Shattered Angel

by Baird Nuckolls

  Morelli suspected that she knew the true situation, but if she was going to play coy, he could as well. “I met your daughter a few days ago. She came to my office.” He gestured at the card lying on the table. “I’m a private detective.”

  “And what would Angel need with a private detective?”

  “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that, ma’am.” He searched her face. “She asked me to follow her husband, Aaron Hart. She thought he’d been having an affair.”

  Mrs. Hart grew pale and reached out to steady herself. Morelli stepped forward quickly, worried that she was about to faint.

  “Please, sit down.” He helped her back into her chair. “Can I get you some water?”

  “There’s a decanter of sherry on the sideboard. Please pour me a glass of that.” She waved in the direction of a large piece of furniture and closed her eyes.

  Morelli went over and found the decanter and several crystal glasses. He poured Mrs. Hart a goodly amount and brought it to her. She did not open her eyes, so he placed it on the side table and then sat down opposite her.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Hart?”

  She passed her hand over her eyes and then looked at him. “My daughter is dead, Mr. Morelli.” She picked up the sherry and took a long sip. A bit of color came back into her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Hart. She seemed like a lovely young lady.”

  “She was, Mr. Hart. I cannot imagine why she thought that Aaron, my husband, was having an affair.”

  “Or why she was impersonating you, Mrs. Hart?”

  Gladys’ eyes narrowed. “No, I cannot imagine that either.”

  “Is Mr. Hart here today?”

  “No, I haven’t seen him since last night. I believe he’s gone to the office.”

  “Would that be at the National City Bank on Wall Street?”

  She looked surprised. “Yes, that is my family’s bank. I assume he is there. As he is every day.”

  “What about the Golden Ruby? Is he there every day?” Morelli wondered how much she really knew about her husband’s comings and goings.

  “I don’t care to discuss my husband with you, Mr. Morelli.” She took a small sip of the sherry. “I can’t think of anything else I need to tell you. I’d like you to leave.”

  “One more question, Mrs. Hart. Do you know either Maggie or Mickey McElwaine?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “No, I’ve never heard of either person.” Maybe she had steeled herself well or she was telling the truth. “Do they have something to do with Angel?” Her look was eager now, in a sad way. Desperate for something.

  “I don’t quite know, Mrs. Hart. I need to ask your husband about that.” Morelli stood. “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He turned and left the room. Mrs. Hart didn’t say a word. The butler was waiting in the hall and showed him out.

  ***

  Harmon called Henry Rutledge to come in after he’d seen to Mrs. Hart. She’d had an extreme shock and he’d convinced her to lie down. Young Mr. Rutledge was prompt, which Harmon appreciated, and reasonably well dressed in the new suit that Mrs. Hart had purchased for him, which Harmon appreciated even more.

  “Mrs. Hart needs you to go to this address and find out as much as you can about what happened there last night.” He handed Rutledge a slip of paper.

  “Mrs. Hart’s daughter, Miss Angel…” Harmon’s voice broke briefly. “Miss Angel is dead. We need to know what happened.”

  Rutledge was taken aback. “Dead? As in foul play?”

  “Yes.” Harmon’s tone discouraged further questions. “Just see what you can find out. I don’t know if the police are there or not, but you have Mrs. Hart’s permission to be on the premises. Question the building staff and find out the state of the apartment. When you return, Mrs. Hart has additional inquiries for you to make.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rutledge turned to leave.

  “And Rutledge?”

  He turned back to Harmon.

  “Be discrete.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Aaron Hart

  The Golden Ruby was closed in the middle of the afternoon. Aaron Hart let himself in the alley door, nodded to George, who was behind the bar taking inventory of the booze, and went to his office in the back. The receipts from the weekend were in the safe and he wanted to take them to the bank.

  Stacking the bills on his desk, he thought about the money he’d need in the near future. Two or three thousand for the cocaine, some money to keep the Bull quiet and then the usual dough to keep his boys happy. Twenty thousand for the commissioner. Elections were coming up in a few months and there would be votes to buy. He needed money to win this council seat, something he’d wanted for a long time.

