by Liz Freeland
“I was trying to find out if he took the money,” I said.
Donnelly squinted. “He admits he did.”
“Now he does,” I said.
“I told Ogden McChesney about it,” Bob said. “I confessed everything to him last year and paid the money back. There was no reason to send someone in disguise to my house. Unless she was trying to blackmail me, or frame me.”
The accusatory looks that the gathered policemen had first focused on Bob were now aimed at me. I’d made a mess of this entire situation, and now I did my best to talk my way out of it. Finally, Bob was taken to a room by himself to await questioning by detectives more knowledgeable about the McChesney case, while I was sent downstairs to work. Not without a warning, however.
“I’ll have to mention this situation to Captain McMartin, Two,” Donnelly said. “Might even require a review by a deputy commissioner.”
My heart sank. “Yes, sir.”
“Police harassment, complaints from the public . . . These aren’t things the brass like to hear about. Especially not from a probationer who’s already allowed a jailbreak on her watch.”
During her first week, he didn’t have to add.
Having convinced Mary McCarty to testify against Cain might not work in my favor, either. There was someone in this station reporting to Cain who would be glad to see me gone.
I stumped downstairs with the suspicion that this might be my last night on the job. The only one who looked more down in the mouth than me was Schultz.
“I never guessed I was going to get you in the soup,” he said.
“I know.”
“I just saw that mug attacking and thought, ‘Schultzie, my boy, you’ve gotta do something.’ That’s the trouble with lightning reflexes. Years of training—can’t turn ’em off.”
“You did the right thing,” I said.
He didn’t appear convinced. “I’ll see if I can scare up something for that eye of yours. You’re going to have a lulu of a shiner.”
I’d forgotten about my eye, but the moment he mentioned it, the dull ache reasserted itself. It was difficult opening my left eye beyond a squint. The women waiting for me in the cells thought it was hilarious.
“Who walloped you?” one asked.
I shrugged off the question.
Another laughed. “You look like my ma used to the morning after my pa’s payday. You married?”
“No.”
“Of course she’s not married,” a woman sitting on the bench in the back of the cell scoffed. “Lady cops don’t get married. What kind of man would marry a cop?”
The first woman sized me up through the bars. “If the pay’s regular, somebody would.”
My self-confidence sank another degree. The pay was only regular if you managed to stay employed. And alive. In my case, both contingencies now looked doubtful.
My imminent dismissal made me strangely sentimental about the job I’d struggled to endure all week. The taunts of the prisoners and the tedium of the hours suddenly didn’t bother me. Even making coffee and scrubbing up seemed like worthy work. Who would be looking after all this when I was gone?
Around midnight, my bell clanged, summoning me to the sergeant’s desk. Was this it? Were they going to tell me to go home even before my shift ended?
Upstairs, Donnelly jerked his head toward a back room used for interrogations. “Detective wants to talk to you.”
For some reason, I hadn’t expected Muldoon. They’d even said they wanted to find a detective familiar with the McChesney case. Maybe I’d pushed him so thoroughly out of my mind because I just didn’t want to face him. He’d have every right to say I told you so.
His expression darkened when he saw my face.
“What happened to you?”
“I walked into a fist.”
He muttered under his breath. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“I’ll be fine.” I attempted a smile, but even crinkling my eye that little bit smarted. “Good thing Bob Sanders hasn’t been pushing anything heavier than pencils for the past decade.”
“This isn’t funny, Louise. He’s saying you might have been trying to blackmail him.”
“Then he’s all wet. I never asked him for money. I just wanted to find out the truth, and I did.” I sat down. “The hard way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Bob’s embezzling?”
Wasn’t anyone listening to me? “I didn’t know for sure he’d embezzled anything until two hours ago. I didn’t even suspect until this morning.”
Muldoon sank into the chair opposite mine, crossed his arms, and blew out a breath. “So let me guess . . . You thought this Bob character’s embezzling had been discovered by Guy, who then blackmailed him. Which in turn made Bob murder Guy.”
