Shattered Angel

by Baird Nuckolls

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Well, Flarrity is a good guy, or at least I think he is. But the Bull is as crooked at they come. I saw him take a thick envelop of bills from the fancy man who came out of the back.”

  “Morelli, you know I can’t talk about that, even if I wanted to. Whatever Mr. Peters does is his business. I’m just the doorman.”

  “I know, I know. I’m not trying to get you into trouble, but I got a bad feeling about something.” He looked over Charleston’s shoulder and noticed that the mirror there reflected the same view from the mirror over the bar and back again. There sat the mountain of Charleston’s back, with the white moon of his own face rising over his shoulder; they were repeated again, getting smaller and smaller in each iteration. That’s how this case seemed to be—the further he went along, the less he understood.

  “See, Charleston, I’ve been working this case looking into a Mr. Aaron Hart. In addition to being married to a rich society dame named Gladys Eldridge, he also runs a speak called the Golden Ruby. Have you heard of it?”

  “Sure, over on Mott street. I heard it’s a swanky joint. You need me to go down there with you and take care of somethin’?”

  “No, I just wonder if you could ask around, see if the Bull might be doing business with Aaron Hart. Or putting the screws to him, too? It might put some sense into my puzzle.”

  “What do you want me to do when I find something out?” He seemed confident that he would find out the wheres and the whyfors. Morelli smiled.

  “Call me at this number and leave a message.” He handed Charleston one of his old cards. He only had a few left. He’d given out more cards on this case than he had in the last year. At least, with the money in the safe, he could afford to have some more made. “I’ll get back to you if I need anything else.”

  “Sure thing. Listen, can I get you a drink?”

  Morelli badly wanted to stay and have a drink, but he needed to keep moving. “Another time, maybe. When all this is over.”

  Charleston stood and held out his hand. It was huge and dark; it enclosed Morelli’s in a giant fist.

  “Thanks, man. See you around.”

  ***

  Morelli found a phone booth and dropped in a nickel. It was time for the hardest thing he had to do tonight. But he had no choice. He needed a place to stay and he really needed to get some information from a different perspective.

  “New York News, how may I direct your call?”

  “Sally Benson, please.”

  There was a click as the call was transferred and then three rings before she answered. “Benson.” Her voice was as dry and stale as leftover toast.

  “Sally, it’s Morelli.”

  “What do you want, Morelli?” She didn’t sound any happier to hear from him than she had when he’d turned up at her desk. He was glad he’d called first. Maybe she’d hold off yelling at him long enough to get his questions answered.

  “Sally, I have another favor to ask.”

  “You can ask, but I’m not promising anything. What is it?”

  “I’m in some serious trouble with the boys down at the Third Precinct. I need a place to stay tonight.”

  There was silence on the line, and if not for the sound of the newsroom in the background, Morelli thought she might have hung up on him.

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “Well… it’s mostly a mistake, but I need some time to clear it up.”

  “Spit it out, Morelli. I’ve had enough of your diversions.”

  “All right, I’ll tell it to you straight. They think I killed a man.”

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me what happened. This is going to be some kind of story; I can already tell.”

  “I guess I should start at the beginning.”

  “That would be advisable.”

  Morelli paused to collect his thoughts. Maybe he should just stick to the recent events. The rest could wait until he could see her.

  “You know I was looking into Aaron Hart for his wife, Gladys?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was clipped. He hurried on.

  “He was supposed to be having an affair with a woman named Maggie McElwaine.”

  “And?”

  “Well, Maggie came to see me early yesterday morning, worried about her brother. I thought she was in danger, so I took her up to the Bronx to stay with Danny Petucci.”

  “In danger? From whom? Seems like you’re leaving something out of this story.”

  “Maybe. Not anything you need to know to understand it, though. When I got back to my office, there was a stiff behind my desk and the cops took me in.”

  “Who did they say you killed?”

  “Mickey McElwaine.”

  Her voice was cold when she replied. “That must make things difficult with you and Maggie.” She sounded stung by his revelations.

  “I haven’t seen her since it happened. I spent last night in the basement of the Third Precinct.”

  “So how did you get out? It doesn’t sound like they would let you just walk out of there.”

  “Danny came down and sweet-talked me out of there.”

  “So, you can’t go back to your place, and you can’t stay with Petucci. And Miss McElwaine isn’t likely to want you staying with her.”

  “She can’t stay at her own apartment, because Hart is looking for her, and I don’t even know where she went. She left Danny’s last night and no one has seen her since.”

  “And the cops would never think to look for you at my place, right? Knowing how much use I have for you?”

  Now she sounded angry and he didn’t blame her. He was in the middle of a mess, which wasn’t all that different from her past experiences with him. “You’re the only one who would understand, Sally. The only one who could help me.”

  “That’s a real shame, Morelli.”

  He said nothing, knowing that she would reject him outright if he begged.

  “One night, Morelli. Just one. Tomorrow you’ll have to go out and fix this one by yourself.”

  Morelli let out his breath. “Thank you, Sally. I owe you.”

  “Damn right, you do.”

  “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Sally hung up before he could say goodbye.

