Cindy Thomson - [Ellis Island 01]

by Grace's Pictures

  “Owen, what are you suggesting? That your father made this crisis up?”

  “Not entirely. Blevins does have some work to do. But in part, yes, I’m afraid he has stretched the truth in an effort to manipulate me.”

  She took a step back. “Preposterous!”

  “I can’t do any more, Mother.”

  “Oh, you could, but you won’t.” She looked away and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief she always had in her left hand.

  “I don’t expect you to understand completely, Mother, but I hope you’ll try. I believe everything will work out.”

  “How, Owen?”

  He turned away, pulled open the doors, and approached his father, who looked up at him with sad eyes. “Tell me about Blevins, Father.”

  The older man sighed but said nothing.

  “If I summon him, will you two speak to me, together?”

  His father shrugged.

  “Good. Mother, telephone Mr. Blevins and ask him to come over immediately.”

  “Owen! Why on earth?”

  “Mother, please. It’s better to get everything out, and I’m too tired to argue.”

  Her face whitened and her eyes bulged. She was unaccustomed to her son giving her orders and likely still reeling from Owen’s accusation. “No. I will not.”

  Owen crossed the room to her. “We must talk to Blevins.”

  “He’s . . . well . . .” She whispered even though his father showed no signs of attending to their discussion. “He thinks your father is going mad.”

  “I doubt that, but yes, he has concerns. Look at him, Mother. This might be a temporary breakdown, but you cannot argue that he’s in his right mind.”

  As proper as always, and obviously in hopes of keeping up appearances, his mother refused again.

  Owen breathed in the musty, fire-warmed air of the gilded parlor, praying that he had the will to say what he must. “Then I have done all I am able. If you still believe the bankers are threatening the business, I suggest you call Blevins. If you give him authority, he’ll trim expenses enough to make the proper payments to the bank and then give you an allowance to take Father on a temporary leave from the company.”

  He went to the door and halted. Turning, he softened his voice. “I may not be able to follow up to see that you’ve done this, Mother. But I must insist. If you need me, come to my apartment. I will welcome you.” He had his hand on the door latch before the servant could escort him.

  “Owen, wait.”

  He turned.

  His mother’s eyes blazed. “Don’t go.”

  He held her gaze a moment. “I will pray for you both.”

  On his way down Broadway, he fought the dismay that boiled up. His father’s business was not really in danger of failing. Whatever mismanagement had happened, Blevins was willing and adequately able to remedy. Owen had nearly fallen for his father’s ruse. He kept telling himself that his father had suffered a mild breakdown. It wasn’t his fault. He was not that manipulating under normal circumstances.

  It had been a damp and dreary few weeks, and when Owen had checked with Dasher, he’d told him Goo Goo had not arrived back in the city yet.

  The day after Owen told his mother what action she should take, he’d called and discovered she’d allowed Blevins to take some initiative with the business. That, at least, was a relief. Owen had not pushed too hard but had allowed the train conductor of his life to take control of matters.

  And finally Jake was back on regular duty.

  Owen met his partner under a streetlamp on the corner of Wall Street and Broadway. They had been sent again to guard against gang activity near the park, although clandestinely so no one from Feeny at the bottom to Devery at the top would hear about it. Owen would be ready when Goo Goo showed up.

  Jake pulled his collar up against the rain. “Ready?”

  Owen shrugged. “Ready. Let’s rid Manhattan of those thugs we’ve been trailing; what do you say?”

  “What’s changed? We’ve had no luck so far.”

  “This will be easier now.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Wait until you hear what’s been happening while I was waiting for you to get better, Jakey.”

  They strolled south toward the Bowling Green. Owen talked excitedly. “Got a new contact. Someone a bit older and more reliable than those kids we’ve been talking to and a little less shifty than Smokey Davis.”

  “How is that?”

  “What would you say about a fellow who survived drug withdrawal and now wants to see the Dusters done in, a fellow who up until a few months ago was the runner for the big man himself?”

