“Get back here, girl, and listen to me!” he shouted as Frank stepped into the room. The curtains were drawn, and the air was suffocating.
“She seems to have gone,” Frank said, finding Longacre not in bed but sitting in an upholstered chair, his feet resting on an ottoman. He wore a stained dressing gown, and his spindly bare legs stuck out from beneath it, white and hairy. His slippers had seen better days.
“Who are you and what the devil do you want with me?” Longacre asked, eyeing Frank balefully. He was almost completely bald, with only a few wisps of white hair sprouting forlornly from his scalp. His face was haggard, cheeks and eyes sunken, skin unnaturally pale. Still, his eyes glittered with life. And anger.
“Like your maid said, I have some information about your daughter, Estelle.” Frank handed him a business card.
“Private detective, eh? I had you pegged for a cop.”
Frank merely smiled.
“And what do you have to tell me about Estelle, eh? Nothing good, I’ll warrant.”
Frank glanced around the untidy room, noticing the stacks of newspapers and piles of unopened correspondence on every flat surface. The bed was unmade, the covers half off. He spotted a straight-backed chair nearby. He went to it, removed the stack of papers from the seat, and carried it over so he could sit down facing Longacre.
“It has come to my attention, during the course of an investigation, that your daughter, Estelle, was in the habit of visiting a man named Black Jack Robinson.”
He did not seem surprised by this information. “And what business is it of yours who my daughter visits?”
“Ordinarily, none, but this Robinson lives in the Bowery, and a young woman who matches the description of your daughter was found dead in the Bowery early Sunday morning.”
If Frank had expected grief or even anger, he would have been disappointed. Instead, Longacre’s glittering eyes narrowed shrewdly. “And you think this dead girl is Estelle?”
“I know she was supposed to meet Robinson on Saturday night, but she never showed up. I know girls like her don’t usually turn up in the Bowery at all, much less dead. So I came to see if I could find Miss Longacre, because if she was safely at home, that would mean the dead girl was someone else. But it appears that she’s not safely at home.”
“Who told you that? Not Marie.”
“Miss Penelope Longacre,” Frank said.
Longacre snorted. “Penny never did know when to keep her mouth shut.”
“So if Miss Estelle has indeed been missing since Saturday night, you might want to check the body in the morgue to see if it is your daughter.”
This time Longacre’s face did reflect anger. “Look at me! Do you think I can go traipsing all over the city looking at dead bodies?”
“Your sister did say you were ill.”
“Ill? Is that what she calls it? I’m dying, Mr. Malloy. Slowly but surely.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Frank said, not bothering to sound sorry.
Longacre glared at him for a long moment. “I could send Penny, I guess.”
“The morgue is no place for a lady, Mr. Longacre.”
“All the more reason to send her,” Longacre said viciously. “But we can’t have her fainting, can we? No, indeed. I’ll send Norman. It’ll make a man of him.”
“Norman?” Arburn had said a man named Norman had accompanied Estelle.
“Yes, my sister’s . . . ward or whatever she calls him.”
“Then I can assume your daughter has been missing since Saturday, and you don’t know where she is?”
“If she’s missing, then I wouldn’t know where she is, would I? I also don’t know about any of this nonsense with a fellow named Black Jack something, either. What kind of a name is that for a man? Does he think he’s a pirate?” He gave a bark of laughter at his own joke. Didn’t he realize how inappropriate that was since Frank had just told him his daughter was probably dead?
“And if this dead girl is your daughter, aren’t you interested in how she died?”
That sobered him instantly. “But I’m not sure it’s her, am I?”
“I was sure enough that I tracked you down, Mr. Longacre.”
His bloodless lips flattened to a straight line. “But I’m not sure until Norman sees her. You can tell me all about it then.”
“If it’s her, then the police can tell you all about it,” Frank said, rising from his chair. He’d had enough of Horace Longacre.
“She was murdered then,” he mused. “Tell Penny to get that brat of hers to the morgue so we can settle this.”
Frank found Sarah and Miss Longacre staring at each other in awkward silence in the parlor.
Miss Longacre looked up expectantly. “What did he say?”
He hesitated, not sure how much Sarah had told her.
“She knows,” Sarah said.
“He said to send Norman to the morgue to identify the body.”
“Norman! He can’t expect that poor boy to go to a horrible place like that!”
“Norman Tufts is Miss Longacre’s ward,” Sarah explained, and Frank nodded to tell her he’d made the connection.
“Your brother wanted to send you, but I convinced him it was no place for a lady,” Frank said.
Miss Longacre gasped in outrage. “That fiend. I should have known he’d do something like this.”
“Is Mr. Longacre too ill to go himself?” Sarah asked him.
“He says he is,” Frank said. “What’s wrong with him, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Miss Longacre pulled a face. “Pernicious anemia.”
Frank glanced at Sarah for an explanation. “It’s a blood disorder, debilitating and ultimately fatal, although the person can linger for a long time.”
“He’d go to the morgue if he could get there on his yacht,” Miss Longacre said bitterly. “Instead he wants to send my poor Norman.”
