LITMIR.BIZ

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jeans and tennis shoes.

      He felt a sudden pang, then realized its source. Anna Maria’s skin was hardly lighter than Jamie Wilkerson’s. Jamie Wilkerson, Marvia Plum’s son by her first husband. He had almost been Lindsey’s stepson. He was Anna Maria’s age, and if things had gone differently in California, Jamie and Marvia might have been in New York now, and Jamie and Anna Maria might have become friends.

      Lindsey blinked himself out of his reverie and back to the moment.

      Why had Cletus never mentioned his daughter? If she were mine, Lindsey thought, she’d be the apple of my eye. But the more he thought of Berry’s friendly manner, his amusing conversation, his little history lessons and anecdotes, the more he realized that he’d learned nothing about Berry’s personal life from their time together.

      What do you say to a child whose father was just murdered?

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Anna Maria.” The girl had extended her hand halfway to Lindsey. Ezio Pinza had crept around her ankles and watched Lindsey suspiciously. Lindsey shook the girl’s hand. It was warm and pleasant to the touch. If she were mine, he thought, I’d protect her from the world that killed her father. I’d—he blinked and released her hand. He realized that she had been tugging it away. He felt embarrassed.

      To her mother, the girl said, “Can I go to my room? I want to talk to Mosé.”

      Ester shook her head. “He doesn’t know yet, Anna darling. I should call Abramo and Sara.”

      Zaffira, standing behind Lindsey, said, “I’ll do it, sister. It’s too much, you don’t have to do that.”

      “I already told him,” Anna Maria said.

      “You what?” Ester sat bolt upright.

      “Last night. I couldn’t sleep. I just sat in bed with Ezio and tried to read a book but I couldn’t so I logged on and talked to Mosé. I know he told his parents. They’ll probably phone you today.”

      Ester nodded, “All right, Anna. Go ahead.” Then, before the child could leave, Ester stopped her. “You haven’t said a word to Mr. Lindsey, Anna.”

      The girl looked angrily at Lindsey. “Mother says you’re going to help us. How are you going to help us? My father is dead!” She burst into tears, then turned her back on Lindsey. Her shoulders shook.

      Lindsey held his hand out before Ester could apologize. “I will help you. I met Detective Sokolov.”

      “So did I. She came here yesterday and talked to us. She isn’t doing anything and I don’t think you can do anything either.” She whirled, snatched up her dog and ran to her room.

      Zaffira had followed Anna Maria Berry to her room. Before long she returned and took the second easy chair facing Lindsey, alongside her sister.

      “What did you think?” Lindsey asked.

      Ester was calmer than she had been.

      “I think Detective Sokolov was trying to be kind to us. To Anna Maria and me. I think she thinks Cletus was some kind of scumbag, that was why he was with a scumbag when they were both shot. Excuse my language.”

      Lindsey said, “And I think you’re right. Which means that the NYPD isn’t going to devote too much effort to trying to solve this crime. They’re busier frying other fish.”

      “Protecting Randolph Amoroso and his gang of Fascists,” Zaffira put in. “He makes me ashamed I am Italian.”

      Lindsey shook his head. He looked down and realized that he still had half a cup of coffee. He picked up and drank. It was cold but it was still the best coffee he’d had since leaving Denver.

      He said, “I think Sokolov is doing her best, but I think she has the wrong idea. I don’t think Cletus Berry was that kind of man, and I don’t think he deserved to die like that kind of man. I’m here to find out what really happened.”

      But he wasn’t sure he was right.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Lindsey shoveled the remains of his Hearty-Man frozen dinner back into the grocery bag and shoved it in the corner of the bathroom. He didn’t know if Berry’s deal with the building included trash service; if not, he’d dispose of the detritus himself. He’d overestimated his appetite and underestimated his fatigue. You were supposed to get jet-lag when you traveled east-to-west, not west-to-east, but somehow his body was still confused and he ached all over.

      He sat in Cletus Berry’s swivel chair and watched a few soft flakes falling outside the office window. He wasn’t sure that staying in Berry’s secret little home-away-from-home was such a good idea, but it would do for the time being.

      Had he learned anything useful from his visit to Ester Lazarini Berry? A lecture on the history of the Jews of Rome. Well, he hadn’t known that Berry’s wife was Jewish. He’d inferred that she was white—there couldn’t be that many black Italians—but he’d expected her to be Christian.

      But did her background have anything to do with her husband’s murder? It was a fact, but did it have any bearing? He didn’t know, and he’d learned precious little else from his interview.

      After Zaffira and Anna Maria returned from walking the little dog, Lindsey had thought it was time to leave. He’d intruded on their grief long enough. Ester had asked him to stay for dinner, but that was obviously a bad idea. The household was in a state of disarray. The family needed to renew their mutual bonds; friends and family might help, but the presence of an outsider—really a stranger—would only add to their stress.

      So he’d left, intending to eat his dinner at a restaurant, but instead he’d stopped at a mom ’n’ pop grocery and bought a few supplies and taken a cab back to West 58th Street.

      The Torrington Tower was officially closed for the day when he got back. The street entrance was locked and one of the Bermúdez brothers was guarding the lobby. He was reading Civil Procedure of the State of New York, Revised. Right. This had to be Benjamino, then, the Clarence Darrow of tomorrow.

      Lindsey put his few groceries away, then set up Cletus Berry’s TV and turned on the local news while he nuked the frozen dinner. There was controversy over Randolph Amoroso’s rally in Times Square. The Congressman’s opponent in the race for Senate, the previously obscure Oliver Shea, got screen time to accuse the Mayor of the City of New York of playing politics with the taxpayers’ money and at the taxpayers’ inconvenience.

      Shea was a squatty, jowly man who favored a broad-brimmed black hat and a rumpled manner. “How dare the Mayor shut down Times Square to stage a partisan political rally?” he demanded. “How many police officers were diverted from the vital job of fighting crime and protecting our good citizens, to act as ushers for this sleazy playlet? As the mayor of a city myself, I can tell you that it cost a pretty penny. I demand that hizzonner the Mayor provide an accounting, down to the last copper penny, and bill my opponent’s campaign for the full amount!”

      The camera cut from Shea to a spokesperson for the Mayor. All the while the Mayor’s representative was speaking, Lindsey kept wondering who Shea reminded him of. Finally he realized—Fiorello La Guardia, the onetime Mayor of New York, famous for reading the Sunday funnies over the radio during a long-ago newspaper strike. Lindsey had seen ancient newsreels of the event, and Cletus Berry had told the story with relish, even though he couldn’t possibly have remembered it.

      Lindsey had almost missed the official response to Oliver Shea’s blast, but he caught the tail end. The Mayor and his family, it turned out, were conveniently out of town, attending a concert of sacred music composed by the late Duke Ellington, in the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. Following the concert they expected to fly to Puerto Rico for a brief holiday.

      No, the spokesperson explained, there was nothing political about the mayor’s absence and nothing political about his choice of Puerto Rico for his vacation. And if there was anything irregular about the Amoroso rally in Times Square, the spokesperson was certain that hizzonner

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