Brooklyn on Fire

by Lawrence H. Levy

  “Are you all right, Lord Hamlet?” said the director, stifling his own derisive laughter.

  Robert looked up, trying to save face. “Yes, yes, I just wanted to provide all you commoners with a bit of amusement.” He then whispered intensely to Mary. “If you must know, a long-lost relative, someone I didn’t even know, died and left me a considerable sum. And I’d never have harmed Abigail. Because of her talent, I thought Abigail would get her break first and then help me.” Then he returned to being Prince Hamlet. “But as fate would have it, I had no need for her.”

  “How fortunate for you.”

  Mary’s tone didn’t provide Robert with the absolution he was seeking. Miffed, he turned and stomped onto the stage. Mary watched a few more minutes of rehearsal. If the words on the marquee outside weren’t enough evidence, what she saw onstage completely confirmed that it was clearly a vanity production. Robert didn’t seem to have the commitment or insight Abigail had. It was also entirely possible he had put too much of himself into the role. Instead of playing Hamlet as a tortured soul, he was mistakenly playing him as an insecure peacock. Now that he had money and was in charge, maybe that’s exactly what he was.

  Of course, the money presented another problem. His proclamation about “a long-lost relative” was at best flimsy. He could’ve been involved in Abigail Corday’s death, especially if someone promised him enough money to advance his stalled acting career. But even if that were true, and Mary highly doubted it, she still had to find out who that person was in order to tie the three murders together.

  Fib or not, Robert’s “inheritance” started Mary thinking about the old lady who had been killed: Gabrielle Evans. A fire was never set in her house, which upset the pattern in Mary’s theory. Maybe whoever hired Shorty had told him not to burn it because that person was going to inherit it. The question was: who would benefit from Gabrielle Evans’s death?

  33

  LESTER HACKEL JR. was a very organized lawyer who believed there was a definite order in the universe and lived his life that way. He carried fastidiousness to its ultimate level and then some. Every paper in his office was in its correct place, as was every pen, chair, table, and picture on the wall. If at one point a picture had tilted ever so slightly to the side, Lester would notice it and immediately straighten the offender. He had two windows behind his desk covered by two shades. Every morning when he entered the office he would lower each shade exactly halfway, then study and adjust them to make sure both shades were the same distance from the tops of the windows and completely even with each other. Anything otherwise was disturbing. It led to chaos, and Lester couldn’t get his work done when there was chaos.

  Lester was in his late thirties and had taken over the law practice from his father, Lester Hackel Sr., who had retired two years earlier only to tragically die when he was kicked in the head by a horse whose shoe he was trying to straighten. It was early afternoon, and Lester had just returned from Schmidt’s Bean House, where he had his regular Monday lunch of sausage and baked beans. Sitting at his desk in his Monday outfit—brown suit, brown shoes, and a brown tie—he had an unexpected visitor. Anything unexpected gave Lester a nervous stomach. And his reaction didn’t vary one iota even though his visitor was an attractive young woman.

  “How do you do, Mr. Hackel? I’m Mary Handley.” Mary stuck out her hand to shake his but she was left holding air.

  “Junior,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m Mr. Hackel Junior. My father was Mr. Hackel, but he is no longer with us.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Mary finally lowered her hand to her side.

  “No need to be. He went as he would have wished: trying to restore order in the world.”

  “Oh, well then, that must be very…comforting.”

  “It is, but what is not comforting is that I don’t seem to remember us having an appointment, Miss…”

  “Handley. Mary Handley.”

  “Yes.” He glanced at a paper on his desk. “I make a specific notation of all of my appointments for each day—”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment.”

  “Well then, Miss Handley, you must make one, and then we can speak.”

  “What I have to say won’t take long.”

  “Good, then make a short appointment.”

  Mary could see Lester would be hard to dissuade. “When is your next appointment?”

  He looked at his paper again, then checked his pocket watch. “In fifty-eight minutes.”

  “Then I’d like to schedule an appointment in two minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need at least fifteen minutes’ lead time. That’s my policy.”

  “All right, fifteen minutes.”

  “Splendid. I’ll put you down.”

  As Lester wrote Mary’s name on his appointment sheet, she walked out into the hall and waited. It was maddening to waste fifteen minutes when time was so precious, but she knew that she would waste even more time trying to convince the officious Mr. Hackel Jr. otherwise. Exactly fifteen minutes later Mary walked back into the office. Lester stood.

  “Ah, Miss Handley, good to see you,” he said as he rose while checking his pocket watch again. “And right on time.” This go-around they shook hands, and he offered her a seat. Lester was a step or two beyond odd, but he had information she needed, and she got right to it.

  “Mr. Hackel Jr., I understand you are in the possession of Gabrielle Evans’s will.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. It’s not a will but rather a revocable living trust. My father originally drew it up, but when he retired, the responsibility of her trust was passed on to me. I am also the executor.”

  “Good, then you can tell me about her heirs.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I am not bound to reveal that information. Besides, there has been a delay in the distribution of assets.”

  Mary knew this was not the type of man who would break protocol. “Can you tell me when the assets will be distributed?”

  “Sometime this week. That’s all I will say.”

