Murder in the Bowery

by Victoria Thompson

  “What did you do then?”

  “I still wanted to run, but Two Toes, he said to find a cop and tell him. He said he’d wait there to make sure nobody bothered her.”

  “And you found a cop?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t easy. They don’t like to go in the alleys at night. He had to find another one to go with him. By the time we got there, Two Toes was gone.”

  “So the cops never saw him?”

  “No. He was here when I got back, though. He asked could he stay with me for a few days, so that’s how I knew where he was when you and that other fellow come asking about him.”

  “Did he tell you who the dead lady was?”

  “No. How would he know that?”

  “Did he tell you how he knew the trunk was there?”

  “He said he saw a fellow drag it there and then leave. He wanted to get it before the fellow came back for it.”

  “A fellow? That’s what he said? Just one?”

  “Yeah, he said the fellow probably went to get help because it was so heavy.”

  Now, that was interesting, but Gino wasn’t going to discuss it with Raven. He set the boy back on his feet and turned him so he could see his face while keeping a grip on his shoulder. “Did Two Toes say anything about seeing something happen at Black Jack’s flat?”

  “Is that where it happened?”

  “Where what happened?”

  “I don’t know, but Two Toes was really spooked. He’d hardly sleep at night, jumping at every sound, and when he did sleep, he had bad dreams. He said it was finding the dead woman, but we’ve found dead people before, so I knew it wasn’t that.”

  “Was it because he knew her?”

  “Did he? He didn’t say.”

  “She was Black Jack’s girl.”

  Raven swore colorfully. “Did he kill her, then?”

  “Who, Two Toes?”

  Raven rolled his eyes at such a stupid question. “No, Black Jack.”

  “We don’t think so. It might’ve been somebody Freddie knew, though. That would explain why he was scared.”

  “Oh yeah. He’d be afraid they’d come after him.” Raven’s face fell. “And I guess he was right.”

  “We want to find out who killed Two Toes and the woman. Did he say anything else that might help?”

  Raven’s small face screwed up in concentration, but after a minute he said, “I can’t think of nothing, I swear, mister. I’d help you if I could.”

  “If you remember anything or you hear anything, come and see us. There’ll be a reward.”

  Gino fished a fiver out of his pocket along with another of his cards.

  “You said three dollars,” the boy said suspiciously.

  “You were a lot of help. Thanks, Raven.”

  “Sure.”

  Gino turned to go.

  “Mister?”

  Gino turned back. “Yes?”

  “You’re really gonna find out who killed him?”

  “Yes. We’re going to his funeral this afternoon, too. Will you be there?”

  “We’ll all be there.”

  * * *

  No mourning wreath hung on the Longacres’ front door. Horace Longacre probably didn’t worry about such niceties. The surly maid, Marie, answered Frank’s knock. This time he didn’t give her the chance to turn him away. He simply walked forward, using his hand to keep her from slamming the door in his face. Since he was stronger, he got inside.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re wasting your time,” she huffed.

  “I’m going to see Mr. Longacre, if he’s still alive.”

  “He was the last time I checked. I guess you know where his room is, so I don’t need to show you.” With that she strode off toward the back of the house, where she probably had a comfortable place to sit here on the first floor where it was cooler.

  Frank trudged up two flights of stairs to Longacre’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

  “What do you want?”

  Frank took that as an invitation to enter and did so. “Good morning, Mr. Longacre.”

  Today, he was still in bed, although he’d flung off all the covers in deference to the weather. He lay there, propped up on pillows and surrounded by newspapers. He wore a yellowed nightshirt. “What do you want?”

  “I just have a few more questions about your daughter.”

  “My daughter is dead, and I’ll be dead soon, too, so why should I answer any of your questions?”

  “Don’t you want to see her killer caught and punished?”

  “What kind of question is that? Are you trying to make me feel guilty or something?”

  “Would it help?” Frank asked, finding the chair he’d claimed the last time and clearing the seat before moving it over near the bed.

  “Don’t you have any pity for a dying man?”

  “Apparently not. I just have a few questions.” Frank sat down.

  Longacre sighed wearily. “And I have a question for you. What have you done with Estelle’s body?”

  Frank looked up in surprise. “I haven’t done anything with it.”

  “Norman said you’d taken it away from the undertaker who got it from the morgue.”

  “I don’t know why he’d say that since it isn’t true.”

  “Norman says a lot of things that aren’t true. What is true is that somebody took her body and we don’t know who or why or where they took it.”

  “I’m sure it’s some kind of mistake,” Frank said, wondering if it was possible for Jack Robinson to have done such a thing. Surely, he was the only one bold enough to try it. Unless it really was a mistake.

  “Oh yes, I’m sure people go around the city claiming the bodies of people they don’t even know all the time.”

  “Well, I’m not one of them, so I can’t help you. I wanted to ask you if your daughter had any suitors.”

  “You mean besides that gangster she took up with?”

