Always a Cold Deck (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 1)

by Robert Bruce Stewart

  “Well, as you know, it seems Elwell’s disappearance was a fraud.”

  “I don’t know that. I just know you think that. Why?”

  “I assume you know a fellow named Steuben came forward with a story that Elwell had approached him to help fake an accident. But then he says Elwell never showed up, so the police assume he drowned in the storm trying to get to the rendezvous.”

  “But you don’t believe that. Why?”

  “Why would Steuben come forward with this information unless it got him something? He lost his job over it. I don’t think Elwell paid Steuben to help him disappear, but just to say that he had made those arrangements and then hadn’t shown up. You see, Elwell knew everyone would think his disappearance was a fraud, so he set up a scheme where it would look like that was his intention, but then had had a real accident. Put simply, he faked faking the accident, then faked the accident again. Since everyone involved would be better off with him dead, they wouldn’t be pestering the police to look for him alive. I guess he figured it was up to those getting the money to handle the insurance companies.”

  “I suppose you know why I’m interested?”

  “The Elevator Company can’t pay off the loan from your brewery unless they get the money for their policy on Elwell.”

  “That’s right. Twenty thousand dollars. I let Elwell talk me into that.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if some of that loan ended up feathering his nest wherever he is now. I suspect he built up a fair amount of assets there over the years. Including some real estate.”

  “Maybe so, but as soon as he’s declared dead, I’ll get my money without having to track him down and sue him. How does this Whitner fit in?”

  “I think he came to the same conclusion about the accident and Steuben’s story that I did, just a few weeks earlier. He came to town telling Elwell’s family that he was an old friend of Elwell’s who just happened to be here on business. I’m not sure what he’s told Sadie Parker. He’s figuring that either Elwell’s wife or Sadie is in on the fraud. And after the insurance benefit is paid out, this helpmate will lead him to Elwell. But he won’t be telling the insurance companies—he’ll just milk Elwell for the rest of his life.”

  “And that’s what you think, too?”

  “Except I think he’s wrong about Sadie or the wife being in on it. I think Elwell didn’t trust either of them, and the policies are just to keep them content while he enjoys his new life.”

  “So you thought Whitner figured out where Elwell is and was going after him, that’s why you wanted to follow him on the train?”

  “Well, at this point I’m a little confused. You see, last night Sadie received a message and rushed out on the last train heading east, supposedly to Rochester. Then this morning Whitner gets ahold of the contents of that message and he immediately takes a train to Niagara Falls.”

  “He was going to the other Niagara, on the lake,” Whitey corrected. “I heard him ask the clerk at the Iroquois.”

  “What was the message? Did you see it?” Conners asked.

  “I was told its contents. It merely said that the sender would be at the Queen’s on Saturday. It was addressed to Sadie, but the salutation was to Becky and it was signed Jos. It was a postcard, and Sadie’s received a number addressed this way. I believe these came from Mason, who’s using the alias Jos, or Joseph, Sedley. Sadie was his mistress before she was Elwell’s.”

  “I know all about Sadie,” Conners smiled.

  “But Whitner probably doesn’t know about Mason,” I said. “He thinks the cards came from Elwell. And he’s thinking Sadie’s gone to meet Elwell. But I don’t know why he went in the other direction. Maybe Sadie merely pretended to catch a train going east, but took one north when she got to the station.”

  “So you were following Whitner because you thought he’d lead you to Mason?”

  “Yes. Before he left the Iroquois he was flipping through a directory of hotels. Maybe he knew there was a Queen’s Hotel somewhere and was verifying it.”

  “So if I let you go now, you’ll take a train north to follow Whitner?”

  “Well, it’s possible he only wanted us to think that’s where he was going. He might have seen Whitey or me in the hotel lobby and just made sure we heard Niagara-on-the-Lake. He definitely knew we had followed him to the station. If Whitey hadn’t stopped me, I could have kept following him wherever he went. But now I’d need to first figure out where he was going.”

