Shattered Angel

by Baird Nuckolls

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Maggie

  Monday

  Morelli moved the desk and rug, opened the safe and transferred each box of jewelry carefully into the safe as Otten handed them over. Seventeen slim jewelry boxes, each full of Otten’s merchandise. Morelli locked the safe and restored the office. He made a note of the number of boxes on the pad in his drawer, and then poured Otten and himself a glass of rye.

  “How long do you think you’ll need to keep everything here? Won’t you need it for the store?”

  “Not today. Today we will be closed. The locks have to be changed and I have to call the safe company. I do not know if they can change the combination, but I must ask. If not, I don’t know what I am going to do. But at least, I still have all my stock, thanks to you.” He raised his glass in salute.

  Morelli bowed his head, but couldn’t accept the unearned praise. “I didn’t do enough. That mug broke in right under my nose and nearly got into your safe, dammit. And I didn’t even catch him. We still don’t know who it was.”

  “You did your best. I am very thankful, Herr Morelli.”

  “Yeah, well. Don’t thank me too much. I didn’t do nothing.”

  Just then, the door to Morelli’s office opened and in rushed a dripping-wet Maggie McElwaine.

  “Mr. Morelli, you’ve got to help me.” She came to a halt as she realized that Morelli wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

  She backed toward the door like a frightened child.

  Morelli jumped to his feet and caught her before she could dart away.

  “No, no, it’s fine. Come in.”

  Otten got to his feet and excused himself. Morelli led Maggie to the chair he’d vacated and made her sit down. Otten closed the door on his way out.

  “Now, tell me what’s wrong. What happened?” Morelli leaned on the desk in front of her.

  “It’s Mickey. He didn’t come home last night. Well, he did, sort of. I woke up in the dark to loud shouting coming from the street. When I looked out the window, I saw Mickey and another man arguing. They were yelling at each other and then the other fella grabbed Mickey and hauled him into a car and they were gone. I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do. I stayed in the apartment until dawn, thinking he would come back, but he never showed up. I’m so worried. I think something bad’s happened to him. You gotta help me find him.”

  “Did you recognize the man he was fighting with?”

  “No, it was dark and the rain was coming down. I only recognized Mickey from his voice, you know. They were just two men in dark clothes.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Who, Mickey?”

  “No, the other man.” Morelli went around to the other side of his desk and got out the pad of paper to take notes.

  “Like I said, he was bigger than Mickey and he was wearing dark clothes.”

  “A suit or something else?”

  “Nah, like workman’s clothes. They were black or maybe dark blue. Hard to tell ‘cause they were all wet.”

  “Did he have a hat on?”

  “Yeah, he did. It was a fedora, just like anybody.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t remember. I was so scared for Mickey. I was looking at him mostly.”

  “Okay, Maggie. Thanks.” He put the pad down and came around to her chair. “I know you’re upset and I will do whatever I can to find him. Could you understand anything they were shouting? Anything at all?”

  Maggie dropped her head into her hands and began to sob. Morelli put an arm around her shoulders. He wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, but he resisted. She was upset, but it wasn’t clear she wanted his comfort.

  She raised her face finally, her face puffy from crying, her green eyes shining with tears. “I’m afraid, Mr. Morelli. I think Mickey’s gotten into something that’s gonna kill him and I just know that Aaron Hart is behind all this. What am I gonna do?”

  Morelli thought about his choices. He could take her back to the Downing Street address and wait with her to see if Mickey might turn up. But if what she said is correct, Mickey might not go back there. He couldn’t leave her there; there was no phone and no way to call for help if Hart came looking for her.

  He could leave her here in his office while he went looking, but after what had happened downstairs last night, he didn’t think that was such a good idea either. Then he thought of Danny. Danny had a phone and a car. He could take care of her and keep her safe while he looked into this. Morelli looked at his watch; it was only six fifteen in the morning. Too early to call Danny, but he could take Maggie there.

