The man smiled and raised his hands as if to reassure him. “I can promise you, sergeant, that there will be no funny business,” he said with a slight smile, “and that, in fact, I am alone with my driver and we are not armed. Would you like to check that?”
“No, no need,” the sergeant replied. “Just wanted you to be aware that I know how to use this and if we had any problems, I’ll have no compunction about defending myself.”
“Well then,” the man said, “now that we have that out of the way, let me ask you: do you have the list of names for me?”
“I have a list, but it’s not on paper,” the sergeant said. “It’s in my head. You understand—if something were to happen to me, you don’t get any names.”
“Ah, yes, understood,” the man said, reaching in his pocket for a pen and notepad. “I see what you mean. So, can you please recite the names then, and I can write them down?”
“Nope,” the sergeant said. “Money first.”
The man paused and sat back in his seat. “All right,” he said, appearing surprised, “that’s perfectly fine. Here you are.”
He took out a thick envelope and handed it to the sergeant, who opened it quickly and started counting the many bills that were contained in it. After twenty seconds or so, the sergeant put the bills back in the envelope and secreted it inside a pocket in his jacket. “Thanks,” he said to the man. “Are you ready?”
“Certainly,” the man said.
“Okay then,” the sergeant said, “the investigation is headed by a detective sergeant in the Detective Bureau by the name of Falconer. He has some men with him—Winter, Waidler, Kramer, and Halloran. And they also happen to be working alongside a couple of cops from across the pond, actually—a French guy named Houllier and an Inspector Penwill from Scotland Yard. Not sure why, but they’re a part of it, too, from what I’ve heard. That’s all I got.”
“Thank you,” the man said. “Are these correct spellings, as far as you can tell?” He handed his notepad to the sergeant.
“Yeah, that looks about right, I think,” the sergeant said, handing the notepad back.
“Well, wonderful,” the man said. “Sergeant, you’ve done a fine thing here this evening, helping to expose corruption and illegality within your police force.”
“How so, corrupt?” the sergeant asked.
“That, sir, would take a very long time to explain,” the man said, “but unfortunately, I am late for a meeting, and so I must take my leave of you. We thank you again for your service in this matter.”
“Understood,” the sergeant said slowly. He moved to exit the carriage, but then turned back right before stepping out. “Hey, nothing bad is going to happen to those guys, right?”
“Of course,” the man said, smiling. “Just being held accountable in the manner deemed appropriate by city authorities.”
“Well, good,” the sergeant said. “Thanks.”
He then turned and stepped onto the sidewalk and watched as the dark carriage pulled away and disappeared down the rain-soaked street.
97
Falconer walked up to the nondescript brick apartment house on 4th Street near the Bowery. He had arranged with Emma Goldman to meet at her apartment for the purpose of asking her a few questions about the recently murdered lawyer, Meyer Weintraub, and she had given him the address to the building. He stepped up to the front door and knocked, and within thirty seconds, a middle-aged woman dressed in evening attire appeared. “Well, hello, young man,” she said, smiling. “How can we help you?”
“Well, ah…I have an appointment to see Miss Goldman here,” he replied slowly. “Does she live here?”
The woman’s smile quickly faded, and she sighed. “Yes, she does,” she said, “but she’s not here right now.”
Falconer looked beyond the woman and saw several scantily clad young women lolling about on chairs and couches in the front drawing room. It occurred to him then that he was standing before the head madame of a bordello, and he wondered how in hell Goldman had come to rent a room in such a place.
“So…she does live here?” he asked the woman.
“Indeed, she does, sir,” the woman replied casually. “I imagine you are wondering why she would take up residence with us—am I correct?”
“Well, now that you ask, I am a little confused. I think you would agree that she’s not really the type to…”
“To provide our particular services?”
“Correct, ma’am. No offense intended.”
“None taken, Mister…”
“Falconer. Detective Sergeant with the Central Office Detective Bureau,” he said, taking off his bowler.
“Well,” she said, folding her arms in front of her. “A policeman—are we in trouble now?”
“No, ma’am. Not at all. I’m merely seeking to speak with Miss Goldman about a different investigation.”
“I see. Well, the truth is, Emma was looking for a room to rent, and we had one, so she joined us, and she soon learned to her surprise what we do here. But it’s all worked out in the end—she is a very talented seamstress and has been very helpful in sewing our dresses lately, and we, of course, help her with food and that sort of thing. She’s a lovely young woman and doesn’t deserve the mistreatment that she gets in the press.”
“I think you’re right there, ma’am. So, she isn’t at home?”
“No, I’m sorry to say. In fact, I haven’t seen her since yesterday. She didn’t come home last night.”
“That’s odd. I communicated with her just recently and we agreed to meet here at this hour. She hasn’t sent any messages to you?”