“Okay, so I was on the wrong track.”
“Why? It sounds plausible.”
“Not when you consider how much Guy needed and how little Bob has. Guy was a gambler, not a nickel-and-dimer.” I shrugged. “Besides, even if Bob were being blackmailed, I can see now that he wouldn’t kill Guy. That’s not the kind of man he is.”
Muldoon’s gaze homed in on my left eye.
“His swinging at me wasn’t intentional,” I said. “He was cornered, and frightened.”
“You’re sure making a lot of excuses for someone you took pains to bring in.”
“I didn’t bring him in. He followed me, and Schultz did the rest.”
He contemplated the situation, and me. “Now do you believe in McChesney’s guilt?”
“That he murdered Guy? No.”
He looked tired. I wondered what shift he was supposed to be working and how long it had been since he’d slept.
“I hope you’ll let Bob go now,” I said. “He has a family.”
His abrupt laugh made me jump. “So I’ve heard. Repeatedly. Also, he paid back every penny.”
“I owe him an apology,” I said.
“He hit you.” Before I could respond, he said, “I know, I know. It was a mistake. But even putting your black eye aside, the man stole from the company he worked for. He should have been arrested when McChesney discovered the theft.”
“Mr. McChesney’s very kind. He did what he could to put me off Bob’s scent.”
“I can’t figure McChesney out. He forgives robbery and then commits arson and insurance fraud. He’s either soft in the head or just plain crackers.”
“Neither makes him a killer.”
“Neither clears him, either.”
And so we came full circle, right to the same frustrating impasse we’d started from. “We never do seem to agree, do we?” I said.
His expression didn’t soften, but the tension in his eyes shifted from irritation to a guarded friendliness. “We never do.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“There. We just agreed.”
He didn’t smile. “I don’t know how much I can help you now, Louise. I’ll put in a word, but—”
“But I’m a probationer.” I stood. “Thanks, but I know I’ve made a hash of things. My first week hasn’t exactly been a blaze of glory. Not that the jailbreak was all my fault—”
“Jailbreak?”
I waved a hand. “That’s what they’re calling it around here, but nobody escaped for very long. Still, it looked bad. And if I were a more prudent person, I would’ve dropped my private investigation as you advised me to a dozen times. But I can’t let Mr. McChesney face possible death for something he didn’t do.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing you discovered the job’s drawbacks so early. There will always be people you want to help. You can’t save people from themselves.”
I nodded because the advice sounded wise. I wasn’t sure they were words I could live by, though. Maybe I wasn’t wise.
“There’s another drawback I discovered today.” I told him about the brick, the message, and my near certainty that someone in the precinct had reported the events surrounding Mary McCar
ty’s arrest to Cain. “Otherwise, Cain couldn’t have known I was involved in his arrest at all.”
Muldoon looked thunderous. “Why didn’t you tell me this right away?”
“Because we were talking about Bob.”
“I mean this afternoon. Louise, the man is dangerous.”
“If he wanted to kill me, he’s had plenty of opportunity. I haven’t been hiding. The brick was just meant to scare me.”
“You don’t seem scared enough, in my opinion.”
“Oh, I am. And I’m worried about which colleague of mine here is reporting to him.”
He scratched his chin. “You didn’t tell McMartin or Donnelly about the brick?”
I shook my head.
“Maybe that’s for the best. For now.”
A chill went through me. I pointed out the coincidence of McMartin’s making a rare evening trip to the station house the night Mary McCarty was brought in. “You think he’s Cain’s spy?”
“Impossible to say.” He considered for a moment. “Internal inquiries are a long game. We shouldn’t tip our hand by telling too much too soon, Louise.”
That we comforted me. “I should probably go back to work. If I am going to lose my job after a week, I don’t want to be remembered as a shirker.”
“No one could ever think that.”
