“Help with what?” he asked earnestly.
“I know that Detective Falconer was chasing that man on that train two days ago for a specific reason, but I can’t tell what that is. I have an idea that it’s tied into our excursions out into the streets back when we posed as prostitutes and were trying to catch a killer, Jimmy, and I need someone to confirm that for me. So, could you please just let me in on the investigation a little bit? Anything—anything at all.”
“I…I don’t know anything about that investigation now, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m not a part of it anymore.”
“Jimmy, I know that’s not true,” she said. “I know that Falconer has taken a liking to you and he’s not about to toss you off the case at this point. I’m not asking for the moon, now—just a little direction, a little bite, and of course, they’ll never know that we talked.”
“Miss Bly, this is a confidential investigation and it’s being directed personally by the chief inspector himself. You know he’d sack me, if not worse, if I told you anything, so please, just leave it be.”
“Jimmy, it’s time you realized how things work in this city,” she said. “The police have their investigations, and we reporters have our stories, and sometimes we all rely on each other. We get a little inside scoop from an unnamed police source, and then later we do a favor for the police by printing something or other that helps them nab their suspect. A description, for instance: hundreds of thousands of readers can get it in an instant when the paper is dropped on the street corner. Do you see how our newspapers have a certain power that your police department doesn’t have? I’m only asking for a little something to latch onto, Jimmy—just something, because I have an interest in catching this person, too.”
Halloran turned and slowly walked away from her toward the entrance of the alley out onto Mulberry Street. Bly turned in that direction, too, but she did not follow; she felt a little sorry that she had cornered him like this and sorry also that perhaps she had lost the trust of someone whom she had recently befriended, and she questioned the wisdom of her decision.
Halloran then turned back to her before he reached the opening to the busy street. “You can never tell Falconer or the chief inspector that I said anything to you,” he said. “Can you promise me that?”
“Yes, Jimmy, I can,” she answered. “I promise.”
“The guy on the train wasn’t the killer,” he said. “He was only dropping letters for the true killer—at least that’s what they think. They’re trying to get more evidence on the killer now before he does it again. He’s a rich foreigner who’s staying over at the Hoffman House up on Twenty-Fifth. But they don’t have much apart from a vague statement from this Spotsky character. That’s all I can tell you.”
“I understand, Jimmy,” she said. “Thank you for that…and good luck with the investigation.”
“Sure,” he said, and then he turned and walked out of the alley, leaving her standing alone, thinking about the man at the Hoffman House, and perhaps the greatest scoop of a lifetime.
66
“He’s originally from Austria, speaks English well, and is clearly a man of great means now,” Penwill said to the group of men assembled in Byrnes’ office a day after his encounter with Johannes Seidler at the Hoffman House. Falconer stood to the side and listened intently as Penwill continued with his briefing. “He matches the description given for our killer perfectly and has been in New York since late March—we checked it out with the concierge. And, as I just mentioned, he was wearing some Asprey and Company cufflinks much like the one Detective Falconer found over at the scene of the attempted killing near the Hotel Imperial. So, in my view, this is the man to focus on—it’s inescapable.”
“Well, then, what’s next?” Byrnes asked, standing behind his desk. “How do we ensnare this Austrian doctor without knowing when or who he plans on attacking next?”
Penwill looked over to Falconer, who took the cue to speak. “We send Spotsky to the saloon over there and have him check in with the suspect,” he said stepping closer to the chief inspector’s desk. “If the doctor drops a letter with him, then we have him.”
“And what if he doesn’t?” Byrnes asked. “What if he’s not ready to send another letter and shrugs off his delivery boy?”
“Then we just keep after him,” Falconer replied directly. “This is the man we should be after, as the inspector here just said. I’m convinced of it.”
Byrnes looked down at his desk, appearing lost in thought for a moment, and then looked up at the assembled detectives. “Very well, then,” he said. “See what happens if Spotsky is sent through the place and then report back to me. It looks like we just may have caught up to our killer, and now we just have to draw him in.”
67
Penwill felt the covered carriage shudder to a stop, signaling that he and the other men were at the appointed drop-off point. He turned to Halloran, sitting next to the handcuffed Spotsky, and to another detective from the Central Office, James Waidler, sitting across from them. “All right, then,” he said, “this is it. You both know the plan. Let’s do this, shall we?” Halloran and Waidler, both dressed in fashionable evening wear like Penwill so that they could fit in properly with the patrons inside the swanky Hoffman House, nodded to him.
“All right, Spotsky,” Penwill said as he unlocked the prisoner’s handcuffs, “this is your big chance to help yourself and get a big break from the district attorney. All you have to do is go inside and find your friend, the doctor. Walk by him and see if has a letter for you to drop. If he does, just bring it outside and enter this carriage again. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Spotsky replied sullenly. “But I ain’t promisin’ nothin’. This guy don’t always want to communicate, if you know what I mean.”
“Just do as we said,” Penwill instructed, “and it’ll be over soon. And wait until Detective Waidler and I are already in. Halloran will give you the go-ahead.”
