The jury’s out, sequestered up at the Fairmont like kings in exile, and Frisco holds its breath after four weeks of front page testimony. Part Three opens with the strange coda nobody asked for — a state Attorney General’s daughter kidnapped for an hour and a half, grilled about her father’s trip to Chicago, then let go with a mobster’s name dropped on the way out. The cops call it a prank. Nobody believes that, and nobody does anything about it either. Then Inspector Frank Ahern takes the stand and finally gives the State what it’s been missing all trial: Leonard Calamia’s own confession, a hand-drawn map of a barroom, and the names of every man who waited for Nick De John in that basement.
But this case doesn’t want to be won clean. Alibis collapse on the stand — Catherine Calamia can’t keep her dates straight, Sebastiano Nani can’t explain a hotel register with his own signature on it, and a mysterious in-law who was supposedly dead three weeks before the murder somehow lets a witness into a basement anyway. The jury tours the murder scene, La Rocca offers the judge a drink. Thirty hours of deliberation takes the jury to seven-five for acquittal — with the jury still reading back transcripts when the District Attorney asks for the judge to dismiss both the jury and the case.
And that’s it. No verdict, no reckoning — just three gangsters walking out the city jail smiling, two more still in the wind, and a District Attorney’s decision nobody in the room, on either side, seems willing to explain. Nine dead men traced back to the Chicago Cheese Syndicate mob moving into town, and Frisco never gets its answer for a single one of them.
Some cases close. This one just swirled like mist out into the cool Frisco night and disappeared.