  “Maggie, I’d like to take you to my friend Danny’s house. He’s a retired cop and a good guy. He also has a phone and a car, so I can keep in touch while I’m looking for Mickey. I want to make sure that you’re safe while I do that. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Maggie’s gaze shifted. The frightened child was replaced with a more mature woman’s gaze: thoughtful and attentive. “If you think that’s best.”

  “I do. He lives uptown in the Bronx. I’ll take you there now and then go looking for Mickey.”

  “All right, Mr. Morelli. And thank you.”

  “Certainly, Maggie. I’m glad you came to me. I want to help.”

  He locked up and took her arm as they left the office. They met Otten in the building lobby. Morelli stepped aside to explain his errand to Otten. His landlord had battened the cellar door and left the shop closed. He didn’t think they should call the police; he was just going to go and visit the locksmith. Morelli promised to come back and check in with him later in the day.

  ***

  Danny answered the door in a robe and slippers, his thin tonsure of hair standing straight out at the sides.

  “This is a surprise, Morelli.” He looked from Morelli to the girl standing beside him and his eyebrows climbed his forehead.

  “Danny, this is Maggie McElwaine. Can we come in?”

  “Sure, sure. Where are my manners?” Danny moved aside to let them into the tiny front parlor. “Can I make you some coffee? It’s a wee bit early for anything else.”

  “That would be great, Danny. Thanks.” Morelli showed Maggie to the sofa. “I’ll just go talk to him a minute. You wait here.” Morelli followed Danny into the kitchen.

  “So, what brings you uptown at this hour of the morning, along with a lovely Irish lass like her?” Danny filled the kettle at the tap and set it on the stove.

  “She’s the redhead we were following the other day.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. I just wonder how you got from following to leading, if you know what I mean?”

  “She came to me this morning in a panic. Her brother, Mickey, seems to be mixed up with Hart, our stooge.” Morelli leaned against the kitchen counter while Danny collected cups and spoons and the sugar bowl. “He’s disappeared and she needs me to find him.”

  “Seems like everyone is disappearing in this case.”

  “More than you know, Danny, more than you know.”

  “Are you going to fill me in, then?”

  “It’s hard to know where to start.”

  “Well, I know about your dead client, Mrs. Hart and her wayward husband and this gal.”

  “That’s where you’d be wrong, my friend.” Morelli toyed with a spoon for a moment. “My client isn’t Mrs. Hart, she’s Angel Eldridge, or was. Gladys Hart’s daughter. And Hart wasn’t Angel’s husband, he was married to her mother.”

  “Phew. That’s complicated.” Danny poured the coffee and the boiling water into a china coffee pot.

  “Do you think that Hart killed her?”

  “He’s certainly at the top of my list. He’s got a temper and he might have had an unhealthy relationship with her. Hard to tell. I was just getting started looking into it when Otten needed me to stake out his shop last night and then Maggie showed up this morning.”

  “Wait, what’s t
his about a stakeout?”

  “Otten thought someone was casing his joint and he was right. I surprised a visitor in the middle of the night trying to break into his safe.”

  “Did you catch him?”

  “Nope, just ran him off. But I have to keep an eye on things downtown for a few days. He might be back to finish the job. Then there’s this business with Maggie’s brother going missing. Not sure how he’s tangled up in all this, but I’ll wager he is.”

  “Yeah, well what do you want me to do?’

  “I just want you to keep an eye on her for a while so I can look into things. You got a phone, so I can call you. Plus, no one would come looking for her up here. She doesn’t know you from Adam.”

  Danny laughed. “I’m a bit old to play Adam to her Eve, but I’ll keep her safe for ya. How long do you think this is gonna take?”

  “I don’t know. A few hours, maybe longer. I’ll call you as soon as I got something.”

  “Okay, okay. Why don’t you have a cup a coffee and some breakfast before you go. I got eggs.” Danny poured two cups and handed them to Morelli.

  “Thanks, Danny, that’s real nice of you.”

  Morelli went back to the parlor, afraid for a moment that Maggie might have slipped out and disappeared, but she was still there, sitting on the sofa, staring off into space.