Penwill and Waidler moved to exit the carriage, but then, halfway out, Penwill stopped and looked back in at the prisoner. “And Spotsky, please don’t make a run for it, or you will be shot. Understand?”
Penwill then stepped down from the carriage and strolled across the street with Waidler towards the hotel. “Just remember,” he said quietly to the young detective, “I’m a wealthy manufacturer of armaments in Britain, and you’re the son of a wealthy friend of mine in Saint Louis. Your father has a business making typewriter machines for offices. And that’s all you know as the son, right?”
“Right,” Waidler said as they stepped up onto the sidewalk and walked over to the entrance to the hotel. “All right, then,” Penwill said. “Here we are.”
The two men walked into the hotel lobby and made their way immediately into the saloon, which was already filling up with men eager to drink and talk the night away. Setting himself up against the bar midway down its wooden length, Penwill spoke quietly to Waidler while glancing around the room: “So I’ll be here, and why don’t you stand over on the corner of the bar, underneath the little stuffed bear? That way, we can cover more of the bar. I’ll signal you if I spot our suspect. And Spotsky should be entering any second now.”
“Got it, thanks,” Waidler said, and he headed down the bar to take his position on the corner. Penwill looked over to the entrance and saw Spotsky enter the room darkly, leering from underneath his newsboy cap. Scanning the room as far as he could, Penwill then spotted Seidler sitting at a table alone opposite the far end of the bar. He was reading a newspaper and had a drink set on the table in front of him. Penwill looked at Spotsky, and, when the convict looked back at him, Penwill motioned with his eyes to the end of the bar where the Austrian doctor sat reading. Spotsky appeared to understand, as he then started to walk through the throng of men chattering near the bar and amongst the various tables. Penwill looked back at Waidler now, and the young detective nodded as if he knew what was happening.
The two policemen remained in p
lace, trying to act like nothing was amiss, but also subtly watching Spotsky as he slowly made his way down to Seidler’s little table in the back. Penwill grabbed his pint of ale from the bar and took a large gulp, gently fingering his revolver inside his jacket with his other hand. Spotsky was getting closer to Seidler now, and just had to maneuver his way through a few last revelers standing in his way. Penwill looked back quickly at Waidler and motioned for him to walk closer to the bar’s entrance in case either Spotsky or Seidler decided to make a run for it. As Waidler complied, Penwill then glanced back over his shoulder and saw Spotsky at last come abreast of Seidler’s table and appear to say something to the doctor, who looked up and appeared confused.
Penwill walked a few steps closer to Seidler’s table and tried to gauge what was happening, but he could only see Seidler brush Spotsky away with his hand and return to his newspaper. Spotsky then turned around and slowly made his way back to the saloon’s entrance, where Waidler was waiting for him. Penwill saw them meet and exit quietly out the saloon’s entrance into the hotel lobby, and then he returned quietly to his old spot at the bar. After taking several minutes to finish his pint of ale, he paid his bill and left the saloon, heading out to the waiting carriage across the street.
Arriving at that location, he pulled open the carriage door and saw Spotsky angrily trying to explain what had just happened as Halloran, Waidler, and now, Falconer, listened intently. “I’m tellin’ you, the guy tried to act like I was a stranger! He just waved his hand at me and said, ‘Who are you? Leave me alone!’ Just like that! After all I’ve done for the bastard—just acted like I’m some beggar from the street.”
“Spotsky,” Falconer spoke up, “are you sure that’s the man you’ve been delivering letters for—the one who just back there told you to get lost?”
“Yeah, he’s the one, no doubt,” Spotsky answered quickly. “He’s onto youse guys now. He doesn’t want anyone to know he knows me, but I’m swearing to ya’, that’s the rich foreigner who paid me to drop those letters.”
Falconer looked over at Penwill, who nodded back. “I saw it all, Falconer,” he said. “The man did act like Spotsky here was just some strange interloper—there will be no using him anymore to entice the suspect to send another incriminating letter, I’m afraid.”
“So, he knew something was up, but how?” Falconer asked. “Does he know you, too, inspector?”
“I doubt it, detective,” Penwill answered. “But I have a feeling that perhaps my little ploy to introduce myself to him might have tipped him off. I’ll explain later. Let’s return Mister Spotsky here to the jail. Do you have those men to tail our doctor?”
Falconer nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I’ve got two very good men to keep a watch over him.” Then he signaled the driver on top of the carriage to pull away and head back to the Tombs, where Spotsky would be detained further as the men of the Detective Bureau struggled to figure out how to out-trick the mysterious surgeon from Vienna.
68
“Well, that’s that,” Penwill said to Falconer as they walked out of the immense front portico of the Tombs and stepped down the dark stone steps to the street. “I believe him, you know—Spotsky—and I agree that our Doctor Seidler knows something is up and has no further use for him. We shan’t get a letter out of him that way anymore.”
“You’re right,” Falconer said, lighting a cigarillo and offering the lit match to Penwill, who had similarly grabbed for a smoke out of his jacket. “You were saying that you think Seidler knows you now, too. Any reason why you’d think that?” The two men started to walk slowly down the street lit softly by gaslight.