Though I was ready to go, something in his expression made me hesitate. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, because of Mr. McChesney,” I said. “Maybe the next time I won’t be a policewoman anymore. But you never liked me much as a civilian, either.”
“I’ve always liked you, Louise.” The words, blurted out, created a strange current in the air. For a moment we hung suspended in each other’s gazes, raw and surprised. The wall clock ticked off one second, then two.
Muldoon shook his head, then added, “When you’re not annoying the hell out of me.”
Which was almost never.
I smiled, in spite of the eye. “Good night, Detective.”
“Good night, Officer Faulk.”
After our conversation, the night snailed along. Busy work kept me awake. I swept, mopped, and dusted every square inch of area I was responsible for. Maybe I’d be remembered as the most bungling probationary policewoman in the history of the NYPD, but at least no one would be able to add sloppiness to the list of my failings.
At the end of my shift, Fiona came in, dropped her bag on our bench, and stared around the place. “Looks like you’ve been busy. Nice job.” Taking in my face, she lowered her voice. “That’s quite a shiner you got. I heard about the trouble last night.”
I nodded. “I was wondering if I should wait for Captain McMartin to come in before I go.”
“Did anyone tell you to?”
“No, but I thought he might want to tell me not to come back.”
“Of all the . . .” She let out a sound that was half laugh, half irritated bark. “What do you think this is, finishing school? You don’t wait to be asked ‘not to come back.’ If they want to fire you, they’ll give you a date for a hearing and they’ll lay out in detail all the reasons you didn’t make the grade. Until then, try not to be such a dumb cluck. Keep your head down and show up when and where you’re told.”
After this speech I almost felt I should salute, but she didn’t even wait for acknowledgment. She caught sight of one of the women sitting behind bars. “Is that you, Mollie? What are you doing in the cage? Back in the badger game?”
A week ago, the question would have seemed like Greek to me. Now I knew that Mollie was a specialist in luring well-to-do tourists to their hotel rooms and getting in a compromising position so her “boyfriend” could burst in and shake the poor tourist down for blackmail money.
“Some cop was pretending to be the mayor of South Bend.” Mollie sounded resentful, as if the cop’s trapping her was as underhanded as her scam. “You can’t believe a word nobody tells you anymore.”
I took Fiona’s advice and left the station without asking for a verdict on my future.
I felt too wound up to want to be alone, but it was early for visiting my aunt, and Callie would still be asleep for a few hours yet. I knew only one person sure to be up at this hour.
One reason for Otto’s continuing to be an early riser might have been the situation of his apartment facing Union Square. The street noise of the waking city was loud there even at seven, which was the time I arrived. A piano rag grew louder as I walked up the stairs to his flat.
He answered on my second knock, bundled in sweaters to fight off the arctic blast that greeted me. My appearing on his doorstep didn’t surprise him. In fact, he barely looked at me. “Oh, good, it’s you.” Without preamble, he waved me in and accepted the small sack of bagels I’d brought him. “I was just thinking that I needed a girl.”
He didn’t wait for my reaction, only hurried back to his piano bench.
“Anyone else might take that the wrong way,” I said, shivering.
He was already biting into a bagel and frowning at the music in front of him. “This is no time to act dippy, Louise. I need your help.”
There was an old ladder-back chair next to his Spartan table, and I dragged it over to the piano. I left my coat on.
“Have you noticed it’s a little frigid in here?”
He nodded. “I bought a new suit, so I’m economizing. Al laughed at my old one—said it looked like a summer camp for moths.”
“So you spent all your money buying a suit to impress your new pal and now you can’t afford heat?”
“As soon as I get this song done, I’ll be in clover again. Al needs a novelty number for his new show.”
“The tune I heard when I was coming up the stairs sounded good to me,” I said.
“The tune’s all right, but I don’t have the lyric. It needs a hook. He wants it to be about a girl making excuses to a man to sneak out to see another beau. What would a girl say?”
I shrugged. “Visiting a sick aunt? Washing her hair?”
