“I’m hoping you’ll get him for a lot longer…or possibly a brief stay, just long enough to sample the new electric chair.”
“You think he’s our man?”
“I know it. All I have to do is prove it.”
When they got to the house, Mary noticed some scratches on the limestone in the front entry but paid little attention to it. Billy opened the door. The police had left all the drapes open, so it was easy to see. Mary paused to take it in. No matter how much she had read or had been told about Gabrielle Evans and her lifestyle, it was still shocking to personally see how she had lived, changing a once-beautiful house into a junkyard. The amount of garbage was staggering and the stench unbearable. She wondered what sick twist of the mind made a person live like this.
“What’s that smell, Billy?”
“Which one, lass? The house is full of ’em.”
“An animal of some kind.”
“Ah, yes. The ol’ bat was one of those crazy cat ladies. Had two of ’em, who are in the care of some woman now. She’d let ’em roam free, do whatever the little darlins’ hearts desired. She even used to talk to ’em.”
“Lots of people talk to their animals, Billy.”
“How many make up voices for ’em, so they can talk back? They’d chatter on about the weather, politics. But she was really talkin’ to herself.” Billy shuddered. “Gives ya the creeps.”
“Sounds like a very lonely old woman.” Mary shook her head, feeling sorry for Gabrielle Evans, but not for long. Sean was her primary concern. “Where did you find the body, Billy?”
He pointed. “Over there, bent over that stack of newspapers.”
Mary went to the stack of newspapers, inspected that area, then turned toward the open door. Billy was blocking the light that was shining in from it.
“Billy, could you step to the side, please?”
He did as she asked, being careful to avoid putting his foot into a wooden crate filled with ashtrays.
With a clear line of sight to the entrance, Mary could see a series of scratches on the wooden floor leading to the stack of newspapers, where they abruptly ended. She carefully and judiciously followed the scratches to the entrance, then stepped outside to the scrapes she had seen on the limestone.
“Billy, was there anything out here?”
“Yes, a statue. It had fallen. The head was broken off.”
“Thanks, Billy. I have to go. You can close up now.”
“That’s it?”
“I now know Shorty did it.” Mary was in a hurry and was rushing off.
Billy called to her. “How is that possible? We’ve been investigating for weeks and you’ve only been here a minute.”
“You have to know what you’re looking for,” she yelled back as she turned the corner.
Billy scratched his head. He didn’t have a clue.
SUPERINTENDENT CAMPBELL WAS feeling something he hadn’t experienced in a long time: frustration. When he was a chief detective, frustration came with the job, and it was part of what propelled him to solve problems. This was different. It came with a feeling of helplessness. Needless to say, he was not in a good mood when, carrying an extreme sense of urgency, Mary burst into his office talking faster than an auctioneer who worked on commission.
“Chief, a man named Kieran Kilpatrick who’s also known as Shorty killed Patti. And not only her. I’m pretty sure he killed Gabrielle Evans, the victim from Sean’s case, as well as Abigail Corday, the actress who was stabbed at the Thalia Theatre just before it burned down. And there are probably more. Just check any unsolved murders over the past five or ten years, and if fire was involved, it was probably him.”
“Mary—”
“He’s not the brains behind it, but he did the killings. And I have to find out why there was no fire at Gabrielle Evans’s house, but he did that, all right. The metal from his leg brace left scratches on the wood floor and on the limestone outside, probably while she was fighting him off. And Sean was onto him. He was three interviews away from catching him when—”
“Mary, I just got a phone call.”
“Let me finish. Mrs. Schmidt said she heard clanging down the stairs after Patti was killed. Sean wouldn’t clang, but a man with a leg brace—”
“Sean’s been stabbed.”
Mary froze. All of the adrenaline instantly drained out of her body. She was practically numb when she asked the question she did not want to ask. “Is he dead, Chief?
Superintendent Campbell rose but didn’t answer.
“Tell me, Chief. Is Sean dead?”