  “Coffee’s ready and Danny’s gonna make us some eggs.” He offered her a cup, but she made no move to take it from him. “You’ll feel better after you eat.”

  Maggie looked at him then, her liquid, green eyes full of sadness. The first cup of coffee went a long way toward cheering her up and helping Morelli stay wake, and the food would be even better. It had been a long while since he’d been up all night on a stakeout. Even if he had fallen asleep in the middle, he hadn’t gotten anything like a real sleep. He was running on fumes. Danny watched him make quick work of the eggs and toast.

  “Looks like you haven’t eaten in days, son. How about second helpings?”

  “You don’t need to do that, Danny. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to. Don’t get the chance to cook for anybody these days.” He carried Morelli’s plate into the kitchen and left Morelli and Maggie alone.

  “What did he mean about ‘these days,’ Mr. Morelli?”

  “Oh, Danny’s wife passed on a few years ago and his daughter lives out in Queens now. He’s been living here for so long, he’s forgotten how to live anywhere else, so he refuses to move to Queens with Shirley, even though she’s been asking him to.”

  “I’m sorry for his loss.”

  “Yes, well, so am I. Antonia was a wonderful woman. Not a particularly good cook, mind you, which is why Danny did all the cooking, but she was a saintly woman. Took very good care of him.”

  Danny returned with another steaming plate of eggs and toast and the conversation died as Morelli tucked in for his second breakfast. Maggie had finished hers and was content to watch him eat. Danny let him finish before he pulled up a chair.

  “So, Morelli, what’s your plan to find this lass’ brother?”

  “I’m going back to the Downing Street apartment first and see if he’s come home. Maybe one of the neighbors has seen him, or knows something.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Mickey stayed clear of the people in the building. Didn’t talk to no one. He said he had to be careful.”

  “Careful of what?” Danny asked.

  “My brother ran with a rough lot. I don’t know exactly who, but they’d gotten him into trouble before. He did six months upstate earlier this year because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and nobody would stand up for him.”

  Morelli and Danny exchanged glances at that. Her faith seemed naïve.

  “What’s he been doing since he got out?” Morelli asked as gently as he could. He didn’t want to make her any more upset then she already was.

  “I don’t know.” She covered her eyes with her hands for a moment. It was a combination of weariness and despair. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Danny put his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be all right, young lady.”

  Morelli leaned back in his chair, thinking. “Do you know of any place else he might go? Family or friends?”

  “I’m the only family he’s got, except for Sean. Our cousin. He might have gone there.”

  “Where does Sean live? And is he a McElwaine, as well?”

  “Sean O’Brien. He lives in Hell’s Kitchen, on West Forty-fifth between Ninth and Tenth. Four forty-two.”

  Morelli stood. “I’ll see what I can turn up. If Mickey isn’t at Sean’s, he’s bound to be somewhere.” He finished the last dregs of his coffee and set the cup down in the sink. Danny followed him into the kitchen. Morelli looked over Danny’s shoulder at Maggie sitting at the table and leaned close to Danny.

  “I didn’t want to say this in front of her, but the cops are looking for her brother, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I had a little visit with our friend Flarrity and his new partner, the Bull, at that speak on Fifth and Twenty-eighth. You remember the one? Charleston’s the bouncer there.”

  “What did they want with you? I told you to keep away from the cops.”

  “This was before the Dempsey fight. They must have followed me from Maggie’s apartment and thought I knew something about the brother, but I’ve never met him.”

  “Well, that’s not gonna do you a lot of good if they take an interest.”

  “Danny, I’ll be okay. You keep an eye on the lady. Perhaps she’d like to rest for a while. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

  He picked up his coat and hat and left them there, Maggie sitting at the kitchen table, her dark-red head bowed, and Danny’s hand on her shoulder.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Brooklyn

  Billy Turner tucked the pistol in the small of his back. Barlow kept his in a holster under his left arm. A retired cop, Duncan Barlow was much more comfortable carrying a gun, but he’d insisted that Billy carry one as well, ever since the spate of robberies had begun earlier in the month. Billy had only been on the job for a few months and it still made him nervous to carry a gun.

