Annie nodded, again impressed by Miss Minnie’s sharp understanding. “So, you mentioned the first year, as if something has changed.”
“Yes, starting last summer, we noticed two things. One, the prices of the custom-made clothing was going up.” Miss Minnie shrugged and said, “Alone that wouldn’t be too remarkable; it could simply be a result of their success in convincing San Francisco women that outfits made by the Silver Strike are worth buying, even at higher prices. But…” Here she paused for dramatic effect, raising one of her gnarled fingers for emphasis. “While the prices of these clothes have been going up, their quality has been going down. All right, Millicent, you are correct, I must be accurate. The quality has become inconsistent.”
Despite the fact that Miss Minnie frequently spoke as if her sister had actually said something out loud, Annie still found the habit disconcerting. She’d once told Nate she wondered if the sisters had developed some sort of mental telegraphic power over the years. What puzzled her was the question of whether Miss Minnie developed this ability to read her sister’s mind because Miss Millie never spoke, or whether Miss Millie never spoke because she didn’t need to do so to be heard.
Suddenly feeling her headache return, Annie became anxious to return to her room and her waiting husband, so she said, “Can you be more specific, Miss Minnie?”
“Well, in some cases the material used is of a lower quality. Some imperfections in the silk, a cheaper weight wool, inferior dyes. Not always. But it is as if some of the material destined for the ready-made clothes had been carelessly used in one of the more expensive, custom-made designs. And speaking of careless, some of the recent clothes were not as well-sewn. We had been particularly impressed by the actual sewing done on the custom-made clothes. Nothing slapdash. In fact, the clerks assured us that the designer did the more tricky hand-sewn sections herself.”
“So you think that these clothes you feel were of inferior quality might have been designed by someone else? Because it was my understanding that Mrs. Fournier has been the only designer working for the firm since it opened.”
“Oh my no, that isn’t what I meant. No, Millicent and I quite agree…the actual person designing the clothes hasn’t changed. It is as if the designer has stopped paying attention or is simply so overworked that she can’t take the care in picking the materials or overseeing the workmanship.”
“But how do you know the designer has remained the same?” Annie wondered if there was some assistant in the department that was taking over some of Mrs. Fournier’s design duties.
“To someone like myself, clothes by other designers are as unique and recognizable as if they wrote their names on the labels…which of course some designers do.” Miss Minnie shook her head as if the idea of advertising in this fashion was incomprehensible to her.
Then she said, “No, these inferior creations are by the same designer. You say her name is Mrs. Fournier? Sounds French. Millicent, didn’t a French woman of that name marry into the Hardings…lived at Auburn plantation? But the style of the Silver Strike designer? No, I would swear she isn’t French.”
“I’ve met Mrs. Fournier and she definitely had a southern not a French accent,” Annie said. “But I don’t know where in the South she is from. Perhaps her husband was related in some fashion to the family you just mentioned.”
Miss Minnie frowned, as if trying to recall something. “I think the French woman I remember was originally from New Orleans, where papa bought Aunty Lottie and her husband. But if by some strange chance this Mrs. Fournier lived in Natchez at some time, that would explain why we felt some of the designs we have seen coming out of the Silver Strike have been based on our own work.”
“You are saying she stole her designs from you?” Annie was shocked.
“Oh, well, it does happen. We look at other designers for ideas, and they look at our work. Flattering, unless the copy is too close. And this woman…Mrs. Fournier…definitely has her own style…it is just that there are echoes of work we did years ago in some of her dresses. It does make me curious to know who trained her because even her stitching seems familiar. Perhaps you can ask her the next time you see her.”
Chapter 6
“Judge Wilson yesterday granted Margaret Hoesack a divorce from Alfred Hoesack on the ground of adultery, and awarded the custody of a minor child to plaintiff.”––San Francisco Chronicle September 24, 1880
Thursday morning, November 18, 1880
Nate checked his watch as he walked out of Judge Simmons’ courtroom and decided he had enough time to go down to the police offices that were in this building and see if there was someone around he could talk to about shoplifting. He didn’t have to be back in court until two when his next witnesses were scheduled to testify.
His client, Mrs. Inglenook, was a young woman who was suing her husband for divorce on the grounds of mental and physical cruelty. Mrs. Pitts Stevens, the women’s rights advocate he’d worked for before, had asked him to take the case and was paying for his services. He was pleased that she thought highly enough of him to engage him but nervous about taking the job because it would be his first divorce case. And it wasn’t going to be an easy one to win. Divorce cases never were.
The husband was an older, wealthy, and well-respected businessman, while the wife came from a family of poor Irish immigrants. In fact, she’d been the clerk in one of her husband’s stores before he married her. Judge Simmons was more likely to grant divorces to women who sued on the grounds of desertion and failure to support rather than mental or physical cruelty, so Nate knew he was going to be fighting an uphill battle. To make matters worse, the husband was counter-suing his wife for desertion and asking for custody of their three small children. Mrs. Inglenook had indeed left her husband and her home. But only after suffering years of beatings––something that Nate was going to have to prove.
