Cindy Thomson - [Ellis Island 01]

by Grace's Pictures

  She examined her box camera and clicked the shutter. Some of the black paper was scuffed, revealing the cardboard underneath, but otherwise it seemed unharmed. All she’d lost was thirty cents’ worth of film. This mugging could have been much worse.

  12

  OWEN REALIZED that the reason he was getting a partner was because of these extra assignments patrolling near the harbor. Things were boiling up in Lower Manhattan, and the force was not prepared. Either that, or there were too many corrupt police to find enough men to make headway against the criminal activity in this area. That new partner couldn’t come soon enough. Cracking this gang could be just what Owen needed to earn respect and get a promotion.

  Owen glanced up at the barren branches of a locust tree overhead and thought about his future. He was in line to be an inspector, a sizable promotion. He’d so far managed to avoid the long tentacles of Tammany Hall. That organization controlled and dictated much of the police department. Since joining the force, Owen learned to be careful not to draw attention to himself so that they would not interfere with his police work. He just wanted to do his job and move up to a more challenging position. Sergeant came after inspector; Sergeant McNulty had a nice ring to it.

  He smiled at each face he encountered. If the people thought of you as a friend, you could get their cooperation and even information when you needed it. And like his Irish granny always said, “Every person’s alike in God’s eyes, laddie. They’ve all got worth, and better that you treat them that way.” And of course, he’d received Reverend Clarke’s blessing, and Owen took that to heart.

  He’d tried to show Christ to everyone he encountered, like the reverend said, but being on the Lower Manhattan beat, he’d seen the worst of people—bodies mangled and bloody after being pushed from upper-floor windows, merciless men extorting money from ten- and eleven-year-old prostitutes, little paperboys beaten for the few pennies in their pockets. It was hard to grasp that God loved the downtrodden just the same as the fat aristocrats uptown. Some fared so well and others suffered. Owen had been called to do what he could for the poor folks, but it was often discouraging work, especially since he’d had no success so far moving through the ranks.

  “Afternoon, ladies.” Owen tipped his hat at two society women as they passed by him, taffeta dresses swooshing all the while. Today he was more interested in the faces of the men in the park. Word from headquarters was that Kid Yorke, Goo Goo Knox, and the like had moved on from their days with Battle Annie Walsh and were up to no good around the Hudson River docks, calling themselves Hudson Dusters. Knox was now the official head of the gang, but no one knew what that thug looked like. Just that he had a name that indicated he was not an old man, a baby face presumably. Owen’s captain thought the gang was probably in Battery Park from time to time, and so Owen had to be vigilant. Those boys normally caroused in the darkness, but his hunch was that they might be emerging from their gutters to slink about this time of day.

  He stopped a ball with his foot. A lad ran up to him, a stick in one hand and his cap in the other. “Sorry, Officer. It got away from us.”

  Owen handed him the ball. “Say, lad. Seen any bad fellows about today?”

  “No, sir.”

  Owen ran his hand through the boy’s tangled brown hair. “You come see me if anything’s stirring. You hear?”

  “Yes, Officer.” The boy scampered back to his buddies who waited next to improvised bases—their discarded coats lying in a heap. Baseball was taking hold of New York’s youth like nothing Owen had ever seen before. Better they aspire to be a New York Giant like George Davis or Amos Rusie than end up like Kid Yorke, Circular Jack, or Goo Goo Knox. If it was colorful nicknames the kids were after, baseball was a better choice. The sport had produced Old Hoss Radbourn and Bob “Death to Flying Things” Ferguson, after all.

  He decided to move toward the aquarium, a place where families congregated, especially on winter days when they’d rather be indoors. The park with all the families and proper folks should not be soiled by gangsters, not if he could help it. He entered and gazed about, letting his stare linger in secluded corners and out-of-the-way niches. On a catwalk he noticed some young folks clustered together. Loitering in a public building was not permitted. He sighed and began to climb the steps, swinging his long arms. He paused halfway up and looked again. That young woman there with the red petticoat sticking out from under her skirt. Was that . . . ?

