The Penny Ferry - Rick Boyer (11 page)

"Three bongs. Pretty deep bongs. Must be Park
Street Church," mused Joe, "but somehow it doesn't sound
like it. Three bongs means three o'clock. Let's consult Johnny's log
and see where he was at three."

Joe flipped out his pocket notebook and checked the
page that he'd copied the log information on. He ran his finger down
the list.

"Let's see. At three in the afternoon Johnny was
making a cash delivery to National Distilling in Cambridge. That's
right over near the Museum of Science. Hell, there's no church there.
None at a1ll." .

"It's gotta be Park Street Church," said
Brian. "Do you know any other church that strikes the hours?"

Joe shook his head. "Doesn't sound like Park
Street. The bongs aren't deep enough. God knows I hear that church
often enough. They play a little song and then chime the hours. The
bongs are slow and deep. These bongs are more like chimes; they're
fast and higher-pitched."

"Is it Trinity Church in Copley Square?" I
asked. "I hear tons of people in the background— a lot of
street traffic and pedestrians."

"I don't think Trinity strikes the hours,"
said Joe, rubbing his chin with his thumb. It made a raspy sound. He
rewound the tape again, for the hundredth time. We were going to wear
it out. There it was again: the barking, the squeak of the phonebooth
door, and three bells, far off. Close by were lots of people walking
and talking. Shouting and laughing.

"A mob scene," said Brian. "Sounds to
me like lunch hour. Doesn't sound like three o'clock. Only on a
weekend would it be so noisy at three. But it's gotta be either Park
Street or Copley Square."

"
Wait a minute!" said Joe. "I just
heard the word
fiari.
That's Italian for flowers. Hell, Johnny's in the North End here.
That must be Old North Church."

We thought we'd solved the thing then. But several
problems emerged. One was the fact that his log sheet showed him at
the distillery at 2:45, over in Cambridge, not in the North End.
Second, as Brian had observed, the mob scene outside the phone booth
was too manic for three in the afternoon, even on a Friday.

And finally, on Joe's suspicion that Old North Church
did not chime, we called and had this confirmed. Old North was
silent. Great for lanterns in the window, but not for chimes. We
called Trinity. Also silent. That left us with Park Street, except
the bells didn't remotely sound like those in the Park Street belfry.
Then I solved it.

"Listen again," I said. "You'll hear
that the bells aren't spaced evenly. It doesn't go bong, bong, bong.
It goes bong, bong,. . . bong. Two and then one. It's a ship's bell,
don't you see? It's sounding three bells."

"Three o'clock?"

"No. It would be, uh, five-thirty. Eight bells
is four, then it starts all over again with a new bell for every half
hour. Three bells is five-thirty in the evening. That would explain
the heavy street traffic too."

"I didn't realize the North End was so close to
the harbor," said Brian.

"Right smack dab on it," said Joe, "except
that it's mostly hidden by all the crowded buildings. But there's no
indication in the log that Johnny went back there after his last
job."

"You remember two of the jobs had a star after
them. That meant they weren't completed. One was for my dental work,
which is why Johnny called me in the first place. The other
unfinished business involved the public library and a party in the
North End."

"Uh-huh. And at the end of the day he went back
to the North End to complete that errand, and he was carrying your
lab work too. He called to say he'd be late, and right there on
Hanover Street, or nearby, he realized he was being followed. And I
bet the party in the North End is named Andy."

Joe got on the phone and rasped out a series of
commands to Ten-Ten Comm. Ave.

1. He wanted the location of all phone booths in the
North End near busy streets. Considering their rapid disappearance in
favor of phone "enclaves," this wouldn't be difficult.

2. To check my theory, he requested information from
Massport on any large vessels moored, anchored, or in transit near
the North End on the day in question.

3. He called Sam Bowman at Dependable Messenger
Service and requested further details on Johnny's errand to the
library and the North End. Sam said he'd call back shortly with all
the dope.

"Let's get coffee," said Brian, and while
we sat in the police squad room and sipped,Joe's headquarters called
back and gave us the location of four phone booths that would answer
the set of variables he had described. They also said Massport had
given them the names of three big ships in the vicinity of the North
End on the previous Friday. One, a cargo container vessel named
Dunmore Hughes No. 8, out of Bantry Bay in the Republic of Ireland,
was making her way down the Mystic River channel from the Charlestown
port terminal to Boston Harbor at exactly three bells.

Then Sam Bowman called back. We went back to Brian's
office, where Joe took the call. His face clouded over. The big brown
eyes took on a steely hard squint, and the mouth turned down at the
corners. He was unhappy about something.

"Sam, say those two names again please, real
slowly." He scowled.

"Uh-huh. Yes, I know them. They're very
familiar. I just wanted to make sure. It's just that when I hear
those two names, Sam, I get a knot in my stomach and want to slug
somebody. What? You don't understand? Well let's see now, what
happens to you when I say Scottsboro Boys?"

Through the receiver end of the phone Brian and I
could hear faint yelling and cursing, even though the phone was
pressed to Joe's ear.

"Well I thought so. So you see how it upsets me
when I hear the names of Sacco and Vanzetti."

"
Sacco and Vanzetti?" said Brian.

"Sacco and Vanzetti!" I said.

"Sacco and Vanzetti," reaffirmed Joe, who
hung up and sat down wearily. He picked up his mug to take a sip; his
hands were trembling. None of us said anything for a while. Then Joe
spoke.

"Johnny's errand was to retrieve a portion of
papers and effects willed to the Boston Public Library by the late
Dominic Santuccio, a lawyer in the North End and a second-generation
Italian-American. The papers and effects all concern the
Sacco-Vanzetti case."

He stopped there and sipped again. His hands were
still shaking. We nodded at his statement, as if listening to a
university lecture. He continued.

