Little Deaths(84)

“And living in New York, I sometimes see the movie stars in real life. When we came here, it wasn’t like this—the film people all lived in California. In Los Angeles. But now they begin to move here, to New York. I saw a man on the subway last month—he looked familiar, I went closer—Gary Cooper! Gary Cooper, getting on at Canal Street on a Tuesday morning. But my sister wouldn’t believe me when I told her!

“Oh, New York . . . things are always happening in New York. I write to my cousin Sonja in Frombork—a small town, very small—and I tell her all my news. I was in the bakery last month and a man came in and demanded all the money in the register! I was so frightened, I had to sit with my friend Mrs. Roberts who lives nearby before I could go home. Good neighbors are so important, are they not?

“Yes, I know Mrs. Malone. Of course. I know all my neighbors. But I know her well. We met when I was behind her in the checkout line. I remember Mrs. Malone because of her hair. She has beautiful hair—red with that golden shine. I told my friend about it afterward and she said it was called strawberry blonde. Did you ever hear of such a thing! Everyone knows strawberries are not blonde! I think that Edith is having a joke with me.

“So yes, she had red hair with gold. She was very small. Skinny. No meat on her! Men always prefer a woman with a real figure, do they not?

“I remember the day I first saw her, she was wearing a blouse and trousers with white heels. Tight trousers. She was humming to herself, tapping her foot.

“And the next week I saw her in the street and of course I nodded when I recognized her, but she kept walking. At first I was a little shocked—people can be rude—but then I saw her going into Dolly’s Beauty Parlor and I realized she must be thinking about her appointment and so she did not see me. Then I remembered I need to get my own hair cut and so I went in, and there she was, with her hand flat on the table and her nails being filed and sharpened. She was laughing and talking with a fat lady who sat in the next chair.

“And so it was easy to ask Dolly, the owner, to make my hair the same color. I think she used the wrong dye because it is not quite the same, but it is pretty, yes? Cheerful.

“And then I noticed Mrs. Malone often. We passed on the street and I would smile and nod but she never spoke to me. We went to the same supermarket sometimes.

“I don’t like to say it, but I began to notice other things. Not nice things. Her blouses—always open a little too far. Her trousers, very tight. A lot of makeup. And no ring on this finger. No husband.

“One morning I see the children, her children, playing on the grass in front of my building. I ask the little boy where his mother is and he tells me she is in bed. In bed! At nine in the morning! It is not right. Not right! I take the children by the hand and bring them inside, give them milk. And then I take them home and Mrs. Malone, she says not one word of thanks. Not one.

“I was so polite, always smiled, always said good morning. And from this lady, nothing. Nothing. To tell the truth, Mr. Wonicke, each time it was like a slap in the face.”


Scott called and Pete told him what he’d overheard from Devlin: that Lena Gobek’s statement would finish Ruth. And then he told him what he’d remembered about Mrs. Gobek herself.

There was a pause and Pete asked him, “Is this a problem? Is this Mrs. Gobek a problem?”

Scott sighed and when he spoke again, his voice sounded tired. A little cracked.

“Maybe. But let’s wait and see what she says tomorrow. And how she comes across. What did you think of her when you interviewed her?”

“She was . . . she was just a neighbor. An old lady. A little lonely. She liked to talk. She liked telling stories.”

Scott grunted. “A little old lady who tells stories. Let’s hope that’s all she is.”


Pete watched Mrs. Gobek walk from her seat to the witness stand. It seemed to take forever. Finally she climbed the steps and took the oath, then settled herself into the small chair, her round softness emphasizing the stark corners of the wooden surround.

She held her handbag on her wide flowered lap, protecting herself from the men who were watching her. Her hands were curled around the handle, skin taut, as though she was ready for a fight.

Pete looked over at Ruth and saw only neutral interest. Maybe a little curiosity. She was more focused on Lou Gallagher. She kept glancing at Lou until he looked up, and then she smiled nervously. Only when he smiled back did she seem to relax.

Pete thought of her face in the diner when Beckman told her he was leaving. He thought of her desolate wails when Salcito betrayed her in this courtroom. Lou Gallagher was all she had left.

Hirsch adjusted his tie, stood up, cleared his throat. He let his eyes roam over the room before he turned to face the jury. He was enjoying this, Pete realized. He’d been waiting for this moment.

With his back to the witness stand, he began.

“Will you please state your name and address for the record?”

Mrs. Gobek frowned. Pressed her fingertips to her broad chest and looked around.

“Me?”

Hirsch turned to face her, half-hiding his impatience under a smooth smile. He nodded and her brow cleared. She smiled back at him.

“My name is Helena Elzbieta Gobek. My maiden name was Wachowiak. I was born in Elblag, in Poland, on the ninth of January, 1917. My address is forty-four 72nd Road, Queens, New York.”