The Prodigal Son(49)

“So they got their papers and went to work at the hotel?” Tony asked, blithely unaware that this wasn’t an inquisition.

“Yes. I had a stern talk to Davina, warning her that I could remove her immigrant status any time I felt she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. So no prostitution and no theft. Davina promised they’d do it the hard way, and they did.”

“How can you be sure, Mr. Preston?” Abe asked courteously.

“I made the pair of them report back to me at the end of every six months. And of course I kept in touch with my pal at the Grand Lion.” A reminiscent smile crossed Mr. Q.V. Preston’s face. “The change when I saw them at the end of the first six months was incredible. They’d both put on weight and Davina had found time to visit a beauty parlor — she was just gorgeous! And Uda? Well, Uda stayed Uda, just fatter. They’d been put to work in the hotel kitchen and shamed the Puerto Rican kitchen hands so much that they’d been threatened. Davina wasn’t a tad intimidated. She laughed at them and said if they tried anything, she’d castrate them — everyone has to sleep, she whispered. Any other woman would have been found with her throat cut, but Davina was believed. They thought her a witch.”

“I can imagine that,” said Carmine, smiling.

“When I approved of them, my friend put Davina in the restaurant as hostess — her English had improved in leaps and bounds. Uda went with her as her personal assistant.” Preston sighed happily. “Davina had been the hostess for almost six months when the proprietor of a model agency dined there and offered to put her on his books. I told her to go for it.”

“As easy as that,” said Carmine.

“Yes, it really was, but only after much suffering, never forget that, Captain.” His face saddened. “I only saw them once more, when Davina was on billboards and kicking her heels in TV bubble baths. There were more beautiful models, but Vina had an extraordinary gift — looking at pictures of her made you firmly believe that the product she was advertising simply felt better than its rivals. I closed my files on them with a note that they should be awarded citizenship at the earliest possible time, and that was the end of it. Or — almost.” He stopped.

“What, Mr. Preston?” Carmine asked.

“I heard that after she and Uda became citizens, she got herself mixed up with a shady guy named Chez Derzinsky — it had to do with fraud, I believe. There’s a police lieutenant in Brooklyn used to be in one of the Manhattan midtown precincts can tell you a lot more — Milton O’Flannery.”

Liam was already writing it down.

“But you never saw her again in person, sir?” Carmine asked.



“No. I never expected a nostalgic visit — she never looks back, that girl. But I would love to hear her Connecticut story.”

“I’ll take you to lunch at Malvolio’s before we drive you home, and you shall hear it. But first, what more can you tell us about Uda?” Carmine asked.

Q.V. Preston looked surprised. “I always thought that was one of Vina’s finest characteristics,” he said. “She never at any stage abandoned her damaged sister.”

“Sister?”

“What, isn’t that known? How amazing! They’re twins. The family is a very old one, and apparently much intermarried. Davina told me that in an effort to counteract the intermarriage her great-grandparents and grandparents and their siblings had contracted some peculiar union  s — Chinese, Negro, you name it.”

“None of this is known in Connecticut, even, I suspect, to her husband and his family,” Abe said.

“With Davina, who knows?” Preston said. “She was the senior twin, and perfect. Uda was born looking strange, though it’s purely her looks. Her mind is as good as Vina’s, I reckon.”



Tony Cerutti had been deputed to return the immigration official to his home, but instead of lunch at Malvolio’s, he had to chew on a vicious lecture from Carmine.

“Dumb, Tony, downright, outright, unbelievably dumb! The man’s a very senior member of a much bigger organization than the Holloman PD, and he gave up his day to come give us desperately needed information about two suspects in murder. And what do you do? Make him feel like a suspect with tactless questions! I swear I’m tempted to throw you back into uniform, Tony, if over a year in Detectives hasn’t honed your sensibilities better than this. You still get to drive him home, but God help you if you say one word out of line! I want him back in front of his TV feeling like he had a good day out. Now go away and bury yourself somewhere I can’t see you!”