  Sometimes he couldn’t believe how far he’d come. A skinny Italian kid from the lower east side, he’d fought and scraped his way out of the tenements and into a Park Avenue mansion. If only his family could see him now. But they’d all been taken by the influenza, so there was no one from the old days to share his new success. Councilman Hart. It had the right ring to it.

  The bills made an unruly pile of ones, fives and tens on the desk. No big spenders this weekend in the Ruby, flashing a Benjamin to impress the ladies, despite the Dempsey fight or maybe because of it. Counting them out, Aaron was disappointed. Eight hundred forty-three dollars wasn’t going to get him very far this week.

  A crash from the other room interrupted his thoughts. He walked around the desk and went to see what had happened. If George was breaking the glassware again, it was going to come out of his pay.

  He stopped dead in the doorway. George was upside down over the bar, amid a litter of glass shards. He was turning an alarming shade of purple. The Bull had his hands on George’s neck and was squeezing the life out of him.

  “Hey, let him go.” Aaron stalked into the room and grabbed the Bull by the arm, trying to pull him off George before it was too late.

  The Bull didn’t move. His giant biceps bulged under the coat he was wearing. Aaron grabbed him again and pulled harder. A swift kick to the knees finally got the Bull’s attention. He dropped George to the floor and turned around.

  “What the hell do you mean by this? What’s going on?” Aaron demanded.

  The Bull looked at him like he was a bug, about to be stepped on. “He ain’t got my dough. Where is it?”

  “You weren’t supposed to be back until Thursday.”

  “Yeah, well I got tired ‘a waitin.’” The Bull brushed past Aaron and walked toward the office before Aaron could stop him. He walked straight to the desk and picked up the pile of bills. “This don’t look like near enough, but it’s a start.” Before Aaron could protest, he’d shoved them into an inner pocket of his coat.

  “Now,” the Bull said, sitting on the edge of the desk, “Where’s the safe?”

  “I don’t have the money here. It’s at the bank. That was just the weekend’s take.”

  Aaron stayed next to the door. He didn’t want to get too close to the big man.

  “I’ll have the rest later in the week, like I promised Jack.”

  “Well, talking to Jack won’t do you no good now.”

  “What do you mean? Why not?”

  The Bull laughed. It was a low, dark sound that made the hair on the back of Aaron’s neck stand up. “He’s out searching the river for his share ‘a heaven… or hell.”

  Aaron’s blood ran cold for a moment. The Bull wasn’t kidding. If he could talk so casually about killing Jack Hynes, he might do almost anything. Suddenly Aaron remembered Jack’s comment about him coming after his family.

  “I’m going to have your money in just a few days. I have a plan to get it.”

  “How’s that?” The Bull stood up from the desk and took a step closer to Aaron. “You gonna rob a bank?” He sniggered.

  “I’m not going to go into the details.”

  “You better make sure you w
ork it out. You don’t want to go to all that trouble and not get the money you need for me. Why don’t you just ask that pretty rich wife ‘a yours for it?” The Bull laughed again. “Or maybe I should go back and ask her myself. She’s in a bad way today, she might be more receptive than you.”

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  “Just that I already had a little talk with your wife today.”

  “Damn it. You leave her out of it. This is between you and me.”

  “All right, you’re the boss.” He cracked his huge knuckles and grinned. “I’ll save her for later, in case you don’t make it.” His voice was low and menacing as he walked past Aaron on the way out. “I always wanted to know what it takes to make them society dames cry.”

  Aaron stepped aside to let him pass. He followed him into the bar and went to see about George. The door banged shut as he was helped George sit in one of the booths. His face was cut and the bruises on his neck were turning purple, but he would be all right.