  “Yes, besides him. Did she have any gentlemen calling on her?”

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  “A reasonable one, I think. She was young and pretty and—”

  “How do you know she was pretty?”

  “I was with Norman when he claimed her body, remember?”

  Longacre grumbled something Frank didn’t catch.

  “She was young and pretty and eligible. Girls like that usually have suitors.”

  “Not Estelle. She might’ve gone out looking to find one, but I didn’t let any young bucks come sniffing around here.”

  “Why not?” Most parents wanted to see their daughters married and settled.

  “Because I didn’t. Her job was to take care of me.”

  Which was a little selfish, but knowing Longacre as he now did, he wasn’t surprised. “What about Norman Tufts? I heard he wanted to marry her.”

  Longacre’s expression hardened and his rheumy eyes narrowed with distaste. “That was all Penny’s idea. As soon as she got him, she started bringing him over to visit my girl, and she’d tell Estelle that she and Norman were going to get married someday.”

  “What did Estelle think of that?”

  “Nothing, I expect. Nobody pays attention to Penny.”

  “I’m surprised you allowed talk like that.”

  “What do you mean?” Longacre asked, suddenly wary.

  “Oh, I know you gave out the story that Norman is a distant relation, but you knew he was more closely related than that,” Frank said, testing the waters.

  “Where did you get such an idea?” Longacre was angry now.

  Anger was a good sign. “Yours isn’t the first family to make up a story to cover up an illegitimate birth, but you couldn’t allow Estelle and Norman to marry if they’re really first cousins.”


  Longacre’s anger instantly dissipated. “First cousins, eh? That’s what you think? Well, they weren’t going to marry, so it doesn’t matter. Estelle couldn’t stand the sight of him.”

  “Are you sure? I understand Norman escorted her sometimes when she went out. Maybe they fell in love.”

  “Estelle fall in love with Norman? Not likely.”

  Frank pretended to consider his denial. “That’s funny, because we know Estelle was close to at least one gentleman.”

  “Are you calling that gangster a gentleman?”

  “No, I’m talking about someone else. You see, Estelle was with child when she was murdered, and she was too far along for it to have belonged to Jack Robinson.”

  Longacre registered surprise and something that might have been alarm. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I do. And I suspect that whoever it was might’ve been jealous of her affair with Robinson.”

  “And you think this mysterious gentleman killed her? Claptrap! The gangster killed her.”

  “I don’t think he did.”

  “I don’t care what you think, and what business is it of yours who killed her?”

  “None, but whoever killed her also killed a boy I cared about, so I’m going to find his killer, and I’ll get hers into the bargain.”

  “That’s your business, I suppose, but it’s not mine. I just need to get Estelle’s body back and put it in the ground. She’s going to be buried next to me. We’ll be together forever.” That thought seemed to give Longacre immense satisfaction. Frank had thought he couldn’t dislike the man any more, but he’d been wrong.

  He took his leave and made his way downstairs again. He hadn’t learned as much as he’d hoped, but he knew the servants in houses like this often knew far more than their masters ever suspected. He hadn’t bothered questioning Marie before, but maybe he should give it a try before he left. At least that would mean he wouldn’t need to come back here again.

  Frank went down the hallway and found a door that led to the kitchen, where he found Marie just as he had pictured her. She sat in a Windsor armchair that had probably been transferred from the dining room, shoes off, with her stocking feet propped up on a stool. What he hadn’t pictured was the rangy man sitting at the table nearby and tucking into a meat pie.

  They both looked up in surprise at Frank’s unceremonious entrance. Marie recovered first. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Looking for you,” Frank said. By then the man had risen to his feet, setting down his fork in the process. “I’m Frank Malloy.” Frank offered his hand.

  The man was even taller than he’d looked sitting down, and his hand enveloped Frank’s in an enthusiastic grip. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Tom O’Day.”

  “Don’t talk to him, Tom. He’s here nosing around about Miss Estelle,” Marie said.

  “Don’t mind Marie,” Tom said with a friendly smile. “She’s just a little out of sorts because her feet hurt.”

  “My feet got nothing to do with it, Tom O’Day.”

  “Won’t you have a seat?” Tom said. “Would you like some meat pie? Marie is famous for her meat pie.”

  “He’s not getting any of my meat pie,” Marie declared.

  “No, thanks,” Frank said, “although it smells delicious. I was just going to ask for a drink before I go on my way. It’s getting hot out there again today.”

  “Sit right down, then. I’ll fix you some lemonade.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, Tom O’Day!” Marie said, but he completely ignored her while he fetched some lemons from a bowl on the cluttered shelves and began his preparations.

  “Do you work here, too, Mr. O’Day?” Frank asked, pulling out one of the mismatched chairs that circled the old wooden table.

  “That’s none of your business,” Marie said.

