’
‘Yes, a half-brother, Salvatore. It’s one of those ridiculous open secrets that families like ours keep. Alessa’s father had an illegitimate son when he was very young. Of course, he couldn’t marry the girl, she was a peasant. But he kept in touch with the boy and visited him often with Alessa after his marriage. Later he helped him emigrate to the United States.’
‘Alessa visited him secretly?’
‘More or less. I was happy for her to see him. My mother, that’s another matter. She is old-fashioned. She thought it appalling that Alessa recognized Turi.’
I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Why don’t you come sit down?’ I said. ‘I’ll get you some tea.’
Sebastian smiled for the first time that afternoon. He looked much younger. ‘I need fortification much stronger than tea,’ he said. ‘Later.’ Then the smile vanished. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘Alessa and I postponed having children because of the war. I regret that so much now.’
I was grateful for a knock at the door and to see Sebastian greet two couples near his own age. The women both embraced him, and the men, wearing black armbands, shook his hand warmly.
The swelling of the crowd gave me an opportunity to explore the apartment. I wanted to see how the bedrooms and bathrooms were laid out.
I went to Lucia’s side and whispered to her, asking for the bathroom.
‘Dear,’ she said, nodding at the doorway to what I’d gathered was the bedroom hallway, ‘go in there. The first bathroom you come to is mine. You are welcome to use it.’
I closed the door behind me, and the chatter of the reception faded into silence. I’d been correct; this was the bedroom hallway. All the immediate doors were open or ajar, which saved me the worry of opening them.
I peeked into the first room. Lucia’s, obviously. It was crowded with furniture: a wardrobe, despite a large closet; a vanity; and a boudoir chair. The rose patterned bedspread matched the curtains, which matched the fabric on the boudoir chair, creating a garden of pink and green that would have given me a headache.
The bathroom that Lucia and Alessa shared was next door. I opened the medicine cabinet, and among the aspirin, tooth powder, and cold creams rested a full bottle of laudanum and a tin of Nembutal tablets. I assumed they replaced the ones the police must have taken for fingerprinting.
Next down the hallway was Sebastian and Alessa’s room. He hadn’t cleaned out her things: they were strewn everywhere. She had an additional wardrobe, too. The door was open, revealing her clothing. A lacy negligee and matching dressing gown hung on a hook. Even her knitting basket sat on the floor next to the desk she and Sebastian kept in their room instead of a dressing table. Its walnut surface was piled with books of Italian poetry and literature. Her jewelry case lay open on the boudoir chair. She owned some lovely pieces. So she wasn’t the victim of a robbery. It was unlikely that a burglar would force laudanum on her, anyway.
A quick search of the wardrobe and closet didn’t turn up Alessa’s ‘thrift shop disguise’.
The men’s bathroom was stark in comparison to the women’s. The medicine cabinet contained only shaving equipment, aspirin, and tooth powder.
Unlike the others, Orazio’s bedroom door was closed. I hesitated to open it. I told myself I was running out of time to pretend I was using the bathroom, but I finally did turn the doorknob. It was locked. Well, why not, I thought as I made my way back to the living room. Orazio wasn’t a member of this family. It was reasonable for him to want some privacy.
Some of the mourners left the party. Enzo was gone, as was Mr Mack, the two women whom I’d assumed were friends of Lucia’s, and Pearl. One of the younger men was pouring whisky into a highball glass for Sebastian, and I felt it was time for me to go.
I heard the clatter of crockery from the kitchenette and decided to make one last attempt to talk to Lina.
She stood at the sink, washing teacups, her eyes still red from weeping.
‘Let me help you,’ I said, picking up a dish towel to dry the cups.
She nodded, and I wondered how to begin the conversation, or whether Lina could even speak English. Lina solved that problem for me herself.
‘I blame myself,’ Lina said, in English I could barely follow. ‘If I had not left the countess alone, perhaps she would not have done it. She was very quiet when she arrived home, but I hadn’t had an evening off in three weeks, and no one else was home.’
I grasped at the straw she offered me. ‘Alessa was alone? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, of course. The countess arrived home in the late afternoon on Thursday. The dowager countess went to dinner with friends. Alessa, the count, and Signore Rossi ate a light supper, and then the men went to a speech given by Count Sforza.’ Sforza was a former Italian foreign minister and leader of Italian anti-fascists abroad. ‘The countess asked me if I’d like the evening off, and of course I said yes,’ Lina continued. ‘She said she didn’t need me, she would go to the coffee shop for a sandwich and go to bed early.’