  This was getting serious. He originally thought that the cocaine would provide enough cash for the commissioner as well as the rest, but Aaron needed to put new plans into action and quickly, or things were going to go seriously wrong. He wasn’t too broken up about Jack. Life on the streets was rough and they all knew it. But Gladys was a different story. She didn’t know how to deal with toughs like the Bull. He needed to straighten things out before she got involved. He went back to his office and made a few phone calls.

  ***

  Hart was working in his office when the buzzer from behind the bar rang two short beats. Company, but not the wrong sort this time. He put the gun he’d been cleaning back in a drawer, and slid it shut, just as there was a knock on the office door. “Come in.”

  George opened the door and looked in at Hart. He’d covered the bruises on his neck with a new collar and the cuts were taped shut. He looked like hell, but didn’t seem to notice. Sean O’Brien was standing right behind him, along with a redheaded man, whom Hart guessed was Maggie’s brother, Mickey McElwaine.

  “Thanks, George. You can show these gentlemen in, and then take the evening off. I have Marty coming in to cover for you.”

  “I don’t need to go home, Mr. Hart. I’m fine.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are, George, but I don’t want you scaring the young ladies.”

  George looked down at his shoes. “If you say so, Mr. Hart. I’ll um, I’ll just go finish up at the bar and then go.” He stepped aside for Sean and Mickey to enter the office. “You sure you don’t need anything?”

  “I’m sure, George. Thank you. Please shut the door on your way out.”

  George looked like he wanted to say something else, but he merely turned and pulled the door closed behind him as he left.

  “Sean, thank you for coming so promptly. And you must be Mickey.” Hart stood and came over to shake both men’s hands. “Please have a seat. Let’s have a drink.” He poured three short shots of whiskey and handed them out.

  The three men sat down and were silent for a moment, sizing each other up. Mickey McElwaine was a tall, rangy fellow with large hands and wrists. He sat with them clamped to his knees, but looked Hart in the eye when he glanced at him.

  Sean cleared his throat nervously. “You said you wanted to talk to us. Is this about our money, Mr. Hart?”

  “Yes, Sean, in a roundabout way.” Hart paused to straighten some of the papers on his desk before continuing. “You see, I need your help with a little something.”

  “What kind of help might you be needing from us, Mr. Hart?” Mickey’s voice was a slow Irish brogue. Hart watched him, wondering whether Mickey knew about his relationship with Maggie. Seemed likely that he did. After all, she’d left the apartment he’d set up for her. She must be living somewhere and he imagined Mickey knew all about it.

  “Well, you see, Mickey, I’ve heard that you’re a good man behind the wheel.”

  “And you’d be looking for some of that kind of help, would you?”

  “Yes, I would. I think both you and Sean would be helpful in this situation.” Hart reached into his drawer and pulled out the gun. He set it on the table at an angle between the two men. “I think it would be beneficial to all of us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Morelli

  Morelli headed back downtown, walking through the afternoon crowds. The sun would be setting soon and they were in a hurry to get home in the daylight. He enjoyed stretching his legs down the side streets that were less traveled than the avenues. By the time he reached Downing Street, he was looking forward to seeing Maggie again. She was the only bright spot in this sordid business. Her lovely auburn hair and pale skin had stayed in his mind. He wanted to hear the sweet lilt in her voice and have her green eyes on him, hopefully without the concern and worry that they held earlier. He climbed the stairs to apartment 408, hoping, too, that Mickey McElwaine would be there and he’d get some answers. The women around Aaron Hart didn’t seem to be too knowledgeable about his comings and goings. And they didn’t seem to be too happy to see him.

  Maggie answered the door to his gentle knock. She opened the door a crack and looked him up and down. “So, it’s you again, is it?”

  “May I come in, Maggie?” Morelli stood with his hat in hand.

  “I don’t think so. My brother’s not here and I’ve nothing else to tell you.”

  “Could I come in and wait a bit? I’ve been walking up and down this island all day and I could use a glass of water and a moment off my feet, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, all right. Just for a bit.” She opened the door and let him in, but locked it carefully as soon as he was past. “Sit there and I’ll get you some water.”