“I’ll be glad to go with the boy,” Frank said, glancing at Sarah to find her biting back a knowing smile.
Miss Longacre glared at him suspiciously, but he gave her only his most innocent smile in return. Sarah said it wasn’t really all that innocent, but it worked on Miss Longacre. “I suppose it would be better than having him go alone. He’ll be very distressed, seeing his cousin dead.”
“Perhaps it isn’t her,” Sarah said.
Miss Longacre sighed. “She left here on Saturday and hasn’t been seen since. She would’ve come home by now if she could.”
Plainly, Miss Longacre was not a romantic who imagined her niece had eloped or something like that.
“How can I get in touch with Norman, Miss Longacre?” Frank asked.
“Fix a time, and I’ll have him meet you there,” she said. “Where is this place?”
* * *
Norman Tufts was an unprepossessing young man in his midtwenties. He wore an ill-fitting plaid suit and a derby hat he obviously thought looked jaunty but which just looked silly. It sat too low on his head and made his ears stick out. Tall and gangly, he hurried across the street at a clumsy lope to meet Frank in front of Bellevue. “Mr. Malloy?” he asked.
Frank shook his hand.
Sarah had explained the young man’s relationship to the family. He bore a slight resemblance to Horace Longacre, but his eyes lacked the lively glitter of intelligence and were a little too far apart.
“I’ve never done anything like this before, Mr. Malloy.”
“Don’t worry. All you have to do is look at her face and tell them if it’s her or not.”
“Then she’s not . . .”
“Not what?”
“Aunt Penny said she’d probably be . . . decaying.”
Aunt Penny was a morbid sort. “You can still recognize her.”
Frank escorted Norman down to the basement, where the attend
ant readily accepted Frank’s explanation of why they were there.
“I’m glad somebody’s going to claim her,” the attendant said, and indicated the two men should go on in and take a look.
“She’s naked,” Norman cried in horror, covering his face with both hands. “They’re all naked.”
“Just look at her face,” Frank said. “Is that her?”
Norman had turned a little green, but he obediently lowered his hands just enough. “Oh dear heavens, yes, it’s her. That’s Estelle.” Then he turned and ran.
The attendant was ready with a bucket when Norman lost his lunch. “Happens all the time,” he confided to Frank.
While Norman waited on a bench in the hallway, his head in his hands, Frank gave the attendant the name and address of the next of kin and promised they would send for the body.
“I see the boy’s body is still here,” Frank said.
“Yeah, but some of the newsboys came by to say they’ll claim him. Did you know they take up a collection to pay for the funeral when one of them dies?”
“Yes, I did.” Frank handed him one of his cards. “Tell them to see me. I’ll make a donation.”
Since Norman was still too unsteady to go home, Frank took him to a nearby bar for a little fortification.
And a few questions.
When he and Norman had downed their first drink and were on their second, Frank led him to a table. The place was quiet in the midafternoon, with only a few truly dedicated customers, so they could talk easily.
“That was a hard thing to do, Norman,” Frank said.
Norman shuddered. “Aunt Penny told me I had to, because there was no one else. Uncle Horace is too sick, and I couldn’t expect her to do it, could I?”
Which sounded exactly like what Penny would have said to him. “No one wants to see a family member like that.”
“They should cover them up. It’s not decent.”
“Yes, they should.”
Norman finished his drink, and Frank signaled the bartender for another. “So you and Estelle were cousins.”
Norman’s head came up at that, as though the question were suspicious in some way. “That’s right.”
“And Miss Longacre raised you.”
“My parents died when I was very young. I don’t even remember them.” He said it like he was reciting something memorized in childhood.
“That’s unusual, isn’t it? For a maiden lady to take in a child, I mean.”
“I don’t know. She said she wanted to give me a home. She sacrificed everything for me.”
Another thing she had probably told him many times over the years. “She must be very kind.”
Norman frowned, looking a little confused. He also didn’t agree.
“I guess you and Estelle saw a lot of each other growing up,” Frank tried.
He shrugged and sipped his drink.
“How about lately? Have you been called on to escort her places now that she’s grown?”
Norman choked on his whiskey, and Frank had to slap him on the back a few times before he could get his breath again. When he did, he gave Frank a wary glance and started to rise. “I really should be going—”
But Frank was ready for him. “You went with her on those tours in the Bowery, didn’t you?”
Norman’s chin dropped and his eyes popped so far open, Frank thought they might roll out of his head. “I never!”
“Of course you did. Lots of people saw you, including the guide, Will Arburn.”
“Willy!” Norman sank back down into his chair. “Is he the one who told you? I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to think of anything he might do to avenge himself on Will.
“Whose idea was it to go on the tours, Norman?”
“Hers! I swear. I don’t even know how she knew about them. She was an evil girl, Mr. Malloy. If you don’t believe me, ask Aunt Penny.”
“Who could have told her about the tours?”
“I don’t know. She reads the newspapers, though. Maybe she saw it there. They’re always doing stories about things like that.”
“And she dressed up like a man to go on the tours.”
