Tasting the Apple

by Sherilyn Decter

  “What’s that got to do with me?” Maggie’s voice quavers as she wipes her palms on her lap.

  Mickey cocks his head to one side, regarding her. “Well, apparently, the police got the information from Kelly. That same Sergeant Kelly who gave them my list of customers and suppliers last time. I couldn’t figure out where Kelly would have heard of Henry. And then I remembered you.” Mickey smiles at her sarcastically. “Mrs. Barnes, who always seems to know things she shouldn’t.”

  Maggie measures the distance to the exit. Mickey’s bodyguard is between her and it. Frank stands close by.

  “I keep connecting the dots. How would Mrs. Barnes hear about Henry? Mrs. Barnes is friends with Edith. And of course,” Mickey says, snapping his fingers in her face. Maggie flinches. “You’re good friends with Edith. They’re spending a lot of time together these days. A couple of boozers, lately. Henry must have talked with Edith about what happened.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Duffy, but I think I’ll go now.” Maggie attempts to rise.

  “Sit down,” Mickey says forcefully. Heads turn in their direction. Mickey smiles his tiger smile. “You can talk to me here, or the warehouse. Your choice, but talk we will.”

  Maggie takes a deep breath, looking at Frank, who is now standing beside Mickey.

  “What do you want? And I repeat, what does this have to do with me?”

  Mickey smiles again. “You are a flea, biting me in the butt, Mrs. Barnes. But whatever you heard about Henry knocking that kid off was wrong. And I need to set you straight so you can leave off and stick your nose into someone else’s business.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Duffy. Why would I know or care about Mr. Mercer being taken downtown? Or why Mr. Mercer would be there?”

  “Come, Mrs. Barnes. This fake innocent act isn’t your style. I like it better when we’re being honest with each other.”

  Deciding, Maggie looks at Mickey, a hard expression on her face. “All right, Mr. Duffy. I’ll give you honest. A little boy was at your warehouse the night of a police raid. He shouldn’t have been there, but he was. The wrong place and the wrong time, with tragic consequences. Someone shot him. And then someone threw him in the river.”

  Mickey stares at Maggie impassively. His poker face.

  “His grieving mother waited for him to come home. For weeks. And still doesn’t know why he died. And Henry Mercer might. She deserves honesty, too, don’t you think?”

  Mickey pulls a fresh cigar out of his breast pocket and clips the end. Maggie sees Frank start, staring intently at the cigar clipper that Mickey had put down on the table. Maggie follows his gaze, puzzled abut what has drawn his attention. It looks ordinary enough, although it does have a fine crest on the front.

  Mickey takes two matches and lights the cigar, all the while studying Maggie. He leans back, puffing, pondering. “What if I told you a copper shot him? What would you think then?”

  “A policeman? Why would a policeman shoot Oskar?”

  “Why would anyone? He was just a kid.” Mickey takes a long pull off the cigar and blows the smoke to one side. “Look, Mrs. Barnes, there was a lot of shooting that night. On both sides. It wasn’t supposed to go down like that, but apparently things got screwed up. Nobody knew that the kid was even there. He got caught in the crossfire. I’ll tell you the truth. Mercer found him, okay. But who shot him? Who knows? Maybe God is the only one. Henry knew what would happen if the cops found the kid at our warehouse. He needed to get rid of the body, so he dumped him in the river. I don’t know what was going on in his head, but he dumped the kid. Yeah, it was hard on Alicja. I feel bad about that. And so does Mercer. It’s really played with his brain. This whole episode has.”

  “But don’t you think the police should know?”

  “I don’t know why they should. Let’s face it, if there was evidence that the bullet came from a cop’s gun, they’d make sure that nobody ever heard about it. Nobody’s going to know who really pulled the trigger. All we know is what happened next. And what would the police do about that? You know, you talk a good fight about honesty and justice, but you seem stubbornly deaf to it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Henry Mercer. He didn’t shoot the kid, but you don’t want to hear that. You and the cops just want a patsy to blame so you can crow about bringing a murderer to justice. Nuthin to do with justice, my dear, and everything to do with shifting the blame. Making sure someone else carries the can on this.”

  “That’s not true. I have always been committed to truth.”

  “Well then, Mrs. Barnes, maybe you should shut up and think about what that word means, ‘cause it’s not black and white. I sure as heck don’t know what the truth is. Yeah, I feel bad about the kid and the Leszeks. But you want to see somebody else tore up about it, talk to Henry. Christ, I’ve never seen him like this. It’s been eating at him.”

  “That would be guilt eating at him, Mr. Duffy.”

  Mickey spread his hands wide on the table. “What is guilt but knowing you did something bad. I can honestly say that Mercer feels responsible for what happened, and it’s destroying him. Isn’t that what you want? Look, have a bit of sympathy, Mrs. Barnes. The kid was dead. Accidental. Henry should have maybe put the body someplace else, but the river was handy. Sure, it was awful. You know, Mercer’s head just isn’t screwed on right these days. But that’s on me. Putting him away in jail for something he didn’t do isn’t going to make it better. Or make you feel better now, either. Unless all you want is a patsy?”

