The old man tried the study door and muttered, “It’s locked, good.” He shuffled away. Harry waited a few minutes, his ear to the door. He heard the stairs creaking. Finally, a door closed on the second floor.
Harry drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We’re ready to leave now, Theresa.” She was crying softly, but she clutched his hand. With him leading the way, they moved silently through the hall to the back door. Harry picked up a bag that Theresa had hidden there and they slipped out into the cold.
The night was dark. They felt their way through the narrow passage and crossed the dimly lighted street. Harry helped Theresa and James into the coach, stowed the luggage, and climbed into the coachman’s seat. As he cracked the whip, it suddenly dawned on him that Michael or his father could accuse him of home invasion, burglary, and kidnapping a child. Then he reflected that he was saving Theresa and James from the imminent threat of Michael, a desperate man, armed with a pistol. Life was often a choice between risks.
At dawn, Pamela awoke, groggy from barely three hours of sleep. She hastened her toilette and ate a quick breakfast, anxious to learn whether Harry had managed to free Theresa and her son from the Sullivan home. As she was finishing the coffee, a note was slipped under her door. Meet me in the parlor. Harry.
With a jumble of questions in her mind she hurried downstairs. Harry was haggard and unshaven, his suit rumpled, but he summoned a weary smile. “I left Theresa and James at Larry White’s apartment—they should still be resting. Then I went to the Phoenix Club and found its gaming tables going full tilt. Lucretia had heard from Larry White at the Chelsea police station house that Sullivan insisted on going home, but Larry wouldn’t let him go until a magistrate released him.”
Pamela gazed at Harry. “Why don’t you go home and sleep? Larry will look after Sullivan. I’ll check on Theresa and James.”
By the time Pamela reached the White family apartment, Theresa was alone, eating breakfast, looking snug and warm in her sister’s bathrobe. Trish had gone to Sunday Mass with the children, including James. Larry would join them later for lunch and a visit to Huber’s Fourteenth Street Museum. Its popular Curio Hall’s huge collection of freaks and stuffed animals, including a giant boa constrictor, should entertain the children for hours.
“How do you feel, Theresa?”
“Light-headed and joyful, Pamela, as if I’ve been freed from prison. I’m savoring the moment and not thinking of tomorrow.”
“And James?”
“He’s quiet, feels uneasy, and doesn’t understand why we left home like thieves in the middle of the night. He probably also misses the attention his uncle Michael paid to him.”
“You should know that Michael is in police custody.” Pamela described the violent incident at the Phoenix Club and Michael’s arrest. “His addiction to gambling has led him to embezzle a large sum of money from Judge Fawcett’s account. The outlook for his future appears dire.”
“God forgive me, Pamela, but I can’t shed a tear for my brother. He has brought this trouble on himself. Too bad that it will shatter his father’s illusions of him as a golden boy. He must now see his son for what he is, a base, ruined man. That may be more than my father can bear.”
“How will your mother react?”
Before Theresa could reply, someone knocked on the door out in the hall.
“I’m not expecting anyone at this hour,” said Theresa, signs of anxiety suddenly appearing in her eyes. “Could it be the police?” She began to tremble. “You answer the door, please, Pamela.”
Pamela put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.” She went to the entrance hall, opened the door a crack, and said loudly enough for Theresa to hear, “Welcome, Mrs. Sullivan. It’s good to see you. Please come in.”
Martha Sullivan was a petite, once-pretty woman, who looked now as if she hadn’t slept during the night. Her face was drawn, her eyes red from weeping. And she seemed uncertain how she would be received. Theresa entered the hall, gazed at her mother for a moment, and then embraced her.
Pamela stood aside, deeply touched. Finally, she took Martha’s coat and they sat around the kitchen table. Pamela prepared the tea.
“Were you hurt badly that I left home?” Theresa asked tentatively.
