Murder in the Bowery

by Victoria Thompson

  “Kid Blink, isn’t it?” Frank said when he saw the young man sitting in one of the chairs they’d optimistically put in the front office for clients to sit in while they waited.

  The Kid jumped to his feet and pumped Frank’s offered hand. “Yes, sir, Mr. Malloy. They told me down at the morgue that you wanted to help out with Two Toes’s funeral.”

  “Come into my office and let’s talk about it.”

  The Kid seemed surprised, but he followed Frank into his office and took the offered chair. He looked around, taking in every detail of the modestly furnished room with his one good eye. Frank had decided he didn’t need to impress anyone, and a lavish office might scare off the more interesting clients who might not have much money to spend on detectives.

  When Frank had taken a seat behind his desk and Gino had sat down on a chair in the corner so he could take notes, Frank said, “I’m very sorry about Freddie. I’m afraid I might have led his killer to him.”

  “You found him then?”

  “I did. A newsboy, Raven Saggio, arranged for me to meet Freddie in an alley behind some tenements in the Bowery. I think it was where Raven usually sleeps.”

  “I know the place. Why were you looking for Two Toes?”

  “I thought I told you. His brother had come into some money and wanted to give Freddie a home.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you told me, but did you really think anybody would believe that whopper?”

  Frank shrugged. “I believed it when Will Arburn told it to me.”

  “Arburn?”

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  “Everybody knows him.” But not everybody liked him, Frank guessed from the Kid’s tone.

  “He told me his name was Will Bert, though, and he gave me a story about being Freddie’s brother and the two of them going out West on the Orphan Train. Supposedly, Freddie got sent back, but Will stayed and made his fortune.”

  “That’s funny, you don’t look like a rube,” the Kid said with a sly grin.

  Frank grinned back. “I’m not usually, but I didn’t have any reason to doubt him at first. It sounded like it could be true, but we found out pretty quick that they were never on the Orphan Train. That got me curious as to why this Arburn fellow wanted to find Freddie, so I decided to ask him. Freddie didn’t tell me much, though.”

  “But you told this Arburn where he was?” the Kid asked, angry now.

  “No, I didn’t, but I did tell Arburn we’d located Freddie and that Freddie didn’t want to see him. I don’t think I told him anything that would have helped him locate Freddie, but somebody found him and killed him, so I feel responsible. That’s why I want to help with the funeral.”

  “We don’t need your money, mister, and we don’t need your help. That’s what got Two Toes killed.”

  Frank was very much afraid he was right. “I’m not trying to excuse myself, and I’m not finished. I’m a detective, so I’m going to find out who killed Freddie and why, and then I’m going to make sure he pays for it.”

  Kid Blink blinked furiously. “You are?”

  “Of course I am. Now anything you can tell me about Freddie would help.”

  The Kid needed a minute to decide. “He didn’t have no brother.”

  “We’ve already figured that out. And we know he slept in Black Jack Robinson’s flat over the Devil’s Den Saloon when Robinson wasn’t using it.”

  The Kid nodded. “He’d keep an eye on things, make sure nobody snuck in. Black Jack didn’t like to leave it sitting empty at night.”

  “So Robinson didn’t live there all the time.”

  “No, he gots a place uptown, real fancy, I hear.”

  “And where did Freddie sleep when Black Jack was using the flat?”

  “Under the stairs. They run up the side of the building, and there’s a nice spot underneath that’s dry unless it’s really raining hard.”

  “So Freddie would be nearby even when Black Jack was using the flat.”

  The Kid shrugged. “A lot of nights, I guess. If it was cold or stormy, he’d go to the lodging house, same as the rest of us, though.”

  Freddie had gone there recently, on a bad night, but he didn’t go often, as Gino had learned. “Did he get along with Robinson?”

  “He let the boy sleep in his place,” the Kid said, which of course told Frank all he needed to know.

  “So you don’t think Robinson killed him?”

  “Why would he?”

  Why, indeed? But Frank knew about Estelle Longacre and Kid Blink didn’t.

  “Do you know anybody who might wish the boy harm? Somebody he got into a fight with, for instance?”

  “Or maybe he stole somebody’s corner,” Gino added, surprising the Kid, who’d apparently forgotten he was there.

  “Not that I heard. Besides, none of us is selling papers right now. And everybody liked Two Toes. But if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “We’d appreciate that.” Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “Put this toward Freddie’s funeral.”

  The Kid took the money and quickly counted it. “This is more than enough for the whole thing.”

  “Then use the rest to make sure no newsies go hungry during the strike.”

  “I will.”

  “And let me know when the funeral is. I’d like to attend.”

  * * *

  Remembering what the bouncer at the Devil’s Den Saloon had said, Frank and Gino found the boardinghouse at the corner of 6th Street and Second Avenue where those wishing to take one of Will Arburn’s Bowery tours could reach him. It was a seedy-looking place, and even late in the morning, the shades were still drawn.

  “Do you think anybody’s home?” Gino asked as they climbed the sagging porch steps.

  “They’re probably still asleep.” Frank raised his fist and pounded loudly on the front door.