Interesting! The apartment had been empty for part of the evening. Had Alessa left the door locked or unlocked? Who had keys?
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said. ‘You couldn’t possibly have known.’ I patted her on the back, and she managed a slight smile.
I took my leave of Count Oneto and what guests remained.
Laura went down in the elevator with me brimming over with excitement. She’d known a countess, she’d gone to a reception at the Mayflower, and she couldn’t wait to tell her friends. Of course, it was so sad about Alessa.
I called a taxi while Laura waited for the bus. An expense, but one I was willing to assume to avoid Laura’s chattering and have time to think. Questions overwhelmed my ability to organize them.
Had Alessa killed herself? Everyone in the household knew where Lucia’s medications were. They were common drugs – Phoebe had prescriptions for both.
Had Alessa been murdered? If so, had her death involved our operation?
Why did Lucia dislike Alessa so?
What had happened in New York that had made Alessa despondent? Did it have anything to do with her asset, or was it personal? Was her half-brother involved?
If Alessa had returned from New York with the name of our quisling, where was it? Had the police and the FBI searched the apartment thoroughly? What were the results of their search and of the autopsy? If she had the name we needed I couldn’t believe she’d commit suicide without delivering it to me.
What errands had Enzo Carini run for Alessa?
Where had Alessa changed into her thrift shop disguise?
Who could have entered the residential areas of the Mayflower without being questioned, and how? Why had Alessa let him in? Had she known him?
Had she been murdered? Was the Mafia involved?
There were way too many questions for me to answer. I was relieved I would be turning all this over to Colonel Melinsky tomorrow.
Colonel Melinsky was furious. So were Don and Max Corso.
‘What did you think you were doing?’ Melinsky asked.
‘I did what I thought—’
‘You weren’t supposed to think!’ Don said. ‘OSS had closed down this operation! We’d turned this over to the DC Police and the Office of Naval Intelligence. Didn’t you understand that when we talked last week, or weren’t you listening?’
‘Of course I was listening,’ I said, as calmly as I could manage. ‘But—’
‘There are no “buts” in espionage,’ Melinsky said. ‘Following orders is crucial. You have no idea – damn it, one of the other guests at the apartment could have been an agent. You might have blown your cover! This is what happens when a half-trained person exceeds her assignment!’
Corso cleared his throat. ‘The Coroner’s Office has issued a certificate of suicide in Alessa Oneto’s death. Do you think you know better than the DC Police and the Coroner?’
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t ask you. I made a decision.’
Melinsky fumbled for his cigarettes, and I noticed his gold ring with the Rurik coat of arms. His English was so good that I’d almost forgotten he was a Russian nobleman.
While Melinsky lit his cigarette I had time to compose myself. The last thing I’d expected when I met with him this morning was a dressing down. I’d actually thought Melinsky, Don, and Max Corso, would be pleased with the information I brought them, the evidence that Alessa Oneto could have been murdered, that her death might have had something to do with her bringing back the name of our Mafia sleeper. I was wrong.
‘You should have declined the invitation to the reception and informed me of it this morning. That’s all.’
I could not believe my ears. I wasn’t supposed to collect crucial information that might still lead to our sleeper? What nonsense! What idiocy!
But I held my tongue. I’d learned years ago to keep my mouth shut. My bosses, Melinsky, Corso, even Don, were important men. I was a female file clerk. Arguing with them wasn’t an option if I wanted to keep my job. And I did want to keep it, even if I had to wire my mouth shut.
‘I apologize,’ I said.
Melinsky exhaled a puff of smoke. ‘I know you believed you were doing the right thing,’ he said, some of his anger dissipating. ‘I understand that.’
Did all this mean Melinsky would do nothing with the information I’d gathered from the reception? I found it hard to believe he would consider anything else other than delivering it straight to the FBI. It was unconscionable. Still I kept my mouth shut.
‘I’m afraid this requires disciplinary action,’ Don said.
Oh no!
‘Corso and I agree,’ Melinsky said.
‘Suspension for insubordination for the rest of the week, without pay,’ Don said. ‘You will, of course, return to your job on Monday. You are an excellent clerk, and we need you here.’
Filing papers. Typing index cards. Good to know I excelled at that. I felt like a dependable plow mule.