“No, none,” she said, starting to appear concerned. “Is she in any danger, detective sergeant?”
“I’m not sure, frankly,” he said. “But I’ll look into it, I can promise you that.”
“Well, thank you,” the woman said. “I really don’t know what’s going on, or why she hasn’t been in touch since yesterday. It’s not like her.”
“Yes, I understand,” he said, placing his hat back on his head. “Well, good afternoon to you. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Yes, yes, thank you, detective sergeant,” she said. “Thank you, very much.”
He then turned and stepped down to the sidewalk and rubbed his forehead. Now, where the hell are you, Goldman? he thought. What game are you playing now?
He walked rapidly down the street, headed towards a cable car to make it quickly over to the Mulberry Street headquarters and his men.
98
Levine opened the envelope and read the telegram as he sat in his office at the Columbia College of Law:
Fri., Sept. 30
Can you meet me at 8:00 PM tonight at the corner of West and Horatio near the river? New developments in the case involving Goldman, etc.
Falconer
Interesting, he thought. Must be something big. But why meet in some industrial area down near the river?
He placed the telegram back in its envelope and resolved to meet the detective sergeant as requested. Whatever Falconer’s reasons for meeting in such an odd location, he was sure that there was good reason for it and Falconer would explain.
Tuesday, October 4, 1892
99
Falconer walked into the Detective Bureau offices three days after his visit to Emma Goldman’s flat on 4th Street. Feeling frustrated and anxious, as if great walls were suddenly starting to close in all around him, he sat down at his desk with a thud and stared at some papers lying before him. Then he heard the voice of James Waidler from a few feet away. “Anything wrong, boss? Did you find anything out about Miss Goldman?”
Falconer looked up at the young detective and saw Halloran sitting nearby, too, staring at him with a look of concern on his face.
“No,” he finally said to them. “Nothing on her, unfortunately. She’s not u
p visiting her family in Rochester, and she’s not out on the road giving lectures. It’s like she’s just vanished into thin air, I’m afraid. And now I think we have another problem.”
“What’s that?” Waidler asked.
“I’ve just been contacted by the professor’s colleagues up at the law college. He didn’t show up for his classes yesterday and no one’s heard from him since Friday. They wanted to know if I had seen him at all.”
“Hasn’t been seen since last week?” Waidler said. “That’s strange.”
“Indeed, it is, James. I fear something has happened to him.”
“Like what, sir?” Halloran asked from over at his desk.
“I don’t know, but it’s not like the professor to just disappear on his students like that. The school has already had some officers go over to his apartment, with no luck. So, I’m starting to worry that someone is behind this.”
“You mean a kidnapping?” Halloran asked, standing up.
“Yes, or worse, so let’s all head on over to his office and see if we can find anything that might give us a clue about what happened. It’s a long shot, but you never know.”
“But why would someone kidnap the professor?” Halloran asked. “He’s not a part of the anarchists, and I don’t think he’s wealthy or anything.”
“There could be other reasons, Jimmy,” Falconer said.
“Like what?” Waidler asked.
“Well, the professor isn’t officially a part of our investigation into Cadere,” Falconer answered, “but he’s aware of it, and he was down there with us underneath the church that night.”
“So…you think this is tied to Cadere?” Waidler asked.
“I do,” Falconer said. “First, Goldman, and now the professor. It can’t be a coincidence. I think they’re starting to move on us now, and so we all need to be very vigilant and ready for anything.”
“But how would they know the professor is aware of things?” Halloran asked.
Falconer looked around the room at the other detectives at work and then turned back to Halloran. “I’m sorry to say,” he said, “but I think there might be an informant in our midst here at headquarters. It’s the only way they would’ve learned about the professor, so we need to keep quiet for now. We only keep things to ourselves or to Steers or Byrnes—understood?”
“Got it,” Waidler said.
“Yes, sir,” Halloran answered.
“Good,” Falconer said. “Now let’s head up to the professor’s office. But first, Jimmy, go grab Winter and Kramer. James, you get a message to the inspectors over at the Occidental Hotel and tell them to be on their guard about all of this, and to meet us here tonight at six, all right?”
“Will do,” Waidler said, and then he grabbed his jacket and walked off out into the hallway.
“So, how are we going to deal with all of this?” Halloran asked. “I mean, Cadere starting to go after people we know.”
“We’re going to meet them head-on,” Falconer answered as he grabbed his bowler. “We’re going to bring them down—all of them—with no mercy. Let’s go.”
He then rushed off with Halloran at his heels.
100
Falconer and his men followed Levine’s secretary, Miss Brittle, into the office that was lined with shelves stuffed with thick, legal treatises and other dusty books and papers. He turned to her and doffed his bowler. “Thank you, Miss Brittle. We’ll just look around and see if there are any clues as to his whereabouts.”
