The Pearl Dagger

by L. A. Chandlar

  I sat down in my chair and got out my notebook. “All right. What do we have? What started it all?”

  He shook his head as he thought. “Let’s go over the details. I think we need to go back to that really busy day when we were at the West 100th Street police station and the relief station downtown. Maybe it was a person who was there, maybe it was something we did that triggered everything and set it into motion.”

  “Okay. So we got up to the police station . . .” We carefully went over everything, every step of the way. “But Eugene Murk. How does he fit into this? It just can’t be coincidence that he was at the station and then at the shooting.”

  “I agree, Lane. But I don’t see how or why he’d be that motivated to shoot one of us.”

  A light knock came at the door of Fio’s office and we both turned toward it. The door was open; Morgan and Dead Shot Mary were standing there.

  Fio said, “Hello, Miss Shanley! Catch any grifters lately?”

  “Ah, just a couple. But last week I got four pickpockets,” she said with one hand on her hip.

  “Excellent. So, you two look like you have something to say.”

  Morgan stepped forward a bit and said, “When we were just talking, I had been asking Mary about some of her techniques. She told me a few, then there’s one you need to hear.” She nodded her head toward us and raised her eyebrows, underlining the importance of something Mary was about to reveal.

  Mary took a seat and calmly laid her hands in her lap, readying herself to tell the story. “So, I’d been tailing a guy. He wasn’t my usual suspect, but I saw him on the street on my way to Herald Square. Didn’t seem right. Shifty. He had all the tells of someone who was trying to lay low and doing a bad job of it. I spotted him a mile away. So you know, I did my usual. I followed him nonchalantly all the way over to Hell’s Kitchen at 46th and Eleventh.”

  Fio said knowingly, “Oh.”

  She nodded ominously. “Mm. I thought he was going to go to the Landmark Tavern. Y’know, all that Irish gang stuff there. But he didn’t. He went into the little deli next door.”

  “Where Peter was killed,” I said.

  Mary nodded. “Yes, but I had no idea of that until talking with Morgan. In the papers, I hadn’t caught that it was that deli.”

  Fio piped in, “So what did you see? Or hear?”

  “I felt I was still pretty invisible. No one pays attention to a housewife who’s shopping,” she said with a smug grin.

  “Or a street kid,” said Morgan. Mary turned and winked at her.

  “So I waited a few minutes, went into a different store, then headed into that deli,” explained Mary. “I didn’t hear much, but now that we can put this all together, maybe it will shed some light on the whole situation we have here. The guy I tailed was talking with a greasy, smarmy-looking guy who looked like the owner or maybe the manager of the place. He worked the register and hung his keys up after he’d opened a side door that looked like a storage closet. He was kind of skinny and a bit of a hunched stance, had a small paunch. They were getting louder as I entered, oblivious to a couple of us patrons. One lady left on the double, reading between the lines that it might not be too safe to remain in there. I pretended to be enthralled with the selection of bread.

  “That’s when they started to get even more boisterous and angry. I patted my purse, knowing I could get my revolver easily if I needed it. Neither of them were packing, but I couldn’t be sure if they had a gun stashed behind the counter. And other than yelling at each other, they hadn’t done anything wrong.”

  Fio had his arms folded on his desk, listening intently, nodding once in a while. The sleazy, smarmy guy with the paunch had to be Eugene Murk.

  “So the bigger guy who I tailed says he thinks the other guy went too far. It was only going to ‘poke the bear’ even more. The other guy said that it was fine. He’d gotten pushed around by that—sorry, Mr. La Guardia—that mocky-dago mayor enough. That he’d have the city quaking in their boots. Especially next time.”

  I was leery that her repetition of those two horrible ethnic slurs about Fio, the fact that he was Jewish and Italian, might cause a C3. I braced myself, already writing a small C3 on a piece of paper, ready to toss it to Valerie so she could notify the rest of the office to prepare for battle.

  But in my preparation for that possible outcome, I hadn’t caught what Mary had really said. Fio did.

  “Next time . . .” he repeated in a solemn whisper.