“Oh, it’s just a feeling I had after I’d left him there in the bar the other night, I suppose,” Penwill replied. “I played the part to the hilt, you know, the upper-crust British manufacturer and all that, and for a minute I thought I had him thoroughly fooled. And then…”
“Yes?” Falconer said.
“Well, then I took it a step further and asked him about the damned cufflink,” Penwill continued, “and I think he just knew then that he was in the presence of a policeman determined to arrest him.”
“Was it something he said?” Falconer inquired.
“No, I think rather it was the way he reacted,” Penwill replied. “Something in the way he appeared—panic-stricken almost, just for a moment—when I asked him about the cufflink, and then he looked up at me and the mask had returned. He had regained his composure and ceased being the exposed killer, and the witty and erudite Austrian physician had returned. Remarkable.”
“And so, you think in that moment he suddenly knew that we were onto him,” Falconer said.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Penwill answered. “I’m very sorry, Falconer. I wish I hadn’t muddled it all up in that moment. I’m afraid I’ve alerted him to our presence.”
“No, don’t think anything of it, inspector,” Falconer said reassuringly. “I had a feeling we’d never be able to trap this man very easily—he’s too sharp, too perceptive, to ever allow that to happen.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Penwill said, suddenly stopping Falconer at a street corner. “You know, I’ve been chasing this man for some time now—almost four years, to be exact—and it’s become somewhat of an obsession of mine. I saw the bodies back in London, Falconer, the prostitutes, up close as they lay on the streets in Whitechapel. It wasn’t pretty, and it became personal for me—for all of us, in fact. This devilish man repeatedly taunted and beat us, Falconer, and in the end, we were humiliated by him and disparaged by the world when we let him get away. So, you see, I must continue this chase no matter where it leads me, no matter what the cost.”
“I understand, inspector,” Falconer said. “I think it’s starting to get a little personal for me, too. So, I suggest we start making it personal for our man over at the Hoffman House.”
Penwill smiled. “Agreed, detective,” he said. “Shall we?”
The two men then walked off into the night, draped briefly by the illuminating light from a gaslight pole extending high overhead, and the street was quiet where they had stood, quiet and shining, but the city still hummed as night fell into its deepest part.
Ghosts
69
Riis lingered outside the main entrance to police headquarters on Mulberry Street as the repeated waves of humanity rushed up and down the steps on a busy morning: police officers leading thieves and pickpockets inside to be booked, women rushing in to see their recently-arrested husbands, fellow newsmen hounding sergeants for more information on the latest scandal, and a multitude of vagrants wandering outside after being released from the drunk tank after a night of too much booze.
It was all very interesting, he thought to himself—this nerve center of the police force. Such fascinating people coming through the doors every day. It was a wonder that the great city did not utterly collapse under the weight of such depravity and crime. Such lost people, he thought—lost, lost people being thrown in cages because they could not function in an ordered society. How do we all manage it?
He was waiting for some sign of the detective—Falconer from the Fourth Ward—on this crisp fall morning. Falconer…that hard detective who was such a mystery and yet appeared to have some leading part in this play being staged unbeknownst to the citizenry. Something was afoot, and Falconer was a key. The Algerian had been sent to Sing Sing and yet there were more deaths of young, fallen women. This ordinarily would not be so out of the usual in the big city. People young and old were murdered just about every day—he saw it in the papers, just like everyone else did—and yet there was something not right in the police force, something odd going on.
Falconer is hiding something. And that burly British inspector that he’s been seen with—he is involved, as well, somehow. It must be.
“Well, well…Jacob Riis.”
He heard the soft female voice from behind him amidst the clatter of shoes and chattering voices and turned to see none other than Nellie Bly standing o
n the sidewalk ten feet away. “Nellie,” he said, surprised at her presence and walking towards her. “And what brings you to headquarters today, I wonder?”
“Well, Jacob, I’m almost afraid to confide in you,” she said, looking around to make sure that no one could hear. “But at this point, I think perhaps it’s time I enlisted the aid of someone with a lot of experience in the crime beat—and as my luck would have it today, that would be you, if you don’t mind.”
He raised his eyebrows and then looked around for a moment, too. Then, gently clutching her elbow, he motioned for her to walk with him. “Let’s just walk down a bit where there are no people rushing by, shall we?”
They walked away from the bustling entrance to the headquarters and stopped before the end of the block. “I think this will do, Nellie,” he said to her. “What is it?”
“I have information, Jacob,” she began. “Information that just might be…earth shattering. It has to do with a certain murder that occurred in April at the East River Hotel, and another murder since then—a murder of another young woman—that may be connected.”
“I see,” he said. “Please, go on.”
“Well, Jacob, you know the Oak Street detective, Falconer?”
He nodded.
“I can tell you that he has overseen an operation to capture the killer of these women, and that information about the connection between the deaths has been suppressed by the Central Office, on grounds that it might cause a worse panic in the city than we saw in April.”
“I see,” he said, looking down at his shoes momentarily. “That is very interesting…very interesting, indeed.”
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