by Rhys Bowen
“Ah, but if you managed to win this case, against all odds, think what that would do to advance your status in the profession.” I leaned closer to the desk. “He was the one who got Daniel Sullivan off when nobody else believed he was innocent.”
I had tossed out this last thought, but it turned out to be a good one. I saw him digesting the idea.
“You really think you may be able to prove his innocence?”
“I’m doing everything I can,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “But I can’t do anything when it takes so long writing letters back and forth. If you can get me in to see Daniel this morning, I can get on with my job.”
“Your job? I understood that you were a friend of the captain.”
“Who is also an investigator who has worked with the police before,” I said, again relishing his astonished look.
“Good God, the police actually use female investigators?”
“When undercover work is needed,” I said in a suitably enigmatic way.
“Very well, Miss Murphy.” He got up and straightened his tie. “I’ll do what you ask. Let’s hope it doesn’t get both of us and our client into even deeper trouble.”
“It won’t if you don’t let on as to who I really am and what I’m doing there,” I said.
I felt more satisfied than I had felt in days as we walked together down the stairs.
It was only later that I experienced a moment of panic as I was ushered into the dark, dank cell and realized I was about to see Daniel face-to-face again. It would be the first time since I had realized my current condition—how could I possibly face him? Would he read from my face that something was wrong or different? My heart was beating so loudly that I put my hand to my chest as if this gesture could calm it.
I heard the sound of footsteps and a voice saying, “Your lawyer to see you, Sullivan. Sit down.”
Then the panel slid open. Daniel’s face appeared, his hair and expression even wilder than when I’d last seen him. He looked hollow eyed, sallow faced. He was wearing a filthy white shirt that almost matched the ashen gray of his skin.
“What do you want today, Atkinson?” he demanded. “If you’ve come waving a confession at me again, then you’re wasting your time and mine.” This tirade was interrupted by a fit of coughing.
“I’ve come because I was asked to by the young woman I gather is working on your behalf, a Miss Murphy.”
“Molly? Has she news for me? She’s found out something?”
“She’s here herself. You can ask her.” Atkinson moved aside so that I was visible to Daniel for the first time through the bars. I saw his face light up and my heart leaped.
“Molly! I can’t tell you how good it is to see your face.”
“How are you, Daniel?” I asked.
“Not too good. Fighting despair daily. Terrible cough. What about you? You’re looking wonderful. A real sight for sore eyes.”
“I’m just fine,” I said. “I’m doing everything I can for you, but I don’t seem to be getting anywhere, Daniel.” I was conscious of Mr. Atkinson, standing to one side, out of Daniel’s sight.
“What about Jack? Has he had a chance to talk to the Eastmans?”
“Jack has vanished,” I said. “Monk Eastman knows where he is. Whether that’s good news or not, I can’t tell you.”
“Jack has vanished? Gone into hiding presumably. He was awfully jumpy about coming to New York in the first place. Well, that’s not good for me.” He leaned closer to the grille and wagged a finger in my direction. “And that doesn’t mean that you’re going to start asking questions yourself. I’ve already made it very clear to you that I don’t want you going anywhere near the Eastmans’ territory. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Too late,” I said. “I’ve already spoken with Monk.”
“Molly, are you mad?” The words turned into a new fit of coughing. He fought to speak again. “I expressly told you not to. How can you go against my wishes like that?” Those wild eyes glaring at me were quite alarming.
I tried to sound calm. “Somebody had to after Jack disappeared. And don’t worry, it turned out just fine. We had an amiable little chat, but he couldn’t shed any light at all as to how the money got into the envelope. Just that he didn’t order it put there.”
“An amiable little chat.” Daniel put his hands up to his face. “I’d never have told you anything about this if I thought you were going to take foolish risks. So what else have you done?”
“Saw Arabella, whom I don’t think is involved in a plot to ruin you. Also questioned the police commissioner, who might be our leading suspect.”
“Mr. Partridge? How in God’s name did you manage to see him?”
“Never mind. Undercover work. But I can tell you one thing—he was very satisfied with himself for having you arrested. So I thought I’d find out if you could think of a reason why.”
Daniel shook his head. “He looked satisfied because he’s a sanctimonious and pretentious prig. If he believes that I was taking bribes from gang members, he’s probably patting himself on the back for ridding the department of a corrupt cop.”
“So there was no bad blood between you before this?”
“I hardly know the man. We’ve never moved in the same circles. I’ve barely spoken five words to him.”
“And you can think of no reason why he’d want your downfall over that of other officers, say?”
Again he frowned, then shook his head. “When he first came on board, he shook hands and said he’d heard fine things about me. Of course, there were rumors that he is the archenemy of Tammany Hall. He may be planning the systematic removal of every Irish cop from the force, starting with me. I did think that at one time.”
“But then you’d soon have the rest of the force coming to your defense, once they realized what Mr. Partridge was up to.”
