Tasting the Apple

by Sherilyn Decter

  “All right, you did right by us before with information from the Phantom Informant. I guess we can trust you again with wherever this new information is coming from. Tell me what you know, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  Maggie takes a breath to steady her nerves. “The person who killed Oskar confessed to my friend.”

  Joe slams his hands down on the table, half rising from his chair. “Maggie, that’s great. After all this time, we’re going to be able to close this case. Wait until I give the news to Mrs. Leszek. She calls the Precinct at least once a month to see if there’s any news.”

  “Hang on, Joe. There’s more. The people who were having the conversation, my friend and the potential murderer, were blotto drunk at the time. And it was very noisy. And there may have been drugs involved, so I’m not sure how reliable the confession is.”

  Deflated, Joe considers the situation as Maggie sits there with Frank behind her.

  “We can bring him in for questioning to see if he’ll talk to us. His confession to your friend may be a sign that he wants to come clean. What is his name?”

  “Mercer. Henry Mercer.”

  “From Duffy’s gang? I knew it. It was always a little too convenient that no one from the Duffy crew was involved. Oskar was last seen alive at Duffy’s warehouse, just before the raid. And then, the next time, his body was washed up in the river.”

  “Remind him that Stan works for Duffy,” Frank says for her ears alone.

  “Joe, you must be careful with this information. Oskar’s father works for Mickey, and he’s out on parole. If Alicja finds out, and then it’s the wrong person, she’ll be devastated. And there’s no telling how Stan will react.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Mercer, eh?” Joe grins.

  “Joe. I mean it,” Maggie says, frowning at Joe’s eagerness. She puts a hand on his arm. “Promise me that you’ll look into it discretely.”

  “Okay, I will, Maggie. We’ll bring him in and see what he says about it. Mercer’s always struck me as a tough nut. I’ll imply we have a witness without giving up a name, but I expect that he’ll lawyer up as soon as we nab him. They always do.”

  “I feel better, Joe, knowing that you’re looking into it. The unanswered questions surrounding Oskar’s death have always rankled. That little boy deserves some justice after all this time.”

  “Yes, justice,” says Frank.

  “And we promised we’d do it,” Maggie says, turning to look at Frank.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. What was that?” Joe asks, looking at the blank wall behind Maggie.

  “Nothing, Joe. Sorry. I just have this crick in my neck that I was trying to work out. Thanks for looking into Mercer. Evil triumphs when there is no justice.”

  Chapter 56

  C aptain Ralph Copeland sits outside Colonel Butler’s door. Butler’s secretary had told him the great man himself wanted to see him. He’d heard that Kendrick wasn’t going to renew the contract, but it looks like he must have caved if Butler’s called for him. That rally was the sinker.

  Ralph knows why Colonel Butler wants to see him. A lot of cops have been getting similar calls. His number’s finally up. They must have figured out about the Duffy kickbacks. Will he be fired? Charged? Suspended? It’s gone any number of ways with the other cops Butler’s brought in. If it’s suspension, he’ll get the union to fight it. He won’t go quietly. Going to jail? No way. Not going to happen. They wouldn’t do that to him. He knows where the bodies are buried, literally. The mayor will look after him. A suspension is the way to go. He’s got a little nest egg, and it would give him time to work on other jobs.

  He leans against the wall, takes a deep breath, and tries to relax.

  Butler’s door is closed, but he can still hear the murmurings of a conversation. It sounds like Joe Kelly is in there. Kelly isn’t getting sacked, that’s for sure. Always sucking up to the brass. It was Kelly that got him into all that trouble last year over Mickey’s list. Ralph leans a bit closer to the door, listening harder.

  “I think we have a lead on the Leszek boy’s murder, sir.”

  “Leszek?”

  “It was just after you got here, sir. Spring. 1924. A young boy who had been missing for weeks. Seven years old. They found the body washed up by the river. He’d been shot. The case is still open.”

  “Ah, I remember now. A terrible thing, Sergeant. And you have new information?”

  “Yes, sir. Someone has come forward. They overheard someone admit to shooting the boy. One of Duffy’s lieutenants. A Henry Mercer.”

  “Duffy, eh? Is the witness reliable?”

  “The circumstances are iffy, sir, but it’s worthwhile to bring Mercer in and ask him about it.”

  “Maybe him and the one he talked to, Sergeant? Get them both in, see what happens.”

  “We don’t have the name of that person. Not yet. It was a tip-off.”

  “Well, bring Mercer in for questioning. See if you can get him to say anything before the lawyer shows up.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you want me to jump right on this?”

  “Promptly, but not urgently. We’ve got a few other irons in the fire that need to get wrapped up first. It’s waited this long. And Mercer’s not going anywhere.”

  A chair in the colonel’s office scrapes as it’s pushed back. Kelly must be on his way out. No, wait. They’re still talking. Ralph smiles to himself. Now isn’t that interesting? Maybe his future doesn’t look quite so bleak after all. This will get Mickey’s attention for sure. His meeting with the colonel will have to wait. Standing, he makes for the door, past a startled secretary. He’s gotta talk to Mickey.

