The Fall

by Sean Moynihan

  “I do, sir,” Falconer said, grimly.

  “Why then?” Byrnes asked.

  “Because Cadere—The Fall—got to some members of the Commission, or perhaps to all of them. My informant warned me that they have people placed in the highest positions of business and government, and this is obviously their work. They made this happen, sir.”

  “That’s a pretty inflammatory statement to make,” Steers said from the side of Byrnes’ desk.

  “I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, but it has to be true,” Falconer said. “There’s no other explanation.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Chief Inspector Steers here,” Byrnes said. “We don’t have any evidence of this group infiltrating the Police Commission. They might have made this decision based solely on, as I said, political considerations. This investigation is a powder keg for the city. You’re saying that some of our most notable men might be responsible for kidnappings and murders. But, in any event, I must repeat my orders: do not under any circumstances continue with this investigation in your official capacity as a detective sergeant in the Detective Bureau during official work hours. Do you understand?”

  Falconer paused, his gaze meeting Byrnes’, and then he spoke: “Yes, I do understand, sir. No more investigations in this case in my official capacity as a detective sergeant.”

  “Very good then, and I’m sorry, Falconer,” Byrnes said. “We will get this information on the disappearances to the Missing Persons Unit, and that will be all.”

  “Right,” Falconer said. “Understood, sir.”

  He then turned and motioned for his men to follow him outside the office, but as he got to the door, he heard Byrnes speak again: “Oh, Falconer?”

  “Yes, sir?” Falconer said, looking back.

  “Be careful out there,” Byrnes said gravely. “You understand me?”

  “I do, sir,” Falconer said. “Thank you.”

  He then turned and walked out into the hallway, joined by his men.

  “Um, mind telling us what just went on in there, sir?” Winter asked. “What the hell was the superintendent saying about being careful out there after he just pulled us off the case?”

  “It was his way of telling us to keep going,” Waidler answered with a grin. “Only we have to do it when we’re officially off-duty. Correct, boss?”

  “Correct, James,” Falconer said. “Byrnes can’t buck the Commission officially, but he was giving us his blessing to keep investigating when we’re officially off-duty. So, we keep going, men. This isn’t over for us.”

  “But, uh, just one question, boss,” Winter said. “What if looking into something must have to take place during the day, when we’re all on-duty?”

  “Well, then, I’ll officially give you time off during those hours,” Falconer said. “Understand, Winter?”

  “A hundred percent,” Winter said as the others chuckled. “Sounds good to me.”

  “All right then,” Falconer said. “We are officially off-duty now that it’s getting late, so let’s go get the inspectors.”

  He turned and started walking down the hallway towards the stairs, followed by the others.

  102

  “We’re here to see Inspectors Houllier and Penwill,” Falconer said, holding out his badge to the front desk clerk at the Occidental Hotel on Broome Street. “We’re on police business.”

  “Oh, yes, I see,” the clerk said, appearing a little surprised. “But they left late last night, and we haven’t seen them return, I’m afraid.”

  “Last night?” Falconer asked incredulously. “Did they say where they were going?”

  “I’m sorry,” the man replied, “but the clerk on duty at the time just mentioned in passing today that they went out at around 10 P.M. and haven’t come back. Is there something wrong?”

  Falconer grimaced. “Maybe,” he said. “Can you please let us into their rooms? They might be in danger.”

  “Um…yes, certainly, officer,” the clerk answered, turning to get a key from the wall behind the desk. “If you’ll all follow me.”

  He then exited from behind the desk and led Falconer and the other men towards the stairwell leading upstairs to Houllier and Penwill’s rooms.

  103

  “Nothing,” Falconer said angrily as he stepped out into the cool evening air outside the Occidental with Waidler, Halloran, Kramer, and Winter. “Not a damn thing to give us a clue as to where the inspectors went last night.”

  “I hate to say it, boss,” Waidler said, “but maybe they got a fake message from you, just like the professor did.”

  “Yes, I think you might be right, unfortunately,” Falconer said grimly. “I think we all know what’s going on here. These bastards with The Fall are trying to make all of us disappear, and now I think they got to the inspectors by duping them.”

  “Well, that means we’re next,” Winter said.

  “You’re right,” Falconer said. “So, we all need to be extremely careful, as I’ve mentioned. Let’s go down to Mulberry and formulate a plan. Come on.”

  He walked off with his hand inside his jacket, gripping his loaded .45 revolver, and the others followed.

  104

  Falconer walked into the Detective Bureau with Schlager in tow and clapped a couple of times to get the other men’s attention. “Listen up,” he said. “This here is Officer Matthew Schlager from the West 47th Street station house. You might remember him.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Winter said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “This here guy was the one who collared our little friend over in Hell’s Kitchen. How ya’ doin’, buddy?”

  “Not bad, thanks,” Schlager said, nodding.

  “He’s officially joining our bureau,” Falconer announced, “so make sure you make him feel at home. We can use an extra officer. Have a seat, Schlager.”

