Free Death of an Old Sinner by Dorothy Salisbury Davis Page A

Examiner’s office, his first thought was: it’s too much to expect of General Jarvis, a plain, simple heart attack.
    Everyone, without saying so to him, seemed to share the view; men came from Homicide and precinct headquarters. Royalty could not have turned out more press representatives. Jimmie was glad, however, to see George Fallon, the District Attorney, and even more pleased to see in his company, his chief investigator, Jasper Tully, whom Jimmie trusted. Tully had served under him and many a D.A. before him and after him: he was forever shuffling his politics—easily shaking out the jokers for the next deal. A long, lean melancholy man, he had never to Jimmie’s knowledge raised his voice, though many a man he had set to screaming by his silent scrutiny.
    Jimmie shook his hand affectionately and then turned to the D.A. “You know, Fallon, I was only waiting to talk to my father, tonight. Then I intended to volunteer my services…on the Rocco business.”
    “Looks like charity can begin at home now, doesn’t it?” Fallon said, and then bethought himself that he was speaking to the dead man’s son. “Sorry, Jarvis, but damn it, man, we were waiting, too. Just to give you the chance to make the first move. We purposely quashed the information that your father got in our line of fire last night, and that’s trouble for us in some quarters, sitting on something worth a headline.”
    “Thanks,” Jimmie said. It struck him then that the old man would not again get into anyone’s line of fire, and the blow hurt.
    Tully understood. “He was always a swell target, the General.” He laid a bony hand on Jimmie’s shoulder.
    Jimmie gave him a wink and squared his shoulders. “Let’s talk some cold facts, gentlemen, just we three. I don’t know what my father was doing in Brooklyn—if he was there. Now I’ll have to take your word for it. I’d feel a lot better about that if I knew the full story on why the sudden interest in Johnny, The Rock. The truth, Fallon: was it politics?”
    Fallon, not much older than Jimmie, pursed his lips. “When you were in my shoes, Jarvis, would you have answered a question like that?” He didn’t wait for Jimmie’s answer. “I don’t mind telling you most of the truth. Won’t give you names though. A couple of public investigators, we’ll call ʼem, wanted to dig through the records. I’ve let people with poorer credentials search them. I knew by the dates what they were after, but I’ll tell you something, Jarvis, it hit both Tully and me between the eyes when they came up with the name Johnny Rocco. Johnny’s had his name bantered around a lot in our circles lately on account of some very large bookmaking. In Brooklyn, true. But that’s not far enough away for us to relax. They’ve been pulling raids regularly over there, the D.A.’s men, and getting peanuts. Peanuts for the monkeys. Now you and I know that no good cop likes to be made a monkey out of. Comprenez?”
    Jimmie nodded. He had got the same story from Mike: the suspicion of the police themselves, “That’s bad stuff,” he said.
    “That it is. So you can see, Jarvis, how it was that when they said ‘sick ʼim’ to me, I put my best hound dog on the trail. It was your friend Tully here who spotted your father last night. He was working out of the Brooklyn D.A.’s office. Fill it in from there, Jasp. I’d like to hear it again myself. Maybe it’ll make sense this time.”
    Tully gathered in his legs and folded his hands. You could perish waiting for his first word, Jimmie thought. “The D.A. had a couple of leads over there, so when I showed up to help they decided to stake ʼem out last night. Three of their boys and me were posted outside a little one-arm restaurant called Minnie’s on Water Street.”
    “What time?” said Jimmie.
    “We set up about seven, figuring the collector would show before ten o’clock. And after the first hour we were dead sure we had something: in all that time