  “And when you do, you’ll go after him.”

  “Yes. I hope later today.”

  “Okay, you go find Mason. But when you do, you hand him over to whoever you need to and head right back here. And Whitey will go with you.”

  “Just so we’re back for the races on Monday,” Whitey said.

  “All right, but like I said, I need to check some things first. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.”

  “No, Whitey will stick with you. That way there won’t be any mix up. But wait outside a minute—I have something I need to talk to Whitey about.”

  We shook hands and I went out and waited for Whitey.

  12

  Whitey and I left Conners’ office and headed back to the Iroquois. The same clerk I’d annoyed earlier was on duty and I was reticent about renewing our acquaintance. But Keegan had told me there’d be a response from Montreal that afternoon so I went ahead and asked for it. He didn’t have me thrown out.

  “Oh, why didn’t you say you were Mr. Reese? Mr. Keegan left a note for you this morning.” He went and got it. “He also asked that we give you this wire when it came in.”

  In his note, Keegan said that his wife was leaving for Chicago, but he would be staying on until the case was completed. I wasn’t sure which case he meant. The wire was more interesting. It was from the Pinkerton office in Montreal. There was a Joseph Sedley who’d been registered at the Hotel Balmoral in Montreal for three weeks. He had checked out Friday and left no forwarding address.

  So we had guessed correctly about Becky and Jos, but it was too late to do me much good. However, I did learn that the Queen’s must be within a day’s travel of Montreal. Of course, that probably covered half of Canada and the whole Northeast down to Philadelphia.

  Next I asked for the hotel directory Whitner had used. I wanted to use this particular one so I would see exactly what he saw. It billed itself as “a guide to the best hotels of the world,” with the listings by city. There was a Queen’s Royal Hotel in Niagara-on-the-Lake. I flipped through to see if there were others nearby. There was one listed in Toronto, one in Winnipeg, and a couple others elsewhere in Canada. Whitner seemed convinced it was the Queen’s Royal. I had to assume he knew something I didn’t. Maybe he’d seen something in Sadie’s rooms? I handed the directory back to the clerk.

  “Will you be in communication with Mr. Keegan today?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “There was a mix up and one of Mrs. Keegan’s bags missed the Chicago train. And then the porter mistakenly sent it on with Mr. Keegan’s. He assumed they were going to the same destination.”

  “Were did he go?”

  “Well, I don’t know. He simply asked that his bags be sent to the station. But it occurred to me that if they were both going to Chicago, why wouldn’t he travel with his wife? Why take a train an hour later? So I wonder if he didn’t go somewhere else.”

  “Which train did she catch?”

  “The morning Michigan Central. It left around 7:30.”

  I couldn’t think of why Keegan would have misled me. Why would I care if he stayed in town or not?

  I went over to the telegraph desk to see if the Sodus police had sent a reply. They had—collect. No one matching Sadie’s description had come in on the morning train. As for Mason, I was told he was unlikely to show himself in Sodus. Apparently, even his own family was liable to shoot him on sight. He certainly knew how to burn his bridges.

  We had about an hour before the
next train to Niagara-on-the-Lake and I debated whether to call Emmie or not. I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t cause a complication if we found Elwell as well as Mason. And I didn’t think she’d care to travel with Whitey along. But the matter most on my mind was money. I had been hoping to ask Keegan for a small loan, since I’d be hard pressed to do much traveling on the twenty-odd dollars I had left. Now, I would have to ask Emmie to bring along some ready cash, and that was always a little awkward. I flipped a coin and that decided it.

  I told her about seeing Whitner off at the station and about the Queen’s Royal Hotel. She was still keen on going along, even if it meant staying in a hotel somewhere. Money wasn’t a problem, nor did she seem at all bothered by having company. Of course, I didn’t take the time to tell her who Whitey was or why he was coming. We agreed to meet at the station at 3:15 and she said she would bring the photograph of Mason.