  A prune-faced old woman opened the door and glared at them with rheumy eyes. Her wiry gray hair stood out around her face like a perverse halo, and she clutched a dingy silk wrapper to her bony chest with a clawlike hand. “What’s all the fuss?”

  “We’d like to see Will Arburn,” Frank said.

  “He ain’t available, but if you want to go on a tour, the book’s inside here on the table. Just sign up and pay your fee. You’re too late for tonight, but the next one’s on Monday.”

  “We aren’t here for a tour. We need to see him on some personal business.”

  She looked them up and down contemptuously. “Will pays the roundsman every week, so don’t try to shake him down for more.”

  Frank sighed. Why did people always think he was a copper? And even worse, a copper looking for a bribe? “We’re not here to shake him down.”

  “Then come back later,” she said, and made to close the door, but Frank was ready. He slapped his hand against the peeling wood and gave it a shove. The old woman staggered back a few steps, giving Frank and Gino the opportunity to step inside. She called them some names that no little old lady should know, but Frank didn’t take it personally.

  “Will you tell him we’re here or do we have to go room to room until we find him?”

  Her glare could’ve drawn blood on a rock. “Your knees are younger than mine. He’s on the second floor, first door on the right.”

  “I’ll go,” Gino said.

  “You hurt the boy, and you’ll be sorry,” the old woman warned Frank. “He works for Black Jack Robinson.”

  “I know he does. I’m not going to hurt him. In fact, I work for Will. He hired me to find his brother,” Frank tried, curious to see her reaction.

  The old woman reared back at that. “Brother? Will ain’t got no brother.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because he’s my grandson.”

  Now, that was interesting.
Gino was pounding on the door upstairs, making the old woman wince. Frank said, “You don’t think he had a half brother he didn’t know about?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You should ask him why he hired me to find one, then.”

  Arburn was awake now and swearing at Gino for disturbing him. Gino’s voice was a calm rumble in between Arburn’s curses. Arburn quickly ran out of steam, though, and then the two men came back down the stairs, Arburn in the lead.

  He’d pulled on a pair of trousers, but he was barefoot and shirtless. The house was already stifling, and Frank found himself wishing he could remove his shirt and suit coat, too. “I don’t know why you had to wake me up,” Arburn was grousing. “Why couldn’t this have waited until later?”

  Frank saw no reason to answer him. “Mind if we use the parlor?” he asked the old woman, then gave Arburn a gentle shove toward the doorway without waiting for a reply.

  Now the old woman was cursing, although much more softly than Arburn had. “Should I get somebody, Willy?” she asked.

  “No, Granny. Go back to bed.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  The old woman walked away grumbling while the three men went into the shabby parlor. The curtains were closed, but sunlight would not improve this room. A few stuffed chairs with sprung seats were scattered around. The smell of stale cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, and overflowing ashtrays cluttered dusty tabletops. Arburn sank down into the nearest chair and gazed up at them with bloodshot eyes, absently scratching his bare chest. “Just tell me what you want and get out.”

  “We thought you’d be interested to know we found Estelle Longacre,” Frank said.

  Arburn’s stubbled face twitched at this, but he pretended to be unimpressed. “Where has she been? Mr. Robinson’ll be real happy to see her.”

  “She’s been in the morgue at Bellevue.”

  “The morgue?” he echoed stupidly.

  “Yes, she’s dead. She’s probably been dead since Saturday night.”

  He sighed wearily. “I should’ve known. She was asking for trouble, coming to the Bowery at night like that. I guess she ran into the wrong person.”

  “The thing is, we also found Norman Tufts.”

  Arburn’s eyes snapped open at this. “Tufts? Is he dead, too?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then is he the one killed her?”

  “Why would you ask that?” Frank asked.

  Arburn blinked a few times. “I . . . Because he was the one who brought her in the first place. He knew her before.”

  “And they were going to be married,” Frank said, watching for Arburn’s reaction.

  He snorted in derision. “That’s what Tufts thought.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “She wasn’t going to marry somebody like him.”

  “No, not when she had a real man like you,” Frank said.

  “What?” Arburn frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tufts told us you were having an affair with Estelle Longacre, that you took her to your flat one night after a tour.” Frank glanced around in distaste. “Is this where you took her? Somehow I can’t imagine your Granny playing hostess to Miss Longacre.”

  “Oh no, he’d want to impress her,” Gino said. “I bet he took her to Jack Robinson’s flat.”

  “I bet you’re right, Gino,” Frank said. “He’d know if Robinson was using it or not, and all he’d have to do is send the newsboy out, the one who watched the place when Robinson wasn’t there.”

  “I never . . . I didn’t . . .” Arburn tried, but his brain was still sluggish from lack of sleep, and he couldn’t seem to form a coherent argument.

  Frank continued without him. “So you took Estelle to Robinson’s flat after one of your tours. How many times did you take her there afterward, Arburn? How long did you have her before Robinson took her away?”

  Arburn glared at him. “That’s not what happened.”

  “What did happen?”

  “She . . . I got tired of her.”

