Cold Case, Hot Bodies. Jule McBride
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Dario agreed, now walking down a hallway. “But I don’t like Sheila enough to have to lay low for a couple weeks. Another ten buildings could burn. I just don’t get it. Who could have complained about me dating somebody I arrested? Who cares?”
“Maybe Sheila called the boss. Did you two have a fight?”
“You have a devious mind.”
“Of course. I’m a cop.”
Dario thought back to his and Sheila’s last date, when they’d skipped dinner and headed straight to bed, then he shook his head. “Last time I saw her, I put a smile on her face. She could have done a toothpaste commercial. She claimed multiples.”
“Personalities?” Pat joked.
Dario shook his head. “Orgasms.”
“Then I’m out of suspects. But don’t worry. I’ve got the arson case covered, and I’ll call if anything happens. Meantime, do what the boss ordered, and rustle up some cold-case files to keep yourself company.”
“Will do.” Dario splayed a hand on the courtroom door and prepared to push. “See you around, partner. And watch out for Karen. The glint in that girl’s eyes says she’s got diamonds and wedding cake on the brain.”
There was a long pause. Then Pat said, “Uh…I have something to tell you. I proposed last week.”
Dario’s jaw slackened. “To Karen?”
“Yeah.”
“Congratulations,” Dario managed, but he felt hurt. Pat had been his partner for two years. They’d double-dated, played ball. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to…”
But he didn’t think Dario would understand. Not Dario, who was still chasing women like Sheila Carella. “That’s okay, partner,” he said quickly. “I forgive you.”
“Good. Because you’re going to be my best man.”
Even so, Dario was still reeling from the news as he entered the courtroom. Everyone was getting married. Even his sister, Eliana. She’d fallen for the nephew of a man reputed to have mob connections, but who was legitimate, according to Dario’s sources at the precinct. Not that the information had calmed their mother’s fraying nerves. For months, his parents’ Mulberry Street apartment had been “wedding central,” and in three weeks, Dario and Eliana’s other six siblings—all sisters—would arrive from around the country for the wedding.
Now, Eliana’s diamond engagement ring flashed as she waved from the front of the courtroom. With bright red lipsticked lips she mouthed, “Where have you been? Ma’s freaking out!” Before Dario could respond, his sister turned to face the judge again, her black hair swirling around her shoulders like a cape.
Great. They’d drawn Judge Zhang, one of the most ponderous deliberators in the history of New York courts, which meant this informal hearing might drag on. Judge Zhang was so small that his robes seemed to swallow him, and his hair and eyes were as shiny and black as the cloth itself.
As his family scooted to make room for him, Dario noticed Brice Jurgenson on the other side of the courtroom, flanked by Beppe’s furious tenants. Skinny and bespeckled, Brice had only a few wisps of white blond hair left. An attorney, as well as a tenant, he’d convinced the others to put their rent into escrow until Beppe finished repairs to the building.
Luther Matthews, a museum curator, was present, as Dario had anticipated, and he was delivering a speech about preserving the property for historical reasons. But why was Chuckie Haswell here? Because he was a prime suspect in Dario’s arson case, Dario did a double take. Chuckie was short, with sandy hair and assessing brown eyes, and his suit probably retailed for Dario’s annual salary. Was the realty mogul present because Beppe’s property was on the waterfront? Did he know Beppe was desperate to sell, and that Luther Matthews was determined to declare the property a historical landmark, which would sour their chances of selling?
“Mr. Matthews,” Judge Zhang said. “Would you mind starting from the top? We’ve had a disruption.”
“Sorry,” Dario murmured.
“No problem,” returned Judge Zhang. You’ve come before my court many times, so I know you’re a busy man, Officer Donato.”
“Busy giving Sheila Carella parking tickets,” Eliana muttered.
“At least I’m not marrying the mob,” Dario shot back, before turning his attention to Luther.
“I’m from the Centuries of Sex Museum,” Luther began again, using a forefinger to push horn-rimmed glasses upward on his nose. “As we all know, the geographical area in question, not just Mr. Donato’s building, is of significance.”
“Go on,” urged Judge Zhang.
“The intersection where Orange, Cross and Anthony Streets once met, and where Mr. Donato’s building stands today, used to be called Five Points. It was synonymous with vice. Tap dancing originated there, as well as our city’s most notorious gangs. Famous travelers such as Abraham Lincoln were given tours of the neighborhood’s crowning jewel, Mr. Donato’s property, which was a brothel called Angel’s Cloud.”
“After Angelo Donato,” Beppe put in, losing his patience. “My ancestor. We all know this. It’s why I own the property. And since it’s mine, I don’t see why other people are allowed to turn it into a historical landmark so I can’t sell it.”
Dario’s mother, Bianca, crossed herself. She felt the family’s long-time connection to a house of sin was tantamount to a curse. “If you don’t sell, Beppe,” Dario had heard her vow many times, “your only son is never going to settle down with a nice girl. Due to this legacy, he’ll be a womanizer his whole life, just like Angelo.” To whatever extent this was true, Dario hadn’t minded.
Luther continued, “When Angel’s Cloud was first built, nearly every house radiating from Five Points was a brothel. So-called panel games were invented at establishments such as Angel’s Cloud, where women would remove panels in the walls and rob male clients while other women kept the men…” Luther smiled “…shall we say, occupied.
“These were powerful men, too. Lawyers, doctors and town fathers. Many wives, under the guise of temperance societies, tried to shut the places down. Because of morals, yes.” Luther flashed another smile. “But also because their husbands were having such a good time.” Stepping forward, Luther lifted some folders and began handing them out. “I’ve put together a package of pictures, to illustrate why Mr. Donato’s property must be declared a landmark.”
“Ridiculous,” insisted Beppe.
“As curator of the Centuries of Sex Museum,” Luther continued, “I’ve learned a great deal about life at Angel’s Cloud. Of particular interest is the possible murder of a woman named Gem O’Shea. Recently, her ancestors have been in contact with me, but before I say more about that, I’d like to acquaint everyone with the O’Shea family tree…” After pausing to catch his breath, he rattled off names, then listed Angelo Donato’s relatives, including Dario’s great-grandfather, Enrico, and his grandfather, Salvador.
“My predecessor acquired many items from Angel’s Cloud through the Donato family,” Luther continued. “For years, the museum has owned all the original furniture, as well as portraits of the women who worked for Angelo. Replica rooms are roped off in our museum, preserving rooms exactly as they once were. I think this proves that our relationship with the Donato family has been excellent, but now that Mr. Donato has voiced intentions to sell, we have to try to save the building itself.
“While an old bawdy house may not seem a national treasure, Judge Zhang,” he concluded, “Angel’s Cloud is one of the only original Five Points buildings still standing today.”
“I have to sell,” Beppe muttered, twirling the end of his inky black mustache anxiously. “The taxes are through the roof! Besides,