Thank goodness the witness he’d brought in this morning to testify on behalf of his client had done an excellent job. A servant in the household, she’d reported on the verbal recriminations Mr. Inglenook regularly heaped on his wife, as well as described the bruises she’d seen on her mistress. She’d not backed down one bit when challenged in cross examination by the husband’s lawyer, Knudson. And this afternoon Nate had a neighbor and the curate from St. Joseph’s parish on the witness stand to speak on behalf of his client’s character. That, and the fact he’d gotten Violet’s father to sign the document he’d prepared, including the clause saying that his wife couldn’t return to the Silver Strike, meant the week was turning out to be a good one for him.
“Mr. Nate Dawson, what brings you into our neck of the woods?”
Nate stopped and warmly shook the hand of Sergeant Thompson, a man he’d worked with on several cases. He said, “I was hoping I would be able to take you to lunch and pick your brains a bit on the topic of shoplifting.”
“I won’t turn down a free meal, that’s for certain.”
They went to a restaurant across the street that catered to the old City Hall crowd. In a short time, after Nate had asked after Thompson’s wife and children, and Thompson had given him a hard time about finally tying the knot with Annie, they got down to the business at hand. Nate explained that he was providing legal representation for Robert Livingston, owner of the Silver Strike Bazaar, and that Annie had been employed to figure out why the store was seeing an uptick in lost goods.
“My wife has determined that a couple of the departments in the store have started losing more inventory than normal from their shelves…usually small but often expensive items…in the past four months. More than could be accounted for by an occasional bit of petty pilfering. She was wondering if the police knew anything about professionals recently moving into San Francisco that might account for this and what patterns she should look for.”
Thompson, a gaunt, grey-haired man, wiped his mustache and said, “Well, this is actually pretty interesting…since just last week Henry Weill, part owner of the White House, was
bending Chief Jackson’s ear at a party about his suspicion that some new gang was operating in town.”
“Well, that’s useful information,” Nate said. “I assume this means he doesn’t think his losses are from ladies slipping a few gloves into their purses. Am I correct that it’s pretty darn hard to stop thefts from that sort of amateur shoplifter?”
“Hard, it’s practically impossible. And when we do get a merchant to press charges, the police court judge almost always throws the case out as having insufficient evidence. And don’t get me started on juries! They simply won’t convict a ‘lady’ of stealing. Their high-priced lawyers, no insult intended, get some starched-collar man who calls himself Professor to go on the stand talking about the woman suffering from kleptomania or monomania or some such invented disease…and sensible men just nod and acquit. I think they don’t want to admit they haven’t understood a word the supposed experts said.”
Nate had never heard Thompson speak with such heat before, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “My goodness, why get so exercised by a random impulse on the part of a few women? Seems to me that these stores, heaping all these goods up and practically shouting, buy, buy, buy…are setting the stage for that sort of loss.”
Nate knew he was playing a bit of devil’s advocate here. But he did think it would be useful to understand the police attitude toward women like Mrs. Kemper so he could better advise Livingston in the future.
Sighing, Thompson said more quietly but with as much intensity, “I’m sorry, but impulse doesn’t explain why some of these women…and some men…come to these stores with extra pockets sewn into their cloaks. That speaks premeditation to me.”
“But wouldn’t that put them in the classification of professional thief?”
“You would think so…but the problem is that these persons come from respectable homes and have money enough on their persons to buy the articles. As a result, they get away with saying it was an ‘accident’ or that they were under some sort of mental compulsion. But we’ve gotten off target. You wanted to know about professional shoplifters. They tend to operate a bit differently.”
“How?”
“For one thing, they usually work in pairs. One person distracts the clerk while the other pockets the item. Last year we had a mother and daughter team. The daughter, quite pretty, would set up a flirtation with a male clerk; all the while her mother was taking items and stuffing them into her purse.”
Nate thought about poor Violet and how embarrassed she would be if she thought that the store clerk who stopped them believed she was working in cahoots with her mother. He said, “How were they caught?”
Thompson laughed. “It was a female clerk who winkled them out. Evidently she got miffed that it seemed almost every day her beau, who was one of these male clerks, spent so much time in conversation with this one young lady…who never seemed to buy anything.”
“So, I should have my wife look to see if there is any particular pattern to whether the clerks who seem to be getting stolen from are male or female? Any other things to look out for? She was particularly interested in if you’d heard of cash girls being involved in any specific swindles.”
“Well, the professionals often have someone working with them on the inside. That’s what Weill was worried about because most of his thefts seemed to be of the most expensive items in a department, often goods that had just been put out to sell. Amateurs tend to grab what is handiest, missing the higher value items.”
Nate nodded. “What are the police doing to look into Weill’s concerns?”
“Chief Jackson has sent out a few queries to neighboring city police…to see if any of their professional thieves have recently moved on. Get some names, descriptions. I will follow up your question about the cash girls and see if any of these gangs are known for using youngsters…I could certainly see one of those poor tykes being corrupted. Weill said he was thinking about hiring some private detectives to work in his store…see if they could spot something going on.”