  Frank raised his eyebrows to demonstrate his disbelief.

  “It’s true! She was . . . a tease.”

  “A tease? You mean she didn’t submit to your advances?”

  “Of course she did!” he said, insulted by the very suggestion. “But she didn’t . . . I thought . . . She wasn’t . . .”

  “She wasn’t what?” Frank asked, genuinely confused.

  “She acted like she was . . . interested. Like she’d be fun.”

  “And she wasn’t fun?” Frank asked, still confused.

  “Not at all! She just . . . She’d just lay there. She wouldn’t even look at me!”

  Frank and Gino exchanged a glance.

  Arburn didn’t like the glance. “It wasn’t my fault! She wanted me. It was her idea to go with me the first time.”

  “How did she get involved with Robinson then?”

  Arburn worked his jaw a little before he replied, like he had to force the words out. “He came to the flat one night when she was there. She was waiting for me, but I was late.”

  “So she threw you over for him?” Gino said, earning a black look from Arburn.

  “I was glad enough to see her go. I could see he was taken with her, just like I was at first. We don’t see many girls like her in the Bowery.”

  “You don’t see any girls like her in the Bowery,” Frank said.

  “You’d be surprised,” Arburn said bitterly. “But Black Jack was smitten, so I left her to him.”

  “Didn’t she have any say in it?” Gino asked.

  “Oh, she wanted him, too, or at least she pretended like she did, the way she did with me at first. He’s the boss, ain’t he? A big man. She liked the idea of being with a real gangster.”

  “How long ago was this?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know. Three weeks or a month, I guess.”

  “And didn’t Robinson get tired of her, too?” Frank asked.

  “Maybe she had more fun with him than with Arburn here,” Gino said when Arburn didn’t answer.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Arburn insisted angrily.

  “You know Robinson was upset when she went missing,” Frank reminded him. “Or did you make that up?”

  Arburn crossed his arms and looked away.

  Gino gave Arburn’s foot a nudge with his own, reminding him they weren’t just having a friendly chat.

  “Yeah, he was upset,” Arburn snapped. “He . . . he really cared about her, for some strange reason.”

  “So he sent you out to find the boy,” Frank said.

  “Yeah. He thought Two Toes might know what happened to her, why she left that night. He was crazy about her. Black Jack, I mean. I couldn’t figure out why, but he was. The way he talked, I thought he might even marry her.”

  “But she was engaged to Norman Tufts,” Frank tried.

  Arburn looked up in surprise. “Did Tufts tell you that? Because she couldn’t stand him. I know that much, at least. I told you, she wasn’t going to marry Norman Tufts.”

  Frank was sure he was right. “We need to talk to Jack Robinson.”

  “Why are you telling me?” Arburn asked.

  “Because you work for him.”

  “I’m not his secretary.”

  “Are you afraid to tell him we’re looking for him?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Arburn lied. “It’s just . . . He’s a little mad at me right now.”

  “Because you hired a private investigator to find the boy?” Frank guessed.

  Arburn shrugged.

  “Just tell us where we can find him then.”

  “You can ask at the Devil’s Den, but I doubt they’ll be much help.”

  “So
I guess you’re going to tell Robinson yourself that the girl is dead.”

  Arburn looked up, his eyes wide. “I . . . I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? He’s already mad at you, so what harm can it do?”

  “I’ll . . . If you see him, you can tell him yourself, can’t you?”

  “Yes, we can.”

  “Then I’ll find out where he is and I’ll let you know.”

  * * *

  On Monday morning, Sarah left a very disgruntled Malloy behind as she and Maeve made the trip to an attorney’s office to take possession of the house that would become a maternity hospital.

  “Poor Mr. Malloy,” Maeve said. They were tucked inside a cab making its way through the crowded city streets. “Do you think that Arburn fellow was lying when he said he’d find his boss?”

  “I have no idea, but maybe Arburn is having as much trouble finding him as Malloy and Gino. According to them, when they didn’t hear from Arburn by yesterday, they asked practically everyone in the Bowery for information, but they came away no wiser.”

  “Sunday in the Bowery is a pretty lonely place. They probably didn’t even see anyone who really knew anything.”

  “How do you know what the Bowery is like on Sunday?” Sarah asked.

  Maeve simply smiled. “I’ve heard rumors.”

  “I just can’t believe this Jack Robinson is so difficult to find.”

  “I’m sure he just doesn’t want to be found,” Maeve said. “If he killed Estelle Longacre, he has a good reason to make himself scarce, doesn’t he?”

  “But if he killed her, why did he send Arburn out to find the boy?”

  “Maybe he just wanted to know if the boy saw anything. He wouldn’t want any witnesses, would he?”

  Sarah hadn’t considered that possibility. “I don’t suppose he would. But to kill a child . . .” She shuddered.

  “I know. That’s horrible. But if he’s the kind of man who could do that, we probably don’t want Gino and Mr. Malloy to find him either.”

  “That’s true, although I’m not sure we can convince them to give up trying.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right.” Maeve sighed out her frustration. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me more about the house. I’ll get to see it now, won’t I?”