  “Officer McNulty, what a pleasure.”

  He turned to look below him. Mrs. Morgan, a regular attendee of First Church on Rayburn Street, smiled at him.

  “Enjoying the fish, Mrs. Morgan?”

  She blushed, as women seemed to do in his presence. “Indeed. Have you seen the porpoise? It’s new, I hear.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m working.”

  “Out here?”

  “That’s right.” He inclined his head toward her. “Lovely to see you. I must move along.” He thought he caught Mr. Morgan glaring at him from behind his wife’s shoulder, but he couldn’t linger. He had to find out what Grace McCaffery could possibly be doing up there. When he turned back, however, she was gone and so were the men she’d been talking to, probably exiting on the opposite side. He turned to look behind him but didn’t see them.

  He heard someone calling his name. Walter Feeny, a patrolman Owen didn’t particularly like because of his gruff interactions with citizens the man seemed to despise, lumbered toward him. “Captain’s called a meeting for the park patrol.”

  “Where, Feeny?”

  “Main headquarters. Got a police wagon waiting. Let’s go.”

  Captain Nicholson paced as he talked around the cigar in his mouth. “And so I’ve heard from three immigrant aid societies, men. They all said the same thing. Clean up that park or they’re moving out. I expect the rest would follow.”

  Owen raised his hand. “Where will they operate from if they move?”

  The man shrugged. “Don’t suppose they will.” He coughed and wedged the stogie between the middle fingers of his right hand. “And then we’ll have more crime down there than we can handle. This puts me in a pickle. A pickle, mind you. Those Dusters might be lowlifes, but they have friends in high places. We got to chase ’em back to the docks, but to do that, we gotta get the big guy. I’m not asking for a roundup of all those thugs. Just the leader.”

  Feeny stood, his ruddy cheeks glowing. “Aw, surely they’re not being that much trouble, Captain. We’ll just make them uncomfortable for a time and they’ll move on.”

  The captain waved the cigar. “Not good enough. These people, these charity workers, they won’t wait. And think about it, men. If they don’t protect those naive immigrants when they arrive from Ellis Island, there’ll be pickpockets, shysters, and drunkards not only in Battery Park but all over Lower Manhattan.”

  Another man waved his arm. “C’mon, Captain. We got that already.”

  The captain resumed his pacing. “And tell me, Andy. You want more of it? Tell me you’re not running holes in your shoes as it is.”

  Feeny again. “But why go after Goo Goo? He’s a shifty thug if ever there was one.”

  The captain huffed. “A challenge, yes. But putting him in Sing Sing would break up the gang for good.” He paused, turned face forward, and arched his thick black brows. “There’ll be a fine promotion for the man who brings him in, not to mention the satisfaction of ridding Manhattan of a gang and protecting those poor immigrants.”

  The small gathering of beat cops whooped, although Owen was sure not many, if any of them, were actually going to put forth the effort required to catch Goo Goo Knox. These were the men who slept on duty, who visited dives when they were supposed to be working. Some, perhaps Feeny, even took protection money from the shopkeepers. But Owen would never do that, and he was working hard to make sure the local businessmen knew it. Owen’s mission was to protect those poor immigrants, and if there were no aid societies, he’d have little hope of doing it. He couldn’t h
ouse them all, not even one, in his tiny apartment. It was within his orders now to do something that could truly help.

  On his way out, the captain stopped him. “McNulty, I know I promised you a partner.”

  “That’s fine, Captain. I’m getting along all right.”

  “Well, that may be.” He hesitated until the others left the room and then lowered his voice. “I’ve handpicked a fellow, just the same. He’ll be here Saturday.”

  “Captain, why someone specific, if I may ask?”

  “That’s my business. Just be careful out there, McNulty. I trust ya. You’re an honest cop. Trouble is, everyone else knows that too.”

  Owen headed back to his beat, wondering why it had been so difficult for Nicholson to find just one other beat officer he could depend on. Owen didn’t know them all, but surely Tammany Hall didn’t own the entire precinct save him and Nicholson.

