The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  I bobbed my head. “I am,” I said, trying to wrack my brain for any mention of hers and Basso’s early days, but I came up empty-handed. She hadn’t said anything about that.

  Robert was shaking his head, looking at me with pure disbelief, though I didn’t miss the way he kept glancing anxiously at Emerson.

  “She’s dead,” Emerson said bluntly. “Basso killed her. He all but confessed to it years ago.”

  I shrugged. “Then he lied, because I’ve talked to her.”

  Robert swore and Emerson scribbled away furiously on one of his papers before him.

  “Why does it matter?”I wondered, looking between the two. “What does Cassandra Brown being alive matter?”

  “Because she’s been missing for years,” Emerson explained tensely.

  I sat up straighter in my seat now, eager to hear what the detective would tell me, to see if Cassandra had been telling the truth and if their stories would match up.

  After all, I thought, she claimed to have been married to an officer who had been eager to get promoted.

  Emerson swallowed and I watched his throat bob nervously.

  He was still pale and, when he paused in writing, I watched his hand tremble slightly.

  Perhaps Dickie was the man sitting across from me.

  Robert looked again to Emerson before turning to me and asking, “You’re quite sure she said her name was Cassandra Brown, Hazel?”

  I nodded once. “Yes, I’m sure.” I didn’t think it was wise to mention the police husband or how she claimed he had tried to kill her since I was starting to think he would-be killer was sitting across from me.

  Emerson now looked to Robert. “He’s never mentioned her before?”

  Robert shook his head fervently. “Never. I had no idea, sir. I doubt anyone knows.”

  “But why keep her alive?” Emerson asked, more to himself than to either me or Robert. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Robert and I stayed silent and I guessed we each had our reasons. Him, because he might reveal too much, and me, because I wanted to know if he would say more.

  But when he said no more, I asked, “Well, aside from her being alive when she’s supposed to be dead, what’s the big deal about her? Surely, when this is all over, we can reunite her with her husband? I’m sure he’s missing her a great deal, what with not knowing her true fate and all.”

  Emerson scratched his chin, his expression thoughtful as he took a moment before responding.

  “Cassandra was with Basso at the start,” he said and I nodded, though I was now curious to hear what tales he would weave. “She attempted to cross him. She’d tried to steal his clients and take them to an opposing bootlegger. When Basso found out, he had the bootlegger and any man associated with him killed and—or so we thought—Cassandra for betraying him.”

  “She is single-handedly responsible for one of the biggest massacres of a criminal network to date,” Robert added.

  My frown deepened.

  That didn’t add up at all to what Cassandra had told me. Could I trust her? And ever since Frankie had been voicing his own doubts about the detective, I wasn’t entirely sure I was inclined to believe him anymore. How did I know if Cassandra was lying? Why would she lie to me in the first place? She didn’t know who I was or that I was working with Emerson. She wouldn’t have any reason at all to lie to me, which led me to believe that it was the detective who was lying, not Cassandra.

  My eyes flicked to Robert.

  And he was covering for the detective.

  “Well, she certainly told me something different,” I said after a while, offering a small smile.

  Emerson gave me a pitying look while Robert laughed mirthlessly.

  “She lied,” he said. “Since they knew each other for so long, it’s most likely he locked her up because of their past. He couldn’t bring himself to kill her.”

  I slumped back in my seat, making a show of looking defeated.

  Someone was lying, I told myself as I stared at Emerson, who seemed to have regained his color and composure once I pretended to believe myself to have been taken in by a mad woman.

  “We’ll get her once we’ve got Basso,” Robert was saying in a low voice to Emerson, who was toying with his fountain pen. His expression was still a little tense and when he met my gaze, he pursed his lips.

  “Hazel, be on your guard,” he advised. “Robert has been doing very well with keeping Basso distracted. I know his punishment was difficult, but try and keep your head down from now on. We don’t want you to get into any more trouble. If you test him even one more time, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

  I nodded in understanding. “I wouldn’t dare dream of it.”

  He offered me a smile then got to his feet. I did the same.

  “I don’t expect to speak to you again until this over,” Emerson said, looking somewhat regretful. “If we do meet, of course, it will most likely be because something terrible has happened. And be careful, Hazel. Don’t anger him, don’t toy with him. Do whatever he asks.”

  “Including torture and murder?” I asked under my breath.

  “Even that,” Robert replied gruffly.

  My throat suddenly felt tight and tears stung my eyes as I imagined all the horrors I might face before it was all over.

  “Easy for you to say,” I said, voice thick with the unshed tears. I had no idea where the tears were coming from, but it was getting harder with every passing day to keep them at bay. “This is your job. You signed up for this. I didn’t expect that I would be told to torture and kill and sleep with the man.” A tear slipped past my defenses and I brushed it away angrily.

  No more tears, I had told myself weeks ago. And I had meant it.

  “I didn’t sign up for this,” I said, voice stronger and eyes significantly drier when I met Emerson’s gaze. “I wanted to bring him to justice, sure. I wanted him to pay for killing Mimi. But that was it.”

