Here

by Sean Moynihan

  Indeed, If Penwill had not met her before, he surely would have thought, upon encountering this young lady out on the street on this evening, that she was not an intrepid journalist with a keen mind and brash self-assurance. Instead, he would have viewed her as merely another common streetwalker looking for a customer, a fallen girl out of many in this rough and tumble existence who was desperate to pay the rent and to just make it through the month by offering the only commodity that she possessed: herself.

  “Well, what do you think, gentlemen?” she asked as she walked up to them. “Are you free to walk with me for part of the evening?” The two men laughed.

  “Marvelous, Miss Bly,” Penwill responded with a smile. “It shall be a distinct privilege hovering over you this evening, won’t it, professor?”

  “Indeed, yes,” Levine said, also grinning at Bly. “I think you look very convincing, Miss Bly, and I hope you do take that as a compliment.”

  “Oh, I do, I do, professor,” she replied gamely. “Now then, how shall we begin our little subterfuges and tricks?”

  “Well,” said Penwill, “here is the plan: Miss Bly, you start walking around that corner just up ahead and we will be lurking just behind you, close enough to grab any upstart by the collar if he gets out of hand but not so close as to cause any suspicions. You are, as you know, trying to lure a man into a trap, as it were. But not just any man. We all know the rough description of our suspect—he’s probably in his fifties, has a dark mustache speckled with gray, dresses well, and might have a slight European accent. So, we aren’t interested in the younger lads who are just out to have their little fun; we’re looking for a fancier chap, a real ‘swell,’ if you get my meaning. Does that make sense?”

  “Absolutely, inspector,” Bly replied. “I’ll be watching out for him like a hawk.”

  “So, will we, I can assure you, Miss Bly,” Penwill said. “But let’s be clear: you are not to try anything extraordinary on your own, do you understand? Just try to get his attention and engage him, and if he’s our man, he’ll try and get you to some secluded corner off the beaten track, but we’ll be right there with you, and that’s when we’ll grab him.”

  “Understood, inspector,” Bly said. “And thank you for that. Now then, shall we?”

  “Yes, indeed, Miss Bly,” Penwill answered. “Good luck using your charms. And professor?” he said, turning to Levine. “The same goes for you: no heroics, please. You’re just another set of eyes and we don’t need you engaging any suspects. I’ll handle that part, all right?”

  “Yes, inspector,” Levine replied. “I’ll keep my distance as I watch.”

  “Right then,” Penwill said, “you take the opposite side of the street, and I’ll follow Miss Bly on this side. So here we go then. Miss Bly, you really look the part—a right convincing Judy, as we say in England.”

  “Thank you, inspector,” she said. “Now what is it that you Englishmen say on the fox hunt? ‘Tally-ho?’”

  Penwill grinned as the young woman then turned and swept down the street, bag in hand and with chin upturned in a bright, cheery manner. He let her walk a distance before he himself started to follow and Levine quietly crossed the street and started to stroll down the opposite side, always keeping an eye on their secret companion. They headed into the very heart of the Tenderloin where the prostitute’s game was at its busiest and men swarmed the bars and cathouses, throwing their cash with abandon and swilling liquor until the early hours of the morning. As the three walked, they would occasionally pass a cop walking his beat, swaggering with nightstick in hand but unknowing of their quiet little ruse, and they would simply walk on by, looking out for the next possible opportunity to draw in a suspect.

  Penwill made sure to closely shadow Bly as she blithely bounced down the streets past the many noisy and packed bordellos and bars, peep show houses and burlesque halls in the neighborhood. He was impressed with her courage and aplomb on this first evening out on the streets together. Quite a lady, he thought, and bloody well attractive, too. So why is she not married? A girl like this should be surrounded by all the swooning blokes. And she’s got her own money now, too, apparently. Yes, quite, quite the lady….

  He glanced across the street at Levine, who was mirroring his own movements on the sidewalk opposite. Levine returned his glance and subtly dipped his head as if to acknowledge their ongoing scheme. Penwill nodded back at him, and then returned his gaze to their young female companion who continued to sally forth down the street, smiling invitingly to any man who happened to catch her eye. She appeared fearless in her role, pleasantly smiling at the eager men who traipsed across her path, and even engaged in conversation with them occasionally, although Penwill was too distant to discern whether it was polite, rude, or simply indifferent discourse. And yet, the men she initially met did not fit the description of the shadowy killer, and so she would deny them their requests and move on, leaving them moaning with their disappointed pleas to have “a little turn” with her.

  As he watched her walk through the streets, Penwill remained on guard always, smoking a cigarette perhaps but fingering his hidden revolvers at his side, and ready to run to her in an instant. He liked this woman, this famous reporter, and still questioned his judgment in agreeing to let her act as bait out on night like this with these wild ruffians, these randy blokes who could try anything, it seemed. But it was too late now to halt her excursions—they were all in the thick of it now and he had to stay alert and be ready for the moment when some bludger would try to get too friendly with her and he’d have to come to her aid.

  Crazy idea, anyway, he thought. To think that we could catch the bastard like this—walking about with a young lady in disguise, watching her with a bloody university professor in tow. There’s got to be another way to catch him at his work…some way to draw him out, to out-think the maniac.