  Darkness fell early this time of the year. Owen pulled his collar up and began his rounds, checking for locked doors. The bakery, the shoemaker, the lunch diner—all secure. He checked on some newsboys who regularly slept in a doorway on Pearl. There they were huddled together like puppies. If only the aid society could do something for them. But they moved around and were reluctant to go into a home anywhere for fear they’d lose their jobs. “I’ll bring you a blanket tomorrow,” he told one who opened an eye to look at him.

  “Thank you, Officer McNulty.”

  “Sure thing.”

  When he rounded the corner of State Street, he noted lit windows on all of the aid society buildings. Incredible how many people were coming through Ellis Island these days. Nicholson was right to be concerned about keeping crime out of this sector. Without those charity organizations, many of those folks would be lost in this vast city if they didn’t have family or friends already in New York.

  Several blocks north he passed a Chinese tea shop. He heard movement in the alley. Rats or dogs likely raiding the garbage. A gas lamp shone on the main street but the alley was dark and he had no lantern. He’d purchased one a couple months ago and then broke it during a chase of a pickpocket. He was just reaching for his .32 when someone grabbed him from behind.

  “Officer McNulty, is it?”

  Owen, being much larger than his attacker, gave the man a swift elbow to the gut. The man released him and coughed, but before Owen could spin around, he was struck across the knees with some kind of pipe. Not again!

  As he lay curled on the ground in pain, a dark face drew near to his ear. “The Dusters don’t want no honest cop snooping around.”

  Owen caught his breath. “Don’t be on my beat then.”

  “We’ll be where we want to be, copper. And we don’t begrudge you your beat. Just stop asking little boys to spy for you. Turn a blind eye like everyone else. Then there’ll be no more broken kneecaps. Got it?”

  The pain burned up his thighs, but he was not going to answer.

  “I says, got it?”

  Thud! A blow to his right bicep this time.

  As the toughs moved off, Owen heard him say, “Could take a lesson from that Feeny fellow, you know?”

  Owen got to his feet; thankfully nothing seemed broken. He rubbed his legs and arm. He’d have bruises, but nothing too bad. Just like last time. It could have been worse. Another warning.

  He’d no more gotten to the corner of Broadway when he spotted Grace McCaffery scurrying up the walk. He’d thought he’d seen her in the Battery earlier. She should not be out here. When she got close enough, he yanked her into the alley with him.

  “It’s Officer McNulty,” he said before she could shout out a protest.

  “You scared me.”

  “Better it’s me doing the scaring.” His sore leg wouldn’t let him stand completely. He leaned against a wall.

  “Are you all right?” She tried to steady him as he wobbled.

  “I’ll be just fine. Perils of my job.”

  “Someone attacked you? What should I do?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” He urged her back out to the street with him as soon as he regained his balance. “I only stopped you because . . . well, obviously it’s not safe out here. What are you doing out alone?”

  “I’m on my way home.”

  “I’ll walk you back.”

  “Thank you.”

  She might have given him blank stares before, but she needed him now. He enjoyed that feeling and the closeness as she leaned against him.

  When they arrived at Hawkins House, a much quieter part of the neighborhood, they paused under the gas lamplight. Her large eyes bored into his soul, and he had to keep reminding himself that he was on duty. This was business.

  She reached for his hand. “Are you sure you won’t come in?”

  They both glanced to the parlor window and saw Agnes Hawkins staring out at them. “Your guardian must be worried.”

  Grace did not release his hand. He leaned closer to her. “Don’t worry about me, Miss McCaffery. I can take care of myself out here.” He patted his nightstick for emphasis.

  She smiled, still gazing at him. “Thank you for walking me home.”

  The front door opened. Mrs. Hawkins put her hands to her mouth. “Glad you took my advice, love. I was worried. Good thing Officer McNulty was available to see you home.” She shuddered, wrapping a shawl tighter around her shoulders. “It’s quite chilly, lovies. Come in.”