  “For Goo Goo Knox?”

  “That’s him. This fellow was his, um, secretary. That’s what he called himself.”

  “Excellent. You’ve done well.” Jake patted Owen’s shoulder. “But how do we know Feeny didn’t set us up?”

  “Easy. This guy’s got a mug shot. Saw it myself. It’s him, all right. And he didn’t come find us. I sought him out. Followed a tip from the pawnbroker who had my watch and met up with him at the Old House at Home.”

  “McSorley’s?”

  “That’s the place. It’s the best we got, Jake. Now’s the dirty work. Hope you’re up for it.”

  “I’m up for it, partner. Good job running down these clues.”

  “Well, folks are beginning to trust me in this neighborhood.”

  “’Bout time.”

  “All we need is hard proof that Goo Goo is involved in illegal activity. That’s the word from the judge.”

  “You should have let me come with you to McSorley’s, Owen.”

  “When I found out he was there, I had to hurry. I’ve kept in touch with him since then, though, dropping by McSorley’s when I could. He’s still on board.”

  Owen paused to scrape some wet leaves from the bottom of his shoes. “If we could just find out where this Goo Goo character is.”

  “Won’t your contact say? What’s he calling himself?”

  “Dasher. Makes me think of Saint Nicholas’s reindeer.”

  Jake shrugged. “Grown men with kid names. Never understood it. So where does Dasher say his boss is?”

  “Doesn’t know. They move around from the tenements to the houses near the docks. But we have something now we didn’t have before, since Goo Goo’s never been arrested.”

  Jake slapped his partner hard on the back. “A description. What did your contact say the man looked like?”

  Owen pulled the description from his pocket. “Something like this. Grace is working on a sketch for us.”

  “Grace McCaffery?”

  “That’s right. She’s a much better artist than me, and we just can’t trust opening this up to the whole department right now. What do you say we stop over at Hawkins House and see if she’s got anything ready?”

  “Take the trolley?”

  Owen moaned. “I suppose.”

  It only took them a few minutes to get to Hawkins House, and when they arrived, Grace let them in. “I just got home from work. My mother came with me.”

  “Your mother?”

  “She’s staying for a while. She’s back at her boardinghouse now or I’d introduce you.”

  Jake cleared his throat.

  “Oh, Miss McCaffery, may I introduce my partner, Jake Stockton. We’re here on official business.”

  Mrs. Hawkins came lumbering down the hall. “Official or not, you’ll come in and have tea, gentlemen. You may talk in the parlor.” She headed to the back of the house.

  Owen took a seat under the portrait of a distinguished-looking man. He noticed Grace kept glancing between him and the portrait. “We are in need of the sketch now. Whatever you’ve come up with will be fine.”

  Grace sighed, went to the breakfront cabinet, and retrieved her drawing pad. “I wish it were better.”

  Jake peered over his shoulder. “Hmm. Don’t know that we’ve seen that fella, but we have a better idea of
who we’re looking for.”

  Owen held up the pad. “May we keep it?”

  “Of course.” Grace tore out the page for them.

  “Thank you so much for your help, Grace. We have to be going.”

  “You are most welcome. I’m not completely sure that looks like him.”

  “It will help.”

  On the way out, Grace whispered, “Walter Feeny is my stepfather’s nephew, and my stepfather is here now with my mother. I’m not sure if they’re up to something.”

  Owen gave her a grin, hoping it would ease her concern. “Feeny’s always up to something, but don’t worry. The captain has him occupied in a different ward.”

  Owen and Jake spent the next hour roaming the paths in the park and discussing the gang boss and his likely mannerisms. A short man walks with a quick stride. A tall man takes longer steps. A man trying to hide doesn’t wear flashy clothes and, in fact, would probably dress like the most common man on the street. This intellectual banter was what Owen really loved. Trying to outsmart a criminal was far more stimulating than running him down and tackling him on the cold ground. Owen was ready whenever duty required him to use his agile and strong body, but now he was ready to use his brains and be the detective he was primed to be.