“Yes, thank you, gentlemen,” she said weakly. “I don’t know what could have happened to him. We’re all just beside ourselves with worry. You understand.”
“Yes, we do, ma’am. And I can assure you that we are going to do everything we can to find him—I promise.”
“Yes, I know you will. Thank you, detective sergeant.”
She then turned and exited the office, and Falconer looked at the men standing around him. “Well, let’s get to it,” he said. “We’re looking for anything—anything at all—that might shed light on his disappearance: a note, an address…anything to give us a start. All right?”
The men nodded and then started to search all around the office for any clue that might give them hope for the professor’s safe recovery. Winter and Kramer started to remove books delicately from the bookshelves, scanning their interiors for any note or memorandum that might have been left in haste; Halloran and Waidler began to open and search the various drawers in Levine’s old, wooden desk; while Falconer searched the pockets of the several jackets that hung limply from a coat rack standing in the corner of the room.
They explored the office for a half an hour, desperate to find a lead, until Falconer finally called a halt to their efforts. “Well, I hate to say it, boys,” he said, “but it looks like there’s nothing here. Let’s go tell Miss Brittle that we’re going to head out.”
He started walking out into the hallway, followed by Waidler, Kramer, and Winter, but then Halloran suddenly called out from near the desk: “Sir—here’s something.”
“What’s that, Jimmy?” Falconer asked, walking back into the office.
“There’s a little note down here on the floor,” Halloran answered, crouching down and clutching a small piece of paper. “He must have tried to toss it into the trash bin but missed.”
“Let me see,” Falconer said.
Halloran handed the piece of paper to him and he read the message written on it silently to himself.
“What’s it say, boss?” Waidler inquired.
“It’s a message asking him to meet last Friday night down on the west side near Horatio and West concerning a break in Goldman’s disappearance,” Falconer said slowly.
“Who’s it from?” Waidler asked.
“It’s from…me,” Falconer said, looking up at the men.
“You?” Waidler said.
“Yes, but I obviously didn’t write it,” Falconer said, folding the paper and placing it in his jacket pocket. “Gentlemen, we have someone playing tricks on us at the present moment, and I think we all know who’s behind it.”
“Cadere,” Halloran said quietly.
“Yes,” Falconer said. “This has moved into a new phase, and we need to move with it. I fear that these thugs might have murdered both the professor and Miss Goldman, and I’m sorry to say that. We need to be on guard at all times because clearly, they are targeting us now. And we have to hit back and hit them hard. There’s no time left for strategizing.”
“Well, I for one welcome any of these mopes to come try something with me, boss,” Winter said. “Time to put some of ‘em in the hospital.”
“Or six feet under,” Kramer chimed in. “I agree—the gloves are off.”
“We’re all on the same page then,” Falconer said. “Good. Let’s go get the inspectors and meet with Byrnes and Steers about this. And, for now on, no one travels alone—understand? We always travel in pairs at least and have your weapons at the ready. One of these sons of bitches approaches you, you put a hole in him. Got it?”
The men nodded in unison.
“All right,” Falconer said. “Follow me.”
He strode out of the office, headed back to Mulberry Street headquarters.
101
“So, you see, sir,” Falconer said to Byrnes as they stood in Byrnes’ office surrounded by Falconer’s men and Chief Inspector Steers, “this is urgent now and has risen to a much more dangerous level. We need to act fast and with more men.”
“Yes,” Byrnes said, walking slowly behind his desk and appearing more pensive than usual. “I understand that Professor Levine is your friend and that Miss Goldman depended on you for her safety for a while. It is all very concerning, but…”
Falconer waited for Byrnes to continue, but the venerable head of the police department hesitated, looking down at the floor.
&nbs
p; “But what, sir?” Falconer asked.
Byrnes looked over at Steers, who shrugged and appeared resigned to some unspoken unpleasantness.
“But,” Byrnes began, “unfortunately, the word has come down from the police commissioners that this investigation must halt. They gave no reason why, Falconer, but they were adamant: your men must stand down and end all official investigations into the Bliss family and this alleged crime ring that you speak of. We will hand over the information about the professor and Miss Goldman to Missing Persons, but as of now, I’m sorry to say that you and your men are off this case.”
“What?” Falconer said, stepping forward. “Are you serious, sir? We can’t get off the case—we are the case. We know what’s been going on and we are in the best position to take them down.”
“I’m sorry, Falconer,” Byrnes said, “but the Police Commission is, as you know, higher up than I am—I cannot go against their commands. I fought this hard, but it was clear that they wouldn’t budge. They want you all off the case—for whatever reason, perhaps political considerations, I don’t know—but I am ordering you to stand down and cease your investigations in your official capacity as a detective sergeant in the Detective Bureau. I don’t know why they made this decision.”
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