  “I must get back to work, Mrs. Hawkins.”

  Grace finally let go of his hand and said good night. When Grace reached the porch, he heard Mrs. Hawkins giving her an earful about not being out alone after dark.

  As he returned to his beat, Owen wondered if that attack could have been random or, more likely, connected to the last one. Chaos was what Owen disliked about his job. He would much rather use his mind to track criminals than to make rounds. He only hoped he wasn’t also fighting headquarters. He would get a photograph of the Hudson Dusters leader for that wall at headquarters, the one they called the Rogues’ Gallery, if it was the death of him. They could try to intimidate him all they wanted. He’d just be more careful and steer clear of dark alleys so long as there was no apparent reason to enter them. “God equips those he calls,” he remembered the reverend telling him.

  When the sun glowed a dim greeting over the harbor, he headed toward the Society. Reverend Clarke rose early, and Owen had to speak to him.

  The clunky sound of the house mistress’s boots echoed behind the door. Moments later Mrs. Reilly stood in front of him, blinking her eyes.

  “’Tis awfully early, Officer. What brings you?”

  “I want to see Reverend Clarke immediately.”

  “Is it urgent?”

  “Of course it is. Sorry to intrude, but it could not be helped.”

  “Please, come in. He should be at morning devotions. I’ll let him know you are asking for him.”

  Moments later the man shuffled down the hall, still dressed in his nightclothes. “Ah, Owen. What brings you by so early? Won’t you have a bite of breakfast with us?”

  “Thank you. No. I’m just off patrol. I came to have a word with you.”

  “Absolutely. Should we retire to my study?”

  “No, no. I don’t want to interrupt. I just want to warn you, Reverend.”

  “Warn me?”

  Owen laughed nervously. “Well, inform you. You might not be aware. You should keep your charges closer to their house, especially late in the day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know she is at Hawkins House, but you are still concerned with her welfare, I’m sure.”

  “Are you talking about Grace McCaffery?”

  “I am.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “No, no. Thankfully she is fine. I walked her home last night myself. She had been out, in Battery Park, and did not begin her walk home until it was dark.”

  “So happy you saw her home safely, son. I’ll insist she return home much earlier, and I’m sure Mrs. Hawkins has al
ready addressed the problem.”

  “Well, that’s not the greatest trouble, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s her presence in the park that I’m concerned with. That is where I first spotted her.”

  The man tightened the cloth belt of his robe across his belly. “You must tell me what happened. Come, sit.”

  “Uh, just for a moment.”

  They took chairs in the front room. Owen leaned forward, rubbing his sore thighs briefly, not wanting to reveal to the reverend what had happened to him that night for fear of causing him undue worry. He would be fine, just sorely fatigued. “The park near the harbor, Battery Park, is not as safe as it once was. I’m not saying not to go there at all, but young women should not go alone. The aquarium included.”

  “You are not saying she was there at night?”

  “Late afternoon. Like I said, she failed to calculate how quickly the sun would set. I couldn’t get away to speak to you until I got off duty. I came straight here.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I’ll be. I had thought since Roosevelt improved things . . . well, I thought we were all safer.”

  “We can’t be too complacent.”

  “I understand, Owen. Thank you for coming to alert me.”

  13

  GRACE WAS SURPRISED when Reverend Clarke showed up at the Parkers’ Friday afternoon. “I’ve come to escort you home, milady.”

  “Truly?” His imitation of a knight amused her.

  “It’s dark out. I thought it best. Mind if we take the Broadway trolley? It’s still running and I prefer it to the train. Less crowded this time of day.”

  “Certainly. Come in and have some tea while I put away the last few dishes.”

  The reverend sat and crossed his legs at the ankle. “Do you like it here, Grace?”

  “Oh, I do. Very fine.” She poured hot water over some tea leaves and let the pot brew upon a metal trivet on the tabletop.

  “The master of the house treats you well?” He helped himself to a biscuit while she finished washing the dishes.