  “I can’t tell you that it’ll be alright,” Emerson confessed while Robert rocked back on his heels, watching me closely through narrowed eyes. “But I can tell you that it’ll be worth it.”

  I put my hand on the doorknob.

  “It better be,” I said before stalking from the office and through the station house.

  At what point was I allowed to say that it was all too much? How many times did I have to beg the detective to let me go free? If he was close, then surely he should be able to hide me away until it was all over? I was facing a task that was far more difficult than I had ever anticipated that it would be. I thought I would have just had some drinks with Basso, watched him torture and kill a few people, and that was it. But instead, I was doing the torturing and killing and Emerson was doing nothing. I didn’t know how much more I could handle and I knew the detective was losing faith in me, too.

  And why shouldn’t he? I asked myself as I meandered through the streets of Harlem. I had killed Al, which had put me in great deal of danger. I was just a young girl who was now starting to be more of a hassle than anything.

  I smiled absentmindedly at passersby, my feet automatically carrying me home. The summer sun beat down on me with unforgiving me heat. Sweat was beading down my forehead and was beginning to trickle down my back. Though July had just begun, summer was in full swing and was starting to suffocate the city with its heat.

  My mind wandered to simpler days of when my mother and I sat in the sitting room, her doing her needlework while I practiced some new piece Mr. Weeks had given me. I let memories flood me of the days when my father was still alive and let my dance on his feet with the gramophone crackling in the background.

  Pulling myself from my memories, I was surprised to find myself standing at the foot of my father’s grave, staring down at the parched grass covering his grave.

  A light breeze was picking up as I crouched down, running my fingers gently over his engraved name.

  Would I have done what I did in the name of justice if Papa were still alive?
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  A sharp stab of guilt sliced through me and I slowly straightened up. I was ashamed to even be standing at his grave, worried that he could sense all the horrible acts I had committed in the last few months.

  Would he still love me, murderess though I was?

  I thought so. I hoped so.

  But I would never know. I would never know what my father thought of me, would never know if he was proud of me or if he still loved me. I would always be left wondering what a life with my father would have like. All the endless possibilities, the different futures. Would I have still become the person I am now or would I have been someone else entirely?

  Death stole many things, not just those you loved. It stole millions of moments, thousands of conversations. It stole possibilities and the hope of a better future.

  Inhaling deeply, I lingered a moment longer, praying Papa didn’t know what I had done, then stepped away, my eyes jumping automatically towards Mimi’s grave—only to find a small figure standing there.

  I crossed quietly over to the grave and the closer that I got, the more certain I was that I was seeing Mimi herself.

  But no, I thought as I drew nearer. This woman had longer hair, a rounder frame, and a shorter stature. She was not Mimi, but nor was she Mrs. Waters.

  I had forgotten just how much Leah had looked like Mimi.

  I called her name and watched her whip around, eyes wide with alarm. But then she squinted against the sunlight, looking perplexed. Then recognition dawned on her face and a small smile flitted across her features before worry took its place.

  “Hazel?” she inquired hesitantly as I approached. “Goodness, I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

  I nodded once, eyebrows raised slightly.

  “Yes,” I said, my voice surprisingly cold, even to my ears. I supposed my bitterness with Leah went deeper than I had thought. “We missed you at the funeral.”

  Leah dug the toe of her shoe into the brown grass, looking guilty. I thought back to when Mimi had told me the truth about Leah’s absence and took a step away from her.

  “I was sick,” Leah said weakly, the lie sounding feeble even to my ears.

  “Mimi told me you were,” I lied and she looked visibly relieved. “Curiously, though, she never told me what it was you were ill with.”

  “Oh.” Leah waved a hand in dismissal at me. “I was only getting over a terrible bout of the flu. Mama sent me off to the countryside to convalesce.”

  I furrowed my brow, allowing my confusion to show.

  “But you were gone for months,” I pointed out. “Surely you would have been well enough to attend your own sisters funeral?” I glanced obviously at her wider frame then back up to meet her wide gaze. “And surely, one loses weight when they’re sick, not gain it.”

  Leah paled.

  “Curiously, you didn’t come home when you got better, either,” I went on and Leah took a step away from me. “Surely you’re well enough to come home now?”

  “Well, I-I...”

  “You were never sick, Leah,” I said and moved closer to her. “And I know that she sent you money.”

  Her face was bone white now, eyes wide with panic. I took an aggressive step closer and Leah tripped, almost falling in retreat of me.

  “It was something that is disgraceful.” I inched closer, secretly reveling in the power I seemed to have over her. And it seemed to make me feel better to take all my pent up anger and frustration from the last few months out on at least one person who had wronged Mimi. “I know you didn’t run off and marry someone beneath you, so what was it? Something worse, maybe?”

  I dropped my eyes pointedly down to her considerably pudgier stomach then back up to her fear-filled eyes.

  “How is your son? Georgie, isn’t it?”

  Leah let out a wail and dropped to my feet, her face buried in her hands.