“They don’t take women, and why would a female want to go? They take you to bars and gambling dens and whorehouses.”
“But Estelle wanted to go. And you took her.”
Norman sighed. “I thought she’d change her mind when she found out what it was like.”
“Had you been on the tours before?”
“I . . .” Norman’s pale face turned crimson. “Once or twice. I thought she’d be scared and start crying and beg me to take her home.”
“But she didn’t.”
Norman slowly shook his head, still marveling over Estelle’s behavior. “She loved it. She even went upstairs with a whore once.”
“You took her more than once?” Frank said, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice.
“Yes,” he admitted, not willing to meet Frank’s eye.
“Did the other men on the tour know she was a woman?”
“Of course they did. She thought she was so clever, but she didn’t fool anybody.”
“What did Will think about taking a female along?”
This time Norman’s face darkened with anger. “He thought it was fine, especially when she went off with him after a tour.”
“Went off with him?”
“Yes, back to some flat he knew about where they could be alone. She didn’t come home until morning. After she did that, I told her I wasn’t going to take her on the tours anymore.”
“Who did she go with then?”
“She didn’t. She just started meeting Will, or at least that’s what he told me. He wanted to make sure I knew what they were doing.”
“Why?”
“Because Estelle and I were supposed to get married.”
6
“They were engaged?” Maeve asked in wonder.
Frank had finally put a slightly tipsy Norman Tufts into a hansom cab and headed across town to the welcome refuge of his own home. Gino had valiantly agreed to meet him there, knowing he’d be forced to spend time with the children and their lovely nursemaid while he waited. Frank would have to commend him for his self-sacrifice.
Now Mrs. Malloy had taken Catherine and Brian up to the nursery so Maeve could hear Frank’s report along with Gino and Sarah in the parlor.
“They weren’t actually engaged,” Frank said. “He told me they were supposed to get married, so of course I asked him some more questions. It seems Miss Penelope Longacre had always told him his duty was to marry Estelle.”
“Did Estelle know this?” Sarah asked with unusual skepticism.
“Norman claimed she did, although she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about the idea as Penelope was.”
“What about Norman?” Gino asked. “Was he enthusiastic?”
“He didn’t seem to be. In fact, he seemed almost relieved that Estelle was dead.”
“Relieved? Are you sure that’s what he was feeling?” Sarah asked.
“I’m not positive, but he certainly didn’t act like a man who had lost the love of his life.”
“But you did say he seemed jealous of Will,” Gino reminded him.
“Which doesn’t make any sense,” Maeve said. “I thought she was seeing that Black Jack fellow.”
“Norman didn’t seem to know anything about Robinson. From what he said, Estelle flirted shamelessly with our friend Will Arburn during the tours, and when Arburn invited her to go home with him, right in front of Norman, she did. Arburn bragged to Norman afterward, too, so it’s possible she really did have an affair with Arburn before she met Robinson.”
“How did she meet Robinson then?” Sarah asked.
“Maybe Arburn introduced
them,” Maeve said.
Sarah frowned. “Would a young man introduce his new girl to a man who was more powerful and apparently more attractive than he is?”
“I wouldn’t,” Gino said.
“Or maybe she wasn’t ever Arburn’s girl at all,” Frank said. He’d had the entire walk home to think about it. “What if Arburn was just procuring her for Robinson?”
“Do men do that?” Maeve asked with obvious distaste.
“Do you mean he’s a cadet?” Gino asked.
“Not exactly. Cadets recruit females for prostitution, and Estelle Longacre wasn’t a prostitute. She was apparently Robinson’s mistress, though, and she must have met him through Arburn, somehow.”
“So either Arburn found her first and Robinson took her from him, or Arburn found her and brought her to him,” Sarah said.
“Does it really matter which way it was?” Gino asked.
“It does if Arburn was jealous and killed Estelle,” Frank said. “So I guess we need to find out.”
Sarah frowned again. “How will you do that?”
“We’ll have to ask Arburn, of course.”
“He’ll lie,” Maeve said.
Frank nodded. “Men always lie about women. But we’ll also ask Robinson and see if their stories agree.”
“Do we have to ask Robinson?” Gino asked uneasily. “If he’s the one who killed her, he won’t be happy to see us.”
“But if he didn’t kill her, he’ll probably want to help all he can.”
“Maybe he’ll even hire you,” Maeve said with a grin.
“I’m not counting on it,” Frank said. “And don’t forget, whoever killed her also killed the boy. Estelle Longacre may have put herself in danger by going to the Bowery in the first place, but Freddie was completely innocent.”
That sobered all of them.
“So you’re going to do whatever you have to in order to find this killer,” Sarah said. “What’s next?”
“Next, we question Will Arburn again and then we find Jack Robinson.”
* * *
But Black Jack Robinson, a man who owned brothels and saloons, was probably not an early riser, especially on a Saturday, and neither was Will Arburn, so Frank and Gino met at the office the next morning to discuss strategy. By the time Frank arrived, Gino had already opened up and a client was waiting.
Murder in the Bowery Page 9