  * * * *

  It’s an overcast day, clouds low. Ralph squints at the sky, thinking it might snow. He pulls his overcoat closer, lifting the collar to shield his neck as he waits by his car for Mickey to arrive. He’d called him earlier to tell him he had news about Mercer. Mickey told him to meet him at the warehouse.

  Ralph strolls over to the warehouse door and tugs at it. It’s all locked up. Nobody’s around. Then he spots Mickey’s car approaching.

  Ralph recognizes the driver, John Bricker; Mickey’s outline is in the backseat.

  Mickey unwinds the window. “Copeland. Get in.”

  Ralph climbs into the back seat. The car pulls away.

  “You said you wanted private. That you had news on Mercer. So, spill,” Mickey says.

  Ralph glances at the back of Bricker’s head and shrugs.

  “Kelly went to talk to Butler this morning. You remember Kelly? The cop from last year?”

  “Yeah, I remember Kelly. What did he want with Butler, and what’s it got to do with Henry Mercer?”

  “Turns out they have information on that kid that was killed. Your guy Leszek’s kid.”

  “Really?” Mickey glances out the window.

  “Yeah. They have someone who says the shooter confessed.”

  “Out with it, Copeland. You got good news for Leszek or bad news for me?” Mickey watches the storefronts of Philly roll by.

  “Turns out the shooter was Henry Mercer.”

  Mickey doesn’t respond but continues to stare out the window.

  Ralph turns to Mickey and clears his throat. “Mercer,” he says again.

  “Yeah, I heard ya the first time. Any sense of what they’re going to do with the info?”

  “Sounds like they’re going to haul him in for questioning in the next couple of days.”

  Mickey turns away from Ralph and stares out the car window again, silent.

  “Mickey?” Silence isn’t the reaction that Ralph was expecting.

  “I’m just sitting here thinking about why you’d be telling me this, Copeland. Somethin’ in it for you?”

  “Well, you know I always have your back, Mickey. I knew you’d be interested in this.”

  “And I appreciate you coming to talk to me first, Captain. So, where’d Kelly get the information?”

  “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell Butler until afte
r he’s had a chance to talk to Mercer.”

  Mickey nods to himself, looking out the window again, ignoring the sweating man sitting beside him.

  Ralph rubs his knees and clears his throat again. “Well, the thing is, Mickey, I was at Butler’s office this morning because he’s going to fire me. And that’s if I’m lucky. If I’m not, I could be looking at jail time. He must know a bunch of stuff about me. About how I’ve been working with you.”

  “That so? Is this more of that retirement thing you were talking about before? So, whaddaya want from me, a gold watch?”

  “I figured that you can make a spot for me now. I can’t stay with the police, where you wanted me. But I can keep being useful. Working with you.”

  “Now, why would I want a dirty cop working for me, Copeland?”

  Ralph flinches. “Look Mickey, I know stuff. I could be a real asset. Butler’s on to me, Mickey, and I gotta bail.”

  “Like I said before, Copeland, these are all your problems, not mine.” Mickey leans forward and taps Bricker on the shoulder. “Let’s drop the Captain at his car and then take me back to the Ritz.”

  Ralph realizes he’s come full circle this morning, tossed to the curb by the cops and Mickey, both. Now what?

  Bricker nods at the rear view mirror reflection. “Sure, Boss”

  “I guess our association has come to an end, Captain Copeland. Good luck on future endeavors, eh?”

  Ralph is left standing by his car in the cold wind. A man with few options, none of them good.

  Chapter 57

  T he ledgers for Howard’s grocery store lie open on the table. Maggie has a stack of receipts in one pile and a stack of bills in the other. On the chair beside her, open to the chapter on double-entry bookkeeping, is one of her school textbooks in case she needs to refer to it. On the other side of her papers is the marvelous adding machine. She loves the satisfaction of pulling the lever and watching the ribbon print out numbers on the paper.

  Knowing she would be doing a massive amount of work, she’d sent Tommy to school with a sack lunch. The last day of school before Christmas holidays. She’s got the whole day to catch up on her own school work and the books for her clients; this could be her last chance of working without interruption for a while.

  While concentrating on the columns, the mail is pushed through the slot and drops to the floor in the front hall. She’ll get it as soon as she adds up these expenses under the Accounts Payable section. Then there’s another plop as more mail falls. Curious. Christmas cards? And then another plop.

  Puzzled, Maggie heads down the hall to the front door, surprised to see a snowdrift of envelopes lying on the floor. She gathers them up and starts looking at the return addresses. Restaurants and cafes. A brewery. Two barber shops. A trucking company. And there’s more. All addressed to her.

  She carries the large stack into the living room and lays them out on the coffee table. She considers the envelopes and reads through them. Each is an inquiry about needing bookkeeping services, with contact information. Every single letter. She looks at the pile with dismay, and sighs. She could say no to three, but there are dozens of envelopes. Christmas presents, anyone?