  Whitey and I swung by his apartment so he could pack a bag and then to McLeod’s so I could. We still had some time left, so I offered to buy him a beer in the taproom there.

  “Why did Conners want to send you along?” I asked.

  “Because he thinks you’re looking for Elwell, and I’m to make sure you don’t find him. You are, aren’t you?”

  “No, right now I’m looking for Mason. It was the postcard from Jos Sedley that set everyone running around. And I have no doubt Jos is Mason.”

  “But why are you following Whitner and not Sadie?”

  “Only because I think I know where Whitner’s going. There’s no Queen’s Hotel in Rochester, and I doubt Mason would come back across the border anyway,” I answered. “Listen, Whitey, when we meet up with Miss McGinnis, let’s tell her I asked you to come along. I just don’t want to frighten her.”

  “Sure. But don’t try to lose me. I don’t want to have to frighten you.”

  “No, I wouldn’t like that either.”

  Emmie was waiting for us. I introduced Whitey to her as a friend coming along to help. Then we bought our tickets and joined the crowd waiting to board the train. Just as the doors to the track opened, a fight broke out blocking the way. Whitey reached over and thrust Emmie’s small satchel up to her chest.

  “Hold it in front of you, so no one can grab it,” Whitey instructed.

  Sure enough, a second later another woman was shouting, “My bag!”

  The fight had ended as abruptly as it had started and the pugilists had disappeared. We boarded the train and found seats near the rear.

  “How did you know that was going to happen, Mr. Schuler? Did you know the fighting was just a ruse?” Emmie asked.

  “Well, I knew it wasn’t for real, if that’s what you mean. They were jamming up the breaks to make it easier for the gun.”

  “What gun, and what are the breaks?”

  “A gun is a pickpocket. The breaks is any place people have to funnel through. Do you ever take one of the steamboats to the beach?”

  “I have, yes.”

  “Well, most times there’s a crowd of people waiting for the boat when it docks. As soon as they put the plank down, everyone moves in on it. Now they’re all bumping into each other. Then some guy going up the plank drops something and stops to pick it up. The whole line stops and now everyone is leaning against someone else. A good claw might come up with two or three wallets before the line starts moving again.”

  “A claw is another term for a pickpocket?”

  “Yeah. But this buzzard was an amateur. That lady probably caught him in her bag, so he just glommed it. He could have done that without the show and he wouldn’t have to cut the two ginks in on it.”

  Emmie had taken out a small notebook and was writing everything down.

  “Would a buzzard refer to any pickpocket, Mr. Schuler? Or just an amateur one?”

  “Say a clumsy one. He goes after women because he’s not good enough to get a wallet out of a man’s coat.”

  “And glom?”

  “Glom is the snatch. Like a guy who snatches a lady’s purse and runs up an alley.”

  “I noticed you used it as both a noun and a verb.”

  “Yeah? Huh.”

  “And is a gink someone who creates the distraction for the claw?”

  “Well, a gink’s just a gink. Just some fellow who’s not too smart.”

  “So, it doesn’t denote a particular vocation.”

  “Ah, no. Not that.”

  “Do these men make much money?”

  “Sure, the good ones. Say he got in that lady’s bag without her seeing. She wouldn’t notice until after she got on the train, or maybe not until she got wherever she’s going. She wouldn’t even remember him bumping into her. So now the crew can mope over to another station, or maybe the wharf. Then tomorrow they might go up to the Falls—lots of people lining up there. There might be a cop that sees them, but what can he do? Break up the fight and try to get the crowd moving. But if the chumps don’t squawk, how can the cop spot the claw? In New York, you never have to leave town. Just move to a different precinct.”

  “Are you from New York, Mr. Schuler?”

  He was. And he held Emmie’s rapt attention for the next hour with the story of his life. And while it has to be said that Whitey had led a colorful life, Emmie’s enthrallment seemed excessive. Frankly, it bordered on the schoolgirlish. Needless to say, there was no place for me in the conversation. A paving stone to the head isn’t of the same rank as a sentence of six months on Blackwell’s Island.