  During a break Jake paused and opened his coffee tin for a snack, offering Owen an orange. They sat in silence, and Owen decided his partner was probably also weighing in his mind the chances of catching the gang leader. Finally Jake spoke. “These Dusters. Captain says they are not known for the particular level of brutality other gangs are.”

  “Not so far. Still, pushed against a wall, who knows what Goo Goo might do.”

  Jake licked his fingers. “That’s why they pay us the big bucks, right, partner?”

  They laughed and then set out on rounds again, staying close to the shadowy buildings in case Feeny was around, but they didn’t see him. Even if Nicholson hadn’t been able to divert him, Feeny would likely be goofing off on the clock again.

  All was quiet near the harbor. By the end of their shift no one matching Goo Goo’s description had shown up. Tomorrow was another day.

  They returned to the precinct building to discover where their next assignment would be and when. “We’re on it,” Owen told the captain. “No matter how long it takes.”

  “Got no detectives to spare on this right now,” Nicholson said, leaning back in his creaky office chair. “You and Jake just do the best you can down there.”

  “And Feeny?”

  “Feeny’s busy with the parade and all.”

  Owen tried not to show his satisfaction with that answer. There were politicians counting on the Hudson Dusters to creatively influence voters in their district. Thankfully they were tied up with the massive St. Patrick’s Day parade that distracted Feeny as well. And with no authorized detectives in Ward 1 to contend with, Owen would be free to use his own smarts.

  Jake met back up with Owen at the assignment board. “I want to meet this contact, Owen.”

  “Like I told you earlier, he’s skittish. But with all the focus elsewhere, he might agree to it.”

  Jake shook his head when he saw their names on the board. “Looks like we’re back on days, at least for now. See you in a few hours.”

  Owen didn’t feel a bit tired. “Yeah. And hopefully with news from Dasher.”

  When Owen got home, he had only three hours to rest before heading back out again. When he reached the top of the stairs, he noticed a light shining from under his door. Grabbing his nightstick, he kicked the door open and barged inside.

  His father stood white-faced at Owen’s kitchen sink. “Blazes, Son. Is that how you enter your own house?”

  “When I’m not expecting anyone to be here, it is.” He quickly shut the door.

  “I don’t know what kind of ludicrous schedule you keep. Your neighbor let me in.”

  “Otto.” Owen slumped down on his sofa. He smelled coffee. “How are you feeling? You seem to have made a wonderful recovery.”

  Owen’s father handed him a steaming cup. “I have been ill. The doctor told you that.”

  “Yes. Well, why did you come?”

  “I had to have my say.” He sat on the only kitchen chair Owen had, placed his own cup on the small round table, and leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  “Please, go ahead. I have to be back at work in—” Owen pulled the watch from his pocket—“in less than three hours. If you’re here to make sure I get fired, do me a favor and wait a few days. I’m on a case.”

  “I’d hoped you’d give it up on your own. But I stayed out of it.”

  Owen pinched his lips together. “What did you want to say?”

  “Steer clear of any Tammany Hall business. You’ll be better off that way, and I won’t have to console your mother if you wind up dead in an alley somewhere.”

  “I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself.”

  “I confess I never understood why you chose this path, Owen. I suppose it had to do with that little girl and that O’Toole fellow, but that wasn’t your responsibility.”

  Owen stood with the morning sun from the front window shining in his eyes. “You’re right.”

  “Am I?”

  Owen poured himself some more coffee. “Oh yes. You are undeniably correct. Becoming a policeman was not something I had to do because that officer died trying to save that little girl. It was something I had to do because God used that moment to tell me I had a mission in life, right here in Manhattan. I can’t change what happened. I can’t even save most folks, if the truth is known. Dead Man’s Curve will still take lives, no matter how many times I or another cop blow a whistle. But whatever I can do, I will. The pity would be if I didn’t try.”