“I don’t know.”
He went to Mary and gently ushered her out with him. They were going to the Raymond Street Jail to find out. A strange thought occurred to Mary. Was it possible her mother’s absurd theory about the balance of happiness and sadness in the world was indeed true? Mary was hoping that her joy hadn’t resulted in Sean’s troubles. She was praying it didn’t result in his death.
27
WHEN A CRIME was committed, especially a high-profile one (and Sean’s case qualified as high profile, because he was a policeman accused of murder), there were often conflicting reports. And the stabbing at Raymond Street—since it involved Sean—was no different. Several people at the Raymond Street Jail had called Superintendent Campbell immediately after the attack, hoping to curry favor with the boss. It only resulted in confusion. Their stories varied from “Sean was wounded, but he’s okay,” to “He’s seriously hurt,” to “I heard he’s dead.” Superintendent Campbell and Mary had to find out where the truth lay in all of that.
They were met at the jail by Warden John J. Wilson, who had survived many political appointments and regimes at Raymond Street. Needless to say, the warden was worried about Superintendent Campbell’s reaction to one of his men, even if he was accused of murder, being stabbed on the warden’s watch. As he approached Superintendent Campbell, he launched into his long-winded excuse about how devastated he was that it had happened, that he had often checked on the prisoner personally and had alerted the guards.
“To my deep, deep regret and disgust,” Wilson droned on, “one of the guards somehow got distracted and that’s when it happened. I personally think this man should be fired—”
“Enough, Wilson,” said Superintendent Campbell. “Just tell me how and where he is. We’ll deal with everything else later.”
“The doctor’s with him now. I’m not a medical man, so I’ll let him tell you the details.”
As Wilson led them to the prison infirmary, he informed Superintendent Campbell and Mary of what had happened. Sean was attacked by two men, one who was a cousin of someone he had arrested. He fended off one of them successfully, but while he was doing that, the other stabbed him in his leg.
“The wound is awfully…well, like I said, I’ll let the doctor tell you.”
Mary was incredibly relieved that Sean was still alive. Of course, she wouldn’t know if that would last or what state he was in until they had spoken with the doctor. As they walked through the dungeonlike halls of the Raymond Street Jail, she saw why it had earned the nickname of the Brooklyn Bastille. Regardless of its having been rebuilt eleven years before, it was a decrepit place: dark, dreary, and falling apart. And her reason for being there made it even more depressing.
When they entered the small infirmary, Mary immediately spotted Sean lying on a bed in the middle as a doctor stood over him shaking his head. More importantly, Sean wasn’t moving. She ran to his bedside.
“How is he, doctor?”
“Who are you?”
“Dr. Lansing,” Wilson replied, “I’d like to introduce Superintendent Campbell and Mary Handley.”
“Pleased to meet you, both of you.” He extended his hand to shake Superintendent Campbell’s but Campbell had no time for formalities and got right to the point.
“What’s the prognosis, Dr. Lansing?”
“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to save the leg, but regardless, he’s lost a lot
of blood.”
“Why is he still here?” Mary asked, trying to hide her outrage. “Brooklyn Hospital isn’t that far away, and they have ambulance service now.”
“It’s too dangerous to move him. He’s presently sedated with morphine, and I thought maybe we could get an inmate to donate blood if we promised him an extra privilege or two.”
“No inmates. Take mine.”
“Mary,” said Superintendent Campbell, “I’m not sure you realize—”
“I know how risky blood transfusions are for both of us, but I’m Sean’s sister, and there’s a greater likelihood my blood will work for him rather than some stranger’s.”
“Don’t be bullheaded about this, Mary.”
“Being bullheaded is my specialty.”
Mary returned to Sean’s bedside and started preparing by rolling up the sleeve of her blouse. The doctor looked at Superintendent Campbell, shrugged, and went to her.
Two hours later, Sean awoke to see Mary lying in the bed next to him. He was still groggy from the morphine.