He tried it out. “ ‘She’s always visiting Aunt Mildred.’ ” He frowned. “ ‘She’s always washing her hair.’ ”
“Hard to imagine Al Jolson capering down the center stage of the Winter Garden singing about shampoo,” I said.
Otto chewed and thought some more. “What was the last lie you told?”
Sadly, there had been quite a few recently, but I mentioned the first one that popped into my head. “I said I was going to the dentist when I wasn’t.”
I remembered the twinge of guilt I’d felt about the fib when I’d slipped the note under Guy’s door to let him know I wouldn’t be in until the following afternoon. He’d been talking to Cain, but I hadn’t wanted to wait for that meeting to end. Little did I know I’d never see Guy again, or that the investigation into his death would end up jeopardizing the very job I was taking the test for.
While I was wrapped up in my own thoughts, Otto muttered to himself. Then, as if struck by a bolt from the blue, he spun around on his piano bench in excitement. “Louise! I take back everything I said. You’re a genius with lyrics!”
“Because I lied about going to the dentist?”
“Exactly.”
He took up a pencil and began scribbling on the music in front of him.
“I guess if Irving Berlin can make a hit out of ‘Snooky-Ookems,’ all bets are off,” I joked.
“What?” He already seemed to have forgotten I was there. “Oh yes. And thanks for the bagels. I was starving. You must be a mind reader.”
I stood up. When Otto failed to defend his songwriting hero, he was well and truly distracted. “I’m going home.”
“Oh!” Abashed, he got up, too. “I’m sorry, Louise. It’s just that Al wants this song. Was there something you wanted to talk about?”
“Not really.”
He looked into my face for the first time, and his eyes bugged. “Holy cats! What happened to your eye?”
“Accident at work.”
“It looks like somebody punc
hed you.”
I looped my bag over my shoulder. “I should probably go home, put a compress on it, and get some sleep.”
He trailed me to the door. “I’m sorry I’ve been preoccupied this morning. I’m so glad you came by, but this song . . .” He held the door for me. “What if I came by your flat later? Before your shift?”
“I’m off tonight.” Maybe off forever.
“Even better. We can have supper.” He frowned. “Except I forgot. No money.”
I put my hand on his arm. “Go write your lyrics before your muse skiddoos. I’ll cook something for us to eat tonight, and we can talk more then.”
The rest of the way home, uneasiness nagged at me. Every time I thought of the fib I’d told about the dentist, I felt a qualm. Why? In my mind’s eye, I saw myself pushing the note under Guy’s office door and slipping out, leaving him and Cain alone in an otherwise empty building. But what was so odd about that?
At home, I was still too keyed up to sleep, so I did a few household chores, taking the clothes we couldn’t wash out ourselves to the laundry and then dusting and sweeping out the living room. Because of Callie’s love of knickknacks, dusting took the longest. Usually wiping off every souvenir trinket, slightly damaged bit of decorative china, and novelty gewgaw left me cursing her magpie ways, but this morning the Toby jugs, ashtrays, and whatnots didn’t bother me. I was glad for the mindless activity. All the while, I was careful not to disturb Callie sleeping behind her closed bedroom door. Performing household chores silently was one skill I’d perfected in the past month.
Finally, when my mind was as tired as the rest of me, I collapsed on my bed in the clothes I was wearing, too dog-tired to do more than kick off my shoes.
As I drifted off to sleep, I forgot about everything. The trouble at the precinct, Guy, Mr. McChesney in jail, even the supper with Otto that I’d promised to make. My mind became a restorative blank, right up to the moment a heavy pounding on the apartment door jolted me back awake and drove me out of bed. Was a Cain henchman about to bust down my door? The apartment was dark except for one lamp Callie must have left on. I grabbed the nearest weapon I could lay hands on—a brass doorstop in the shape of a duck. It felt comfortably heavy in my hands as I approached the door, which was almost bending with the force of each new knock.