‘You may tell the girls in your office and anyone else who asks that you’ve been assigned to another special project,’ Don said. ‘We don’t want them to know you’ve been disciplined. That might weaken your authority.’
‘The suspension will be between the four of us,’ Melinsky added.
But it would be recorded in my personnel file, a strike against me if I applied for a promotion or permanent employment after the war.
On my way back to the office my anger built to near explosion levels and my stomach cramped until it felt like a tennis ball lodged in my abdomen.
My refuge, the ladies’ bathroom, was empty. I took my usual reflective position on a toilet, my legs drawn up, my feet resting on the seat, and my head on my knees. But I didn’t cry. Instead I beat on the wooden stall partition, with both hands, livid with anger. Who the hell did those three men think they were, to berate me, to suspend me, for taking a little initiative! What I reported to them this morning was valuable and important. Following up on it might save lives. I bet they’d figure out a way to get some of what I’d learned to the ONI, and guess who would get credit for it! Not me! What could you expect from someone like Melinsky, a man whose family owned serfs!
Damn Don! He wouldn’t have dared suspend me if our workload hadn’t slacked off!
I’d been suspended for insubordination! Even though I didn’t have to admit it to anyone, a black mark would stay on my record, harming my chances for promotion. I’d be sorting index cards for the rest of the war, however long it lasted.
I stalked down the hallway to my office, keeping my eyes averted so I didn’t have to acknowledge anyone, even Dora, who passed by me with a stack of books and papers and a pencil stuck behind her ear and one in her mouth.
Betty was the only one of my girls in the office.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Ruth and Brenda have gone for coffee. They should be back soon. How was your weekend?’
Had I had a weekend? I almost didn’t remember; it seemed like a month ago.
‘Not so great,’ I said. ‘A woman I knew died. I went to a reception in her memory on Sunday.’
Betty turned to me, wiping the carbon from her hands with the damp cloth she kept on her desk.
‘I’m so sorry. Who was she? Someone I know?’
‘You probably read about her in the newspaper,’ I said. ‘She was the countess who died in her apartment in the Mayflower. I knew her from a knitting group we were in together. Except I didn’t know she was a countess. She didn’t tell us.’
Why was I telling Betty this? Why didn’t I say, sure, I had a swell time over the weekend, went out drinking and jitterbugging like a normal government girl? Then I remembered my social niceties.
‘And how was your weekend?’ I asked Betty.
She instantly brightened in that all too familiar way. ‘I had the nicest time,’ she said. ‘I went out with a swell guy.’
The one thing that could distract me from my pity party was the idea that Betty already
had a new boyfriend. The girl was incorrigible.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said, reading my expression. ‘He’s not like the others.’
‘Does he wear a uniform? Is he about to be sent overseas? Is he lonely?’ That was unkind and cynical, but I couldn’t help myself in the mood I was in.
Betty flushed. ‘I don’t blame you for being annoyed, but Ralph is different. For one thing he’s a policeman, a lieutenant. He’s pretty old – over thirty. He’s not in the Army because he’s Four-F.’
‘Where did you meet him?’ Some bar, I assumed.
Betty’s flush spread down her neck and chest. ‘At the jail. He was so nice to me.’
This I could not believe. I rolled my eyes.
‘Don’t do that!’ she said. ‘His sister got in the same fix, so he understands! I’ve learned my lesson, I really have!’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘all right. I’m sorry.’ And I was. I should give the girl a chance to prove she’d grown up.
Ruth and Brenda arrived, refreshed by their cups of joe.
‘Is there any coffee left in the cafeteria?’ Betty asked.
‘Plenty,’ Ruth answered, pulling on her black sleeve protectors. ‘It’s the beginning of the week. You go on.’
‘Can I bring you some, Louise?’ Betty asked.
‘You look like you could use it,’ Ruth said, studying my face.
All the coffee in the world couldn’t make me feel better.
‘Wait for a minute, Betty,’ I said. ‘I need to talk to you all for a few minutes.’
‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Ruth said.
‘Nothing catastrophic,’ I said, ‘but I’ve been assigned to a new project. Another private library that needs sorting for useful material. It’s here in town, so I’ll be around. Ruth, you’ll be in charge. If you have any questions or problems, ask Joan Adams. General Donovan is still out of the country, so she has some free time.’
Ruth sighed. ‘Nobody in this building listens to me the way they do to you,’ she said. ‘Not Dr Murray, not Mr Austine, not anyone. They make a mess of the files and reports, and we have to clean up after them.’
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