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Bannigan snorted and shuffled some papers on his desk, as if Roman’s theories weren’t even worth his full attention. “No offense, but you Prohibition boys aren’t notorious for your killer instincts.”
Roman shrugged off the too-accurate insult. “Maybe not, but I come from a family of good, old-fashioned Irish cops in New York. I was on the fast-track to detective before I decided to join the Bureau instead. Maybe you can give me a little credit for the badge I wore before this one, the one my father and grandfather wore too.”
The bid for camaraderie earned him only a sigh. Perhaps there was a slight softening in Bannigan’s rock-hard eyes, but that could have been wishful thinking. “Listen, O’Reilly. The political climate right now doesn’t much lean toward pinching the guys who bring liquor into the city. I’d think you’d have learned that after last week’s fiasco that had your name splashed in the papers. If you’re not careful, the Mafia will run you out of town, and you’ll be lucky if you’re alive when they do it.”
Roman hid his clenched fist under the edge of the desk. “I’m not talking about bathtub gin or cheap hooch, Bannigan. I’m talking about murder. Think about it, will you? This dame isn’t one of your run-of-the-mill hookers anymore. She’s got her own place, which means she can afford to be picky about her clientele. As Manny’s moll, she’s not going to be out on the town with his rival, not unless he tells her to be. And she certainly wouldn’t show up with him at the very bar where Manny’s sitting in the shadows.”
Bannigan ran his tongue over his top teeth. “Not if she knew Manny was there.”
“She knew. As soon as she came in, she looked right at him, even though we were practically hidden at a back table. Looked at him and smiled, nodded a little. I thought at the time it was just someone who knew him, maybe even someone who usually worked the joint. Now that I know who she is, I think it was planned. Maybe she was pumping the guy for information or something, I don’t know. What I do know is that later that night, Manny sent me on a useless errand. That was about the time Eddie was killed. And it didn’t take Manny too long to start making runs out to Eddie’s brewery, probably taking over his operations, which sure lends a suspicious light to it if you ask me.”
“Even if you’re right, and I’m not saying you are…” Bannigan frowned and tapped that contemplative finger on his stained blotter. “It’s still not enough, and I don’t think we can get any more. When we heard the rumor of Manny taking over Eddie’s brewery, we obviously started looking at him for the murder. We already checked all the leads we could find, and they got us nowhere. Knowing this prostitute was with the guy might back up a theory, but let’s be realistic. She ain’t gonna talk. And unless she talks, she’s no help.”
Not good enough. Roman sat up straight again in his chair and tapped his own finger to the desk. “She knows something, though. The way she reacted when she recognized me—”
“Could have been outrage at realizing that a mole was standing in her hallway.”
Roman scowled at Bannigan. It was time to play his trump card. “According to the papers, one of the only pieces of evidence found with Eddie’s body was a necklace of undisclosed design, is that right?”
Looking for all the world as though he were thoroughly bored, Bannigan leaned back in his squeaky chair and nodded.
Roman held the other man’s steady gaze. “I bet I can tell you what that necklace looked like. Czech in design, or a good imitation. Red stones—could be garnets, could be rubies, couldn’t tell from the distance. Heavy gold chain. Three connected pendants shaped like flowers. Pretty large, rather bold. Hit the lady about here,” he said, drawing a line a few inches below his clavicle, “whatever length that would translate to.”
Bannigan didn’t move for a long moment, other than the pulsing muscle in his jaw. “I assume you saw this necklace on the prostitute.” At Roman’s nod, he continued. “I gotta ask. Why in the world would you remember something like that two months after the fact?”
Roman had a feeling the detective wouldn’t allow him to chalk it up to amazing investigative skills, so he opted for the truth. “My girl had been eyeing something similar the day before, so it struck me when I saw it on Ava.”
For the first time since they entered the bull’s office, Bannigan’s mouth cracked into a grin. “That’s the one thing you’ve said that makes sense, O’Reilly. Unfortunately, it also proves a different point—that design is pretty common for Czech jewelry. Trust me, we already looked into it.”
“But put together with—”
“All the other circumstantial evidence you’ve got? If that was the caliber of your evidence for the charges you shot at Manny last week, it’s no wonder he’s walking the streets again.”
Roman forced himself to hold his temper in check, though it was a challenge. “He’s on the streets again because of the politicians in his pocket. Look, just give me a chance to prove my theory. Now that I know who was with Eddie, I think I can put some other pieces together for you. I’m not asking you to expend any manpower on this, I’m just asking for your go ahead, since it’s your jurisdiction.”
“And what about your bosses? They wouldn’t mind you chasing a few wild geese on their dime?”
Roman gave him a crooked smile. “Come on, Bannigan. The Bureau isn’t exactly famous for the tight rein it keeps on its agents.”
Bannigan snorted a laugh and leaned forward again. “Okay. You wanna look into this, go ahead. Just be careful not to interfere with my guys—and bring anything you find straight to me. Politicians aren’t the only ones in Manny’s pocket, if you get my drift.”
Roman nodded, stood, and held out a hand. “I’ll check in again in a week.”
Bannigan gave Roman’s hand a squeeze hard enough to serve as a warning. “Fine. Just be careful out there, O’Reilly. I don’t want to have to be investigating your homicide next.”
Cliff grunted his agreement as he sidestepped his chair. “Or mine. Don’t worry, detective, I’ll keep him from doing anything too stupid.”
Bannigan’s chuckle followed them away from his desk.
Outside, Cliff drew in a long breath. “So. Do you think he’s on the up and up? Or is he one of the ones on the graft?”
Roman lifted a disinterested shoulder. “He strikes me as honest, though who ever knows when it comes to this sort of thing? When I find what I’m looking for, you can bet I’ll make sure of whomever I’m passing it along to. At this point, it’s enough that he didn’t get in my way.”
Cliff nodded. “Well if we’re going to do this, we need a plan. Let’s sit down and hash it out. Your place or mine?”
“My walls are better for tacking things up if we need to.” Which was to say, they were blank plaster. Lousy plaster, but that hardly mattered. As soon as they reached his rooms, he surveyed the empty walls with a pleased nod.
His mother would have been horrified at each empty place where an icon should have been. She’d been the one to pack them up from his place in New York, wrap them carefully in newspaper, place them just so in the box, muttering prayers over each one. If she realized he’d shoved the whole box into a corner, she’d have something to say about it.