  She gestured to a worn armchair in the corner. It sat next to the tiny stove, which was not lit. It was nearly as cold in the room as outside. She must not have the money for fuel; Morelli was thankful that Otten heated his whole building with steam.

  Maggie came back with a small glass of water and handed it to him. She didn’t sit down, not that there was an obvious place for her to sit. There was very little in the way of furnishings.

  “Thank you,” Morelli said, taking a sip. He hoped that she might relax, now that he was inside, and talk to him. He wanted to find out more about her.

  “So, have you been in the city for long?”

  “Long enough to learn who I can trust and who I shouldn’t.” Her voice was more wistful than angry and she wasn’t looking at him when she said it, so Morelli wondered if she meant Aaron Hart. Her accent seemed thick enough that she might have come over on a boat recently. Or she might have been born here, like he was, the first of his family to be born an American. His father had come from Sicily as a young man and met his mother here.

  “I was born here; raised on the lower east side. I’d like you to trust me, Maggie. I mean you no harm.” He waited for her to look at him before continuing. “I think that Aaron Hart is messed up in some bad things and I intend to find out.”

  “Then what will you do? Kill him? You’re not with the police, and besides, he has them in his pocket.” She plucked absently at her sleeve. “There’s not anything you can do.”

  “Well, I used to be a cop and I still have some friends on the force. If Aaron Hart is breaking the law, then we can do something about that.”

  “And what about me… and Mickey? Where does that leave us?”

  Morelli wanted to tell her that he’d take care of her, but he knew what a foolish promise that would be. “I want to help, Maggie.”

  She looked at him and her eyes held only regret. “I don’t think you can.”

  ***

  Sean and Mickey sat opposite Aaron, eyeing the gun. Hart kept his hand near it, but not on it. He drummed his fingers briefly on the desk and then reached over to the crystal decanter of whiskey he kept there. He poured another finger each for the men and two for himself.

  “Let me explain. It’s quite complicated, so I think
we should take it a step at a time. First of all, I know that I agreed to buy the cocaine from you that Mickey stole from the ship, but I need to see it first. All of it.”

  “Why do you need that, Mr. Hart? Don’t you trust my word that we have it?”

  “Oh, it’s not that I don’t trust you, Sean. I do.” Hart put down his whiskey and picked up the gun. He pointed it at Mickey. “I trust that you’ll want to keep Mickey here in one piece, so why don’t you go and get the drugs and I’ll keep an eye on Mickey while you do that. Shall we say half an hour? It’s four o’clock now and you need to be back by four thirty.”

  Sean looked pale. “This isn’t necessary, Mr. Hart. Really it isn’t.”

  “He don’t know where it is,” Mickey announced. “Let me go.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid that won’t work. You see, I know Sean very well and I know that he’ll do what I ask. You, I’m not so sure about.”

  Mickey just shrugged, like it meant nothing to him.

  “Sean, it’s very simple.” Hart gestured with the gun but kept it trained in Mickey’s direction. “Go get the cocaine and your friend and I will have another glass of this fine whiskey. Or don’t and Mickey here won’t be coming home tonight to see his lovely sister.”

  Mickey started at the mention of Maggie. “How do you know my sister?”

  “Sean introduced us, Mickey, while you were away. Maggie is a beautiful girl, really she is. I was keeping her safe while you were gone, until somehow, she got the wrong idea about me and left. But I think we can straighten that all out. After Sean comes back with the cocaine.”

  Sean rose from his seat, unsure whether to stay and argue or to rush off.

  “The clock is ticking, Sean.”

  Sean leaned over and conferred in a harsh whisper with Mickey. Hart leaned over and poured another finger of whiskey in Mickey’s glass as Sean hurried out.

  ***

  The next half hour passed silently. Mickey scowled at Hart but sat quietly in his chair, sipping his whiskey. He clearly saw no sense wasting such good liquor. Hart kept the gun pointed in his direction and occasionally sipped his own drink. At one point, there was a knock at the door and Marty stuck his head in.