  CHAPTER 39

  Mary nodded. “Yeah. Next time.”

  “So the owner of the shop, your oily guy, sounds like Eugene Murk. I have a mug shot of him that we can confirm. Can you describe what the other man looked like?” asked Fio. “Maybe it’s the Crusher. He’s been involved in these pinball scams from the get-go.”

  “Sure. I don’t know what the Crusher looks like, but I can give you a description and if you have a mug shot of him, too, I can confirm it with that. White male, brown short hair, probably in his thirties or early forties . . .”

  “Was he teeny tiny?” I interrupted, mimicking Roarke’s description of the Crusher back when we were following him.

  Mary grunted a laugh. “No, actually. A sort of hefty guy, just under six feet. He was smoking a cigar and wearing a derby hat. Mean-looking son of a gun.”

  Fio erupted, “A derby hat? Mean? I bet that’s my S of a B!”

  “What?” asked Mary, confused.

  “Yeah, maybe he’s the mean guy from the relief station. Do you think he’s the guy in charge? Maybe that’s Cushman?” I asked.

  “You mean like the bread?” asked Mary.

  “What do you mean, like the bread?” I asked.

  “You know. The big bread company. Cushman. The deli had a shelving unit full of it,” said Mary.

  “Oh my God. Cushman,” I said, rubbing my forehead in disbelief. “Murk made up that name to throw us off the scent,” I said exasperatedly. “I’d knocked a bunch of bread off the shelf that night when I shoved him up against the wall.”

  “Shoved him up against the wall?” asked Mary with a glimmer of approval in her eyes.

  “You should see what she can do with a knife,” said Morgan with a wry smile.

  “All right,” said Fio. “So the derby hat guy sounds like a lead we need to follow up on. Lane, call the relief station, get his name. Then I’ll notify the police to let them know he’s a person of interest. It might not be him, there are a lot of derby hats in the city. But like I always say, I don’t believe in coincidences and we ran into him that same day. The day I fired him.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  The current and future NYPD female detectives were grinning smugly. “Nice job, you two,” I said, impressed. We wrapped up the meeting and I told them to notify the mayor or Finn if they thought of anything else.

  The snow was really coming down. As I looked out the window and my fingertips scratched little bits of collected frost from the edges of the cold metal window, I could see a lot of businesses closing up shop early. The sun had set by five. The sky had an orangey-gray glow as the city lights danced with the nighttime light and lit up the falling snow, which gave me a fun idea. I made a quick call, cleaned up my desk, and headed uptown.

  I ran up the front steps of our townhouse, threw open the door, and patted Ripley’s head. I dashed up to my room and changed into warm trousers, warm socks, and thick snow boots. I clumped back down and over to the kitchen to scavenge some cold chicken from the refrigerator. I went to the front closet and chose my favorite hat and mittens, then set out on my journey.

  “Bye, Ripley! Be back later.”

  I loved walking in falling snow. It was cold but it didn’t sting my eyes. I walked down a block to 79th so that I had a better lit path, then walked west. At Lexington I stopped and waited at the corner. I saw Valerie’s tall form first.

  I waved as she made her way closer.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Lane?” she said, her eyes glittering from
the shine of the nearby lamppost.

  “Sure is. I love snow at night.”

  “I know you do. And last snowstorm, I didn’t go out in it at night. I regretted it all year,” she said.

  “Oh hey, here they come,” I said, pointing to the corner. Over tromped Finn and Roarke looking extra-bulky with all their snow gear and wielding two big sleds. “Hey, guys!”

  Roarke exclaimed, “Hey, girls! Great night!”

  Finn said eagerly, “C’mon! Let’s go!”

  We walked over toward Fifth Avenue and the best sledding spot: Cedar Hill. During the day, it was utter chaos trying to sled. For some strange reason, New Yorkers didn’t care one iota for sledding etiquette. They’d sled straight down the hill. Wherever they stopped, they’d turn around and climb back up. Even in the middle of the hill with hundreds of people careening down at breakneck speed! One time Valerie almost took out a two-year-old and when she yelled toward the parent to tell her kid to walk up the side of the hill, the parent just gave an elaborate shrug like there was nothing that could be done about it.

