“What story does Mr. Donato have?” Malloy asked in obvious confusion. “And why did he tell it to you?”
“He told it to me when I went over there to discuss Emilia’s burial plans. You see, Emilia wasn’t the Donatos’ child at all! Their child died at birth. The midwife who delivered it had just delivered a baby to a prostitute. She was going to take it to an orphanage, but Mr. Donato decided to switch the babies, so Mrs. Donato wouldn’t be upset because her baby died.”
“And that’s why the girl didn’t look Italian,” Malloy guessed.
“And why Mrs. Donato thought she’d been fathered by a sailor.”
“And why Mr. Donato never questioned the girl’s paternity,” Malloy decided. “But it still doesn’t mean Mrs. Donato killed her.”
“Maeve said Emilia wanted her mother to see her in her new clothes. Mrs. Wells told me Mrs. Donato sells paper flowers in City Hall Park. Emilia would have known that. She went down there to see her mother. They must have gotten into an argument, and all of Mrs. Donato’s anger made her finally kill the girl she’d always hated. You see, Malloy, this explains everything. Now it all makes sense – why she was in the park and why the killer used a hat pin. Everything makes sense.”
She knew she was right, and Malloy knew it, too. She could tell by the way he was frowning. He hadn’t even tasted the pie yet.
“Does she know Emilia wasn’t her child?” he asked after a moment.
“I don’t think so, unless Mr. Donato told her since I saw him, but I can’t imagine why he would after all these years.”
“I can use that, then,” he said thoughtfully.
“Use it for what?”
“To break her and get her to confess.”
14
FRANK SUPPOSED HE WAS GOING TO BE ANGRY every minute for the rest of his natural life. He didn’t see any other possibility as long as he continued his acquaintance with Sarah Brandt. The worst part was that the thing he was angriest about was something he didn’t have any right to even feel. That thing was, of course, jealousy of Richard Dennis.
Why should he be surprised to find Dennis at her house on a Sunday afternoon? He was exactly the kind of man she deserved – a man with money and social position and good manners. Frank supposed he should be grateful for the good manners. In Dennis’s place, Frank would’ve thrown a scruffy police detective out into the street for speaking to Sarah the way Frank had spoken to her today. Not that she didn’t deserve it, of course, but still, he’d been pretty rude.
On the other hand, Frank would have preferred being beaten senseless to hearing Sarah accept Dennis’s dinner invitation. The man might be well bred, but he knew how to inflict exquisite pain just the same. Frank would carry the bitter memory of her “delighted” acceptance for a long time to come. His mother would tell him he’d gotten no more than he deserved for trying to get above himself. Even worse, she’d be right.
Fortunately, Frank had the trip from Bank Street down to Mulberry Bend to get himself back under control again. He even managed to give some thought as to how he would approach Mrs. Donato. Remembering how dangerous the Italians could be with their knives – and their hat pins – Frank picked up a couple patrolmen at Headquarters to accompany him. He left one downstairs at the front door, and the other he instructed to wait in the hallway outside their flat.
When they had reached the top of the stairs, however, Frank saw that he needn’t have worried. The door stood open, and Frank could see Mrs. Donato sitting alone at her kitchen table. The remains of the family’s Sunday dinner still sat, untouched, and she was simply staring at nothing, oblivious even to her visitor.
“Mrs. Donato?” Frank said, startling her.
She looked up, not recognizing him at first. “We pay rent,” she said, hardly able to work up any indignation.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy from the police,” he said. Her eyes widened in alarm, but he hurried on, “I want to ask you some more questions about your daughter.”
She seemed to shrink into herself at the mention of Emilia. “I know nothing. No can help you.”
Frank went into the flat and pulled out a chair. He turned it and straddled it, resting his arms on the back and leaning in close to Mrs. Donato. He could see her eyes were bloodshot, as if she hadn’t been sleeping, and her face was gray. She had been suffering the torment of the damned, but Frank was going to give her an opportunity to bare her blackened soul.
“You didn’t like your daughter much, did you, Mrs. Donato?” he began.
She stiffened. True or not, such a thing would be difficult to admit. “She bad, all a time bad. No listen. No good.”
“Maybe she just wanted her mother to love her,” he suggested.
The woman drew back, eyeing him warily. He was dangerous. She could see that now. “She be good, I love then,” she tried.
“She could never be good enough to make you forget the sailors, though, could she?” he prodded.
Even the gray drained out of her face, leaving her white. “How you know?” she demanded in an agonized whisper.
“You hated Emilia because of the sailors, because of what they did to you,” he said ruthlessly. “You thought one of them was her father, because she had yellow hair.”
She was staring at him as if he were a poisonous snake ready to strike. She couldn’t stop him, so she simply braced herself for the pain.
“Poor Emilia, she never did anything wrong,” Frank lamented. “She didn’t know why you hated her, but you hated her from the minute she was born, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. The woman was too terrified to speak. “Now that’s the sad part. That’s really sad, because there was something you didn’t know about Emilia. Something your husband didn’t tell you.”
“Antonio know nothing!” she insisted.
“He knows Emilia isn’t your baby,” Frank said.
Her face wrinkled in confusion. “Emilia my baby.”
Frank shook his head sadly. “Your baby died.”
She shook her head frantically. She knew this couldn’t be true.
“Your baby died,” Frank repeated relentlessly. “But the midwife had another baby, a baby nobody wanted. She was going to take her to an orphanage, but Antonio took it instead.”
She was shaking her head harder now. She didn’t want it to be true.
“Antonio didn’t want you to be sad because your baby died. He didn’t know about the sailors. He didn’t know you wanted the baby to die. So he took the baby girl that nobody wanted, and he gave her to you. The baby with yellow hair. Emilia.”
“Vi trovate!” she cried. “Lies!”
“You know it’s the truth. That’s what Antonio would do, isn’t it? He’d do anything to make you happy, even take a bastard child nobody wanted. Did he ever ask you why Emilia had yellow hair? Did he ever wonder? Did he ever suspect you had betrayed him?”
She was moaning and still shaking her head, but he could see the horror in her eyes. She knew it was true, and now she had to face what she had done to that poor child.
“You hated her for no reason. She was innocent, and all she wanted was her mother’s love, but you hated her instead. You drove her out, and when she tried to come back, you killed her!”
She threw her arms over her head and screamed, slumping to the floor.
Behind him, Frank heard doors opening and feet running. He turned to see several women rushing to rescue their neighbor.
“Police,” he announced loudly, stopping them instantly. They eyed him cautiously, torn between fear of him and a desire to help their friend.
Mrs. Donato was writhing on the floor, babbling in Italian.
“What’s she saying?” he demanded, wondering if any of them spoke English.