  “The money ran out,” she cried and I staggered back, feeling aghast at having gotten the truth out of her so easily. “Mother is still refusing to help me. I have nothing.” She lifted her gaze to me, eyes rimmed red and shining with tears. “I have nothing, Hazel. Nothing to feed my son, nowhere to keep him warm.”

  Injustice at the slight of Leah not caring enough about Mimi dying made me harden against her. I was angry that the death of her sister, who had been keeping her and her son alive, hadn’t been enough for her to come back. Only when her only source of income had run out had she bothered to return.

  “I suppose you’ll have to get a job then,” I said coldly before turning on my heel and striding away, leaving Leah in a sobbing heap at the foot of Mimi’s grave.

  Chapter 23

  I sat on the edge of Basso’s bed while he moved about the room, getting dressed for whatever it was he had to deal with that day. I hadn’t asked and he hadn’t told me. But as I watched him pull on his shirt, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take to finally see him in a jail sail.

  “When will you be back?” I asked him, eyes on my legs. The bruises I had gotten during my beating were finally fading into a disgusting mottled yellow, though they still hurt if I put too much pressure on them.

  “I won’t be back until late,” Basso replied as he buttoned up his shirt. He turned to face me, his hair in his eyes. It disgusted me to my core to know that I found it extremely attractive when he didn’t look as put together as he normally did. “And I don’t expect I’ll be any mood to talk.”

  Talk. I almost snorted but repressed it as he turned back to the mirror hanging on the inside of his wardrobe. He had an interesting idea of what ‘talking’ was.

  “I’ve got a free evening tomorrow,” Basso said, “so you can go home tonight, if you want. But I’ll expect you at my club tomorrow.”

  I nodded, feeling lighter.

  “Try not to look too cheerful.”

  I met his gaze in the reflection and saw him smirking at me. I worked on rearranging my features so that he couldn’t see just how excited I was to go home.

  “Every day that I’m not with you is like torture,” I replied automatically, sliding off the bed and getting to my feet.

  I crossed the room to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek into his back and letting his warmth seep under my skin. I tried to pretend that he was Frankie, but it didn’t work.

  If only I had a knife, then I could finish it all right then and there. I would be free.

  I sighed in quiet defeat that I didn’t have a knife and tightened my arms around him in a show of affection so as not to let him know that I was extremely dissatisfied at not being able to kill him before stepping away.

  “You always surprise me,” he said quietly.

  I was almost back to the bed when I stopped and twisted to look at him.

  “Whenever I think you’re starting to hate me like all the others,” he explained as he put his tie on, “you become just like you were at the start, loving and sweet.” He tightened the knot of his tie then closed the distance between us, putting a finger under my chin and lifting my head so that I had no choice but to meet his gaze.

  Where is the monster now? I heard a voice ask softly. There only seems to be a man who looks genuinely confused at why you’re pulling away.

  “I care about you a great deal.” His voice was gentle and it made me wonder, for the millionth time, if he was more human than I gave him credit for. Could monsters love? “I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you, you know.”

  I flexed my back unconsciously and his other hand closed around my waist before slowly moving upwards over the scarring lashes across my back.

  “Inflicting the pain yourself doesn’t count, then?” I countered, my voice equally soft, and Basso’s expression hardened for a fraction of a second before it relaxed once more.

  “That was a lesson that needed to be taught,” he explained simply. His hand tightened over where a section of the worst lashes were, lashes that hadn’t fully healed yet. Pain ricocheted up my back and I let out a cr
y of pain that nearly brought me to my knees.

  His hand tightened around my chin. “Never cross me again.”

  “Of course,” I said with difficulty. His grip on my chin made it difficult to speak. Tears were blurring my vision as the pain slowly receded.

  When he finally released me, I swayed on the spot then steadied myself as he finished getting dressed. I forced the anger that had risen as he held me back.

  “I’ll be back tonight,” he said, his back to me as he pulled on his coat. “Stay in your room until I return. If you leave, I’ll know.”

  I forced my expression to remain neutral as he turned to face me, though my heart was hammering madly in my chest. Did Cassandra tell him I saw her? Did he know?

  His eyes met mine and I could see the quiet rage in their depths. His smirk was absent for the first time, as if he had magically managed to make his mouth flat like everyone else’s.

  Basso studied me for a moment longer, clicked his tongue absentmindedly, then moved over to me.

  He wrapped his arms around me and I let him, forcing myself to relax into him.

  Sometimes I did forget who he was. I forgot what he had done and why I was there. It scared me that it seemed so easy to lean into his embrace, to rest my head on his chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. With my eyes closed and my ear resting over his heart, I could imagine that he wasn’t the devil in disguise.

  I had seen him be gentle with me. I had watched his eyes soften when he looked at me, had watched him reach for me like it was natural.

  Perhaps he had made a mistake in choosing me, I thought with grim satisfaction. He had thought that he mattered more to me than Mimi. And I let him.

  His hands moved up to cup my face and I leaned back, looking up him, my hands over his.

  I thought he wanted to say something, but then he lowered his mouth to mine and I let myself imagine that he wasn’t the devil I’d been stalking for months.

  Basso pulled away and released me in one swift motion, saying, “Let’s go.”