  We walked into Central Park, and it was like walking into a wonderland worthy of Jules Verne. The snow blanketed every surface of every tree, bench, and bridge. The lampposts dotted the walkways with orange halos and the snow muffled the city sounds, making us feel like we were protected and shielded somehow. Something about it made all four of us quiet as we looked around and took it all in. I inhaled the crisp air, settling the moment down in a permanent place to cherish.

  The four of us walked down the path to the bottom of the main hill, just a few other sledders were out. The camaraderie of the city never ceased to amaze me. For such a thrilling, energetic, heavily populated city, it had a friendly small-town feel at times.

  The funny thing was that all the sledders were adults. One guy finished up a run and came over to us giving a full report on the sledding conditions. Finn and Roarke were taking it in solemnly as if an Olympic medal were at stake. Valerie and I exchanged a grin.

  We all huffed up the hill and took a moment to look down the wide expanse, panting a little bit. The whole park was framed by sparkling buildings with windows of orange light blinking down at us. The trees were black and white with their heavy frosting of snow and cars snaked their way down Fifth Avenue, the scent of wood smoke in the air.

  “Let’s go, Lane!” exclaimed Finn, patting the back of the toboggan. I pushed his back to get us rolling while he paddled his hands against the snow, then I jumped on. We swept down the hill followed by Roarke and Val. The wind stung my face just a bit, the snow kissed my eyelashes, and the thrill of the speed made my stomach tingle.

  I heard Valerie laughing and delightedly screaming as I looked over at them where they started to spin near the bottom of the hill. They both were madly paddling the toboggan to turn it the right way, only making things worse because they were laughing so hard. A young couple taking a walk along the path at the end of the main hill dodged them as they waved and yelled like crazy to get out of the way. The couple was clearly enjoying their antics and, in the spirit of the city camaraderie, asked Val and Roarke if they could take a turn on the sled since they didn’t have one.

  “Sure!” said Val agreeably. There was just something fun and beguiling about sharing a good moment with a stranger. Val needed a minute to get her breath back, so we let the guys use Finn’s sled.

  I eyed Val in the semidarkness and she looked good. In fact, she looked happy. Happier than I’d seen her in a while. She was generally a cheery person, but the last few months, even before Peter died, she’d been dialed down a bit, subdued. I hadn’t really noticed it as the days went by, but looking back at a large chunk of time, I could see it.

  “You look great, Val,” I said. “You seem . . . really happy.”

  She looked at me and nodded. “I am happy. This is really fun.”

  “I heard you had to take a few days off of work after Peter died; are you doing okay?”

  “Oh yeah. I was just tired and I got a little cold. I figured after all that . . . I should just take a few days off.” I narrowed my eyes at her. I almost believed her. But before I could ask anything else, she said, “Here come the guys!”

  She ran a few yards away, laughing and cheering. The two boys in men’s bodies were racing down the hill like professional lugers. It reminded me of our time in Michigan when Finn and I went sledding with a group of young kids in town. When they got to the bottom, Finn quickly pulled his pocketwatch out and exclaimed, “New record!”

  I walked over to Val. “I guess everything is more fun if you time it.”

  Val snorted a laugh. “Naturally.”

  After several more runs, we were out of breath and my legs were wobbly. We decided to head back to my place for sustenance. The exertion of climbing up the hill a dozen times mixed with the ethereal beauty of the night made all of us quieter than usual as we took the time to just enjoy it.

  Back at my place, we shed our gear in the foyer. Ripley was delirious that so many of his friends were over. My cheeks were cold, and the snow on my eyelashes melted, dripping down and tickling my nose. I got us a few towels to dry off the excess water and we made our way to the back of the house to the kitchen.

  Mr. Kirkland had left a large pot of vegetable soup simmering on the stove for us. I went to dish some up and Finn got out four beers for us. We all sat down to the simple, delicious meal at our scrubbed pine table. We chitchatted and enjoyed the night. As we relaxed, thoughts about the case started to infiltrate the ease of the night.

