“I was expecting your call, Willy, after all the commotion on the waterfront.” Said Detective George Maxwell.
“Yeah, we need to have a talk.”
“Come over to headquarters. I’ll be waiting for you at the front desk.”
Anderson wanted to investigate Maria Nicolosi without delay and suspected potential connections to the Normandie. He knew Maxwell was the man to see about that particular matter. At headquarters Maxwell was in his trademark hat and coat waiting at the booking desk. He quickly escorted Anderson to a nearby drug store where they sat in a booth and ordered coffee. Maxwell kept looking nervously up and down the aisle.
“Look Anderson, when someone like Maria Nicolosi gets into trouble in this town, sparks fly in every direction. She’s just the kind of pro with too many “fat cat” clients who need to be reassured especially when it comes to discretion, if you know what I mean? Believe me when I tell you, this gal has top-flight names in her address book. She’s a hot potato and can make waves in every direction!”
Maxwell looked very concerned.
“I’d like to know what kind of high level protection she enjoys, because we need to ask her a few very specific questions.”
“You mean who her rabbi is?”
“Precisely.”
Maxwell shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Look Willy, I plan to reach retirement less than two years from now… alive if possible.”
Anderson tilted his hat back.
“George, I respect your aspirations. But I remind you that this is not business as usual, we happen to be at war now and the lady in question has been enthusiastically screwing an enemy diplomat who was probably also a naval intelligence spy plotting to blow up most of New York Harbor! Withholding information from my investigation qualifies as …collaborating with the enemy, doesn’t it? Very unlikely to facilitate your retirement plans.”
Maxwell began trimming a new cigar very slowly and carefully with his penknife. Then he struck a long wooden match and lit up in silence taking a few thoughtful puffs. On a paper napkin, he carefully printed a name in neat bold letters, and pushed it over to Anderson. It happened to be the name of a very prominent New York politician.
“Oh, you mean he’s in her phonebook?…”
“Yup, private number and all.”
“So, what do we do?”
Maxwell held the cigar in his right hand and narrowed his eyes.
“Unless you go dumping a whole lot of horseshit into the milk bucket, we can ask the lady very nicely and politely to cooperate with us. And if she doesn’t well, then we’ll have to decide won’t we?”
“Summary execution for espionage in wartime?”
“I don’t see FDR objecting to such a patriotic decision, do you? As I told you, I’m looking forward to a graceful retirement…after a pretty distinguished career, I might add.”
“All right, we lean on Nicolosi like gentlemen but drop a few heavy hints in the process. Anyone else should we look at?”
“There’s the honorable Joseph Licata, an active member of Murder, Inc. and part of the Anastasia gang, the Brooklyn waterfront crowd.”
Maxwell retrieved the napkin and stuffed it hastily into his pocket.
“I see. I know your help will be necessary, Captain. I guess I got to thank you after all, and put in a good word with Commissioner Valentine.”
Maxwell was all smiles as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders but he wasn’t about to surrender further information. Now that he’d done his patriotic duty for the war effort! He just wanted to finish his coffee and go home.
“Ok, I think we’re done.”
“Anytime, son!” he replied dropping a quarter on the table and winking at Anderson as they walked out.
Commander McFarlane agreed to cooperate with the FBI investigation of Maria Nicolosi. Anderson concluded that unless a torpedo was about to explode right under Police Commissioner Lewis J. Valentine’s desk at City Hall they couldn’t expect much further help from city police detectives.
When Anderson visited the “Isle of Capri” that evening the place was half empty with Sal the waiter and the cook holding the fort. They said that Maria wasn’t feeling well and was at home that night. He went straight to her second floor apartment in a West 47th Street brownstone unannounced and knocked on the door. She opened the door in her bathrobe looking surprised and asked him to wait for a few minutes while she returned to her bedroom. He heard some low whispering and understood that there was someone inside who didn’t wish to be seen.
She returned fully clothed and very much in control of herself,
“A drink, Mr. Anderson?”
“No thanks but please go ahead. I’m sorry to disturb your…”
“It’s not a problem.”
She poured a small glass of brandy.
“Mrs. Nicolosi, I’m here unofficially and I will not pursue any questions you don’t wish to answer.”
She smiled, sat in a chair facing him provocatively crossed her legs, and said,
“Look Mr. Anderson, I’ve been in trouble before, so…go ahead and ask and if I don’t answer well then, come back with a warrant!”
He couldn’t help thinking that he was dealing with one tough broad,
“I understand that you may still be involved in illicit activities such as promoting and abetting prostitution, for example, and that you currently ‘manage’ several New York professionals who turn their cash receipts over to you? You in turn hand most of the take to individuals such as Joe Licata, for example. Is any of this correct?”
Maria looked indignant and inhaled deeply as she calmly prepared her answer,
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, Mrs. Nicolosi, I’m a federal investigator. Right now fighting crime means stopping the enemies of this country: mostly spies and saboteurs in a war that got off to a bad start for our side. If we suspect that you may be withholding vital military information I can assure you that no lawyer, and no judge can save you and that there will be no jury either. What you’ll get is summary justice at my discretion. Do you fully understand what I’m saying, Mrs. Nicolosi?”
She put down her glass.
“Are you threatening me with execution?”
“Off the record, yes I am, absolutely. I can use any number of excuses and no one will question the legality of my actions.”
She looked at her hands and then at the door to her bedroom.
“Ok, but you have to promise me that you won’t press changes. I’ve been in jail before and I know what that means. I have no intention of going back.” She lowered her voice and added “I’m with someone right now, it’s a little delicate. I’d like to keep him out of it.”
She half whispered the words as though it were a simple business transaction.
“This will remain between you and me unless national security is involved, naturally.”
She appeared relieved that Anderson wouldn’t go barging into her bedroom and scare the living daylights out of the congressman … She looked straight into Anderson’s eyes.
“I worked with Joe Licata a long time ago. We set the apartments up. My late husband had started the business. Some of his friends asked me to go on managing them and that’s how I met Vittorio Barbieri. He was just a customer like the others.”
“What did you know about Barbieri?”
“Nothing really, he happened to be a very nice man and I immediately liked him. I can’t see him being a spy at all!”
She took a sip of cognac. Willy couldn’t help admiring her cool.
“I’ll need more information about Joe Licata and his operation, Mrs. Nicolosi.”
She managed to bury any sensitive information in a mass of anecdotes about the New York rackets and the familiar names “Mr.C.”, “Albert A.” and “Charley Lucky” surfaced regularly. She also mentioned “poor” Don Vito Genovese who had to flee to the old country and his Mussolini connections or at least what she heard from Anna Petillo and Carlo Tresca. Every statement was prefaced by “I don’t know if this is true, but…”
Anderson felt she was selling him a thick line of bull so he decided to stop there and let fear and worry sink into the widow’s mind slowly. Surveillance would be intensified to the point of becoming an annoyance. The pressure would take care of the rest.