Martha’s lips tightened with the stress from a painful memory. “I was deeply saddened, Theresa, that the situation in our family had become intolerable for you—and nearly for me as well. You had no choice but to flee in the dark of night. I wasn’t surprised. Our maid had spied on you and warned me that you were making suspicious preparations. I said that was nonsense and gave her the night off to get her out of the house.”
“Have you heard about Michael being arrested?” Pamela asked, while pouring the tea.
“Yes, I know all about it. Larry wrote to me from the station house.” She added, “I was upset, but really not surprised. I’ve known for some time that he sneaked out on Saturday nights, to drink and gamble—or worse. On Sunday mornings, he looked jaded. I tried to warn my husband, but he wouldn’t hear of it and still refuses. He claims that enemies of Judge Fawcett and Tammany Hall have falsely accused Michael of vice and embezzlement, but the judge will defend him, and in the end everything will be all right. I think it’s foolish to trust the judge. He looks and talks like a gentleman but he’s a wicked man and will betray Michael.”
Theresa frowned.
Martha nodded. “I’ll speak frankly. Your father has always been prone to believe what suits him. He has gotten much worse as he slips into senility.”
She drew a deep breath and gazed at her daughter. “I’ve come here this morning, Theresa, to assure you of my love. Mr. Miller seems to be a fine man. You and he are fortunate to have found each other. Don’t rush into marriage. Take the time to become true friends.”
As she left, she sighed, “I fear for Michael.”
That evening, Pamela met Prescott at Grand Central Station upon his return from Williamstown. He hadn’t eaten, so they stopped at a small, quiet restaurant for a light supper. Pamela was eager to hear the outcome of the controversy concerning Edward and his fraternity. But first Prescott would want a report on the latest development in the Sullivan crisis.
“Michael Sullivan seems to have disappeared,” she began, after the waiter had taken their order. She went on to describe Michael’s attempted suicide at the Phoenix Club and his arrest. “Larry White stayed with him at the station house and has kept me informed. Late this morning, a police magistrate released him. He told the magistrate that he would go home, but instead he went to Judge Fawcett’s mansion on Fifth Avenue. Larry followed him and watched until dusk, but Sullivan didn’t emerge. Larry left, assuming that the judge had put Sullivan up for the night.”
“That’s possible,” Prescott remarked. “Fawcett would surely want to punish Sullivan but would hold back until he had thoroughly questioned him about the secret account at the Union Square Bank and Trust, and possibly certain Tammany Hall matters. That could take hours.”
The food arrived, spinach bisque with a pitcher of white wine. When the waiter left, they raised their glasses in a toast to Lady Justice. Pamela added, “May she correct the wrong done to our friend Harry.”
“Amen,” said Prescott. “Tell me about Theresa.”
“She’s fine,” Pamela replied. “Harry freed her and her son, James, from the Sullivan house. They will stay with me tonight. I’ll find a small apartment for them tomorrow in my building where I can keep an eye on them. Michael might still be a threat. Now tell me, what happened in Williamstown? Was Edward’s case resolved?”
Prescott nodded. “Yesterday afternoon, President Carter met with the faculty committee investigating the recent tension at the fraternity and the attempt to poison Edward. The fraternity president and two other seniors at the meeting reported that Isaac Fawcett and Edward were rivals for Mary Clark’s affections. They were also competing for the office of fraternity president, but Edward’s athletic
success gave him an advantage. Consumed with envy and jealousy, Isaac had recruited a fraternity brother, also resentful of Edward, to poison his breakfast porridge and make him sick before the Amherst game. Isaac slipped the poison into the bowl while his accomplice distracted the cook.”
“How did the student investigators prove their case?”
“They closely questioned the accomplice’s roommate. Out of fear, he had initially given the rogues an alibi. Now, he was sorry and told the truth.”
“So what was the final outcome?”
“The faculty committee accepted the students’ report and recommended that Isaac and his accomplice be expelled. President Carter agreed. He would call them to his office on Monday and give them his decision, then inform the judge by letter.”
“That should free Edward of a great distraction from his studies.”