“And why go to all this trouble? He could presumably demote me or even fire me for having a hand in the prizefight. Planting money, saying I’m in the pay of a gang—that is more than removing me; that is destroying me.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Somebody is out to do just that. We have to find out who had a compelling reason for setting up the whole nasty little scene. Have you crossed swords with any member of your department recently? Beating out someone for promotion, maybe? Or catching out another officer involved in bribery and corruption?”
He sat silent for a while. “You think it might be a fellow officer?” he said at last.
“Your Sergeant O’Hallaran suggested it. He suggested a grudge in your personal or professional life. So that might mean another officer, or it might be a payback from some criminal you had arrested.”
“I can’t think of another officer who might have a grudge against me. I’ve been at captain’s rank for over three years. There might have been bad feeling that I made captain before a lot of older men, but surely that would have come to the surface before now. And my men respect me. There’s no questioning my ability to do the job. As to catching out a fellow officer accepting a bribe—we have a code of honor among ourselves. How any officer handles his job is up to him. If getting results involves slightly unorthodox methods, then the rest of us would turn a blind eye. I’d never snitch on a fellow officer. It would be more than my life is worth because one day I might need him to back me up in a jam.”
“All right. Not a fellow officer then. What about a criminal? Has any big-time criminal gone to the dock recently shouting, ‘I’ll get you yet, Daniel Sullivan’?”
“Frequently.” Daniel managed a grin. “But there’s just one thing against that. No criminal with any brains would mess with the Eastmans. He wouldn’t be on their territory to start with. And I don’t see how he’d get hold of an envelope that came from Monk’s hands to Bugsy’s.”
“This is hopeless, Daniel,” I said. “Every turn leads to a brick wall. You must have offended or scared somebody. Sergeant O’Hallaran suggested it might have something to do
with a case you were working on. He said you were too good and perhaps somebody wanted an investigation that dragged on forever and ever.”
Daniel shook his head. “That doesn’t hold water either, because the officers who were working under me on the cases are both first-rate men. They have just as great a chance of solving things swiftly as I would have had.”
“So what were you working on?”
“Nothing too thrilling. There was a case of horse doping out at the Brighton Race Track. The favorite dropped dead in the middle of a race. I was just looking into that when I was called to take over the East Side Ripper investigation. No doubt you’ve read about that in the papers? Somebody bashing in prostitutes’ heads and dumping them on East Side streets. Prostitutes get themselves killed all the time, of course. Normally not much is done about the occasional dead prostitute; it’s considered a hazard of the occupation. But when the numbers started piling up, the new commissioner said we should put a top man onto it.”
“The commissioner chose you for the job?”
“I gathered that he was content that I should take over.”
“And from whom did you take over?”
“Quigley and McIver were handling it. I think I mentioned them to you. Both good men. The top brass decided the widening scope of the case needed a senior officer in charge. If they weren’t too thrilled about having me breathing down their necks, then they didn’t show it. Mind you, I’d not have been too happy if I’d had one of the top brass foisted on me when I was doing a perfectly good job.”
“And what had you found out so far?”
“Not much,” he said. “There were four young women, each of them battered beyond recognition. We tried asking around to see if any pimps would admit to losing a girl, but none has so far. Well, I take that back. A prostitute was found murdered in a similar way a month or so ago. Her body was dumped under the boardwalk by the Coney Island pier. She was badly mutilated, but her pimp reported her missing.”
“And you think this was the same killer?”
“The modus operandi was definitely similar.”
“But the others were all found on Lower East Side streets, and she was found at Coney Island.”
“Correct.”
“Maybe the killer killed his first victim out by the ocean and then found he had a taste for killing prostitutes but didn’t want the long journey each time.”
“So then he’d be an East Side resident?” Daniel asked.
“He could reside anywhere in New York City, couldn’t he? He could be from any walk of life. So you’re not on his track yet. He didn’t leave any clues at all?”
“Only that he is a man who enjoys risks—the bodies have turned up on well-traveled streets, and yet nobody has seen them actually put there. If they came from nearby brothels, he’d have had to somehow carry the body down the stairs and run the risk of bumping into people at every turn.”
“But none of these brothels have reported girls missing, you say?”
“Not when I was arrested. Of course other officers might have made progress since.”
“And what about the horse doping? Were you getting close to solving that one?”
“I was inclined to believe it was a rival jockey with a grudge, but again I was only starting the investigation when I was detained against my will.”
“So in neither case were you getting close to solving these crimes.”
He shook his head. “In the horse-doping case, I was just completing initial investigations. In the East Side Ripper case, I had literally just been ordered to take over.”
“So somebody couldn’t be afraid you were too closely on his tail.”
“No. And besides, if the horse-doping case does turn out to be a disgruntled jockey, he’d hardly have the clout to doctor a letter from a leading gang member and then arrange for a police commissioner to walk a prescribed route at the right time.”
“It need not have been the jockey,” I said. “Maybe he was suggested to you as a scapegoat.”
“It’s possible, of course.”
“I could continue this investigation for you, couldn’t I? I wouldn’t be putting myself in danger going out to a racetrack.”