“Mary? Are you all right?”
She had been sleeping, and Sean’s words aroused her. She quickly sat up. “Sean, you’re awake. How are you?”
“A little dizzy,” Sean replied, then glanced down at his injured leg, “and in pain, but otherwise, I guess okay…What are you doing here?”
“You needed a transfusion, and I insisted on Handley blood.”
“I understand. We wouldn’t want to soil our name with some stranger’s blood.”
“To be honest, it’s a long story, but you may have gotten some Vanderbilt blood, too.”
“That explains it then.”
“What?”
“I awoke with an irresistible urge to build a mansion.”
Mary laughed. “You get some of my blood, and all of a sudden you’re witty.”
She filled Sean in on her investigation with the button and everything she had found out about Shorty. As Sean listened to the details, his grogginess faded away and energy seeped back into his body.
“I knew that button meant something,” he said.
“It did, but I think Shorty’s just hired help, and we don’t really have anything to get him, especially on Patti’s murder. We have to find out the common thread that links these crimes.” Mary shrugged. “It could be Huntington, McLaughlin, or any number of others.”
Sean sighed. “Great.”
Dr. Lansing came in to check on his two patients. “How are we doing, Sean?”
“Terrific. I’m thinking of playing outfield for the Brooklyn Bridegrooms.”
“You can wait on that. They’re in first place and doing just fine without you.”
Mary stood up. A dizziness came over her, but she ignored it. “I’ve got to be going.”
“We took a decent amount of blood from you,” said Dr. Lansing. “I suggest you rest a while longer.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I suppose no amount of words will change your mind.”
“It appears you know my sister, doc.”
“Yes, and she should know that stubbornness can be lethal.” Dr. Lansing looked at Mary, then back at Sean. “Superintendent Campbell has placed a guard at the door. You should be safe from any more attacks. I’ll check in on you later. Mary, two words that you’ll never heed: be careful.” He nodded and walked out.
“You really charmed him, sis.”
“I’ve got the magic touch, all right. Be careful, Sean.”
Mary started to leave but Sean stopped her. “Wait.” She turned. “I apologize, Mary.”
“For what? You were the one who was stabbed.”
“Not that…chess. You never cheated. You were just really good at it.”
Sean was referring to their longtime rivalry. No matter how minor it might have seemed to someone who didn’t know them, it was a big concession for him.
“That’s all right, Sean. I really wasn’t that good. It’s just that you were that bad.”
They both shared a smile. It was a warm one, and she left.
28
“JUDGE MOORE MIGHT be in on it, too,” said Gaynor as he and Mary sat in his office. It was a large square-shaped one with an expansive bay window. Gaynor sat at an oversized oak desk, and bookcases adorned his walls, filled with law books, treatises on philosophy, and of course, the writings of Benjamin Franklin. It was dusk. Mary had gone straight to his office from the Raymond Street Jail to report what had happened to Sean and all the information she had gathered during that very long day. Her hope was that, at the very least, she could finally get Sean out on bail.
“In on what?” Mary asked.
“That’s an excellent question. We haven’t figured out the what, but we know that there definitely is one. I went to see Judge Moore again after I heard about Sean being stabbed.”
“How did you find out?”
“I am not without resources, Mary. There are people all over Brooklyn, good people, who believe in honest government that serves its citizens instead of itself.”
“And?”
“Moore wouldn’t budge. I had a feeling he wouldn’t, and I was prepared.” He opened the top desk drawer, pulled out several sheets of paper, and handed them to Mary, who sat across from him. “These are the telephone call sheets for Judge Moore’s office over the last week.”
“Why, Mr. Gaynor, don’t tell me you stole from Judge Moore’s office? What would Ben say?” she asked with her tongue firmly planted in her cheek.
“It’s unfortunate, but you’re right. When you’re dealing with rascals, there are times you also have to be one.”