“Livingston mentioned he only wanted to turn to that as a solution of last resort. Evidently he has some philosophical reservations about using private detectives like the Pinkertons.”
“Well, can’t say I blame him. The police aren’t always happy with their methods…which can border on the illegal. Sometimes they use too much force…see themselves as their own little private army. We’d rather that store owners cooperate with us…or hire some of our officers on their off-duty hours.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that. My wife was going to talk to Livingston about hiring Officer McGee to do a spot of work for the Silver Strike in the month leading up to Christmas. In his off time. Wouldn’t be any objection to that from his superiors, would there?”
“No, no. Good idea. Young man has a good head on his shoulders. You just keep us informed what he or your wife learns if it looks like there is criminal activity going on that we need to know about. We know you have a certain responsibility to your client, but the Chief appreciates the way you’ve cooperated with us in the past. Would like to keep that spirit of cooperation going.”
“Mr. Livingston and Monsieur Villeneuve will see you now,” Miss Birdsoll announced.
Annie had spent the last half hour organizing her notes in preparation for this meeting, hoping that the two men wouldn’t be disappointed in her lack of progress. She couldn’t afford to reschedule all her regular clients, so she’d only been able to work on the Silver Strike books Tuesday and Wednesday morning and a little in the evenings.
“Mrs. Dawson, please be seated and let Miss Birdsoll pour you some tea. I hope you don’t mind if she stays and takes notes.”
Annie gratefully took the cup Miss Birdsoll was handing her and said with real sincerity, “Of course I don’t mind. And I must say that she has been of enormous help to me as I familiarized myself with the workings of such a large organization.”
As she took a sip, she mused at the difference between the two men sitting across from her. Robert Livingston was a solid, thoughtful gentleman whose height and girth reminded her of a stately mountain. In contrast, Adolphe Villeneuve’s youthful good looks, restless charm, and ceaseless talk reminded her of one of those graceful poplars…beautiful, but not especially good at providing shade.
Smiling at the image, Annie put down her cup and began her report with a description of the methods she’d used to establish that the increase in shortages was not caused by any accounting errors. She concluded by saying, “While I didn’t check every daily tally, I did enough spot checking over the past two years to assure myself that the anomalies weren’t just math errors, but also that there was no evidence that either of your bookkeepers were deliberately making mistakes to hide some sort of embezzlement.”
Annie noted the slight sigh of relief this statement elicited from Livingston. She continued. “I did, however, find that there was an increase in discrepancies within the daily tallies between what the income should have been, based on receipts, and what was actually in the cash drawers at the end of the day, which your bookkeepers duly noted and entered into the shortages column.”
Livingston said, “Three of those cashiers have been working with me for over ten years. I can’t believe that they would deliberately steal from me.”
“I agree. If the shortages were occurring with just one or two of the cashiers, then we would have to take this idea seriously, no matter how long the employees worked for you. But they have happened to every cashier, and the discrepancies started happening at exactly the same time, about four months ago, and I gather all your cashiers have been working here since the store opened two years ago.”
“But Madame, if the cashiers aren’t stealing the money…how is it that it is happening?” Villeneuve threw his hands up in the air dramatically.
“I’m not sure. Miss Birdsoll explained to me the normal routine. The clerk writes out the receipt and accepts the payment, which the girl then takes with the item to the cashier, who stamps the
receipt to show she has received the money and issues any change while the parcel is being wrapped. Then the cash girl returns with the parcel, the stamped receipt, and the change.”
“Mais oui, this is how it is always done.” Villeneuve shrugged.
Annie nodded. “Which should make the process full-proof, unless the clerk is involved in a swindle of some fashion. But that wouldn’t explain why the shortages are happening with every cashier…it should only be occurring with the cashiers on the floor where that clerk works.”
“But the cash girls don’t always work on the same floor,” Mr. Livingston said.
“Exactly. Which suggests that one or more of them might be involved, especially if they are part of some organized gang. That is why I asked my husband to check with his contacts on the police force to see if they know about any gangs who use cash girls or boys. We should also check to see who was newly hired four months ago.”
Annie let the two men digest the information she’d given them a few moments, taking another sip of her tea. She then said, “I am afraid, however, we can’t rule out involvement of all the clerks or floorwalkers, either, because a good proportion of the increase in shortages comes from inventory that is ‘disappearing’ off the shelves rather than discrepancies in the daily tally.”
“And you believe this is more than a simple increase of customers shoplifting?” Livingston asked.
“Yes, primarily because the disappearances seem to be happening in a few select areas of the store. Now, there are several possible reasons for this…not all of them requiring a clerk’s active involvement. But we do need to consider the possibility.”
Annie looked over at Villeneuve and said, “I know that most of the managers hire their own staff, including clerks, stock assistants, and cash girls. However, as the Store Superintendent, you have the greatest overall contact with staff in all the departments. Therefore, I would like your opinion on this question of why certain areas of the store seem to be more susceptible to this sort of loss.”
Pilfered Promises Page 8
