Little Deaths(33)

Frank seemed a little bewildered.

“Great. I appreciate this, Mr. Malone. Is your car over there? I’ll follow you. If you see a diner, just pull over. I’ll be right behind you.”

Frank blinked at him. Cleared his throat.

“There’s . . . uh . . . Marty’s off the expressway. That okay?”

“Perfect. I’m right behind you.” Pete was already running back to his car.


Marty’s was a big place with chrome trim and a lunch counter running the length of the room. Pete led the way to a corner table, away from the kitchen bell and the bustle of the counter.

A waitress brought over two menus and Frank smiled at her.

“Hey, Lisa. I’ll take a cheeseburger and fries. And a Coke.”

“Sure, hon. And for you?”

“Just a Coke, thanks.”

“Two Cokes, coming up.”

She winked at Frank and headed for the kitchen, hips and hair swaying in her wake. Frank didn’t seem to notice; he was staring down at the tabletop, picking at a hangnail.

“You a regular here?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t look at the menu. Assumed you must come here a lot.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess. It’s on the way home. And I don’t . . . I’ve never liked eating alone.”

His face flushed and he cleared his throat. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Pete leaned forward, keeping eye contact.

“Mr. Malone, we at the Herald are truly sorry for your loss. What happened to your children was a tragedy.”

Frank nodded. “I appreciate that, Mr. . . .”

“Wonicke. Pete Wonicke. A truly terrible tragedy. And we want to do everything we can to help catch the person who took your kids.”

Frank licked dry lips. “Thank you. Do you mean . . . uh . . . is your paper offering some kind of reward?”

“That’s a very good idea, Mr. Malone, and one I’ll certainly mention to my editor. But what I was thinking of was some way that I might help today. Is there a message you’d like to give to our readers? Something you’d like to say to them?”

Frank looked puzzled. “Like what?”

“Well, you could ask for their help. Make a public appeal through the newspaper.”

Frank was frowning, and Pete realized Quinn had been right about him: he wasn’t too bright.

He made his voice softer. “We can just ask if anyone knows anything, or saw anything that day. I can help you write something.”

Frank nodded slowly. “Sure. That would be real nice of you, Mr. Wonicke. Thank you. Thank you very much.”


Back at the office, Pete sat down to work on the story he knew he had to write. One that carried Devlin’s conviction there was something off about Ruth Malone. One that gave Friedmann the sexy broad that he thought would sell newspapers.

He pulled the sheets from his typewriter and took them into Friedmann’s office. Friedmann read the story over, made a couple of corrections, nodded.

As Pete left the office and headed over to the typists, Horowitz winked at him.

No matter what doubts he might have about Ruth’s guilt, Pete needed a solid angle to write from. He needed Devlin’s certainty. He needed to believe in something.


MALONE MURDERS LATEST: NEW LEADS

By Staff Reporter Peter Wonicke

QUEENS, Aug. 12–Police have several promising leads in the case of the two murdered Malone children, a source said last night.

Little Frank Jr., 5, and Cindy Marie, 4, disappeared from 72nd Drive in the early hours of July 14. They were reported missing from the apartment they shared with their mother, a cocktail waitress who is separated from their father.

At 1:30 p.m. that day, the body of the little girl was found in an empty lot on 162nd Street near 71st Street, about a half-mile from her home. She had been strangled.

On July 25, the decomposing body of her brother was found on an embankment near the New York World’s Fair site. No autopsy could be made on the boy due to the condition of the body.

Frank Malone Sr., an airline mechanic who works nights at Kennedy International Airport, yesterday made a fresh appeal for information.

He looked visibly upset as he spoke to this reporter. “There’s no need to tell you how we feel,” he said. “If anybody in the city or anyplace has any idea what happened to Frankie and Cindy, please call the police.”

While her estranged husband was speaking to reporters, Mrs. Malone, a petite strawberry blonde, attended another interview at Fresh Meadows police station. She was freshly made up with lipstick and eyeliner and wore a fashionable blue skirt, matching heels and a low-necked cream-colored blouse. Mrs. Malone left the station house at 4:50 p.m. and was driven away by a male friend.





Pete kept thinking about Horowitz. About the look on his face as he avoided the question of how he knew Devlin. The way he wouldn’t meet Pete’s eyes.

So one morning, Pete went to the public library and spent some time in the stacks. It took him a while—he had to go back more than eight years—but he found the story that Horowitz hadn’t told him.

He used the ancient copy machine to make duplicates of the news articles, and left with the pages folded in his notebook and the facts clear in his mind.

He wasn’t sure why it was important to have this. But he decided to hold onto it, just in case.