“Everly said the same thing. Anyway,” Ten continued. “She knew we’d been to see Fat Sal.”
“Christ,” Jude muttered under his breath.
“She said Fat Sal knew who killed our head,” Ronan added, hating that his daughter had seen this information in her mind.
“We thought the same thing,” Fitz chimed in.
“We did, but Everly went one step further. She knew Head Doe’s name and possible connection to Maria.” Ten’s eyes were on Fitz, obviously waiting for the captain’s reaction to the news.
“Who is he?” Fitz asked.
Ronan sighed. “Henri Pascal. According to Everly, he was Maria’s college boyfriend.”
Jude’s eyes widened. “Fat Sal’s so-called honest to goodness, frog leg-eating, beret-wearing Frenchman.”
“That was my take,” Ronan said, nibbling his bottom lip.
“Let me guess, there’s more.” Fitz tapped his notepad with his pen.
“I showed Everly pictures of possible suspects. Maria, Fat Sal, and Brian Cullen.” Ronan paused, not because he wanted to build suspense, but because it made him emotional knowing his daughter was the one who’d picked out the culprit. “She identified Brian Cullen as the killer.”
Fitz sighed deeply.
“Not only did she identify Cullen, but she said Fat Sal ordered the hit, so to speak.” What the hell kind of world was it where Ronan’s innocent daughter knew what a hitman was?
“I hate to ask, Ten, but did Everly have any idea how the head got into the freezer?” Fitzgibbon asked.
Ten shook his head. “No, and at that point, I wasn’t going to ask. I think the information we have so far is going to be enough for Jude to get Maria to tell us what she knows about Henri Pascal.”
“Almost, but not quite,” Jude said. “Ten and Ronan weren’t the only ones working last night. After the kids were in bed I did some research on this Hatpin Hattie that Brian Cullen mentioned and Fat Sal dismissed. She’s a legend according to everything I read. It’s been nearly thirty-five years since the last hatpin murder and no one has any idea who the killer was. It was the media who gave the killer her nickname after the autopsy on the first victim revealed that he was murdered by a hatpin.”
“What the hell is a hat pin?” Ronan asked.
“I thought you might ask.” Jude tapped his phone and turned it around to show Ronan. “It has a narrow metal shaft that’s usually six to twelve inches long with a decorative knob at the top. They were used to keep women’s hats from blowing off inbad weather. You’d stick them into the hat and into the woman’s hair like crossed swords.”
“Wow, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Ronan couldn’t help but wonder how something so innocuous could be a deadly weapon.
“Cope’s mother loved them. Not only did they serve the purpose of keeping your hat in place, but they were weapons. According to what I read, they caused a stir in the 1920s when women began using them as weapons.” Jude grinned. “Of course, this was the reason Cope’s mom loved them. There’s nothing like stabbing a man to get his hands off you.”
Ronan laughed, but quickly sobered. “It’s fine to stab at someone to get them away from you, but how the hell do you kill someone with this thing? The shaft of the pin is so narrow, kind of like the pins you use to attach a boutonniere to a tuxedo jacket.”
Jude pulled his phone back and tapped several more times. “This is from the autopsy of the first man who was allegedly killed by Hattie.” He handed the phone back to Ronan.
What saw took his breath away. The picture showed a man’s naked chest with a small hole on the left side, between two ribs. “This tiny hole is what killed him?”
“Yeah. The pin pierced his heart.”
“This wound wasn’t instantly fatal.” Ronan looked back up at Jude, his alarm growing.
“No,” Jude agreed, “it took an hour or two for this man to bleed to death internally. There’s one more piece of the puzzle you’re missing.”
Ronan flipped back and forth between the autopsy photos and the pictures of the hatpins. There was only one stab mark, otherwise, the victim’s skin was pristine. The killer knew whatthey were doing, there were no hesitation marks or misses with the pin. “Christ, you’d have to be damn close to someone to stick them in just the right spot.”
“How do you get close enough to do just that?” Jude prodded.
“The killer had to get this man to let down his guard and take off his clothes. What better way to do that than with sex.” Ronan felt sick to his stomach. “She had to seduce her victim first, then kill him when he was at his most vulnerable.”
“Why?” Ten asked. “The mafia aren’t usually known for their subtlety. The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, for example. Seven guys were machinegunned to death against a wall. Or the way that John Gotti had Paul Castellano murdered in broad daylight in New York City so he could take over the Gambino crime family. Why on earth would they use a woman to commit these crimes rather than sending a goon squad to kill them?”