“True, but Isaac Fawcett’s disgrace will enrage his uncle, the judge. He will blame us and make our efforts to clear Harry’s name even more difficult.”
“That can’t be helped. We’ll prevail nonetheless.”
CHAPTER 16
Suspicious Death
Monday, November 26
Early the next morning, Pamela was at breakfast with Theresa and James, when the landlady came with a message. “Mrs. Thompson, police detective Larry White is calling for you. Shall I send him up?”
“Yes, please do,” replied Pamela, and turned to her guests. “Larry White is coming. Are you ready to see him?”
“You don’t suppose he’s been sent to arrest me?” asked Theresa, a nervous tremor in her voice.
Pamela shook her head. “He and I may have business to discuss. He’ll be pleased to see that you and James are here, safe and well.”
Within a minute there was a knock on the door and Pamela let him into the entrance hall.
“I have news for you,” he said, a cloud of concern lingering on his face. Then he instantly brightened. “But first, I’d like to give my best wishes to Theresa and James.”
Pamela led him into the kitchen where Theresa was standing, eyes shining and lips parted in expectation. “Larry, it’s so good to see you.” She embraced him and presented James, who greeted him shyly. They gathered at the table, Pamela served coffee, and James recounted yesterday’s adventures in Huber’s Museum. Today, he was trying to imitate the ventriloquist.
After a few minutes of family conversation, James was sent to read a book in the parlor. Larry then gazed tenderly at his sister-in-law. “This may be hard to deal with, Theresa, but I must tell you that your brother, Michael, is dead. Workers found him under a dock in the East River, early this morning. I’ve just informed your parents and your sister.”
At the news, the young woman’s hands flew to her face. But she quickly composed herself. “I can’t say I’m sorry that he’s gone. He was the bane of my life. But I would have wished him a better end.”
Pamela asked, “How did it happen?”
“No witnesses have come forward. When found, he had been in the water several hours and was fully dressed. The strong tidal current could have carried him some distance from where he entered the water. I saw no obvious signs of malicious violence on his body. There were bruises to his head, but they might be due to him striking objects in the water, especially around the docks.”
“Suicide?” Pamela asked.
“A reasonable conjecture,” Larry replied, “since Michael had attempted to kill himself the night before. Financial reverses had apparently made him despondent. The investigation has only just begun. At this point, I wouldn’t rule out foul play. I’ll talk to Judge Fawcett, possibly the last person to meet Michael.”
Late that afternoon, Larry White stopped at Pamela’s office with news. He had found Fawcett at home in his study, apparently distressed. An acquaintance had told him about Sullivan’s death in the East River.
“Was he surprised to see you?” Pamela asked.
Larry nodded. “I explained that I was charged with investigating the death, a routine procedure when there were questions about the victim’s motive and no witnesses. I had to fill in gaps in the record of Michael’s movements. Then I asked the judge to describe Michael’s visit with him.”
“Did he object?”
“He appeared offended that I would question him like any ordinary person. Still, he explained that Michael had seemed deeply disturbed about certain financial irregularities in the account that he managed for the judge at the Union Square Bank and Trust. A large sum of money appeared to have gone astray. Fawcett had told him that this was neither the time nor the place to discuss the matter and assured him that they could work out the problem after he had rested. He left in a cab early in the evening. It was dark.”
Pamela asked, “Did the judge seem aware that Michael had attempted to kill himself several hours earlier in a bordello, after losing a very large sum of money?”
“When I told him what had happened at the Phoenix Club, he pretended to be surprised.”
“Isn’t that suspicious? Someone from the Phoenix or the police station must have told him.”
“That’s true. For whatever reason, the judge was holding back. Still his servants agreed that he was home all night.”
“Nonetheless,” Pamela insisted. “He might have arranged for someone else to kill Michael.”
