“We told him, but he said it wasn’t about that case. Said it was something else, something real important, and you’d want to hear what he had to say.”
Since most of Frank’s cases were solved by some bum who wanted a bribe for turning in a friend, he figured he should at least hear what this fellow had to say. There was still that warehouse robbery he was working on. The owner had offered a big reward, but so far he hadn’t had any luck finding the missing merchandise. In cases like that, a lot of crooks didn’t even bother trying to fence the stolen goods. They’d just wait for the police detective to track them down, turn the merchandise over, and split the reward with him. Just another cost of doing business for the merchant, and everybody benefited.
Frank found the right cell, and at the sight of him, one of the prisoners inside hurried over to the bars. “Malloy, do you remember me?”
He was shabbily dressed, his hair long and greasy, his face small and sharp, like a weasel’s. “Finn, is it?” Frank asked.
“Finnegan,” he corrected with a grin that showed blackened teeth. “I heard you was asking around about a murder.”
“You’re too late, Finnegan. I already arrested the killer.”
“The one what killed the doctor?” he asked in dismay.
“What doctor?” Malloy asked.
“Young fellow. Doc Brandt, his name was. It’s been a couple years now, but-”
“What do you know about it?” Frank snapped, reaching through the bars and grabbing the man by his lapel. He hauled him up against the bars until his face was squished between them.
“Easy there, boss,” Finnegan said, his voice high with apprehension. “You don’t have to get rough. I’ll tell you without that!”
“Tell me, then,” Frank said, not letting him go.
“Well, I… I don’t know much myself, you understand, but I can give you a name, somebody what does know.”
“You’re right, that’s not much,” Frank said, releasing him slightly, then banging him against the bars again. He figured Finnegan was just angling to get out of whatever fix he’d gotten into and knew somehow that Frank had been asking around about Dr. Brandt’s death.
“You can trust Ol’ Finnegan,” he said desperately. “I wouldn’t lead you wrong. This fellow, he knows all about what happened to the young doctor. There’s some swell involved in it, too. I don’t know his name, but Danny does.”
“Danny who?” Frank asked skeptically.
Finnegan grabbed on to the bars so Frank couldn’t slam him again. “I don’t know his last name, but if you get me out of here, I’ll take you to him.”
“And this Danny will just tell me everything out of the goodness of his heart?”
“I didn’t say he’d tell it willing, did I? All I said was he knows. Getting him to tell, I guess that’s your job, ain’t it?”
Frank stared at the little weasel of a man. Chances were he was lying through his teeth. Chances were there was no man named Danny, and if there was, he didn’t know a thing about Tom Brandt’s death.
Frank had already warned Sarah Brandt that she wasn’t going to be involved in any more murder investigations. This meant she wasn’t going to be involved with Frank, either. She’d soon lose interest in Brian, too, and then he’d never see her again. That was exactly what should happen, too. Hadn’t he just told himself he didn’t even have a right to know her? If he started investigating her husband’s death in earnest, though, sooner or later he’d have to involve her again. That would be wrong. And cruel. Selfish, too.
“Guard,” he called, releasing Finnegan. “Open the cell. I want to question this prisoner privately.”
Author’s Note
WHEN I WAS DOING RESEARCH FOR THIS BOOK, I CAME across an account of the trials of Maria Barbella, the Italian woman I mentioned in the story who had slashed her lover’s throat because he refused to marry her. Her story was a classic case of justice denied because the defendant was a poor immigrant. Maria was fortunate to attract the attention of a wealthy patroness who championed her cause and won her a new trial. The second time, she was found not guilty because she was temporarily insane, one of the first individuals to be acquitted on those grounds.
As I read Maria’s story, I was struck by how contemporary it sounded. Maria’s case was first tried in the media of her era, the dozens of scandal sheets that passed for newspapers at the time. They judged her guilty and made a case against her before she ever came to trial. As reporters vied to make the story more sensational so they could sell more papers, the truth was mangled beyond recognition. Maria spent a long year on death row before she was granted a new trial.
Maria became a media celebrity in particular because she was the killer. In most cases where a lover was killed, the victim was the woman, and the man went on trial. In such cases, the woman’s reputation was often destroyed in the press until the public came to believe she’d only gotten what she deserved. Today we call this putting the victim on trial, and the tactic continues to work, convincing juries to free even the most heinous of murderers.
I continue to be amazed at how little has changed in the hundred years since Frank and Sarah walked the streets of New York City. I hope you find reading about it as fascinating as I find writing about it. Please let me know what you thought of this book. You may contact me at:
Victoria Thompson
PO Box 638
Duncansville, PA 16635
http://members.aol.com/vestinpa/index.html
Victoria Thompson
