There was a small silence while they both thought of things that should be discussed. Cap, first and foremost, and what Sophie wanted for him. For them both. Anna shifted to look at her cousin more directly.
Sophie said, “Don’t, please. I don’t have any answers. I won’t have any until Cap makes a decision.”
“But your decision is made?”
“Of course,” Sophie said, almost irritably. “If he allows it, I’ll be with him until the end. Have you heard from the detective sergeant?”
“No,” Anna said.
“Not yet,” Sophie amended.
Anna didn’t want to think about Jack Mezzanotte because in truth, she didn’t know if she would see him again. On Sunday they had worked together toward a common goal, but the Russo children were her concern.
“He was helpful,” Anna agreed. “But he isn’t obligated to help. I’m not sure why he’d want to.”
“Ah,” said Sophie, and closed the subject with a grin she didn’t try to hide.
? ? ?
ON FRIDAY AT breakfast it was Rosa who asked about the detective sergeants. The fact that she was comfortable enough to ask such a question was a good sign, and one Anna couldn’t ignore.
“Do you think the detective sergeants forgot us?”
She said, “It’s just been since Sunday. And no doubt they are very busy.”
“I thought they were going to help.”
Anna swallowed the last of her coffee and said, “If we don’t hear something today, then we will write a note to them this evening.”
Rosa gave a cautious and extremely doubtful nod.
? ? ?
OVER THE COURSE of the day Anna repeated to herself the things she had said to Rosa: the detective sergeant would be very busy. Jack Mezzanotte had already done them a great service by introducing her to Father Anselm; it was foolish to wait for the man or even to think about him. So severe was she with herself that for a moment she thought she must be imagining him when she left the hospital to find him waiting for her in the lobby.
He stood there completely at ease as people came and went around him, late afternoon light falling in narrow stripes so that his face was half in sun and half in shadow. But his smile was open, and it transformed his face; he was not a police officer, in that brief moment, but a man who was pleased by something he saw. And he was looking at her.
Beyond that odd fact, he looked exhausted. Anna reminded herself that it was not her place to notice such things about the man, and even less her place to instruct him on his sleeping habits. She returned his smile with one of her own.
“This is a surprise.” She saw some of the tension leave him, as if he hadn’t been sure of his reception.
“I was on nights most of this week, and things were busy.”
“Language lessons?”
He grinned at her. “Among other things. I found the father.”
The abrupt announcement made no sense to her at first. “Father?”
“Carmine Russo. It occurred to me it would be easier to find and claim the boys if we found the father first.”
It had never crossed her mind that one Italian immigrant among many thousands could be found. If it had, she wouldn’t have known where to start looking for him. Beyond that she was unsure of how to feel about Carmine Russo, who had abandoned his children.
She said, “Where is he, exactly?”
“On the island.”
She took a moment to think it through. Blackwell’s Island could mean only a few things and none of them good: he had been sentenced to the New York City Penitentiary or the workhouse, admitted to one of the hospitals for incurables, or committed to the almshouse or the insane asylum. And there was the smallpox hospital. All of that encompassed by those two words: the island.
The detective sergeant was saying, “He’s been sentenced to six months in the workhouse. For dissipation and disorderly conduct.”
A habitual drunk, then. “You’re sure?”
“The details fit, but I can’t be sure until I go talk to the man. You aren’t obliged, but I thought you might want to see for yourself. I have a prisoner to transport being held at the dock on the police boat, and a cab waiting.”
Anna dreaded the very idea, but if she balked at this first real challenge, what part of her promise to Rosa could she keep? The detective was watching her, his expression giving away nothing at all. He wouldn’t try to convince her, and that alone was enough to resolve the question in her own mind. The fact that her pulse had picked up was simply an inconvenient and regrettable biological response to a man, one she could resist. There were more important things at stake.
She turned and called to the porter, who had been watching the conversation from the other side of the room.
“Mr. Abernathy, would you be so kind as to send a message to Waverly Place? Tell them I went out on a call and may be a few hours at least.”
Mr. Abernathy had a frown that would stop most troublemakers in their tracks, and now he turned it on Detective Sergeant Mezzanotte.
Again Anna tried to get his attention. “Mr. Abernathy?”
His voice came gruff and disapproving. “If you’re sure, Dr. Savard.”