Brooklyn on Fire

by Lawrence H. Levy

  As he put his shirt back on, he sneered at her dead, rotund body on the bed with her bulging eyes reflecting the shock of her last seconds on earth. He had made sure the manager didn’t see him, and he felt safe when he grabbed the two raggedy towels and took out some matches. He set the towels on fire, then threw them on the bed. Shorty watched as the flames grew, catching onto the dirty blanket and sheets. He waited until he could smell burning flesh, then hustled out as quickly as he could.

  17

  IT WOULD BE an understatement to say that Biltmore was impressive. It was truly magnificent. For a dream, it was developing into a wondrous reality. The main house was still being constructed, and George apologized that they had to stay in the guest quarters. As far as Mary was concerned, there was absolutely no need for an apology. The house that he called the “guest quarters” was three times larger than her parents’ abode and had infinitely more amenities. With its comfortable, tasteful furniture, its fine art and modern conveniences, Mary would have felt blessed to be able to live in such a place.

  Because of her condition and the train ride, Mary needed a couple of days’ rest until they could start touring the property. And considering what she was about to see, Mary may have asked for more time. It was overwhelming.

  The main house had been under construction for a year and was designed in the style of a French Renaissance château. George had hired famed architect Richard Morris Hunt and landscape designer Frederick Law Olmstead to make his dream a reality, and he told Mary it probably wouldn’t be completed for another five years. The plans called for thirty-five bedrooms, forty-three bathrooms, three kitchens, and sixty-five fireplaces. There were countless other areas, including a bowling alley, a gym, and an indoor swimming pool. The château would eventually cover over four full acres of floor space. He had even had three miles of railroad track constructed leading to his house from the main railroad line so that it would be easier to transport materials for its construction. The magnitude of it took Mary’s breath away.

  In order to view the land, they needed a horse and buggy. George had already bought over eight thousand acres, and he intended to own over fifteen times that amount.

  “Are you planning to create your own state?” Mary quipped.

  “I had thought of that, but the name Georgia was already taken.”

  “How about the District of Vanderbilt?”

  “Ah, that has a nice sound. I’m already warming to it. And I think my first act as—”

  “King?”

  “I prefer governor.”

  “Oh, how very democratic of you.”

  “Yes, I thought so. Anyhow, my first act will be to pass a law. At Biltmore, there will be no hypocrisy and no snobbery.”

  “Here, here,” said Mary, playing along.

  “And there will be no prejudice against anyone because of race, creed, color, religion, gender”—he faced Mary, who nodded her approval—“or poverty. People will be free to choose how they live their lives as long as they’re not harming anyone.”

  “What about the rich?”

  “Doesn’t that last section cover it?”

  “Hypothetically, but you may need some protection after the workers see how you’re living.” She pointed to the elaborate châteaus he was having built. Suddenly, George got serious.

  “Mary, I’m painfully aware that the source of my wealth is my grandfather, who didn’t use the most ethical methods. And frankly, neither have his offspring. Here, I am trying to accomplish something that will benefit the land, the animals, and the workers, whom I am paying handsomely. That’s a far cry from my father, who is best remembered for his statement ‘The public be damned.’ ”

  Mary could see he was hurt and immediately sought to remedy that. “I’m sorry, George. I was joking. I didn’t mean to—”

  “My one vice is that I love beauty of all kinds and want to immerse myself in it. I’m fortunate to have the money for it, and that’s what I’m trying to do here. Does that violate the first law of Biltmore? Am I a hypocrite?” He looked at her, desperately wanting her respect.

  “No,” Mary said as she gently put her hand to his cheek. “It makes you honest, and generous, and incredibly human.” She then kissed him tenderly on the lips.

  As they toured the estate, the scope and beauty of what George was trying to accomplish took over. Mary found it awe inspiring.

  He showed her the dairy, which was already working and where there were close to two hundred cows. Next was the horse barn, and there were further plans for poultry, swine, and sheep. What was probably most impressive to Mary was that all the animals seemed to be well taken care of and thriving. There were also gardens and nurseries. Olmstead had already designed an area for a forest where the trees would be well preserved. As they traveled over the property, a combination of flat land and rolling hills with spectacular views and a seemingly perfect climate, it occurred to Mary that George was building his own little Garden of Eden. Correction: not so little.

  Because of Mary’s condition, George didn’t want to take a chance of tiring her out, so they took two days to see everything. He really wanted to do it in three days, but by the second day, Mary was feeling much better and prodded him to continue. That night, as they were sipping wine after finishing their sumptuous candlelit meal, she lowered her glass and looked straight at him.

  “George, I think you’re marvelous.”

  “That’s fortunate, because I think you’re marvelous, too.”

  She rose, went to him, and sat on his lap as she kissed him more fervently than she had ever before. He put his arms around her and returned her ardor. She had untied his cravat and started to unbutton his shirt when George stopped her.

  “I see where this is going, Mary, and I’m concerned.”

  George was a true gentleman, and he was worried about her reputation. She found it touching.