  This was Mickey’s doing, she’s sure of it. Edith must have said something to him. “Inspector? Can I talk to you, please?”

  She waits, looking at his chair. Nerts. Maybe at the brewery? The Precinct? I wonder what he does or where he goes when he’s not with me. Ah well, he’ll be here after dinner for our Daily Report.

  Maggie regards the envelopes, thinking about all those potential billable hours. And speaking of billable hours, I’d better get cracking on Howard’s monthly statement for the grocery store. A bird in the hand and all that. He’s a legitimate client and is expecting to see his books in good order at the end of the month.

  Maggie works diligently, finishing the task. Clipping the adding machine tape to the page and closing the ledger, she heads back into the living room with a sandwich and a cup of coffee, drawn by the potential in those envelopes.

  Maggie sorts them into three piles according to her understanding of how these businesses would make money: legitimate sources of revenue, partially legitimate, unquestionably not legitimate. Her hand rests on the very small legitimate pile. She knows, if they’re doing business with Mickey, something is going on that’s connected to bootlegging. Dirty money? Maybe it’s only a smudge. Who’s she kidding? It’s dirty money. She goes through the other two stacks again, to make sure there are none that could be moved to the legitimate pile.

  Reading through the correspondence, Maggie doesn’t see words. She sees dresses for herself, and a tuition fund for Tommy. Maybe a holiday? She and Tommy could get away for a few days, somewhere warm. Maybe she could save and buy a car? Daydreaming; such an enjoyable way to spend the afternoon, and easy to lose track of time.

  The front door bangs open, and Tommy hurtles in, out of breath from running home from school. “Mother,” he shouts from the front door.

  “I’m here, Tommy. Don’t shout and don’t slam—” Maggie says as the front door slams.

  Tommy drops his school bag at the front door and comes into the living room.

  “How was school today, sweetheart?”

  He flops down in Frank’s chair. “Okay. We talked about Japan in Geography class. We have a book to read over the holiday for English. And Jimmy got into a scrap with Georgie Porgie and got sent to the Principal’s Office. Are there any cookies left?”

  “Yes, in the jar in the kitchen. Just two now. I’m going to start supper soon,” Maggie says, tucking the letters into their envelopes again, keeping them in their separate piles.

  “What are those?” Tommy asks, nodding at the envelopes.

  “They’re from businesses who want to hire me to look after their books.”

  “Oh wow, Mother. There’s a lot of them.”

  “Yes, there are.”

  “Are you going to say yes? You’d make a lot of money if you worked for all these people.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Could I have a bicycle? I mean, if we had more money could you buy me a bicycle, please? For Christmas, maybe?”

  “We don’t have enough money to buy you a bicycle, Tommy.”

  “Mother. We would if you say yes to these.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to say yes, Tommy.”

  “Why not? Don’t you want the money?”

  “I don’t think I want their money.”

  “How come we never have enough money? How come I can’t get a bicycle? All my other pals have bicycles.” Tommy bangs his heels against the front of the chair.

  “I said no, Tommy.”

  Tommy jumps up. “That’s just mean. We have all these people living in our house. If you worked for these businesses, we would be able to live by ourselves again. And I could have a bicycle.”

  “Enough, Tommy. Go do your homework.”

  “I don’t go back to school for two whole weeks. Why do I have to do homework?”

  “Now,” Maggie warns. Tommy stomps out of the room. His crack about living alone has struck home.

  Maggie adds the ‘possibly legitimate’ envelopes to the ‘legitimate’ envelopes, and sighs. Surely in this stack there’s one or two that would be okay. “Oh, Frank, where are you? I need to talk to you.”

  * * * *

  With supper dishes done, Maggie brings a cup of coffee into the living room. Bringing him up to speed on the unusual mail delivery, she pulls out the two stacks of envelopes from her desk drawer and sets them on the coffee table in front of Frank.

  “So, what do you think?” she asks.

  “I think the smaller pile you’ve labeled ‘definitely not legitimate’ should go to Joe immediately for him to look into. If you’re right, and these are all connected to Mickey, he’ll be very interested in that group.”

  “All right. But what about the other pile? There are businesses here that are quite legitimate. And they probably need my ser
vices.”

  Frank considers Maggie with a policeman’s eyes. “So, what are you really saying, Maggie? That you want to work for these people?”

  “No. I mean yes. What if I was? They are going to hire somebody. Why not me?”

  “Maggie, what about your fine speech about dirty money? Are things so bad that you need to compromise your position?”

  “I don’t think it would be that much of a compromise. I could agree to do only part of the books. Maybe just look after the payroll register. Maybe just pay a few bills. It would sure help with the mortgage payment. In fact, it would make it easy. And Tommy desperately wants a bicycle. It’s silly, really. There are other things we need more. Like a telephone. But he’s a good kid, and his friends’ parents seem to be able to afford to give their kids bicycles. I’d like to be able to get him one, too. Give him a special Christmas this year.”