  I filled them in on Dead Shot Mary’s new piece of evidence. That Murk was definitely in on Pete’s shooting even though we only had circumstantial evidence, and that he’d planted the Cushman name.

  As Finn gave it some thought, he set his elbows on the table and said contemplatively, “You know . . . there’s someone who is usually in the middle of all our cases who has been extremely quiet as of late.”

  Val scrunched her nose and asked, “Who?”

  “Uncle Louie,” said Finn.

  Roarke’s eyebrows went up. “Huh. You’re right. I wonder why that is.”

  “Well, he was in the news a few weeks back about a subordinate who’d gotten caught stealing from him,” I said as I visibly shivered. “I can’t imagine who would cross him. That’s a dangerous game to be playing.”

  Val asked, “So when you’re in a gang like that, what do you do to get out?”

  Roarke said grimly, “You don’t.”

  Finn nodded. “Yeah, sometimes you can pay your way out. But it’s not usually money that’s required.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Val.

  “Usually it’s a finger. Or something awful like that. It’s to signify your own sacrifice to get out and to remind you to keep your secrets. If not, they’ll come take the rest.”

  My eyes shifted back to Val; she looked a bit queasy.

  Roarke didn’t notice and said, “But usually, once you’re in, you’re in. Forever.” He took a last spoonful of his soup, then said, “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh. Ah, just thinking of the guy who double-crossed Uncle Louie. I wondered if he’d been stealing money to make a getaway or something.”

  I said, “Well, it’d be good to check out Venetti’s latest activity. It is odd that he’s been out of the picture. It’s possible he was just laying low after that press coverage. But, Finn, he has roots in the slot machines, right? Isn’t that where he made his fortune?”

  “Yep. Exactly. And Fio’s been working against those since he came into office.”

  “I know. He hasn’t done much of his sledgehammer stunts recently. Been too cold.” I snickered.

  Roarke just shook his head. “Our mayor sure has a good sense for dramatic publicity stunts.”

  “You can say that again,” I exclaimed.

  Finn said, “So, I’ll check on your derby hat guy from the relief station and see if he has ties with Venetti. He seems to pop up at some pretty interesting moments. If
we find out who he works with, we’ll know a lot.”

  I said, “I called the relief station, and he goes by Mr. Wulf. We’d better check on Eugene Murk’s ties, too. He’s smarter than he looks.” My ego still smarted from falling for his fake Cushman name. “Murk and Mr. Wulf are working together, but we really don’t know who’s leading who or if they’re equal partners.”

  “You know what, Lane?” said Finn. “I’m going to check in with Big Sam. I feel like he recently made a couple of arrests having to do with slots and underground gaming . . . maybe he has information for us.”

  “Great idea. Plus, we need to go dancing again.” I smiled to myself, thinking of a date with Finn.

  We wrapped up our meeting. Roarke and Finn walked Val home on their way to the subway station. Finn said he had a plan for our date and that he’d pick me up after work the next day. He had a little surprise first, then we’d meet up with the gang at the Savoy. I looked forward to seeing Sam and Florence. My muscles hadn’t had a good dance workout since Finn and I did that energetic reel in England. I’d have to rest up if I was going to dance with Big Sam again.

  CHAPTER 40

  The snow may have slowed the city down a little bit; Fio had closed the schools for the day, but not the mayor’s office. Fio expected us to get to work come hell or high water. This was not of high opinion with his commissioners but we office staff knew to just plan on a longer commute.

  I opted to take the Lexington line down to City Hall versus the elevated trains on Second and Third. The snow had stopped for the most part, but had left a thick blanket of about a foot of snow. The streets were quiet, and I enjoyed the clean white snow with the glint of sunshine making it a cheery scene. I walked down Lexington to 77th, passed the Butterfield Bakery, and took the stairs down. It was icy and I wore my knee-high snowproof boots, so I was warm and dry. I clomped down the stairs, threw in my token, and burst through the turnstile with my bulky coat and large bag.