“One morning I see the children, her children, playing on the grass in front of my building. I ask the little boy where his mother is and he tells me she is in bed. In bed! At nine in the morning! It is not right. Not right! I take the children by the hand and bring them inside, give them milk. And then I take them home and Mrs. Malone, she says not one word of thanks. Not one.
“I was so polite, always smiled, always said good morning. And from this lady, nothing. Nothing. To tell the truth, Mr. Wonicke, each time it was like a slap in the face.”
Scott called and Pete told him what he’d overheard from Devlin: that Lena Gobek’s statement would finish Ruth. And then he told him what he’d remembered about Mrs. Gobek herself.
There was a pause and Pete asked him, “Is this a problem? Is this Mrs. Gobek a problem?”
Scott sighed and when he spoke again, his voice sounded tired. A little cracked.
“Maybe. But let’s wait and see what she says tomorrow. And how she comes across. What did you think of her when you interviewed her?”
“She was . . . she was just a neighbor. An old lady. A little lonely. She liked to talk. She liked telling stories.”
Scott grunted. “A little old lady who tells stories. Let’s hope that’s all she is.”
Pete watched Mrs. Gobek walk from her seat to the witness stand. It seemed to take forever. Finally she climbed the steps and took the oath, then settled herself into the small chair, her round softness emphasizing the stark corners of the wooden surround.
She held her handbag on her wide flowered lap, protecting herself from the men who were watching her. Her hands were curled around the handle, skin taut, as though she was ready for a fight.
Pete looked over at Ruth and saw only neutral interest. Maybe a little curiosity. She was more focused on Lou Gallagher. She kept glancing at Lou until he looked up, and then she smiled nervously. Only when he smiled back did she seem to relax.
Pete thought of her face in the diner when Beckman told her he was leaving. He thought of her desolate wails when Salcito betrayed her in this courtroom. Lou Gallagher was all she had left.
Hirsch adjusted his tie, stood up, cleared his throat. He let his eyes roam over the room before he turned to face the jury. He was enjoying this, Pete realized. He’d been waiting for this moment.
With his back to the witness stand, he began.
“Will you please state your name and address for the record?”
Mrs. Gobek frowned. Pressed her fingertips to her broad chest and looked around.
“Me?”
Hirsch turned to face her, half-hiding his impatience under a smooth smile. He nodded and her brow cleared. She smiled back at him.
“My name is Helena Elzbieta Gobek. My maiden name was Wachowiak. I was born in Elblag, in Poland, on the ninth of January, 1917. My address is forty-four 72nd Road, Queens, New York.”
She spoke in a tight little rhythm, unconsciously tapping her hand on her knee. And as she listed the details of her life, a breath of laughter rippled through the courtroom. Pete noticed her raise her head to feel it, noticed her take pleasure in her audience, and smile around the room. Then she leaned forward over her handbag, waiting for the next question.
“How long have you lived at that address, Mrs. Gobek?”
“My husband and I have lived there since September 1946. Since we married. That will be twenty-one years this year.”
“Would it be fair to say, then, that you know the neighborhood well?”
She cocked her head, said seriously, “I do not know if it would be fair, Mr. Hirsch. But it is true to say that. It is true that I know the neighborhood.”
Another ripple of laughter, a little louder this time. Mrs. Gobek lifted her eyes to the public benches. Her face flushed and she beamed.
“And the defendant. How long have you known Mrs. Malone?”
Lena Gobek looked at Ruth for the first time that day and her face was suddenly hard.
“I have known Mrs. Malone for three or four years.”
Ruth’s whisper was loud enough to make the judge frown at her.
“I don’t know that woman!”
Scott shushed her. Rested his hand on her wrist.
Hirsch turned to face the jury again and spoke slowly. Emphatically.
“Three or four years. Since well before the children were murdered.”
He swung back to face Mrs. Gobek.
“How did you meet Mrs. Malone?”
“We met at the beauty parlor on the corner of Ascan and Queens Boulevard. Mrs. Malone goes there once a week for her hair, her nails. I began to go there too.”
Pete looked at Ruth, who was staring at Lena Gobek.
“That would be Dolly’s Parlor at three sixty-eight Queens Boulevard?”
Mrs. Gobek nodded.
“Please speak up for the court reporter, Mrs. Gobek.”
She looked toward the thin blonde girl at the side of the witness stand, fingers flying over the keys of her stenotype machine. Leaned forward and said carefully, “Yes, Dolly’s Parlor.”
“And when was that? When did you start going to Dolly’s?”
“In nineteen sixty-three. At the end of October.”
“How can you be so sure of the date, Mrs. Gobek?”