“Of course not. I’m a good citizen. I always cooperate one hundred percent with the authorities.”
If there was any sarcasm in her words, I couldn’t find it.
“I came, at your request,” she said, “although I must admit I don’t understand why you would want to question me in regard to a murder. Particularly one committed while I was out of the city.”
“Where were you on February second?” Drury asked.
She batted long lashes, innocently; her eyes were wide and brown and lovely. “I was in New York City, of course. I was staying at the Alamac Hotel. To be close to my husband in his hour of need. Nicky and I learned of her death together, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
She was twisting a lace hanky in her hands, nervously. “We were sitting outside of the grand jury room of the U.S. Courthouse in New York, and someone brought in a copy of a Chicago paper. The Herald-American, I think it was. There was a picture of Estelle on the front page, but at first I didn’t recognize it. I recognized the name, though. So I turned to Nicky and said, ‘Didn’t this girl work for you?’ And he looked at her picture and said, ‘Yes.’ Then he said, ‘Let me read that paper.’”
“What did he have to say?”
She lowered her eyes. “‘That poor girl,’ he said.”
“I see. Let’s start at the beginning. Did you know about Estelle Carey?”
She shook her head, no. “I didn’t know her. I knew who she was, but we never talked. I wouldn’t recognize the sound of her voice if I heard it today. Oh, I saw her from time to time-at the dice tables at the 101 Club and the Colony Club, which Nicky owned.”
Drury smiled, but his eyes and forehead frowned; this woman was either very naive or very crafty, and, either way, it was getting to him. “Mrs. Circella, I didn’t ask if you knew Estelle. I asked if you knew about her. By which I mean…”
She licked the lush lips. “I heard the rumors that she and Nicky were friendly. I could never verify them, though.”
“How hard did you try?”
She smiled slightly, regally. “I didn’t. I never tried. I’m a Catholic, Captain Drury. When I married I made a contract with God. None of us is infallible. I am not my husband’s judge. Nick has been a good husband to me for nineteen years.”
“Have you been aware of how he’s earned his living during that time?”
“Yes. Nightclubs. But they were no part of my life. I spent my time at home, with our two children. I won’t pretend I liked his business. It’s the one thing we’ve argued about. But when I’ve asked him to give up his nightclubs, his answer is always the same-that he had to do something for a living.”
Drury was drumming his fingers on the desk. “Were you aware that Nick was connected with the Stagehands Union?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I know Mr. Browne and Willie. But Nicky resigned from the union before all the trouble started.”
“You know nothing of a million-dollar slush fund then?”
She smiled again. “The FBI and the Internal Revenue Service have that same interest. I’m sure if we had a million dollars, I’d know about it.”
“And you don’t?”
“Of course not.”
Drury sighed. “You were in show business once yourself, weren’t you, Mrs. Circella?”
She sat up; she didn’t seem so frail, all of a sudden. “I met Nicky when I was appearing in a show at the Cort Theater. Each night he’d come and listen to my singing. Then he’d send roses. Finally we met through a mutual friend. That was in 1923; we were married the following year.” The past glory faded, and she settled back into the chair, frail again. “Now I can’t even sing the baby to sleep, since I had diphtheria. My vocal cords were affected, but that doesn’t matter. When I married Nicky, I washed my hands of show business. A wife stays home and minds the children, like Nicky says.”
“Getting back to Estelle Carey…”
“I was at fault.”
Drury leaned forward. “Pardon?”
She gestured with the lacy hanky. “I have been a sick wife for a long, long time. Nick couldn’t be blamed for seeking the company of a gorgeous creature like Estelle-and she was gorgeous.”
Was as in past tense.
She went nobly on: “None of us knows what life has in store for us. We are all in God’s hands.”
Anyway, Estelle was.
She smiled bravely. “I have only pity for Estelle Carey. She missed everything that is fine in life-home, family, the respect and esteem that are every woman’s birthright.”
“No bitterness at all, then.”
She shook her head no. “I’m sorry for her from the bottom of my heart. Since this has happened, I’ve gone to church and lit candles in her memory. Her murder was a terrible, terrible thing.”
Drury smiled politely, rising, gesturing to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Circella. You’re free to go now. Thank you for stopping by.”
She rose, smiled politely back at him. Fluttered her eyelashes. Great eyes on this dame. “Certainly, Captain Drury,” she said.
“Sergeant Donahoe, in the hall there, will show you out.”
She walked by me, snugging on navy gloves, trailing a wake of expensive tasteful perfume. I closed the door behind her.
Drury sat back down. “What do you think?”
I was still standing. “Some classy broad.”
“I mean, is she on the level?”
“Yeah. In her way.”
“What do you mean, in her way?”
I shrugged. “She’s lying to herself, not to you. She’s human; she hated Estelle like any good wife would. But she prefers to affect her good-Catholic-wife, stiff-upper-lip, superiority-through-suffering stance. It gets her through the day.”
“In other words, her marriage is an arrangement she can live with.”
“I’d say so.”
“I say if she’d been in town Tuesday, we might have a real suspect.”
“No. I don’t think so. I can’t picture that sweet little thing with an icepick in her hand.”
“Sometimes women can surprise you, Nate.”
“Hell, they always surprise me. Personally, I wouldn’t mind finding a wife like that-beautiful, devoted, expects you to fool around on the side. I didn’t know they made ’em like that anymore.”
“You want a girl just like the girl that married dear old Nick.”
“Maybe. Anyway, I don’t think she’s a killer. I don’t think she even hired a killer.”
“The papers are going to love her,” Drury said, glumly cynical. “They’ll fall all over themselves for that ‘every woman’s birthright’ speech.”
“You got that right. Anything else you’d care to share with me? Or should I let you get back to your couple of hundred suspects?”
His face narrowed into anger, or at least a semblance thereof. He shook his finger at me. “Yes there is. Why didn’t you give me D’Angelo’s name?”
“Oh. So Uncle Sam finally ran him down for you, huh?”
“Yes, and we were out to see him this morning. And we discovered you’d been there Wednesday night. What gives?”
I held my hands out, palms open. “He was on Guadalcanal with me, Bill. He was in that same shell hole as Barney and me. We almost got killed together. I owed him a warning of what was ahead for him-cops, reporters. He had that much coming.”
“Being in the service together doesn’t justify withholding information…”
“Yes it does.”
He shook his head. “Go on, make me feel like a heel. You been to fight the big war and I haven’t. Make me feel like a piker.” He thrust his finger at me. “But if you’re going to be sniffing around the edges of this case, don’t you goddamn dare withhold information or evidence from me again; our friendship isn’t going to cover that, Nate.”
“Understood.”
“Now do me a favor and get the hell out of here.”
I did.
On my way out, I stopped by Sergeant Donahoe’s desk. “You got it?” I asked him.