  The young officer pulled up a chair as Falconer put one foot up on another chair and addressed the men. “So, here we are, gentlemen,” he said. “I’ve briefed Mister Schlager here on everything, and now we’re in a very dangerous predicament, and we can’t even investigate it officially. The way I see it is, this group has now resorted to kidnapping and possibly even murder to keep their little scheme a secret, and we need to put an end to it. The question is, how?”

  The other men looked at each other, as if waiting for someone else to offer up a solution, and then Waidler finally spoke: “Boss, I’d say we have to draw them out and catch them in the act, and then do whatever’s necessary to lead us to the top.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Falconer said, “but we’ve already gotten a couple of them in custody, and they didn’t seem inclined to break ranks. They’ve given us nothing.”

  “Kramer and I would be happy to have a go at one of ‘em, sir,” Winter said. “We’ll see how hard they really are.”

  “It may come to that, Winter—thanks,” Falconer said. “But my first concern is to find out where the inspectors and the professor and Miss Goldman are right now—if they’re even alive.”

  “Sir?” Halloran said from his seat.

  “Yeah, Jimmy?” Falconer said.

  “Maybe we could lay in wait with a next target and catch them trying to pull another kidnapping,” the young officer suggested.

  “What do you mean by a next target?” Falconer asked.

  “Well,” Halloran continued, “it seems to me that everyone who has been kidnapped recently is either a known anarchist type, like Miss Goldman, or a person who knows about The Fall’s secret hideout under the church.”

  “What—you mean us?” Falconer asked.

  “No, sir,” Halloran said. “I was thinking actually of Mister Riis and Miss Bly. They were down there that night, too, as you recall.”

  Falconer’s heart felt like it leaped up into his throat, causing him to almost fall over.

  Nellie.
Damn it.

  “God, I forgot,” Falconer said removing his foot from off the chair. “You’re right, Jimmy—they will be after them, if they haven’t already. Quick—James, you, Winter, and Kramer get ahold of Riis’ address and get over there now. I’ll head up to Miss Bly’s place with Jimmy and Schlager here. Meet back here in a couple of hours. Let’s go!”

  He grabbed his bowler off a coat rack and ran out of the bureau, and the other men scrambled to follow, as other uninformed officers on duty stepped out of their way and looked on with confusion.

  105

  Nellie Bly placed the evening copy of The World next to her on a table and yawned. The house was quiet now and her mother had almost certainly turned in for the night upstairs. She looked across the drawing room at the window that looked out over 35th Street and wondered if she was missing out on something in life—on a great, groundbreaking story perhaps, or maybe a fancy soiree that was happening uptown, or perhaps even some raucous political gathering that was occurring at that hour as Election Day approached.

  She wondered, too, if she had made the right decision to leave the newspaper business a year earlier to make the quick transition to being a celebrated novelist. None of it had panned out, and now here she was, unemployed, unmarried, and living with her mother in a great, big city that seemed to swirl around her with life and activity.

  And then, she thought of Robert. The man who had saved her life from a crazed murderer just eleven months earlier when she was thrown off the bridge to certain death a hundred feet below. Robert had jumped in, too—to save her—and he had succeeded. Robert, the mysterious, impenetrable detective who—she couldn’t deny it—was devastatingly handsome and…inalterably decent.

  He had surprised her by hinting at his true feelings for her back on the night when they had gone underground and found the secret lair of the murderous group she was trying to expose. He had made it clear to her—and she, to him—but then, the constant churning of life had taken over. The investigations into corrupt millionaires and the stress of finding new sources and leads, and then more murders. It had taken over, and she wondered if they might never regain that moment there in the stairwell leading back to the street, when he had smiled at her for once—the first time she had ever seen him really smile, and she had melted inside and wanted him to reach out and touch her. Robert…that quiet, hard, strong, and solitary man. That good man…

  A brief, dull sound suddenly interrupted her thoughts. She turned to look back towards the kitchen where the sound had come from. A thud of some sort. Perhaps Maggie dropping a broom. She would still be back there, cleaning up before turning down the lights and retiring for the night.

  “Maggie?” she called out. “Maggie, are you all right?”

  She heard no response, so she stood up and walked slowly towards the small hallway leading to the back kitchen. “Maggie?” she said again, this time slightly louder. “Are you there?”

  She went through the hallway and peeked into the kitchen and saw no sign of the young housemaid. “What the devil?” she said to herself.

  She then looked over at the corner where the door to the backyard and alleyway was and saw that it was slightly ajar.

  Hm. Must be out back doing something or other.

  She walked over to the door and looked out but saw no sign of her. “Maggie?” she called out into the blackness. “Do you need help, dear?”

  Starting to feel anxious, she contemplated just shutting the door and looking upstairs, but then she thought of the possibility that Maggie had fallen perhaps and was hurt outside, so she slowly descended the wooden steps to the ground and tried to see in the deathly silent darkness. “Maggie?” she said again. “Are you out here?”

  She walked a few steps out into the yard, towards the fence that separated the property from the alley and listened for any sound. But she heard nothing—only a light wind and some distant sounds of people down the street.