At that point Harry entered the room, lines of concern on his brow. “Theresa has told me that Michael’s body is found. She and Trish are deeply concerned about their parents. Mr. Sullivan is too feeble, mentally as well as physically, to manage their finances. Michael had handled everything. Mrs. Sullivan is alert but lacks experience and self-confidence.”
Harry turned to his prospective brother-in-law. “I realize that Patricia has her hands full, but she knows how to manage a household. Could you arrange the transfer of Michael’s power of attorney to her? Theresa would like to share the burden and could quickly be helpful.”
“That sounds like a reasonable arrangement,” Larry replied. “I’ll discuss it with the sisters. I’m also concerned about Michael’s personal papers that might shed light on his suicide.”
“Don’t worry,” said Harry. “When Theresa and I left the Sullivan house, I brought with me Michael’s secret account book and his diaries and other papers that might prove relevant to your investigation.”
Larry quickly perceived the value of this revelation. “Michael had an insider’s knowledge of Tammany Hall and that may have contributed to his death. For the present, let’s keep these papers to ourselves. Where have you stored them?”
“They are secure in my office.”
“Keep them there for the time being. Now we should visit the Sullivan home, together with Theresa and Patricia, and see what we can do for their parents. Mrs. Donovan will look after little James.”
The Sullivans’ maid admitted the visitors into a parlor. Seeing Harry and Theresa, she grew embarrassed, as she realized their new, dominant position in the family. “I’ll fetch Mrs. Sullivan,” she stammered.
Martha Sullivan arrived shortly and said, “I’m so glad you came.” After James had left for the kitchen, Mrs. Sullivan turned to her daughters. “Your father has been in a daze since Michael’s disappearance. He lies in bed most of the time, or wanders about the house talking to Michael’s ghost. The servants and I are at a loss what to do.”
Before Pamela closed the parlor door, she surveyed the hallway. The maid was nearby, busily dusting a lampshade. Pamela stared at her severely, and she scurried away.
Theresa took the lead. “We can help you, Mother. This is our plan.” She went on to explain the need to transfer Michael’s power of attorney to her and her sister. They would become responsible for the household’s oversight and its finances.
Still standing by the door, Pamela sensed a movement outside and raised a warning hand for Theresa to stop. Pamela then suddenly opened the door and came face to face with the maid.
Mrs. Sullivan rose from her chair, strode across t
he room, and confronted the woman. “You must leave this house immediately. We will send your things and your wages to whatever address you give us.”
For a moment, the woman seemed defiant, but then glanced at Larry White, who had come up behind Mrs. Sullivan, and at Pamela. Finally, the woman said sourly, “Then I’d better go.”
Pamela saw her to the door, returned to the parlor, and said to Martha, “Your maid used to spy for Michael, so now she’s apparently doing the same for Big Tim at Tammany Hall.”
“What a relief to get her out of the house!” Martha exclaimed.
Pamela assured her, “With extra help, Mrs. Donovan can temporarily fill the maid’s place until a new one is hired, a mature woman who will respect you and help you oversee the household. Meanwhile, Theresa and Patricia will put the family finances on a sound footing.”
Martha turned to her daughters. “What will you do about your father? If he comes out of his daze, he could object to the whole idea.”
Patricia replied, “At that point we’ll have to engage a doctor to assess Father’s state of mind and certify him incompetent.”
That would be a wrenching moment for the family, thought Pamela.
After supper, Pamela returned to the Irving Place office and reported to Prescott. As she spoke, he nodded with approval. At her conclusion, he reached into a cabinet for a bottle of whiskey and offered a shot to her. She declined. Then he poured one for himself and saluted her.
As he sipped from the glass, he said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Pamela, the burden of the investigation will increasingly fall on you. Harry must spend more time with Theresa and her son and bring the Sullivan family through its crisis. I also need his help in a complicated divorce case that I’ve just undertaken—frankly for the money. A Fifth Avenue matron wants me to win a large financial settlement from her philandering, wealthy husband. My commission will fund Harry’s exoneration and replenish the firm’s pro bono fund.”
Death at Tammany Hall Page 13