  He continued to follow her as Levine did the same across the street. Every so often, a young man would attempt to stop her, but as the suitor would invariably not match the description given for their suspect, he would be denied an audience as the others had before him and Bly would continue on her way, crossing an intersection and walking down a new street. And then she would occasionally interrupt her meanderings to stop briefly to peer down a little alleyway or linger for a bit in front of a busy saloon.

  And so it went on this first night as the three of them slowly moved through the busy heart of the city’s bacchanalian district, and Penwill grew restless and despondent as it became clear to him that they would not be able to find their subject in this way in such a large city as this. The territory was too vast, he reasoned, and the numbers of people too immense, to make any appreciable gains. They would have to think up something new, or simply hope and pray that when the suspect attacked again, someone would be close by to get a hand on the bugger. But absent that…

  Penwill’s racing thoughts were suddenly interrupted and he stopped in his tracks as a man caught his attention from a distance as they neared the corner of 28th Street and Broadway. It had been over an hour now since they began their covert little jaunt through the famous red-light district known lately to the puritanical reformers in the city as “Satan’s Circus,” and this man who approached them now on the sidewalk appeared to match the general description of their suspect. Well-dressed and older—perhaps in his late fifties, Penwill thought—with a thick build and a full mustache, just as the witnesses had described, the man was strolling alone dressed in a dark suit and holding a cigar in his mouth.

  Bly walked in the opposite direction of the man and Penwill could see that soon they would pass one another on the sidewalk. He looked over across the street to where Levine was walking and could see that the professor was already alerted to the development. They nodded almost imperceptibly at each other and Penwill stopped for a moment under a gaslight, where he quietly lit another cigarette.

  Well, well, now, my friend, what do we have here? You’re a fancy one out here all alone at night.
Out on a lark without the missus, are you? Let us see how she plays it.

  He glanced surreptitiously at Bly walking towards the man and saw that she was saying something to him now. They stopped and spoke, and Bly appeared to be laughing as she held her handbag in both arms curled in front of her and she swayed slowly side-to-side like a fully-leafed tree in a strong summer breeze. The man was smiling back at her, and Penwill marveled when Bly walked up even closer to the man and looked straight into his eyes, saying something that could not be heard from this distance.

  Now that’s the girl…draw him in now…and where will the deal be consummated?

  He watched them as he periodically turned away and puffed on his cigarette, careful not to draw any attention from the unsuspecting target. And when Bly finally started to walk away, now with one hand comfortably tucked away in the crook of the man’s arm, Penwill, too, walked in the same direction, watching for their next move.

  Bly headed west on 28th Street as she continued to engage in some sort of cheery discourse with the man, and nothing untoward happened for the next ten minutes or so as the two walked arm-in-arm past several open brothels and gambling parlors on the block. And then, turning south on Sixth briefly, and then west again on 27th, the two walked a distance down this slightly quieter block until Penwill saw them stop suddenly at a point where it was darker, as they were situated now evenly between two standing gaslights on the street. As Bly and the man spoke closely huddled together like two shadows hovering over the dark gray sidewalk, Penwill drifted behind a medium-sized tree that grew out of a patch of cobblestones in front of a darkened brownstone, and Levine held back on the opposite side of the street, even more distant from the two objects of their scrutiny than Penwill was.

  As the lurking English detective leaned against the tree in his own little pool of darkness, he glanced down the block while Bly and the man spoke still, and then he saw it: the man took Bly by the hand and gently tugged her away from the street and towards a crack of space that existed between the two large buildings there. Penwill stood up off the tree and narrowed his eyes, straining to see what was happening, and he saw then that Bly had acceded to the man’s request and was slowly following him now away from the street and into an area that Penwill could not directly observe. He glanced quickly over at Levine and waved for him to follow, and then took off himself, running down the street and towards the hidden space into which Bly and the man had now disappeared. As he ran, he unholstered one of his revolvers and held it at the ready up by his shoulder.

  Approaching the alley at a gallop, he listened for any cries of help from Bly, but heard none. God, he thought, if I’m too late…

  Levine was now meeting him on the sidewalk, but Penwill held up a hand as if to halt him in his tracks. “Stay here, professor!” he snapped, and Levine stopped on the sidewalk as Penwill passed him and turned quickly down the alley. Glancing through the dim light, he saw the dark outline of the man shielding Bly against the wall and attempting to nuzzle her about the neck. “Police! Unhand her now!” he shouted as he stepped forward and raised his revolver at the back of the unsuspecting assailant. The man turned and looked at Penwill, eyes bulging out in surprise.

  “That’s right, old boy,” Penwill said as he walked closer to the man with his gun raised and showing the New York City police badge that Falconer had recently provided to him. “Ease off now and get down on your knees.”

  The man held his hands aloft and glanced nervously around him as if contemplating possible exits from his predicament, but Penwill again issued a sharp command: “I said get down on your knees, chum, or I’ll shoot you full of holes.” The man paused for a moment, backing up against the wall next to Bly, and then he spoke. “What is this all about? Can’t you let a man and a woman have a private moment in peace?”