  Maggie sits thinking. She looks at Frank.

  “He’s got a point,” Frank says. “Moving the body and destroying evidence may stick, although there is no proof. He’s also right about it being an accident. It could have been a police officer, or it could have been a gangster. It could have been a ricochet. We’ve got to let evidence drive cases, not emotion.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Maggie says.

  “Do what’s right, Mrs. Barnes.” Mickey sits back, watching her think.

  “As much as I hate to say it, I believe what Duffy says. I think we need to rewind what we’ve started with Joe,” Frank says. “Pursuing Mr. Mercer won’t help Alicja or Oskar. It was a tragedy. Let’s not compound it by persecuting a man for something that won’t stand up in court.”

  “Mr. Duffy, I think you are an evil man. I know what you are doing is hurting Philadelphia. However, I will talk to Sergeant Kelly about Mr. Mercer and make sure he understands that it was a misunderstanding.” Maggie stands up. “I’m going now. Good day.”

  * * * *

  “Joe, do you have a minute?” Maggie and Frank have stopped by the Precinct on their way home from meeting with Mickey Duffy at the Ritz.

  “Sure, Maggie, what’s up?”

  “It’s about that information that I shared with you, about Oskar’s death. The person who told me had misunderstood. Henry Mercer didn’t kill Oskar.”

  “I’m glad you came by, Maggie. I wanted to talk to you about that as well. We brought Mr. Mercer down for questioning this morning, and he wasn’t forthcoming, to say the least. He denies shooting the boy and claims no knowledge of who did. Then the lawyers arrived and bundled him out so fast I barely had time to sit down.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Henry Mercer is not a good man. He’s hiding lots of secrets. But in this instance, I do believe he doesn’t know who shot Oskar. Between our doubts and his lawyer, he walked.”

  “You know, Joe, not so long ago, finding out who killed Oskar was one of the most important things in my life. I was sure that his killer would be brought to justice. Too much time has passed. The circumstances surrounding his death are so uncertain.”

  Joe puts his hand over hers. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I know what it means to you.”

  She attempts to smile at him.

  “We’ll leave the case open of course. I’m going to go by and talk to Mrs. Leszek. We’ve been ne
glectful of late in answering her calls, which is wrong. She’s a mother who doesn’t know why her son died, and her grief deserves some respect.”

  Maggie decides to walk home. She needs to clear her head of Henry Mercer, and Edith, and Mickey Duffy. Mrs. Leszek will probably never know.

  “I feel inadequate somehow, Inspector. Like I let Oskar down, walking away from Mickey like that.”

  “It’s understandable why anyone would want a successful conclusion to such an emotional case.

  The pair continues to walk along, lost in thought.

  “What was with you and Mickey’s cigar? Back at the café,” says Maggie.

  “Oh, that. Something about his clipper was familiar. I thought I recognized it.” Frank keeps walking.

  “Well? Did you?”

  “It’s similar to one from long ago. But that’s impossible. I must be mistaken.”

  They walk a bit further. “Inspector, can we stop by Alicja’s on our way home? I haven’t seen her for ages, and I’d like to say hello and see how she’s doing.”

  “Of course, Maggie. Why don’t I leave you here? It’s not far now, and I have an errand to attend to.”

  “Certain—” Maggie glances beside her. Frank is gone.

  Chapter 60

  M ickey strides into the hotel suite at the Ritz, still thinking about his meeting with Maggie Barnes. John Bricker’s right behind him. He looks around the crowded room. “Where’s Mercer at? He’s not back yet?”

  “He’s a popular guy today, Boss. First, the cops came and got him. When he got back, he was hitting the bottle hard. Then that cop you got on the payroll—Copeland—he shows up and tells Mercer that they got to go back to the station. They just left.”

  “Sukinsyn. That bastard,” Mickey says. “We’re going out again, Bricker. Copeland’s got Henry.”

  * * * *

  Ralph grabs Henry by the collar and drags him toward the car that’s parked near the alley of the hotel. Henry stumbles, crashing the two of them into a parked car. Ralph hauls him up again, and they keep walking.

  “What a lush. Walk, will ya? You’re my ticket, Mercer. Duffy wouldn’t deal, but I bet Butler will.”

  “Wass down there awready. Didn’t tell ‘em nuthin’,” Henry says, staggering again. “Lemme go.” He tries to shake him off, but Ralph has a firm grip.

  “What? You’ve talked to them already? Crap. And they let you go?” Ralph shakes Henry like a terrier with a rat.

  At the end of the alleyway, Ralph shoves Henry up against the wall, where he stands, swaying. “Well, that changes all my plans. What now? If Duffy’s not interested, and there’s nothing Butler can use, maybe there’s still a way I can butter both sides of the bread. Maybe, it’s not totally lost. I’ll say you confessed to me. I beat it outta ya. Yeah, and then you struggled, resisting arrest. Then I shot you. That’ll work. I’ll let the press know and I’ll be a hero. ‘Kid killer brought to justice’ kinda thing. No way they can fire me then. Hang on, Mercer, I got to rough you up a bit to make it look convincing.”