  So I spent the time studying the photograph Emmie had brought along. It was of the four officers of the Elevator Company, taken in 1893. Mason was tall, trim, and clean-shaven. His hair and eyes were dark. Of course, he could be fat with graying hair and a full beard now. Elwell was medium height, maybe even short, and stout. His hair was already graying in the photo. Then there was General Osgood and the original treasurer. Emmie couldn’t remember his name, but did know he had died soon after the photo was taken.

  As we were passing through Niagara Falls, Whitey pulled out a deck of cards. He let Emmie shuffle them and then dealt out two hands: four kings and a queen to her, and four aces and a ten to himself. He then taught her how to palm them without being detected. She was a quick study. By the time we pulled into the little station at Niagara-on-the-Lake, she was well qualified to cheat her way through the local whist tournament.

  We quickly found the Queen’s Royal Hotel and there I inquired if a Mr. Sedley had arrived yet. He hadn’t. Then I asked about Whitner and Sadie. I described them as well, saying they might have just stopped by. I couldn’t very well tell the clerk they’d be using assumed names.

  Meanwhile, Whitey was asking another clerk for a sheet on the races next week. Then he stepped out onto the porch to read it. Emmie followed him, probably for some lessons on playing the horses. With them both away I inquired about Charlie and Charles Senior, but with no more success than before. I could see the register clearly, but I wouldn’t have recognized the scrawl of any of them. I asked when the next train would be arriving and was told there wouldn’t be any more that day, but a boat from Lewiston would be arriving at six o’clock. Lewiston was just up the river, below the Falls. If Sadie’s trip to Rochester was a ruse, she might take a train back west that would stop in Lewiston. Whitner might just be laying low until Mason showed up. The electric cars didn’t make it this far, so the only other route running up from Niagara Falls was the road. Someone taking a train there could hire a carriage and show up at any time.

  When I went out to confer with my confederates, Emmie was near the door and Whitey at the end of the veranda. I called over to Whitey and suggested we split up and canvass the town for Whitner. Emmie suggested she would go with Whitey since he was least familiar with Whitner. We agreed to meet back at the hotel just before the boat was due to dock.

  It didn’t take long to walk through the commercial district of Niagara-on-the-Lake. I took a seat on the patio of a small cafe and enjoyed a glass of beer—keeping an eye on the road from the
south. There was an occasional farm wagon, and a carriage or two, but nobody I knew was on them.

  At a quarter to six we were all at the hotel again, no one having seen anything of note.

  “I don’t think we should all be standing around waiting for the boat—it’d be too easy to spot us,” Whitey pointed out.

  “I suppose you’re right. I’ll go and try to find a discreet spot to watch from,” I said.

  “No, I’ll go. I’m the one he doesn’t know. Leave Emmie here and you go watch the road. That way I won’t have to worry about you giving me the slip by hopping on the boat.”

  I agreed and we each went to our designated station. It wasn’t until I was back at the cafe enjoying another glass of beer that I became conscious of Whitey having called Emmie Emmie. Things must have progressed some in the half hour we were apart.

  From my vantage point, I couldn’t see the dock. But I did see a stream of people going toward it and ten minutes later another stream coming away from it. Then I remembered Whitey’s other comment, about me slipping away. If I wanted to go south, I wouldn’t need to take the boat down to Lewiston, I could just hire a carriage. I had a vague feeling that I’d been had.

  I walked down to the now-empty dock, and then back to the hotel. Emmie was practicing card tricks on a corner of the veranda.

  “Has Whitey been back?” I asked.

  “No, but a number of people did come up from the boat. I didn’t see Mr. Whitner, and I’m fairly certain Miss Parker wasn’t among them, but I’ve only seen her that once, last night.”

  “I’m afraid, Miss McGinnis, that he has given us the slip.”

  “Mr. Whitner?”

  “Well, Mr. Whitner, too. But I was speaking of Mr. Schuler.”