  “I hope you don’t hold this against me, Son.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “You can’t blame a man for wanting his only son to take over the family business.”

  So it wasn’t an apology.

  “Tell me you are going to Florida, Father.”

  “Texas.”

  “Well, fine. Try to relax. Blevins is a good man.”

  “I agree.”

  They parted ways, and Owen had to admit that at least his father had taken the door Owen had left open for him. Perhaps their relationship could be mended someday.

  39

  THE NEXT EVENING AT HAWKINS HOUSE, as Annie passed around the lamb stew and buttermilk biscuits, Grace outlined her hopes of taking the Parker children on an outing. Aunt Edith had returned, on leave from her teaching position, and she was hopeful of succeeding where Grace had failed in obtaining permission for the children to leave the house. “I would love it if you and baby Patrick could accompany us, Ma,” she said.

  “I would love that, dear.” Grace’s mother sat next to her, the baby sleeping on her lap. She’d been able to join them at Hawkins House most evenings, while S. P. was occupied with whatever business brought him to New York. “Where do you think you will take the wee ones?”

  “Central Park, perhaps.”

  The Hawk grunted and picked up her water glass. “Probably not a good idea with the parade about to take place up that way.”

  Annie agreed. “Aye, too close to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

  And too close to where S. P. and his awful nephew would be. “I’ll find a place,” Grace said.

  The Hawk picked up her silver spoon and held it over her bowl. “Best to let Mr. Parker choose. Remember what I said about how protective he is over those children.”

  Grace’s mother patted Patrick’s back. “And just after losing his wife, too, poor man.”

  By Thursday, Owen was growing discouraged. He’d met up with Dasher again at McSorley’s, and he’d told Owen he knew Goo Goo was back in town. But despite the cooperation of many of the shopkeepers and laborers around the Battery, there had been no clues to follow.

  Before he left for work, Owen knelt beside his bed, the silver watch in his hands. Oh, God, I kn
ow you are directing my path. Give me patience and keen instincts. Help me to catch the villain that could soon be bringing the curse of addiction to scores more poor immigrants.

  When he rose to his feet, an idea came to him. Dasher had told him which newsboy would pass messages to him securely. It was time. Jake needed to meet Dasher, and they had to see if the fella would truly finger Goo Goo. He needed Dasher to be in Battery Park.

  On the corner of Mulberry and Grand, Owen found the newsboy he was looking for. Sad little guy, with tattered trousers and shoe leather so thin he might as well have nothing on his feet. He was identifiable by the reddish birthmark on his right cheek. “Give him this, Henry.” Owen handed him a paper with instructions to meet behind the aquarium at three thirty the following day.

  The lad nodded and was about to dash away when Owen stopped him and handed him a quarter. “Go buy yourself some shoes, all right?”

  He grinned. “Right after I deliver your message, Officer.”

  When Owen left his apartment the following morning to pick up milk for his coffee, Henry was waiting for him outside his building. “What are you doing here, son?”

  “Got a message for you.”

  “Where is it?”

  The lad pointed to his head.

  “Before you tell me, Henry, how did you find me?”

  “I got smarts, is all.”

  “Keep it to yourself and I’ll fill you with as many bakery rolls as you like.”

  “Truly?”

  Owen would have to move. Such is the life of an undercover detective. “I said so.”

  “Say, Officer. Any fella that gives newsboys blankets like he promised gets my loyalty. From us all.”

  “Fine, lad. Appreciate it. Now what’s the message?”

  “Penguin pool. Very important you meet Dasher there and thirty minutes earlier than you said.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.” He held out his hand.

  Owen gave him fifty cents. He had to be sure he could trust this kid.

  On Friday morning when Grace greeted Auntie Edith in the kitchen, she found her to be unusually cheerful. “We’re going on an outing, love. Telephone your mother over at her boardinghouse.”