In the last episode of Special Delivery, Rocky and James Wong discovered the coroner had been bribed by a woman, possibly waelthy socialite Jesse weller, to dispose of the remains of Sid Hoffman, who, as the legend of Il Pollice Nero suggested, died after touching the thumb of the statue. The following takes place in the afternoon of April 26, 1949:
Whoever had bribed the coroner into disposing the remains of Sid Hoffman, whether it was Jesse Weller or somebody else, had forgotten one important thing: the Black Thumb had recently cashed in on two customers rather than one. Hoffman's widow was still alive as far as we knew, upstairs in a hospital bed. As soon as we thought of it, Wong and I climbed the stairs to see if the foul play ended at the cremation of a dead man. At the third floor we were met by a desk and a nurse in gleaming white behind it. She was tall and blonde and had a wide mouth that smiled readily.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said. “May I help you?”
“We're here to see Pamela Hoffman,” said Wong.
The corners of the nurse's mouth lowered and her eyes widened. “I'm afraid you can't see her at the moment.” She looked at me. “Are you family?”
“I've come to think I am,” I said. I flashed my private license in her direction and Wong did the same. She stared at each one for five seconds to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing and came over flushed.
“They've put her in quarantine,” she whispered. “Two nurses and a doctor fell ill after seeing her.”
“What with?”
“No one knows.”
Wong dropped a card on her. “Call this number. The police need to give Mrs. Hoffman protection. We have reason to believe her life is in danger, and not just because of her illness. In the meantime, we'll stay here to make sure she's not disturbed.”
******************************
A small window in the door was the only connection Pamela Hoffman had to the outside world. Through it, I could see that she was younger than old departed Sid, elegant in appearance despite the confines of her hospital bed. Her clear, blank eyes opened and turned to see me watching her. There were nothing but questions in those eyes, and I wished there was a way I could give her the answers. All I could do was smile and nod like an idiot and hope it made her feel better. It didn't seem to work. She turned slowly and stared mournfully at the ceiling.
After a half and hour of waiting the cops arrived and took our places. While we had been indoors, the rain had started up again in earnest, drenching the walkways and opening puddles in the grass.
“At least she's safe,” said Wong, as we got in his car.
I winced. I wasn't convinced we weren't wasting our time. I asked myself: If they were so intent on getting rid of the evidence of Sid Hoffman, why would they forget about her? They wouldn't. They wanted her alive. And they wanted her alive because they wanted the legend of Il Pollice Nero to live on with her.
Wong slid a twenty-dollar bill in my direction. “My clients would want you to have this.”
“Much obliged.”
The rain continued hard until we hit a break on the outskirts of Parker Beach. The roads were still slick and my attention was drawn to them until we got to Oceanic Way. Lights flashed and sirens blared and it didn't take long to find out where it was coming from: the Hoffman house. My Buick was blocked in by what looked like 300 police cars, and a man in uniform stopped us cold before we got within a quarter-mile of the place.
Wong rolled down his window and brought out his badge for the officer to see. “What's going on?”
The officer looked in at me and his eyes narrowed. “There's been a murder,” he droned, pushing his hand through the window to point at me. “And this man is wanted for questioning.”
Who has been murdered? And will Rocky be blamed for it? Find out in the next episode of The Adventures of Rocky Stone!
Whoever had bribed the coroner into disposing the remains of Sid Hoffman, whether it was Jesse Weller or somebody else, had forgotten one important thing: the Black Thumb had recently cashed in on two customers rather than one. Hoffman's widow was still alive as far as we knew, upstairs in a hospital bed. As soon as we thought of it, Wong and I climbed the stairs to see if the foul play ended at the cremation of a dead man. At the third floor we were met by a desk and a nurse in gleaming white behind it. She was tall and blonde and had a wide mouth that smiled readily.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said. “May I help you?”
“We're here to see Pamela Hoffman,” said Wong.
The corners of the nurse's mouth lowered and her eyes widened. “I'm afraid you can't see her at the moment.” She looked at me. “Are you family?”
“I've come to think I am,” I said. I flashed my private license in her direction and Wong did the same. She stared at each one for five seconds to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing and came over flushed.
“They've put her in quarantine,” she whispered. “Two nurses and a doctor fell ill after seeing her.”
“What with?”
“No one knows.”
Wong dropped a card on her. “Call this number. The police need to give Mrs. Hoffman protection. We have reason to believe her life is in danger, and not just because of her illness. In the meantime, we'll stay here to make sure she's not disturbed.”
******************************
A small window in the door was the only connection Pamela Hoffman had to the outside world. Through it, I could see that she was younger than old departed Sid, elegant in appearance despite the confines of her hospital bed. Her clear, blank eyes opened and turned to see me watching her. There were nothing but questions in those eyes, and I wished there was a way I could give her the answers. All I could do was smile and nod like an idiot and hope it made her feel better. It didn't seem to work. She turned slowly and stared mournfully at the ceiling.
After a half and hour of waiting the cops arrived and took our places. While we had been indoors, the rain had started up again in earnest, drenching the walkways and opening puddles in the grass.
“At least she's safe,” said Wong, as we got in his car.
I winced. I wasn't convinced we weren't wasting our time. I asked myself: If they were so intent on getting rid of the evidence of Sid Hoffman, why would they forget about her? They wouldn't. They wanted her alive. And they wanted her alive because they wanted the legend of Il Pollice Nero to live on with her.
Wong slid a twenty-dollar bill in my direction. “My clients would want you to have this.”
“Much obliged.”
The rain continued hard until we hit a break on the outskirts of Parker Beach. The roads were still slick and my attention was drawn to them until we got to Oceanic Way. Lights flashed and sirens blared and it didn't take long to find out where it was coming from: the Hoffman house. My Buick was blocked in by what looked like 300 police cars, and a man in uniform stopped us cold before we got within a quarter-mile of the place.
Wong rolled down his window and brought out his badge for the officer to see. “What's going on?”
The officer looked in at me and his eyes narrowed. “There's been a murder,” he droned, pushing his hand through the window to point at me. “And this man is wanted for questioning.”
Who has been murdered? And will Rocky be blamed for it? Find out in the next episode of The Adventures of Rocky Stone!
Go to Part 15 Wanted for Questioning
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