Mary quickly perused the papers, then pointed to a spot halfway down the second sheet. “Here it is. On the day Sean was refused bail, Judge Moore had gotten a call from Hugh McLaughlin. The same as the Ridgeway calls.” Mary rose. “We need to see McLaughlin and find out what he has against Sean.”
“Sit down, Mary. I called McLaughlin’s office. He’s out of town and won’t be in until tomorrow.”
“Then we go first thing in the morning.”
“Not we, only you. He is well aware that I’m an adversary of his brand of politics, and my presence might hinder your mission.”
“It’s still a fishing expedition. I have no idea why he’d have a vendetta against Sean.”
They stared blankly at each other. Neither of them had a clue.
HUGH MCLAUGHLIN WAS feeling chipper, much more so than he had in a long time. It wasn’t surprising. He had just achieved one of his life’s goals: buying a summer home on the North Shore of Long Island. As he got off the train at Grand Central Depot, he was met by Liam Riley.
“Liam, my boy, there was no need to meet me here.”
Liam knew otherwise. “I wouldn’t think of letting you arrive without a reception. How’s your new house?”
“Ah, Liam, I can’t tell ya how gratifyin’ it is. Imagine me, a McLaughlin from the wrong side of the street—and the wrong side of the street in Brooklyn is as wrong as it can be—havin’ a home next to all those highfalutin society fellas. I feel like stickin’ my head out the window and thumbin’ my nose at ’em, and I just might do that.”
“That’s terrific, sir. I’m happy for you.”
“It shows what a man can accomplish with determination and hard work. Let that be a lesson to ya, lad.”
“There aren’t many Hugh McLaughlins around. I can’t imagine ever coming close to your success.”
“Don’t sell yerself short. Ya done some fine work for me, Liam. Very fine. I’m gettin’ old and it won’t be long until yer steppin’ into my shoes. How does ‘Boss Riley’ sound?”
“It sounds wonderful, but—”
“Don’t doubt yerself, son. I’ve told ya this a thousand times and I’ll tell ya a thousand more. What ya need ta do is dream big, Liam. Dream big and the world is yers.”
With that, McLaughlin handed his suitcase to Liam. No matter what he had said, McLaughlin had no intention of relinquishin
g a scintilla of his position. He had been driven his whole life by a lust for power. Now that he had it, they’d have to put him in his coffin and seal it tight before he ever let it go.
This exact thought was going through McLaughlin’s mind as he stepped out onto the street outside with Liam trailing behind, lugging his bag.
29
MARY WAS RETURNING home from Gaynor’s office when she spotted George sitting outside her tenement building in his carriage.
“Hello, darling,” he greeted her.
“George, what a nice surprise.” She gave him a kiss hello through the carriage window. “How are your business dealings progressing?”
“They’re long and boring without you but almost done….You’re back in the nick of time, you know.”
“In the nick for what?”
“My brother Cornelius is giving us an intimate dinner party in celebration of our engagement.”
Mary paused, then asked, “Tonight?”
“I realize it’s the last minute, but I thought, why not?”
“Did you ever consider what I might think?”
George could see that Mary was a bit testy. It was unlike her, especially with him. “I suspect you had a particularly trying day.”
“I’m sorry, George. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She got into his carriage and as she sat, she began to rattle off all that had transpired since they had last spoken. He was truly upset when she told him that Sean had been stabbed and relieved when he learned he had survived. It was then that he decided to postpone the dinner. Mary had gone through enough.
“No, George, as a matter of fact, seeing you now makes me feel much better. I’ve missed you.”
They kissed.
“Well,” he said, “maybe I need to go off on private business more often.”
“Don’t you dare….I would need to borrow a dress though. Time is short, and my wardrobe is quite limited. Correction: threadbare.”
“I anticipated that might be a problem, and I have a solution.” He reached to the side and returned with a wire hanger, a white cloth covering what was on it.
“You bought a dress for me?”
Brooklyn on Fire Page 19
