"You wouldn't believe the sight. Hell, I wouldn't have, unless I'd been there in the flesh. After he'd been taken out, MacCormick and I went up to see his lavish digs, just to find out whether the reports we'd gotten had been exaggerated. Hah! Not a bit. He had a large suite of rooms in the old hospital wing, all laid out with his finery. A maroon cashmere lounging robe was spread across the foot of his bed, with two pairs of shoes, shoe trees neatly in them, lined up underneath."

Lockhart was shaking his head and wringing his hands as though he were right in the middle of the scene he was describing.

"There was a locker below the window and I got one of the boys to break it open. Inside there were a dozen boxes of expensive cigars, bars of perfumed soap, monogrammed stationery, face cream, kid gloves, linen handkerchiefs." He shook his head. "Here I thought I'd condemned him to purgatory when he was sentenced to jail, and he was living far better than most folks I knew. That was before I saw his kitchen and his garden."

"His own kitchen?"

"Well, Reggio and Cleary shared a private one. The men downstairs were eating slop and gruel, just like the old days. These guys had gallons of fresh milk, crates of cranberries, fresh meat, pickled herrings, bags of potatoes. They had a pretty nice stash of liquor, too.

"Cleary, his room was a little less refined. Where Reggio had a crucifix over the bed and rosary beads beside it, Cleary had a dagger stuck in the wall over his head. I guess we'd interrupted him. There was an unplayed hand of pinochle on the table, some device up on the rafters that was concocting a home brew, and an empty pint bottle of whiskey. Screw Hater, the dog, was sitting next to the bed, trembling till we took him down and fed him one of his master's steaks. Then there was a little lounging area next to it where Cleary and his thugs spent the day, when he didn't choose to be out wandering the grounds."

"What grounds?"

"Behind the penitentiary. Reggio paid the other inmates to build him a garden. That's where he kept his milking cow and his pet goat. Beautiful spot it was, looking back over to Manhattan. He'd set up park benches and exquisite flowers, though they weren't in bloom that day. And he controlled who could enter the place. Kept the riffraff out.

"The pigeon cote was up in the roof above Cleary's room. Each of them had about two hundred birds, cooing themselves up a storm. MacCormick truly thought that's how they got messages in and out. Hell, it wouldn't have made a bit of difference. Once they'd bought the wardens, bribed them with all the mob money that Dutch Schultz could muster, they carried anything they wanted in and out the front door of the joint. Easy as that."

"So it must have been a great day for you." Mike had picked up the framed clipping and was reading the text of the story. "I've closed down a lot of joints in my time, Mr. Lockhart, but not quite the way you did. I'm impressed."

"Shut it tight. Demolished the entire building. A fortress, it was, and now it's just a pile of old stones." He pushed himself up and walked to the window at the side of the house, looking for signs of movement in the driveway. "Where's my Lola? Always brings me licorice. Those little bits of black licorice. She likes the part about the man who was killed."

"In the raid?"

"Only one hurt in the whole damn thing. Could have cost me my job."

"Why does Lola like that part?" I asked.

"Ask Lola." He shuffled back to his seat and eased himself down.

"One of the mobsters was killed?" Mike wanted to know.

"No, no. A gentleman. One of the cosseted prisoners who lived there like a lord. Paid Reggio a fortune to be mollycoddled in his own private prison aerie. That's probably why Lola liked him. He was a real gentleman. I knew him too, before he wound up in the penitentiary."

"Who was he?"

"Freeland Jennings, Detective. Wasn't half bad. Do they still talk about him?"

Mike and I exchanged glances. Neither of us had ever heard the name.

"Talk about the stooges like Dutch Schultz and Edward Cleary and everyone knows the tales, but nobody remembers the men who built the city. Freeland Jennings was a merchant, a friend of Pierre Carder's. Cartier put him into the diamond trade and Jennings made himself a fortune. Spent half his life on ocean liners, crossing back and forth to London and Antwerp. But he was a great philanthropist, mind you. Helped Vanderbilt pay for the new opera house. Gave money to the public library and created the historical society."

"How'd he wind up inside the walls of the penitentiary?" "Shot his wife. And I have to say, young lady"-Lockhart fixed his gaze on me and wagged his finger-"I have to say that it's a case I myself would never have prosecuted. Ariana, she was. Jennings married a foreigner. Clever, good-looking girl who had just about anything you could want. He showered her with jewels, of course, and showed her off everywhere. She'd have never been in the Social Register, being Italian and all, if she hadn't married Freeland. I used to play cards with him once a week, over at the University Club. Saw him just two days before the murder.

"Ariana became restless while he was abroad so much. Took up with a lover, a real rogue. It wasn't unheard of in my time, but most people kept quiet about it. Not Ariana-she flaunted it so's it was all over town. Took him to Jennings's box at the Metropolitan Opera, danced with him in public, some even say he was the father of her child."

