“I... suppose that’s what one would call him,” I replied stiffly. “Yes.”
He nodded slowly and, balancing his tea precariously on his knee, scribbled away again on his notepad. He then set the pad aside and picked up his tea but didn’t drink it.
“Miss MacClare, what do you remember about that night?” Detective Emerson probed before finally taking a sip of his tea.
Frowning slightly, chewing the inside of my cheek as I thought back to that night, I closed my eyes and waited for the images that never seemed to leave me alone.
Everything. “I was with Frankie most of the evening,” I finally answered, opening my eyes slowly to find the detective’s fixed unerringly on me. “I barely saw Mimi after we got there.”
“And when did you last see her?” he inquired.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. I let my shoulders rise and fall. “It must have been around ten or so when we saw her. I told Frankie we should follow her.”
The detective leaned forward, his tea sloshing ominously close to the edge of the tea cup.
“What made you go after her?” he wanted to know.
I scratched my forearm absentmindedly, thinking as I said, “Well, she looked scared—and angry, too. Someone was following her; I saw him going after her. That’s what made me go after her.”
“And this man, do you remember what he looked like?” Detective Emerson asked, setting the tea aside entirely now before leaning forward eagerly.
I started to shake my head before an image of a man popped into my head and I stopped.
Closing my eyes in an effort to draw a clear image of him, I slowly said, “He had shoulder-length hair, light brown and very greasy looking. And he was tall and extremely skinny.”
“Had you ever seen him before?”
Weeks ago. “No.”
The detective wrote something down then looked back up at me.
“What did you see or hear when you followed Miss Waters outside?”
I felt myself stiffen at his words and I felt an invisible wall go up, as if to shield me from the truth. But I couldn’t protect myself from my own memory.
“Miss MacClare?” Detective Emerson prompted. He sighed and, when he spoke again, it was in a gentler tone. “I know this is very difficult for you, but it is imperative that we get as much information as we possibly can. It is the only way we will be able to capture your friends killer.”
“She shouted at him,” I finally said through numb lips. “She must have known him, too. She seemed a little offended, too, that it was him. I kept following her and then she screamed—”
I broke off, remembering. I felt cold, as if I had been doused in icy water. I shivered as the memory of Mimi’s screams echoed through my mind.
“The man came back out. He hit me and I fell over.” I lifted my eyes to the detective and saw nothing but concentration in his eyes. There was no sympathy, no sorrow for what I had gone through. Somehow, it steadied me and I drew in a deep breath and went on. “I went into the alley because she was still down there. And then my foot hit something and I told Frankie to get a flashlight. He did and... and that’s when...”
My voice faltered and I squeezed my eyes shut, Mimi’s blank, blood splattered face staring at me.
“Miss MacClare, I understand how difficult this must be.” The detective’s voice was surprisingly gentle and, cautiously, I opened my eyes to see him watching me with concern. “You don’t have to describe what exactly you saw. It’s unnecessary. But tell me: did you know of anybody who would want to hurt Miss Waters? Perhaps a an old sweetheart or a family member?”
I started to shake my head, a hand lifted to my eyes to wipe at tears that had sprang up when I couldn’t speak anymore. But then I remembered Mr. Basso and my hand dropped limply back to my lap.
“She was seeing a bootlegger,” I said flatly and I saw Detective Emerson sit up straighter, almost eagerly. “It’s the man who owns the speakeasy we were at. Mimi told me he had politicians eating out of his hands, even some police officers worked for him. I saw them myself when I went.”
Detective Emerson leaned forward, his eagerness visible now.
“Miss MacClare, do you happen to know this man’s name?” he wondered.
“His name is Basso.”
Chapter 11
Promising to return the next day, Detective Emerson left and as soon as the front door was shut behind him, Mama was barging into the sitting room to see if I was alright.
“You look as though you need a drink,” Mama remarked, her eyes glinting with mischief as she crossed the room to a cabinet of books that were sealed off by a pair of diamond paned glass doors.
The cabinet held my father’s first editions and I was half tempted to ask her what she doing, but all I wanted was to be left alone. I wanted to be able to try and deal with what I had witnessed and what I now had to face, but at the sound of my mother pulling something heavy from the cabinet, I realized that that was not going to happen.
“I have tea,” I pointed out, my voice emotionless as she passed behind me.
She came round into my line of vision and I saw, to my complete surprise, a decanter of brandy in her hands.
Pressing a finger to her lips, she set the brandy down then hurried from the room only to return a few moments later with two medium-sized glasses.
She poured us both a glass then clinked her against mine before she drained her own.
I didn’t touch my own brandy. I was far too astonished that my mother had a hidden stash of brandy in my father’s first edition book cabinet to even think about drinking it.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Mama said over the rim of her glass. Her eyes were still twinkling and it very nearly pulled a smile out of me. “Did you honestly think that I would have gotten rid of my brandy and wine just because the government told me to?” She laughed. “There are plenty of things you don’t know about me, Hazel. This isn’t even the half of it.”