"
I met Dom a few times in connection with court
cases and Italian-American functions and benefits. Nice guy, and
rich. His obsession was collecting and verifying documents and
evidence relative to the case. Like most of us he was certain the men
were framed. He hoped to write a book proving their innocence and
restoring their reputations. He was not popular with a lot of
establishment people for wanting to do this. He died three months ago
of cancer and never got the chance to do it."

"Yeah, I remember reading about him," said
Brian. "What do you mean, us? You said that like most of us he
was certain they were framed—"

"I mean us Italians, naturally. And also anyone
who feels sympathy for the working-c1ass immigrants in general. Sacco
and Vanzetti committed no crime; they were radicals who questioned
the system and fought for workers' rights, so the system big shots
had them executed. So it's, ah, no surprise that I get a little upset
when I even hear the case mentioned."

"I'm glad to hear you've got the case so
goddamned buttoned up," said Brian, who was swiveling his chair
around, back and forth,"because I've read about a lot of
evidence that says they were guilty. Guilty as all hell of murder and
armed robbery. The only reason, in fact, that a lot of idealists and
artists thought they were railroaded is because of the propaganda
stirred up for them by the Communists and Wobblies."

He leaned back and swiveled like a semaphore. If he
was trying to get a rise out of Joe, then it worked. "

"Oh yeah? Well what about that blackguard and
murderer Michael Collins? Bloodthirsty pig— it's a good thing. De
Valera had him murdered, even though it was a double-cross. Of
course, what would you expect from—"

"Don't you ever call Michael Collins a
murderer," snapped Brian. "And don't ever accuse Eamon De
Valera of killing him. Why I'd—"

"Now hold on a minute, you guys. Can't we just
discuss— "

"Sacco and Vanzetti were doomed from the start.
The mill owners and industrialists wanted them dead. Demanded their
death. The trial was a mockery. Evidence was altered. Witnesses were
led. A new trial would've—"

"Bullshit, Joe. You can't argue with a
ballistics test. At least one fatal bullet was fired from Sacco's
gun. Lots of reliable witnesses identified Vanzetti as one of the
gunmen. When they were arrested, both men lied about what they had
been doing. Both men were armed, too, with weapons like those used in
the holdup."

Joe slammed his palms down on the table and jumped
up, shaking his finger at Brian's face.

"Hannon, you don't deserve to be a police chief
if you believe all that crap. There's a logical explanation for each
of the things you mentioned, and the fact that they were even issues
at the trial and turned against the men proves a conspiracy to
obstruct justice. And as for that bullet, it's a direct misquoting of
the witness summoned. A lie!"

"
All I know is what I read, Joe."

"
You don't know much. Those poor guys were tried
and convicted not because of what they did, but because of what they
were: working men, radicals, foreigners . . . Italians."

Then Brian really muddied the waters by remarking
that maybe that wasn't so far off the mark, considering that Italians
practically invented crime in America.

To which Joe replied— shouted back is better,
actually— that ninety-eight percent of Italians were peaceable and
law-abiding, and if Brian implied, directly or indirectly, that they
were violent, he would personally take Brian's head off.

To which Brian replied— shouted back is better,
actually— that the Irish never, as commonly supposed, looked for a
fight, but if Joe wanted to start something with him, he personally
knew of a place in Southie where seven or eight strapping young Sons
of Erin would take delight in performing the Kilkenny two-step on
Joe's face.

To which Joe replied—

But before he could reply the door to Brian's office
burst open and two boys in blue, their batons drawn, jumped into the
room.

"Everything all right, Chief?" asked the
bigger one. "We heard shouting and—"

"It's okay, 'guys," I said calmly. "It's
just two officers of the law about to commit murder."

Brian dismissed them, and I got each combatant to his
neutral corner. They glowered at each other over the table.

"I, uh, gather that the Sacco-Vanzetti case is
fraught with externals. It's surrounded by issues of ethnicity and
class. One might even say the judicial system was on trial as well as
the defendants."

"Right, Doc. The trial did not prove they were
guilty; it proved a man who didn't speak good English, didn't have a
lot of money and prestige, and didn't agree a hundred percent with
the exploitation of immigrants could not get a fair trial."

Brian started to say something,.bit his lip a little,
then said it anyway.

"But it's not by any means certain they were
innocent," he said.

"Let's get back to Johnny Robinson," I
suggested before Joe could reply. "Who's this Andy fellow he
mentions?"

"
Sam told me he's Andrea Santuccio, Dom's son.
I've never met him. Johnny went to the Boston Public Library as
planned at eleven on Friday and retrieved a certain parcel of letters
and transcripts, given to the library by Andy after Dominic's death.
Apparently this certain parcel was especially controversial or
something. Anyway, Andy later fought for a special injunction to get
it back. I guess he wasn't aware of what the packet contained at
first. When the court ruled that the Santuccio family was entitled to
reclaim part of the papers, Andy immediately hired Johnny to pick
them up and deliver them back to the Santuccio home in the North End.
Clear so far?"

We nodded, and Joe continued.

"
But when Johnny got to the Santuccio house
apparently nobody was home. The mother died over ten years ago and
Andy is the only surviving member of the family. He's also a
bachelor, I guess. The fact that Andy wasn't there altered Johnny's
plans. Andy was supposed to be waiting there but wasn't. So Johnny
hiked over to Cambridge for the other errands, went to get your fancy
dental work, Doc, and at the end of the day hoofed it back to the
North End. Remember, all this time he's carrying the hot papers for
Andy right in his pouch. We don't know, but we can assume that Johnny
called you either right before or right after he went back to the
Santuccio house a second time."

"And delivered the papers?" asked Brian.

"No. And did not deliver the papers."