  And then she felt it. A faint, warm air on the back of her neck, lightly brushing against her skin. Like the wind, but also full of certain smells—food, and alcohol, and tobacco. Air that felt like a breath…

  106

  Falconer raced up the front steps of Bly’s stone walk-up on 35th Street, joined by Halloran and Schlager. He knocked quickly on the door as he looked over at the window to his left, which still showed some lights on inside the home. Hearing no response, he knocked again, louder this time, and shouted: “Hello! Open up! It’s Detective Sergeant Falconer of the police! We need to speak to you! Open up!”

  He waited for another minute and then was just about to knock again when he suddenly heard the lock being undone. The door then opened slowly, revealing Bly’s mother standing in her nightgown with a look of confusion on her face. “Detective Falconer?” she said shakily. “What’s wrong? Why are you here so late?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you, Miss Cochran,” he said, “but we have reason to believe that your daughter is in danger. Is she here?”

  “Why, yes, somewhere, as I don’t believe she went out. Please, come in.”

  The three men stepped inside and removed their hats, while Bly’s mother called out: “Nellie? Where are you, dear? Detective Falconer is here on some important business.”

  There was no sound from anywhere inside the house, so the woman called out again: “Nellie? Are you there? Maggie, please come quickly now!”

  She turned to face Falconer. “I don’t know what the problem is,” she said. “They were both here when I went to bed, but they’re not answering. I don’t understand.”

  “May we please take a brief look around, Miss Cochran?” Falconer asked.

  “Why, yes, of course. I don’t know where they could have gone. This is worrisome.”

  “Well, just give us a minute, ma’am. Let’s go, gentlemen.”

  The three then moved off and went searching around the home, on all three floors, until—after several fruitless minutes—they met again down in the drawing room.

  “Did either of you check the backyard area?” Falconer asked them.

  “Not me, sir,” Halloran answered.

  “No, sir,” Schlager said.

  “Well, let’s go out back through the kitchen and do that,” Falconer said. “You never know.”

  He led the men through the short hallway into the kitchen, and immediately noticed the door to the backyard that was open. “Look,” he said. “The door.”

  “I got it,” Schlager said, and he quickly moved over and went through the door and down the stairs into the backyard. Halloran, meanwhile, began to check the kitchen for any sign of a struggle. Rummaging through the pantry, he stopped suddenly and looked over at Falconer. “Shhh—sir, did you hear that?” he asked.

  “What?” Falconer said.

  “I just heard something. Like, a moaning sound or something, coming from over here.” He walked over towards a closet set back in the corner of the pantry, and Falconer joined him. Standing still, they both listened for any sound, and then, after a few seconds, Falconer heard it: a moaning, faint but perceptible, coming from behind the door to the closet. He unholstered his gun and motioned for Halloran to do the same, and then grabbed the doorknob and flung the door open. Lying at the bottom of the closet was Maggie, Bly’s housemaid, tied up with rope and gagged with a cloth.

  Falconer quickly knelt and untied the gag, and the housemaid emitted a loud breath, followed by a torrent of excited exclamations: “Oh, my God, sirs, they tied me up! I didn’t see them and suddenly they grabbed me! It was horrible! I thought I was going to die! Please help me!”

  “It’s okay, miss,” Falconer said soothingly as he untied the ropes. “Just a second here and we’ll have you loose and safe. It’s going to be all right.”

  He threw the last of the ropes to the side and helped her to her feet, and then led her to a chair in the kitchen. “Now, sit down and take it easy,
” he said. “We’re the police and you’re safe now. Can you tell us exactly what happened?”

  “Yes, thank you,” the young woman replied breathlessly. “I was just cleaning up at the end of the evening and was about to start turning off the lights when someone grabbed me from behind here in the kitchen and held my mouth tightly so that I couldn’t even scream. I struggled but it was of no use, and they threw me down near the pantry and tied the cloth over my mouth very tightly and then the ropes, and then they threw me down in the closet.”

  “Did you ever see them?” Falconer asked.

  “No, not at all,” she answered. “I’m sorry—I just couldn’t get a look. It happened so fast.”

  “And I suppose you never heard or saw anything relating to Miss Bly?” Falconer asked.

  “No, sir,” she replied dejectedly. “I saw her lounging in the drawing room earlier, but never again after that.”

  “I understand,” Falconer said. “It’s all right. We’re going to try and find out what happened to her.”

  “This might help, sir,” Schlager said, walking back into the kitchen from outside. He held a long hairpin in his hand. “I found this just down the stairs in the grass, and it’s got blood on it, I’m afraid.”

  Falconer took the hairpin from him and examined it. On the end of it was a wet smear of fresh blood. “Do you recognize this, miss?” he asked, turning to Maggie.

  “Why, yes,” she answered quickly. “That’s Miss Bly’s hairpin. I saw her playing with it as she read the evening paper in the drawing room earlier.”

  “And looks like she might be injured, by the signs of it, sir,” Schlager said quietly.

  “Well, maybe,” Falconer said. “Unless the blood belongs to one of our assailants. Let’s go speak to the neighbors—maybe they saw something.”

  “Right,” Schlager said.

  “Yes, sir,” Halloran stated.