Normally, I would have pressed her for more, but instead, I turned my glass in my hands, staring down at the murky liquid.
“You’re crackers,” I said after a moment, lifting my eyes to her.
Mama took a pointed sip of her brandy then smacked her lips appreciatively. The gesture reminded me strongly of the night Mimi took me out to the Golden Sparrow for the first time and tried to get me to drink a sidecar. It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time just thinking about it.
“You’ll get better,” Mama promised me gently, seeing the expression on my face. “One day—I couldn’t tell you when—you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt so much. But for now, it’s going to be unbearable.”
“It feels like when Papa died,” I said, my voice breaking with suppressed emotion. My eyes stung and my throat burned with the unshed tears. “It feels exactly like that.” And just like before, I wanted to know why. Why him? Why Mimi? Why were they the ones who had to die while I had to live without them? My two favorite people, ripped from me years before they should have been. And I will never see them again.
Mama was silent and I looked up to see her watching me closely, her dark eyes pained.
I looked away, unable to bear her pity. At least the detective hadn’t pitied me. It had made his questioning bearable.
Setting aside my glass of untouched brandy, I pushed myself to my feet and excused myself.
Once safely inside my room, I locked the door and dropped across my bed and did not move until the next afternoon at the sound of Detective Emerson’s promised return.
He met me in the sitting room and the tea, I saw, was already laid out.
Mama trailed after me into the room, but at the detective’s pointed look, she let out an annoyed huff and stepped reluctantly back out, closing the door softly behind her.
“Miss MacClare, is there any way we can be certain that your mother is not listening?” he asked bluntly as he settled down into my chair.
I glanced towards the door and, as if I could s
ee right through it, imagined Mama with her ear pressed against it, Danielle hovering anxiously behind her.
They cared about me and it warmed my heart to know that, but if whatever the detective needed to talk to me about was something that wasn’t meant for anyone else, then I would have to be certain that it was just the two of us.
Striding to the door, I wrenched it open and found Mama standing on the other side, bold as brass with her arms crossed over her chest and Danielle just behind her, head hung in shame.
“Mama, please,” I said irritably. “Let the detective talk to me in peace.”
“Surely I have the right to know what you’re talking to my daughter about,” Mama said hotly, looking over my shoulder at Detective Emerson.
“Madam, I don’t wish to be rude,” Detective Emerson said and I heard him approach, “but this part of the questioning is rather delicate and extremely confidential. I cannot risk anyone overhearing.”
When Mama did not move, I touched a hand to her arm, my eyes pleading.
“Please, Mama.” Just go.
Mama glanced back at me and I watched her fury deflate. She sighed in defeat, shot one last withering look at the detective, then beckoned Danielle to follow her.
I closed the sitting room door and turned back to face the detective, an apology ready on my lips but, to my surprise, he was already waving it off.
“Don’t worry, Miss MacClare,” Detective Emerson said dismissively as we took our seats again. “It isn’t unusual for family members to be concerned.”
“I do wish she would just let us get on with it,” I admitted and he flashed me a smile.
“Indeed.” He eyed me and I noticed for the first time that his eyes crinkled in the corners when he was amused.
“What more did you need to ask me, sir?” I inquired when he made no attempt to speak.
“It’s a tricky business, Miss MacClare, one that requires a great deal of thought and even more discretion.” Emerson lounged back in my chair, his left ankle propped up on his right knee as he watched me closely. “And it involves the bootlegger, Basso.”
My brow knitted together in confusion.
“What about him?” I wondered. “He wasn’t the one who murdered Mimi. It was that other man, that greasy one.”
Detective Emerson nodded slowly. “Yes, Miss MacClare, I know.” He smirked. “But what I want with Basso is more important.”
I gaped in shock and fury at his words.
What could possibly be more important than getting the man who murdered my best friend?
“I see your surprise, Miss MacClare, and I must beg your pardon,” he said, his tone reassuring though I felt anything but. “The truth of this is simple: Basso is a man who has spent the better part of a decade importing illegal goods, stealing, torturing, and, to be blunt, murdering. But he hasn’t been stopped because by the time we’d managed to catch up to him, he had a booming business with customers like the ones you sat next to in his little club. He has them eating from his hand and I can’t even mention him at the stationhouse without someone brushing me off.”
“But what is it that you want with me, then?” I asked him bluntly.
Detective Emerson appeared mildly impressed at my forwardness and sat even further back in his chair, studying me.
“I want you to help me catch him,” he finally said, his tone matter-of-fact.
I laughed then but when I saw that he was serious, the laughter died on my lips and I sat a little straighter, my eyes wide with understanding.
“H-how on earth can I possibly help you?” I was stunned, unsure of what to even think at what he was suggesting. What could I do that the police hadn’t already tried?
Here, Detective Emerson sat forward and, planting both his feet on the floor, rested his elbows on his knees before fixing his gaze directly on mine.
“You wouldn’t be brought into this officially,” he explained, his voice low now. I knew he feared my mother would still be listening and now that I knew what he wanted, I feared the same. What would she do if she found out what the detective was asking me? “Not one single person outside of our small group would know of your involvement. I already have a few loyal men infiltrating Basso’s network. They do whatever he wants them to. I would ask the same of you.”
