“Is she your only other relative?”
“Most of my relatives are dead; Mama died last year, and Papa’s two older brothers died a long time ago, when they were in their twenties.”
“In their twenties? Of what?”
“Of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Oh.”
“Papa wasn’t even allowed to go to the funeral; his father shipped him off to Columbia Law School and told everybody he was in Europe, studying. He wasn’t allowed to come to Brooklyn for three years. He was the only student in law school who went to class armed.”
“It’s hard to think of your father doing anything as crude as firing a weapon.”
“He never had to, as it turned out, but Papa is a survivor; he would have done whatever was necessary.” She gazed at him. “It’s a family trait.”
“Did you know your grandfather?”
“No, he died a long time before I was born. Papa was still in his twenties, so he had a heavy burden to bear. He didn’t marry for a long time, for fear of making his wife a widow. It took him years of work to stabilize the situation he inherited. It was a mess.”
“But no longer?”
“No longer. Papa has devoted his life to making the family respectable; that was why he was so upset when I married Johnny.”
“Why did you marry him?”
She laughed. “I was a virgin. With Papa watching over me, it was the only way I could get laid.”
“There must have been more to it than that.”
She laughed again. “Not really. When I went out, I was always watched by somebody Papa sent. If I had let a boy make a wrong move, he would have gotten hurt, and I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”
“I’m glad to know you have a conscience.”
“Of course, I have a conscience!” she nearly yelled. “You think I’m like my grandfather?”
“I have very little idea of what you’re like, except in bed, and there you are spectacular.”
“A native talent,” she said, “like singing.”
“I believe you.” Stone set aside his breakfast tray and began leafing through the Times. He found it in the Metro section. “Here it is,” he said, showing Dolce the paper.
“That’s Mitteldorfer?”
“Yep.”
“He looks like such a little twerp.”
“He is, but he’s a dangerous one.”
“Where do you think he is?”
“My guess? Manhattan, somewhere on the East Side, living well. That’s why I’m hoping one of his new neighbors will recognize the picture.”
“Who’s the one in this drawing? He looks like Mitteldorfer.”
“That’s the drawing done from Mary Ann’s description of the man who attacked her. They really do look a lot alike, don’t they?” Stone stared at the two pictures. “Holy shit!”
“What?”