“I suppose you could. If you think it would actually do any good.”
“And where is the Brighton Race Track?”
“It’s one of the Coney Island tracks.”
“Coney Island again,” I said. “And weren’t you trying to set up your prizefight out there?”
“As a matter of fact I was,” he said.
“And the first prostitute was found murdered under the boardwalk there. Then is it possible that somebody didn’t want you out on Coney Island for some reason?”
He shrugged. “Possible, I suppose, but again I have no idea who. We only selected Coney Island as the site for the prizefight because it’s one of those places where the police don’t interfere too much. They stay away from the Gut, where pretty much any type of criminal activity abounds.”
“The Gut,” I said, not liking the sound of it.
“A place where you are not to set foot,” he said.
“But the rest of Coney Island must be safe enough for a working girl out enjoying her Sunday. I’d be one of thousands. You wouldn’t have to worry about me.”
“I do worry about you, all the time,” he said. “And I absolutely forbid you to get involved with the East Side Ripper case. Prostitutes on the Lower East Side exist under the watchful eye of the Eastmans. You might have had an amiable chat with Monk once, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be in a good mood next time, or that he’d take kindly to snooping. You might wind up as one of those working girls in one of Monk’s brothels if you’re not careful. And I mean it, Molly.” He glared at me again with those hollow, bloodshot eyes.
“I’m not stupid, Daniel,” I said. “I’ll be careful. But what you just said has made something occur to me. The press seems to think that a monstrous serial killer is at work on the Lower East Side—a man who hires prostitutes for the sport of murdering them. What if these girls have been killed by their pimp or protector because they wanted to escape from that lifestyle?”
“Then you’re back to Monk Eastman,” Daniel said. “He might not control every single prostitute on the Lower East Side, but the pimps pay their protection money to him.”
“So he’d know,” I said.
“Molly! What have I just been saying to you?” he shouted, and his voice echoed from the bare stone walls.
“What do you expect me to do?” I was shouting, too. “Go home and let you die? Look at you, Daniel. Someone’s got to get you out of here, and I don’t think he’s going to do it.” I glanced across at Mr. Atkinson, leaning against the wall, watching me warily.
Daniel spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “Go and talk to horse trainers if you wish, but you’re not poking your nose in the other matter. Do you hear me?” He put his hand to his mouth to stop the coughing. “Besides, as I told you, I had only just been put on that case. I’d discovered nothing of importance. And if you want to know my opinion—I think all this is a waste of time. The cases I was working on can have no relevance to my current plight. The horse-doping case isn’t serious enough, and I had barely started the second investigation.”
“We can’t leave any stone unturned, can we?” I said. “I haven’t exactly been successful in the other areas I’ve searched. I’ll go out to Coney Island and snoop around your racetrack. Other than that, I can’t really think what to do next. Find out more about Mr. Partridge and his background, I suppose. This is proving very hard, Daniel.”
“I know it is. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you are doing for me,” he said. “You’re a grand girl, Molly Murphy. Without you I don’t know what I’d do.” He reached out toward me. The bars were narrow enough so that just his fingers poked through.
“Yes, well, somebody’s got to take care of you with this mess you’ve got yourself into.” I tried to keep it lig
ht; but his fingers, stretching toward me, were imploring me to touch him. He desperately needed warm, human touch, I could see that. I reached out and interlaced his fingers in mine.
“Stay away from the prisoner. You two will get me into trouble,” Mr. Atkinson complained, stepping forward to separate us. “I brought Miss Murphy here as a special favor.”
“It’s about the only thing you’ve done right so far, Atkinson,” Daniel growled.
“Daniel, Mr. Atkinson is doing his best,” I said. I had pretty much decided that the best course of action would be to boost the lawyer’s confidence and turn him into an ally. “It’s not easy, you know. As you can hear, we’ve encountered one dead end after another.”
“If Mr. Atkinson is doing his best, he’ll be good enough to move away and let me have a minute alone with my young lady,” Daniel said.
“I’ll get into trouble for bringing her in here,” Atkinson protested. “Please release her and let her step away from the grille.”
“Oh, come on, Atkinson, what do you think she’s going to do, slip me a cake with a file in it through the bars?” Daniel demanded.
He motioned me to come closer to him. For a second I thought he wanted to kiss me, but as his lips came close to my ear he whispered, “Watch out for Atkinson. I don’t trust him. We don’t know who he’s working for.”
Our eyes met and I nodded.
“Good-bye then,” I said, pulling away from him.
Reluctantly his fingers released mine.
“Take good care of yourself, Molly,” he called after me. “Don’t do anything stupid, do you hear me?”
FOURTEEN
When I got home, around midday, having bought veal bones and vegetables to make myself a healthy soup, I found a note on my front door.
“Molly, you have a visitor. We are entertaining her to lunch until you return.” It was signed “Augusta.” It wasn’t very often that Gus used her formal name and I was intrigued enough to brush my hair, wash the grime of the sidewalks from my face, and generally spruce myself up before I presented myself at Number Nine.