  Ralph smashes his fist into Henry’s face. Henry’s head snaps back, and he groans as he falls to the ground. He struggles to stand. Ralph swings his leg back, kicking him in the ribs.

  “Gawd, I’ve had a crappy day, Mercer.” He kicks him again. Mercer moans. Ralph hauls him up again, propping him against the wall. “Look, if you’re running away, you can’t be crawling on the ground. Stand up for God’s sake. And turn around. You’re supposed to be fleeing.” Ralph smashes Henry’s face against the rough brick, holding him in place until he feels steady on his feet. Then he steps back a few feet and raises his gun.

  Bang

  Ralph looks down with surprise at the scarlet bloom spreading across his chest. He looks up. Mickey is standing at the mouth of the alley, gun in hand. Ralph falls to his knees and then to the ground.

  Mickey walks over to Ralph, kicking the gun away from his hand. He looks back at John who is waiting. “Grab him,” Mickey says, nodding toward Ralph, “and look after this. I don’t want to see him again. I’ve got Henry.”

  Mickey swings one of Henry’s arms around his shoulder and holds him upright as they start walking to the delivery door of the Ritz.

  “Come on, old friend. I got your back.”

  Chapter 61

  I t’s Tuesday, the day after Wash Day. There’s the usual mountain of ironing to get to. She starts on one of Tommy’s shirts, but has to put the hot iron back on the stove when there is a knock at the door. The knocking resumes, frantic.

  Edith’s on her doorstep. “Edith, what a surprise. Come in.”

  Edith glances behind her and hurries in.

  “Let’s go sit in the kitchen. I was doing some ironing,” Maggie says.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude. I should come back.”

  “Nonsense. I can talk and iron at the same time. Come on, I’ll put coffee on.”

  Maggie puts the coffee pot on the stove and hangs up Edith’s coat on the hook by the back door. “So, what’s up?” Maggie picks up the iron to finish the shirt while the water boils.

  “Are we alone?” Edith says, looking around the kitchen.

  “Yes. Everyone’s out. The house is empty. What’s wrong?”

  “I saw Tony a couple of days ago.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s going to Chicago.”

  “Oh, Edith, I’m sorry. I know you’ll miss him, but maybe it’s for the best.”

  “I’m going with him.”

  Maggie puts her iron back on the stove and comes to sit at the table with Edith.

  Taking Edith’s hands in hers. “Edith, no you can’t. You can’t leave Mickey.”

  “Why not? Mickey doesn’t want to be with me. He’s always out someplace with someone else. We saw him, remember? Saw him kissing that girl, Delores, at the Club. He’s never home at night, busy in someone else’s bed. Why should I stay?”

  “But sweetie, he’s your husband. And there will be consequences. Mickey won’t take this lightly. What does Tony say?”

  “He’s okay with it.”

  “Edith, you’re talking about a major change, taking on a huge risk for just a ‘he’s okay with it’. Has he told you he loves you?”

  “You know how fellas are, Maggie. I know how he feels. And I’m going to help him get started. He’s not going to be a cop no more. . He’s talking about buying a club. I’ll introduce him to the right people. It will be a fresh start, Mags.”

  Maggie shakes her head.

  “And there’s more.”

  Maggie takes a long look at her friend, seeing her pallor. Her clothes hang off her.

  “Oh, Edith, no.”

  Edith looks up, eyes full of tears, but with a radiant smile.

  “Yes. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby.”

  “But I thought you couldn’t have kids, Edith?”

  “So did I. But I’m pregnant. I went to the doctor this morning. It’s a miracle.”

  “Mickey’s miracle or Tony’s?”

  “It’s Tony’s. Mickey and I haven’t been together in months. He’s barely home and, if he is, he’s in the spare room.”

  “A baby. How do you feel?”

  Edith gives a gay little laugh. “Like crap. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “And Tony? What does he think?”

  “He doesn’t know yet. I’m going to tell him on our way to Chicago. But I wanted to tell you first. And to say goodbye.”

  “So that’s why you’re so determined to leave. Because of the baby?”

  “You can see how I feel, can’t you Maggie? Tony and I and this little baby are going to be a family. A real family. And there’s no way that Mickey would raise another man’s kid. He’d kill us both.”

  That statement lies there in the room, Edith’s fear visible.

  Maggie grabs hold of Edith’s hand with both of hers. “If this is what you want, sweetheart, then I’m happy for you. When are you leaving?”

  �
�I was at the bank before I came here and got some travelling money. My suitcase is in the car. I’m meeting Tony at the train station. The train to Chicago leaves tonight at a quarter to six.”

  Wrapped in her sweater on the front veranda, Maggie waves goodbye to Edith. Maybe I need some of that passion in my life. Teddy’s calmness is restful, which is what I need right now. And I love how settled he is. There are no upsets in his life. But oh, when I see the radiance in Edith’s face...