  ***

  Morelli stood in the shadow of a closed office across the street from Otten’s as the sun sank beyond the Hudson. He’d been waiting for the last moment, until he saw Otten come to lock the front door to the shop, before stepping out of the shadows. There had been no cops coming or going while he’d been watching the building. If any of them were still there, they were upstairs in his office, doing whatever they were doing, maybe just waiting to see if he was dumb enough to go back there.

  He walked quickly across the street, not running, not drawing attention to himself. Otten was just walking away from the door when Morelli knocked. He looked up quickly, startled and a little scared. When he saw it was Morelli, he hurried back to open the door and usher him in.

  “Herr Morelli, are you all right? The police would not tell us anything and you simply disappeared. We feared the worst.”

  “I’m fine, Otten. Just a bit of a misunderstanding.”

  Otten gave him a shrewd look. “That sort of misunderstanding can be very dangerous, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it can be very dangerous. But I just need a little time and then I should be able to get ahead of this mess.” Morelli winked at him. “Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, you know, it is Marlena who worries. She feels that you need someone, a woman, to care for you.”

  “Please tell her not to worry too much, then.” Morelli glanced at the door and started walking toward the office in the back. Otten followed, wiping his hands on his pants nervously. When they reached the office, he closed the door after them. Now no one could see them from the street.

  “Otten, I have some news about your thief.”

  “What did you find out? Do
you know who tried to rob me?”

  “I did find out who broke in, but he wasn’t there to rob you.”

  “Then what was he doing, if not robbing?”

  “He was looking for me.”

  “Explain please.”

  “He traced me by your phone number and thought this was my office. He was looking for information about the case I’m working on.” Otten looked concerned. “Don’t worry, he won’t be back. I’ve taken care of that.”

  “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

  “No, nothing like that. I just talked to him.”

  “Good, good. But I still want to change the locks and make the store safe. Marlena doesn’t want to come back until she feels secure.”

  “That’s a good idea, Otten. I would put a lock on that cellar door if I were you.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Listen, have you or Marlena taken any messages for me today? I know that I may have overused your phone as if it were my own, but I can’t tell you how important it might be.”

  “Let me see if Marlena has taken any messages. I was out of the store the whole day.” Otten began to wring his hands. He walked toward the desk that Marlena used, where the telephone sat and where she left any messages she might have taken, but he turned back at the last moment. Morelli leaned forward, urging him to check the desk. But Otten had something else on his mind.

  “Herr Morelli. When the police…” He squeezed his hands together tightly, his knuckles showing white. “When the police were in your office… did they open your safe?”

  Morelli had not thought about Otten’s jewels, sitting nestled in the safe under his desk, all day. No wonder Otten was so upset. His livelihood was hidden in Morelli’s office.

  “No, Otten. They had other things on their mind. They didn’t even move the desk, as far as I know.” He looked back to the corner where Otten’s safe sat. He couldn’t believe how much had happened since he’d come down to guard the jewelry store. The safe stood open. “Did you get someone to fix the safe for you?”

  “Nein. That will take some days. I must leave the jewels in your care for the time being.” He looked for Morelli’s agreement.

  “Of course. As long as you need to. After all, that’s what friends are for.”

  “And… if something happens to you?” Otten paused. “I don’t mean to be difficult, but will you give me the combination now? Just in case.”

  Morelli sighed. Otten was right. This was a dangerous job and it wasn’t fair to hold Otten’s jewels hostage if anything happened to him.

  “Sure, sure. I’ll write it down for you.”

  Otten seemed satisfied by this and they moved to the desk together. As Morelli wrote the number on a slip of paper, Otten flipped through another pile. Finally, he held up one for Morelli. “You did receive a call.”

  Morelli took the paper; there was Marla’sMarlena’s familiar printing. He was thankful that she made it so easy to read her messages. Charleston had called. ‘Yes, Bull and Hart’ was all it read. He looked up to find Otten looking at him expectantly.

  “Thank you, Otten. For everything.” He clapped Otten on the shoulder and the older man beamed. “I’ll be back to see you in the morning, I promise.”

  “Where will you go tonight?”

  “I’m staying with an old friend.”

  “Take care, Herr Morelli.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sally

  Sally’s apartment was in a small, well-kept building in a little courtyard near St. Mark’s Place. The East Village was quiet at this time of night. Morelli lifted the latch on the wrought iron gate and walked down the narrow path. One small maple tree stood in the courtyard, only a few of its reddened leaves still clinging to the tree. They would probably all be gone in the next rainstorm. Someone took good care of the courtyard. Morelli noticed that the rest of the leaves had been swept up and the hedges along one of the houses were nicely trimmed.

  He remembered coming here to see Sally in the old days, when they’d been dating. The soft spring air, the songs of birds, the church bells from St. Mark’s. Now there was a chill in the air and he knew it would carry into the apartment. He hurried along to Sally’s door and rang the bell.

  She let him in without a word, neither surprised nor glad to see him. She was wearing a dressing gown, belted over her housedress, and slippers. She looked ready to go to bed.

  “Thanks for letting me stay, Sally.”