  “I’m the one who should be concerned, and I’m not. As a matter of fact, I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

  They made their way to her bedroom, which was, of course, the larger one. George had seen to that. As they undressed each other, he was careful of her wound, which endeared him to her even more.

  Making love that night was a bit awkward at first, as it often can be when two people are feeling out each other’s preferences for the first time. Then it progressed to an ecstasy Mary had never felt before. She only had one person with whom to compare this experience, and that was Charles. He was possibly more experienced than George at lovemaking, but he was also more like a lost boy than he was a man. There was something fulfilling about being with a man who had purpose and a sense of self. George knew who he was. Most importantly, Mary adored who he was.

  They spent three more blissful days enjoying Biltmore and each other. On the morning of the fourth day, Mary and George were still in bed when she turned to him.

  “George,” she started, but he already knew what she was thinking.

  “It’s time to go back. You need to find out who killed Abigail Corday and why.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I know she’s not really my client, but—”

  “You’re you, and I love every part of you, even the part that’s going to drag us away from the happiest days of my life.”

  “Really? I’ve felt the same way.”

  “Good, then I will proceed.” He turned, and now they were both on their sides facing each other. She thought he wanted to make love again, which was perfectly fine with her. Instead, he got very serious.

  “Mary Handley, will you do me the supreme honor of becoming my wife?”

  Mary took a moment to process his words, then replied, “If this is some misguided, gentlemanly attempt to make an honest woman out of me, it’s not necessary.”

  “I know that.”

  His words sent Mary’s head spinning. She found it hard to accept his proposal at face value. It might just have been that happiness had eluded her for so long that she couldn’t
recognize it when it was in front of her.

  “George, we’ve only known each other for a relatively short time, and what you think is love may just be a temporary infatuation. So I suggest—”

  He gently put his two fingers on her lips to quiet her. “As a celebrated lady detective once told me, I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

  Mary studied his face. There was no doubt he was being earnest. She was convinced. And ecstatic.

  She sat up in bed. “George Vanderbilt, I want you to know that I am now officially consenting to your proposal, but only under the condition that you agree to one caveat. You must accept”—she interrupted her speech to lie down next to him again, warmly looking into his eyes—“that I am simply mad about you.”

  The two of them kissed, and, naturally, made love again, which they found to be an infinitely more satisfying way to complete a deal than signing a contract. They spent the rest of the day enjoying Biltmore and each other before leaving the next day for New York.

  When they arrived at Grand Central Depot and were disembarking the train, Mary spotted her mother waiting for them. Before they left, she had sent Elizabeth a telegram to explain that they had gone to Biltmore and were on their way home, so that she wouldn’t worry about her being gone so long. She had conveniently omitted that she had been shot but did mention that she had a surprise for her.

  “Mother,” Mary exclaimed, “you didn’t have to meet our train. The surprise could have waited until I came to the house.”

  Elizabeth was desperately trying to put up a good front, but her face betrayed her. This had nothing to do with her surprise. Whatever it was, it was grim.

  “We need your help, Mary,” she said, quivering. “Sean’s been arrested. They say he murdered Patti.”

  Abandoning any attempt at pretense, she crumpled into Mary’s arms, crying.

  18

  SEAN WAS IN a holding cell at Second Street Station. As fate would have it, it was the same cell in which they had put the Goodrich killer after Mary’s famous arrest.

  George hired a carriage and they dropped a distraught Elizabeth off at her house. She had been so consumed with her tragedy that it hadn’t seemed to faze her at all that she was in a carriage with a Vanderbilt. Given the circumstances, Mary decided not to tell her about their engagement just yet. Instead, she would wait until her mother could fully enjoy it. She and George then proceeded on to Second Street Station, where she stopped George from following her out of the carriage.

  “It’s better that I go in alone. Sean could reveal certain things to me that he might be hesitant to say in front of you.”

  “You’re right, Mary. I’m just concerned. When will I see you again?”

  Mary’s mind was on Sean. “I don’t know. How about dinner tonight?”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  George scooted back into his seat and closed the carriage door. Mary had already started ascending the very familiar steps of Second Street Station when she abruptly did an about-face, returned to the carriage, and stuck her head in the window.

  “George, you need to know something. Sean was a bit of an ass growing up, but there is one thing of which I am certain. My brother is not a murderer.”

  “How could he be? Look who he has for a sister.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  They kissed, George’s carriage took off, and Mary entered Second Street Station.

  Billy O’Brien escorted Mary to the holding cell area. He had known Mary and Sean since they were little and had been on the police force even longer. That didn’t matter. The two of them walked in silence. The shock of Sean’s being arrested hadn’t worn off, but that wasn’t why Mary was silent. The horror of her friend Patti, a woman whose love of life was evident in every breath she took, being brutally killed began to also affect her. She knew that she had to suppress that feeling and never let it show if she was to be of any use to Sean.

  Billy ushered her into the anteroom before the holding cells where the guard would take over.

  “Watch out after the lad, Mary. I’ve never seen him so depressed.”

  “Wouldn’t you be? The love of his life was murdered, and they’re blaming him for it.”