  “It’s been many weeks since her death. That’s quite a delay.”

  “It’s called doing my job. As executor, I was also given the duty of making financial decisions for the estate. Mrs. Evans owned a considerable amount of stock in one company that was involved in a buyout. As the executor, I decided it would be in the best interests of the estate to sell the shares, and that transaction was just completed this past Friday.”

  “What was the name of the company?”

  “It’s all a matter of public record now. The Long Island Water Supply Company.”

  “And who bought it?”

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you that. I promised to let it come out in the newspapers first.”

  “Really, and whom did you promise?”

  “If I told you that, I’d be telling you who bought the company. But very clever, Miss Handley, very clever indeed.”

  “Thank you. It was worth a try, but you’re too smart for me.” She smiled, hoping her compliment and friendly demeanor might convince him to reveal more than he was willing to divulge. “And would you say the estate was worth five thousand dollars, ten thousand, a hundred thousand?”

  Lester didn’t respond.

  “You won’t disclose that information either?”

  “I will. I’m just waiting for you to reach a number that’s high enough for me to confirm.”

  Mary was speechless. Gabrielle Evans’s estate was worth north of one hundred thousand dollars! That was more than enough motive for murder.

  ANDREW HASWELL GREEN was not having a good day. As days went, this one exceeded lousy and was bordering on miserable, even worse than the day when he had punched the wall. The extortionists had carried through on their threat. They didn’t openly accuse him of anything. Instead, they were torturing him by placing items in the newspaper filled with innuendo.

  The latest attempt to unmask him was pa
rticularly annoying. It was a line in a newspaper article concerning a benefit he had attended to expand Central Park. An excerpt from the article read, “And Andrew Haswell Green attended, accompanied by his male companion.”

  Green was livid. His “male companion” was his brother John, a doctor who had just returned from working in Chile and was visiting from Worcester, Massachusetts. Of course, there was no mention of that. If they did mention John, Green thought, those vultures probably would have alluded to some sort of incest.

  He knew Joseph Pulitzer, the owner of the World, the newspaper in which this garbage was printed, and contemplated paying him a visit. He soon decided it would be unwise. Even if Pulitzer backed him, he would eventually be faced with the question “Are you or aren’t you?” and that would be problematic. If he denied being a homosexual, he was implying that homosexuality was evil and wrong, an implication he surely didn’t believe. He was also honest to a fault and absolutely refused to lie. Besides, any denial would just bring more attention to it. Of course, some would claim that making no response was an act of admission. However, he was a lawyer, and he knew there was no concrete proof of anything. Reasonable doubt was ever present.

  It was late afternoon, and Green was in his study sipping chamomile tea, hoping it would calm him. It didn’t. His butler entered and informed Green that he had a surprise visitor: Collis Huntington. That increased Green’s anxiety level. He had no idea why Huntington had come or what he might want, but he told the butler to show him in.

  “I understand you’ve been dealing with some adversity,” said Huntington before tossing a newspaper onto the coffee table in front of Green. It was the World.

  “Collis, don’t tell me you’re the one who—”

  “No, no, it’s not my style. When I attack, I start with a little scratch and allow it to build over a long period of time, letting it get larger and larger until the person bleeds out. It’s obvious this garbage is purely for motivational purposes.”

  “So, you’ve come to revel in my problems because I forced you to withdraw over yours?”

  “I prefer commiserate. We have both been attacked by the same man, and I’ve already set in motion plans to get him off our backs.”

  “I’m glad you know our adversary, because I certainly don’t.”

  “Hugh McLaughlin. It’s really quite obvious when you think about it. That sneaky mick desperately needed to stop the consolidation project in order to retain his little fiefdom of Brooklyn. So he went about attempting to remove the two biggest obstacles to his success: me and you.”

  “And you’re certain of this?”

  “As certain as I am about anything, but if I’m wrong, he still goes down and not us.”

  Green wanted to know more. “Would you like some chamomile tea, Collis?”

  “Don’t mind if I do, Andy,” Huntington said as he sat down on the club chair facing Green. “I usually prefer something a bit stronger, but this will be a nice change.”

  Green called to his butler and asked him to bring another cup and saucer for Huntington. “And see what proper snacks we have. Is that all right with you, Collis?”

  Huntington nodded and the butler left. He nestled himself into the club chair, getting comfortable as he looked around the room and then at Green.

  “I want you to know, Andy, I count several sodomites as my good friends.”

  Green winced but decided not to protest. What would be the point?

  GEORGE’S BUSINESS DEALINGS were finally complete, and Mary asked him to watch Lester Hackel Jr.’s office. The meeting of Gabrielle Evans’s heirs could be at any time, and since the officious Mr. Hackel Jr. would not reveal their identities, they had to keep a vigil. Meanwhile, she paid a visit to the Long Island Water Supply Company.

  It was in a town called New Lots that had been annexed by Brooklyn four years earlier. Mary stood across the street and stared at it, the irony fully implanted in her brain that this unassuming building could hold the key to Sean’s freedom. All records that contained lists of stockholders were routinely sent to the state capital. Albany was far away, and hoping that she could save precious time, she had decided to go right to the source.