  “I’ve done enough favors by now, Morelli. I think this will be the last one.” She locked the door behind him. The apartment was three rooms: living, cooking and sleeping. The flat even had its own WC.

  “I’ve made you up a bed on the floor in here,” she said, pointing to the area near the stove. She took his coat and hat and hung them in the entryway. “Good night.”

  “Wait, Sally. Will you sit and talk for a minute? It’s been a very strange day and I could use just some regular conversation.”

  “What sort of regular conversation?” She went and sat in an armchair near the coal stove. The stove was cold, as the building was still warm enough without it. The brick was a good insulator.

  “Well, tell me about your day? What are you working on?” Morelli pulled up a ladder-back chair and sat opposite her.

  “I don’t want to talk about the paper, Morelli. Why don’t you tell me more about Gladys Hart instead?” She folded her arms across her chest and waited for his reply.

  So much had happened since he’d seen Sally the last time, it took a minute to make some kind of order out of it. And trying to describe it to her might help him make sense of it.

  “The woman who came to see me last week told me her name was Gladys Hart. She said she thought her husband, Aaron Hart, was seeing a redhead and she wanted me to look into it for her.”

  “I don’t know why she’d come looking for you?”

  “Wait, let me tell you the whole story. It’s more complicated then that.”

  “All right.” Sally sat back and crossed her arms, impatient for him to finish.

  “Turns out that it wasn’t Gladys, it was her daughter. Angel Eldridge. Hart is married to her mother and he is seeing a redhead named Maggie McElwaine.”

  “The one whose brother you’re supposed to have killed,” Sally interrupted again.

  “Yes.” Morelli wished he had a drink again, but he wasn’t going to ask Sally. She didn’t approve of his drinking. “And now Angel’s dead.”

  “What?” Sally nearly jumped out of her chair.

  “I went to see her on Sunday morning to update her on the case and I found her dead on the floor of her apartment.”

  “And then what did you do? Do the police know who killed her?”

  “Nope, and as far as I can tell, they aren’t looking too hard. But I am. I think Hart may have had something to do with it. He’s got quite a temper. Maggie is afraid of him. He’s got a lot of rough friends, too. He runs a saloon over on Mott Street, called the Golden Ruby.”

  “Why would he kill her? For money? Why not kill Gladys, if he wants the family money? I don’t see what good killing her daughter would do for him?”

  “I don’t know his motive yet, but I’m still looking into it. And another thing… you know about that robbery, on the El in Brooklyn yesterday?”

  “Sure. It made all the papers. Hell of a thing, taking that much money on the train.”

  “The bank that lost that payroll? I just realized it’s a branch of the bank that Hart owns.”

  “You mean, that Gladys owns. Howard Eldridge left it to her in his will. There was quite a stink after he died. No other major banking establishment has ever been owned by a woman. Aaron Hart works for her.”

  “And just maybe, he’s the one who stole from her.”

  “Why the hell would he do that? He should have all the money he needs being married into that family.”

  “Well, I found out today that he’s got some kind of connection with a dirty cop named Bull O’Neill. I saw O�
��Neill taking a big bribe at a speak uptown the other day and maybe he’d holding up Hart for a whole lot of dough, too.”

  Sally got up. “Hold on while I make some tea. I need to think about this.”

  “All right.” Morelli stood up too and walked over to the window. The courtyard glowed in the light of the lone streetlight at the corner. It looked so peaceful.

  “Here, I made you a cup.” She handed him a mug of tea. “Two sugars, right?”

  “You remembered.”

  “Don’t go getting any ideas. I know too much about you, Morelli.”

  Sally sat back in her armchair and tucked one leg up under her. She sipped her tea. Morelli took his mug back to the ladder-back chair and waited for her to speak.

  ***

  “Hart must need a lot of money and fast. If he couldn’t get it from Gladys, he might have tried to get it from Angel and if she turned him down, he got mad and killed her. So, what does he need the money for right this minute? The elections aren’t for another two months. If he has political ambitions, he has plenty of time to get it without robbing his own bank. And it makes sense that he did it, because he would have known when that money was being transported. Whoever heard of carrying that much on the El? It’s crazy. So, he must have known.”

  Morelli nodded; her logic made sense. “It must be something connected to the Bull. He’s been a lot more brazen in his ‘collecting’ from his speaks. Something’s happening right now.”

  “The mayor…”

  Sally’s eyes lit up in a way that Morelli knew meant she had an idea about a story.

  “What about the mayor?”

  “He’s been sick. He’s up in Albany with his sons. Murray Hulbert has been acting mayor.”

  “So?”

  “Everybody knows that Hylan has had a crusade against ‘the interests’ as he calls ‘em. The shadow government, he says. Hulbert has been port commissioner for five years. Even though Hylan appointed him, he has his own cronies. He’s said that he’s just holding Hylan’s place, but maybe there’s something more going on. I have to look into it.” She stood up. “Tomorrow.” She took her mug to the sink and rinsed it out. “Good night, Morelli.”

  “Good night, Sal.” Morelli rinsed his own mug and then tried to get some sleep.