“But why me?” Another thought crossed my mind and I felt my face harden slightly. “And how do you know I wouldn’t run and tell him what you’ve just told me? We don’t know each other, detective. Telling me anything is a little reckless.”
The detective shrugged. “It is. But I can see that you want justice, Miss MacClare. By doing this, you will get it. And you will save many others.”
“How could I help you?”
“Miss MacClare, I knew your friend’s situation was precarious,” he admitted, looking somewhat sheepish at the confession. “My informant miscalculated, they underestimated him, and it cost Miss Waters her life. I am determined that she will be his last. That is where you come in, Miss MacClare.”
Why me? “What can I do, though?” I was shaking my head, more confused than ever. And, admittedly, I was terrified at what he was suggesting.
“Your friend was not the first of his women to be killed,” Detective Emerson said bluntly. “She’s only the most recent. Once they outlive their usefulness, he gets rid of them. All of them. And if you don’t help us, then she won’t be his last.”
“But—”
“You know about him,” the detective said quickly. “We can warn you, can prepare you for it. If anyone else gets picked, then they’ll go in and never know what’s waiting for them. By using you, you would get us inside information that even those who have worked their way up the ranks with Basso can’t get. We can utilize you in ways that we couldn’t do any other way.”
His words were beginning to sink in and fury mixed with horror as I began to understand what he was proposing I do.
“You want me to cozy up to a bootlegger and murderer?” My voice was trembling, but not with fear. I was furious that he would even ask this of me. “You want me to hang around with him while he does God knows what to whomever he pleases? You want me to do whatever he asks me to do, regardless of how it’ll affect me? And you expect me to agree to this?” My voice was rising in my anger and some small part of me worried that Mama would overhear and come bursting in, but I hardly cared.
Detective Emerson, for the first time, looked worried.
“Miss MacClare, I swear to you that you will have our protection,” he vowed, “both physically and with the law. Whatever he has you do—my informant tells me he only has his women carry out minor infractions—you will be safe from the law.”
My mouth was pressed into a thin line of fury and my hands were balled into fists.
I wouldn’t. I would not place myself next to a murderer, not for anything. How could he even ask me to do something like that?
But then I thought of Mimi, of how she would still be alive if she had never met Basso and, just as it always had whenever it came to Mimi, my resolve began to crumble. If I could spare someone else the pain I was going through, then shouldn’t I?
I was only mildly surprised that I was even considering it. But I had seen what being around Basso had done to Mimi. What would it do to me?
“Am I able to think this over?” I asked him after a long, tense moment.
“Of course,” Detective Emerson answered, looking hopeful. “You may have as long as you need, though I do ask that you don’t take too long. If we miss our window of opportunity and he takes on another girl, then it’ll be too late.”
I did have prior knowledge, I reasoned, acutely aware of how he was watching me. I wouldn’t be going in blind like the others had, like Mimi had. I could prepare myself for whatever was to come.
“Mimi told me a little of what he was like,” I said quietly and Detective Emerson’s brow furrowed slightly.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, not in so many words,” I amended. “But
I saw the aftermath. I know he had her followed. I know there’s a back room.”
My breathing was rapid now and I was shaking with fear of the unknown.
“As I said, Miss MacClare,” he said, getting to his feet, clearly excusing himself, “take as long as you need. This isn’t a decision that is to be made lightly. I’ll be at the station in Harlem whenever you make your decision.”
I followed him to the door, my mind miles away, and when he bade me goodbye, I attempted to smile back but failed. And then he was gone, leaving me to wonder what on earth he was trying to drag me into.
It took me only three days to make up my mind. I was sure it had already been made up the day Detective Emerson had approached me. And after a swift breakfast, I set out immediately for the stationhouse and Detective Emerson. I tried to ignore the fact that an entire week had passed since Mimi had been killed and only four since her funeral. It felt as though an entire century had passed since I had last spoken to her. It would be another lifetime before I ever saw her again.
Not that I was entirely sold on the idea of God and heaven and our souls going home to a city in the sky, but it was a nice, consoling thought to get you through life and ease fears of death.
Detective Emerson’s office was moderately sized, his large mahogany desk situated in the middle of the room in front of a pair of tall windows that were adorned with only blinds that had been pulled up to let the sunlight in. There were a set of filing cabinets lining the right wall opposite the door and bookshelves on the other side. Directly across from his desk stood a chalkboard which was, at that moment, blank.
My stomach knotted itself into a ball of nerves as I stepped into the stationhouse and I couldn’t stop my hands from twisting as anxiety took over. My mouth was dry, making it incredibly difficult to swallow, and as I stepped into the office, I wondered for the hundredth time since walking out of my house that morning if I was making the right decision.
Detective Emerson greeted me out by the doors a few minutes after I arrived and ushered me back to his office where he offered me a chair before taking his own behind his desk, his expression expectant and hopeful.
The Golden Sparrow Page 15