  “Oh yes,” Tom said, still blithely ignoring her. Frank had already figured out that he must do that a lot. “I used to drive Mr. Longacre’s carriage, but then he stopped going places, so he gave it up. He fired his valet, too, but he couldn’t fire me because if I go, Marie goes with me, and he has to have his meat pie. Marie is my missus.”

  Frank nodded, deciding not to glance at Marie, which might encourage her to speak again.

  “So I do whatever needs doing around here. It’s just me and Marie here now, while Mr. Longacre waits to die.” Tom had fetched a glass juicer and was twisting the halved lemons on it to extract the juice. Their tart aroma filled the kitchen.

  “So did the old man tell you what you needed to know?” Marie asked suddenly.

  Frank had to look at her. “Not really.”

  “What is it you need to know, Mr. Malloy?” Tom asked with a pleasant smile. Frank wondered if he had any other expression. He seemed like a very amiable man.

  “I was wondering if Miss Estelle had any suitors.”

  Marie made a disgusted sound, and Tom’s pleasant smile vanished, answering Frank’s unspoken question about his range of expressions.

  “That’s a sad thing, Mr. Malloy,” Tom said. “Mr. Longacre, he never would let her see any young men.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s no mystery,” Marie said. “He wanted to keep her for himself.”

  10

  “We’re going to attract a lot of attention in this carriage,” Maeve said, glancing out the window as they slowly made their way through the Lower East Side. Ragged children were already chasing along beside them, calling out for pennies.

  “I know, but we shouldn’t go to the new house alone, and my mother was only too happy to lend us the use of it.”

  “And the use of John to guard us,” Maeve said with a smile.

  Sarah smiled back. “I think the coachman will be busy guarding the coach, but yes, if we happen to need assistance, he’ll be there.”

  “How do you think Estelle got herself to the Bowery? Or got out of her house, for that matter?”

  “She probably said she was going someplace acceptable, like a party or a church event. We know Norman Tufts took her when they went on the tours.”

  “And she dressed up like a man for that,” Maeve remembered, “but did Norman take her when she went to meet Arburn and Robinson?

  “I can’t imagine he did. If he was planning to marry her or even had hopes of marrying her, he certainly wouldn’t take her to meet a lover.”

  “Or two lovers. So how did a lone female get to the Bowery and home again safely?”

  “I guess the lover may have escorted her home, or at least as far as a main thoroughfare where she could get a cab.”

  “But she’d still have to get there,” Maeve said with a frown.

  “Let’s see, it’s the first of August now, and from what we’ve learned, she started seeing Arburn about two months ago. Even if she visited him in the evenings, it would have been light until around eight o’clock or even later.”

  “That’s right. So if she managed to get a hansom cab to bring her, she would have arrived in daylight.”

  “Which still would have been risky, but I’ve gotten the impression that Estelle liked taking risks.”

  “I got that impression, too,” Maeve said.

  Sarah glanced over at Maeve and wondered if she should broach the subject she had been considering herself ever since Malloy had raised it to her. She didn’t want to shock Maeve or embarrass her. On the other hand, she’d never known Maeve to be shocked or embarrassed, or at least not very much, anyway. “Maeve, would you give me your opinion on something, as a respectable young woman?”

  Maeve’s eyes lit up at this. She obviously knew Sarah would not have asked if she didn’t value that opinion. “Certainly, although I’m not sure somebody raised by a grifter could be called respectable.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you are.”

  “Then w
hat do you want to ask me?”

  “Malloy told me privately about conversations he had with both Arburn and Robinson.”

  “Was that why you went off alone together last night?”

  “Yes, and I already apologized for not including you, but when I tell you what we discussed, you’ll understand why.”

  “So you really discussed something? I though the two of you just wanted to be alone.”

  Sarah smiled at that. She wouldn’t mention what had happened when they’d finished their discussion last night. “Apparently, Arburn told Malloy that Estelle was very . . . uh, flirtatious with him. He even claimed that it was her idea to go off with him after one of the tours.”

  “Of course he’d say that.”

  “Yes, men do like to give the impression they’re irresistible to women, but he also said he was very disappointed in . . . Well, let’s just say she did not appear at all interested in the actual deed. Now, I know you don’t have any personal experience,” Sarah hastily explained, “but I also know you met a lot of young women at the Mission who did. I was wondering if you might have any idea why a girl would behave the way Estelle behaved, inviting a man—either by her behavior or by actually inviting him—to take her, and then, well, he said she’d just lie there and not even look at him.”

  “Oh,” Maeve said faintly.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I’m not offended,” Maeve hastily assured her. “I’m just . . . surprised.”

  “Surprised that a woman would act like that?”

  “No, surprised Mr. Malloy would talk about it.”

  That startled a bark of laughter from Sarah. “I admit, it surprised me, too. But now you understand why he couldn’t talk about it in front of you.”

  “Oh yes, it makes perfect sense now.”

  “And do you have any ideas?”

  “I . . . Well, I don’t know for sure, of course, but the girls would talk about that sort of thing at the Mission.”