  “Private moment, my arse,” Penwill answered. “You’ll get down on your knees now until we have this all figured out.”

  “Have what all figured out?” the man asked exasperatedly. “Can’t you tell that I was simply having a little interlude with the young lady? It happens all the time. Can’t we keep this discreet, officer?”

  Bly was now moving slowly away from the man and over to where Penwill stood with his revolver extended in the stranger’s direction. “Are you all right, Miss Nelson?” Penwill asked, using the fictional moniker that they had all agreed upon earlier to keep her identity hidden from anyone they might encounter.

  “Yes, inspector, quite all right,” she answered, dusting off her skirt. “He kept on insisting that we move down the alleyway, and I thought, ‘Well, this might be the only way to get our suspect to reveal himself,’ so I agreed. Glad you were so responsive.”

  “Absolutely, miss,” Penwill said. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

  “Missed what?” the man asked from his position against the brick wall. “Is this some sort of ridiculous vice operation that’s going on in these parts? Can’t we just settle this with a little ‘donation’ perhaps? I’d prefer to keep this discreet, sir.”

  “We’ll keep it discreet, my friend,” Penwill replied, “but not before we bring you down to headquarters for a little questioning. Turn around, if you please.”

  “What?” the man asked as he reluctantly turned to face the wall. “Are you arresting me for solicitation? Please—I have a family, officer…I’d be happy to resolve this in our own little way right here and be on my way. Please name your amount.”

  “I’m not taking any of your money, old boy,” Penwill said as he placed handcuffs on the man’s wrists. “You’re being detained for suspicion of committing some murders of prostitutes, so you can forget the solicitation nonsense.”

  “Murder?” the man exclaimed loudly such that his voice echoed across the high walls of the alley. “Good god, man, I’m a businessman, not a killer. What’s this all about? I was merely looking for a little diversion with the young lady—not an opportunity to kill a girl in a dark alley.”

  “Well, we’ll find out all about your intentions at police headquarters,” Penwill said, grabbing the man by the arm. “Come on then—shall we?” He then led the man past Bly and out to the street, where Levine was waiting. “It’s all right, professor,” Penwill said. “Trussed up like a turkey and ready for transport. Could you escort Miss Nelson, please?”

  “Certainly, inspector,” Levine said as Bly approached him with a bemused look on her face, as if she still couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Are you all right, Miss Nelson?”

  “Yes, quite all right, thank you,” she said. “Nothing torn or injured—just a little dirt from the alley, I’d say. May we possibly join you to headquarters, inspector?”

  Penwill thought for a moment. “Well, I don’t see why not,” he finally replied. “I suspect Detective Falconer will want the full report from the both of you, as well. Shall we jump a cable car?”

  “Absolutely, inspector,” Bly replied. “Please lead the way.”

  Penwill then led the muttering suspect down the street towards the main thoroughfare of Sixth Avenue, followed closely behind by Levine and Bly. As they walked, Penwill glanced back briefly at his companions, and he thought that he saw then the faintest trace of smiles on their faces following the excitement and action that had just taken place on the dark city streets of Satan’s Circus.

  57

  At headquarters, Penwill quickly rushed Bly and Levine into a side conference room lest anyone recognize the famous journalist and start a hubbub. Meanwhile, Bly’s mysterious escort in the evening, subsequently identified as one Alfred H. Weatherbee, a well-to-do businessman from the Upper East Side, was booked at the front desk for solicitation of a prostitute. Penwill sent a message to the Oak Street station, asking Falconer to come to the Mulberry Street headquarters, and, after some time, the detective finally appeared with Officer Halloran following their own unsuccessful ramblings around that ward.

  “Where is he?” Falconer asked as he strolled into the main lobby and en
countered Penwill.

  “They’ve got him in a holding cell in the back,” Penwill replied. “He took Miss Bly back into an alley and I grabbed him just as he was getting close. No knives, however. But he does seem to match our suspect—late fifties, mustache, well-dressed. I couldn’t detect any accent, though. His name is Weatherbee—Alfred Weatherbee. Wealthy chap from uptown, it appears. He’s mad as hops back there, so be advised.”

  “Thanks,” Falconer said. “Where is Miss Bly?”

  “In a room just down the hallway with the professor. I think they’re about ready to shove off, though—been getting a little antsy, as you say.”

  “I’ll go see them,” Falconer said. “Was she hurt in anyway?”

  “Not a jot,” Penwill answered. “In fact, she seemed rather elated by the whole affair, if you get my meaning. I think she’s taken to this detective work.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Falconer said. “I’m going to go see them first—thanks.”

  He walked down the hallway until he came to a small conference room used by detectives to meet with victims and their families or to strategize about cases. Knocking on the door, he entered and interrupted Bly and Levine’s conversation.

  “There you are,” Bly exclaimed, standing up from her chair. “Did you hear that I ensnared a possible suspect? It was quite a thrill and the inspector acted brilliantly.”

  “Yes, I heard,” Falconer said. “I’ll be questioning the man shortly, but first, are you all right yourself?”