The old man was tiring now. He'd been talking with great animation and was slowly losing steam in the process.

"It's names I have trouble remembering. Not the ones I put in jail, or the fellows I knew well, but some of these other characters. Forgive me. Anyway, Jennings was called back unexpectedly from Europe one time, and I guess he'd just had one embarrassment too many. Ariana wasn't home to greet him, but when he went out that evening, he ran into her with her beau, just strolling through the Grand Army Plaza. He made the assumption that they were just coming out of the Plaza Hotel after a rendezvous. Words were exchanged between the two men-I'm not exactly clear on what was said. But Ariana defended her lover. Right there on the street, nice people parading all around and minding their own business.

"Plain and simple, Jennings pulled a pistol and threatened his rival. The man taunted him-called him all kinds of names. Insulted his manhood. Freeland just went berserk and fired the gun. But he killed Ariana instead of her lover. Shot her once through the chest."

Lockhart thought about it for a minute. "Justifiable, is what J would have argued. 'Twas Ariana the cause of the whole damn mess. If she hadn't been such a loose woman-well ... In any event, he was convicted of manslaughter."

Views about spousal murder had not changed very much over time. It was neither a new phenomenon nor a well-understood one. But that might have been enough of a reason for Lola's interest in the Freeland Jennings saga.

"And he was sentenced to the penitentiary?"

"Very same one, of course. And those convicts who weren't protected by the mob did some hard labor. Quarrying island stone and things that weren't fit for a gentleman to do. Fortunately for him, Freeland had the means to pay Reggio and Cleary for a finer lifestyle.

"That was actually their downfall. It was Freeland who complained to me about the narcotics problem. Wrote me a letter and explained to me how everything was for sale on the island. Liked his jailhouse apartment fine, he did, under the circumstances. Had a small turret in the prison, looking right out across the East River to his home on Manhattan. Paid dearly for it. He was allowed to keep some cases of wine with him and all his favorite clothes. Had a radio and headset so he could stay current on the news." Lockhart's voice was giving out a bit. I leaned closer to hear him. "Freeland just couldn't tolerate the addiction, and what was happening to the lowest class of prisoners. Felt all those drugs coming in were making the situation dangerous for everyone. They were a scurvy bunch, desperate and violent."

"Was he killed when your cops went in with MacCormick? Did he resist-"

"Thank goodness, we had nothing to do with it. It was the thugs that got him. One of them rammed a shiv right between his ribs. Went like a stuck pig."

"Was it because he squealed about the narcotics in the penitentiary?"

Orlyn Lockhart paused. He rubbed his right eye with his hand and seemed exasperated when he spoke to me. "You're just as impatient as she is. It's Freeland's diamonds you want, just like Lola. Do you believe they're buried on Blackwells Island, too?"

22.

The old man wanted to tell the story his way.

"MacCormick was right. He knew that Freeland Jennings was my friend, so he didn't think I ought to be anywhere near his quarters during the raid. As soon as my deputies seized Reggio and Cleary, their hoodlums scattered pretty quickly. Mind you, the mob lieutenants weren't even under lock and key at the time. There were a couple of dozen of them scrambling around, knowing they were about to get shipped up the river for real. These were their last moments of freedom before their corrupt world collapsed.

"Two of the most vicious broke into Jennings's apartment and cornered him there. He wasn't part of the rackets, of course, so he wasn't one of their own. They'd been treating him special only because he was paying the two top dogs for his privileges."

"They wanted his money, I guess."

"They wanted everything he had. And so a legend had grown up around my old acquaintance." He glanced back over at me. "This is the part you girls like. Story goes that what Joseph Reggio had demanded from Freeland Jennings was diamonds. Sparkling pieces of ice that could be smuggled out with ease. Forget about needing a pocket or pouch to hold them. You might actually come across an honest warden who would search in those things. Why, these'd fit inside a shoe without anybody noticing. Sneaked out in the folds of a hem when a lady visitor passed through. The most perfect currency for an imprisoned privateer."

"Did Jennings really keep diamonds in the penitentiary?"

"Well, he certainly hinted to me that he had. Did what he needed to do to stay alive."

"Did he have them right in his room?"

"This is the stuff of legends, now, son. I'm telling you what the boys told Commissioner MacCormick and me, not what I saw for myself. They said Jennings was the wily type and didn't trust any of these goons around him. Most he ever kept in his apartment were two or three gems, 'cause one of them went a long way at that time. It would have been a lot easier to hide a small stone than it was to try to conceal a stack of bills or enough gold to keep Reggio happy.

"But there were other places on the island, see, to keep his jewels."

"I realize they had the run of the penitentiary, Mr. Lockhart," Mike said, "but not access to the rest of the land beyond the jail walls."

"Ah, but you're forgetting what most of the prisoners did every day."

"Some of them had to work as caretakers in the other hospitals and asylums," I offered, still chilled by that startling fact.