“Don’t you just love the way she talks?” Mrs. Shurkowski said to Pascoli. “Now, you mind what you say to them, honey, and call a lawyer pronto if they try anything on you. Your sandwiches’ll be here any minute.”
“Thank you so much,” Daisy said sincerely.
Mrs. Shurkowski went off to edit theLadies’Gazette.Pascoli sat down in a chair beside Daisy. “Cigarette?” He offered a gunmetal case.
“No, thanks.”
“Whoops, pardon me, don’t English gals smoke?”
“Some do. Not awfully many.”
“O.K. if I light up?”
“I don’t mind,” Daisy lied. She disliked cigarette smoke almost as much as cigar smoke, but she felt guilty about her continued presence here and the disruption of work, as though her propensity for falling over bodies was actually responsible for the latest crime. What she longed for was the comforting smell of Alec’s pipe. “Is there really a federal dimension to the case besides Mr. Lambert’s being a witness?” she asked.
“Sure thing!” Pascoli became earnest. “Carmody spent the last several years in Washington, D.C., digging up the dirt on the Harding administration, and he didn’t have to dig far, trust me.”
Daisy recalled a comment about Augean stables. “So I’ve heard.”
“His articles tweaked a whole lotta noses. President Coolidge is already cleaning house and lotsa people are getting the can because of what Otis Carmody wrote. It wouldn’t surprise me one little bit if one of them came to town looking for revenge.”
“It does seem possible.”
“It’s a dead cert.”
“What about the article he wrote for you?” Daisy suggested. “Wouldn’t that upset people?”
Pascoli grinned. “Sure would. He’s written three so far,every one calculated to get up someone’s nose. But none of ’em has been published yet.”
“Still, he must have talked to lots of people to get his information. It couldn’t be kept secret. Perhaps someone wanted to stop him before he dug any deeper.”
“Or scare me into not publishing,” Pascoli said soberly. “You got a point there, ma’am.” He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at Gilligan and Rosenblatt.
“The articles are about Tammany? Who is Tammany?”
Pascoli lowered his voice. “It’s a what, not a who. Leastways, Tammany was an Indian chief way back, but he hasn’t anything to do with today’s politics. Tammany Hall’s the building that’s come to stand for the Democratic machine that runs this burg. Crooked as anything President Harding’s Republican pals were mixed up in, but much harder to oust. Heck, half the population owes their jobs to them, including Rosenblatt over there, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”
“He is the District Attorney, is he?”
“Deputy D.A.”
“That’s a political appointment?”
“Got it in one. So are garbage collectors, and a whole lotta folks in between.”
“Garbage collectors? Dustbin men? Heavens, it sounds to me as if it will be just as well if the federal investigators take an interest in the case.”
“You’ve said a mouthful, sister! Where’s this guy Lambert? No kidding, I wanna stand behind him.”
Daisy rather doubted Lambert would be much protection, but she didn’t have time to say so as Rosenblatt and Gilligan came over to them. Gilligan, chewing on his dead cigar, looked truculent, Rosenblatt worried.
“Mrs. Fletcher? Rosenblatt, Deputy District Attorney. Say, who’s this guy Lambert? What’s his connection with this business?”
“You’ll have to ask him, Mr. Rosenblatt.” Daisy wasn’t going to let herself be drawn into any complications. “I only know that he told Mr. Thorwald and me that he is a federal agent. All I can tell you is what I saw.”
“Yes, we’ll get to that in a minute, ma’am. Mr. Pascoli, you know something about the federal connection, sir?”
“Not exactly,” Pascoli hedged. “Nothing to do with the Justice Department specifically, more of a general Washington connection. Otis Carmody ruffled plenty of feathers in the capital. He was an investigative journalist, see, and a good one.”