  When she entered the building, she was immediately struck by how small the office space was. It was one large room with a desk for the secretary up front and three larger desks in the rear, presumably for the executives. Only the secretary was there, which was part of Mary’s plan. She purposely arrived at lunchtime, thinking that the fewer people present, the less chance she would have of someone objecting to her request.

  “May I help you?” said the secretary, a thin brunette about Mary’s age who sat with her back as straight as a ballet dancer’s. Mary couldn’t help thinking that she should have been her mother’s daughter.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact—”

  “Wait one minute. I know you.”

  Mary played along. “Yes, you do look familiar.”

  “Don’t tell me. I know.” And she thought for a full ten seconds until you could almost see her revelation. “You went to Girls High, didn’t you? That’s it! That’s where I know you.” Girls High School was the first public high school in Brooklyn. It had originally been designed for boys and girls, but there were too many students and, hence, it became a girls’ school.

  “Yes, of course,” Mary replied. “You have a great memory.” Mary had never attended Girls High School. After eighth grade, she was sent out into the working world. Instead, she had attained her considerable knowledge from the encyclopedia her parents had bought for Sean, which he never used, and the volumes of secondhand books she routinely absorbed that her father would borrow from a bookstore owner he had befriended. In all likelihood, the secretary had seen her face in the newspapers, but Mary wasn’t going to correct her.

  “Miss Crabtree’s shorthand class. That’s where we met. I’m certain.”

  “Miss Crabtree. That woman was a real hoot.”

  “Two hoots if you ask me, but I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. Her class has come in very handy. Very handy indeed.”

  “I’m glad you have such a good job.”

  “Don’t worry, honey. You’ll get one someday.”

  “Why thank you. That’s very heartening. You are a perfect sweetheart.”

  “My husband tells me I’m too nice.”

  “Don’t you listen to him. You keep being just the way you are.”

  The secretary chuckled. “That’s what I told him. I said you conduct yourself the way you see fit, and I’ll behave the way I see fit.”

  “Good for you. Now, I wonder if you can help me. I’ve lost touch with my aunt whom I understand was a stockholder here.”

  “If she was, she isn’t anymore. The company was just bought.”

  “Really? Well then, I hope you had stock. You could’ve made some good money.”

  “Just a little, but a little was very nice.” She leaned over to whisper as if someone else were in the empty office to hear. “Three hundred dollars a share. I only paid twenty-five for it.”

  “I’m very happy for you.”

  “It almost fell through. A big stockholder didn’t want to sell.”

  “Some people are so selfish.”

  “You’re telling me. But it all worked out.”

  “Good. Who bought your company?”

  The secretary looked around, then whispered again. “The city of Brooklyn. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but why not? It’s going to be in the newspapers soon enough.”

  That was interesting information, but Mary needed to know more if she was going to find a specific person. “Really? You wouldn’t happen to have a list of the old stockholders? Maybe it will have my aunt’s address.”

  The secretary shrugged. “I don’t see the harm. After all, they’re no longer part owners.”

  She went to a filing cabinet, removed a folder, and then gave it to Mary. She quickly perused the papers and soon came upon Gabrielle Evans’s name. She was by f
ar the largest stockholder. If she had refused to sell at that inflated price, she would have made many enemies among the other stockholders and any relatives who were positioned to inherit her fortune.

  As her eyes scanned the rest of the list, she saw several Brooklyn politicians who stood to make a nice amount of profit on the deal. Then the name of the second-largest stockholder in the company popped out at her. It caught her by surprise and she momentarily stopped breathing. She checked it a second and third time. By now, her head was reeling, but there was no mistake. It was right in front of her in black and white: Patrick Campbell.

  The second-largest shareholder was Superintendent Campbell!

  34

  MARY KEPT TELLING herself it wasn’t possible. Maybe it was a different Patrick Campbell. Superintendent Campbell had devoted his life to police work. He believed in the law. He wasn’t a murderer. Besides, he was her mentor and her good friend. He liked Sean. He would never do this to her and her family no matter how much money was involved. Then the ugly thoughts took over, and unfortunately, they fit together too well. Superintendent Campbell was bound to know Shorty. Billy did, and probably most of the police in Brooklyn. He also hated his new job and hadn’t been himself since he started it. He was getting fat and complacent. Maybe he’d made the conscious decision to cash in, and Sean was a complication he hadn’t expected. These were all theories and suppositions. Mary hoped that she could find some logic that would absolve him, but she kept returning to the fact that he was a large stockholder in the Long Island Water Supply Company. The second largest, in fact. That was too big to be a coincidence. And the more she reviewed the events, the more damning it was.

  She had asked Superintendent Campbell to help her every step of the way, and he had always failed miserably. He couldn’t get the police to drop the charges against Sean. He couldn’t stop his transfer to the Raymond Street Jail, and he couldn’t protect him while he was there. He just plain couldn’t. But maybe he never intended to help and…it suddenly hit her. Dr. Lansing had said Superintendent Campbell had placed a guard at the infirmary to protect Sean. She had to get there as soon as she could, and it would take longer now. It had started to rain.