  Billy shrugged. He looked as if he wanted to tell her something but decided not to. The guard escorted her to Sean’s cell. He was sitting on a cot. The second he saw her he jumped up.

  “Mary!”

  “Well, well, Sean Handley, fancy meeting you here.” Mary was purposely being flip. She wanted to cool down as much emotion as possible so she could glean the facts. She turned to the guard.

  “Open the door, please.”

  The guard looked at her with incredulity. “The man’s a murderer.”

  “I’m a private detective, he’s my client, and he also happens to be my brother. So like I said, open the door.”

  The guard reluctantly obeyed Mary’s wishes, and as he closed it with her inside, she turned to him once more.

  “By the way, we’re innocent until proven guilty in this country. Until a jury of his peers convicts him, I suggest you exhibit your poor judgment elsewhere.”

  Having received this verbal lashing, the guard moped off, muttering to himself. Sean looked at his sister in awe.

  “God, it’s good to see you!”

  “I bet those are words you never expected to utter in this lifetime.”

  Sean smiled wistfully. “Yeah, probably not.” Then adrenaline shot through his body and took over as he started pacing. “Mary, I didn’t do this! I would never harm Patti! Never!”

  “I know that, Sean. You need to calm down.”

  “Easy for you to say!”

  “No, it’s not easy. My big brother is in jail for murder, my good friend is dead, and it’s all killing me. But I need the facts as you know them, and the only way I’m going to get them, all of them, is if you’re thinking properly. For God’s sake, Sean, you’re a policeman. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Mary’s words accomplished what she wanted. Sean took a few deep breaths and slowly gained his composure. He was far from calm, but this was as good as he was going to get.

  “Thanks, sis, you’re right. I’m ready.”

  The problem was that Sean didn’t have much to tell. Two nights before, he and Patti had gone to dinner and then he had walked her back to her apartment. Unfortunately, they had gotten into one of those silly squabbles they had recently been avoiding.

  “It was stupid. She had fixed her hair differently. My mind was somewhere else, on my case, and I hadn’t mentioned her hair all evening. She called me on it, and instead of just apologizing, which I should have done, I told her I had more important things to think about.”

  Mary didn’t have to speak, her incredulity apparent.

  “I know, stupid. Anyhow, we wound up yelling at each other for a few seconds, maybe as much as a minute, and I stormed off, down the stairs and out of the building. One of her neighbors found her about thirty minutes later. She had been strangled.”

  Sean sat on his cot, upset. “If I hadn’t started that dumb argument, I’d have stayed with her and she’d still be here. It’s my fault she’s dead!” He buried his head in his hands.

  Mary wanted to comfort Sean, but she needed information. “Did any of the neighbors hear your argument?”

  “You know how we were, Mary. When we got that way, we were pretty loud.”

  “What about later? Did anyone see you leave?”

  “I doubt that, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Did you note the time?”

  “When I left? Exactly eight oh two P.M. I don’t know why, but I glanced at the pocket watch Patti had given me for my birthday…so I’d always be on time.”

  Sadness was once again beginning to consume Sean. But Mary wanted to focus on the facts, the most important one being that she now knew Patti had been killed between 8:02 P.M. and 8:32 P.M.

  Sean looked up, pai
ned, full of remorse. “The last words I said to her were ‘I hate you.’ ”

  “Patti and I were close. Believe me, Sean. She knew you didn’t mean that.”

  He stared at her, helpless, tears dripping down his cheeks. “I loved her, Mary.”

  “So did I. We’re going to find out who did this to her.”

  Mary patted her brother on the shoulder, then called for the guard. She had a case to solve.

  SUPERINTENDENT CAMPBELL WAS actually working when Mary burst into his office. It was paperwork, drudgery as far as he was concerned, but he had to do it.

  “Sean? Are you insane?” she screamed. “You know he’s not a murderer.”

  Superintendent Campbell didn’t take Mary’s bait. He calmly rose and gestured toward a chair, “Have a seat, Mary.” As she reluctantly sat, crossing her legs indignantly, he slowly closed his office door. “What happened? I was expecting you a couple of days ago.”

  “I was out of town,” Mary responded quickly in short, clipped tones.

  “So that explains it,” he said as he sat back down at his desk.

  “Chief—”

  “The answer to your questions are, no, I’m not insane, and also no, I don’t think Sean’s a murderer.”

  “Good, then release him.”

  “Unfortunately, even I don’t have that kind of power.”

  “Of course you do. The evidence you have against him is completely circumstantial.”

  “People are convicted on circumstantial evidence every day, and what they have against Sean is…well, it’s not good.”

  By now, Mary had abandoned her attack and was beginning to really listen and observe. She remembered the look on Billy’s face, and Superintendent Campbell now had the same look.

  “Okay, Chief, tell me about it.”

  His story was similar to Sean’s in that it included Sean and Patti’s long history of very loud and antagonistic arguments. This particular spat was the same. He mentioned the name of the next-door neighbor, a Mrs. Schmidt, who heard the argument and found Patti’s body.