  The branch would be open in about twenty minutes and all the tellers were finishing their weekly tallies. The early morning sun lit up a swirl of dust motes in the empty lobby of the bank. Behind the locked rail, Billy and Barlow worked at one of the bank officer’s desks.

  Barlow laid out a piece of oilcloth on the desk. He opened a few sheets of yesterday’s News and laid it out across the oilcloth and started stacking the banded bricks of twenties on top.

  “Does it worry you, carrying this much cash?” Billy asked him. He couldn’t believe the size of the pile of bills. There must be nearly fifty thousand dollars there. This was the largest payroll transfer that he’d ever seen.

  “If anyone looks too close, they’ll see me carrying that bag,” he said, gesturing to the leather satchel he’d just filled with a week’s worth of newspapers, “and think that’s where the cash is. They won’t guess you’ve got it wrapped up like a set of plumber’s tools.” He finished his packing by closing the oilcloth over the money and tying it with twine. “And you’ll be far enough behind me that if anyone jumps me, you’ll have a chance to get away.”

  “Yeah, but ain’t you worried about getting shot, like that stiff from Ward’s?” asked Jack St. Germain.

  The whine of Jack St. Germain’s snivelly voice made the hair on the back of Billy’s neck stand on end. St. Germain was nowhere near as solicitous of their safety as he made out to be. He was the cashier who’d counted out the money. Now it was time for the real men to deliver the payroll for the bank. Billy decided to ignore Jack’s comment.

  Barlow patted his pistol. “We’ll give ’em a fight to the death, won’t we, Billy?”

  Billy nodded and picked up the oilcloth parcel. It was time to go.

  “Keep your eyes peeled, Billy,
and we’ll be just fine.” Barlow set off, and Billy fell in about twenty feet behind him.

  They caught the elevated at Twentieth Avenue. They only had to wait about three minutes for the next northbound train, which was just enough time to make Billy even more nervous. He shifted from left to right and back again, weighing the five-pound parcel in his hands. Barlow glanced at him once and frowned. Billy tried to stand still after that.

  When the train rolled in, Barlow sat in the front of the car, facing the rear. He made a cutting motion with his hand and Billy headed to the back. He stood with his back against the door, looking forward. The train wasn’t too crowded yet. The morning commute had just gotten started. There was a woman in a blue dress sitting near Barlow. Billy noticed the way her brown hair curled behind her left ear. It kept coming loose and she kept tucking it back with one gloved finger. She was very pretty.

  Billy wondered what she smelled like. He wished he could step over and speak to her. He imagined asking her to have a cup of coffee with him, and maybe even taking her out for dinner and a walk afterward. But there was nothing he could do, except watch her from a distance, though just thinking about it took his mind off his nerves for a minute.

  The train rumbled along and he followed her glance out the window. They were coming into Fifty-fifth Street station. Billy stood taller, looking at Barlow now, rather than the woman in blue. This was their stop.

  The woman stood and moved toward the doors. Barlow and another man stood aside, allowing her to go out the door first when it opened. Billy waited a few seconds and then followed. After that, everything happened very fast.

  The woman in blue stopped dead in front of a black-haired man in a dark raincoat. She whirled around, a frightened look on her face, and hurried to another staircase. Barlow had been right behind her. Billy heard a pair of pops. Barlow staggered into the dark-haired man and then fell to the ground. The other man grabbed the bag and spun away toward the stairs. There had been no warning, no order to put up their hands, but Billy realized that Barlow must have been shot. Before he could draw his own pistol, another, shorter man in a tan suit stepped toward him with his gun raised. Billy put up a hand, which had no effect. The sounds of the shots were loud in his ears as the bullets tore into his arm and chest. He staggered to the side, dropping the oilcloth bundle. He heard someone shout, “Sean, help me” as he fell into the arms of a passerby.