Murder in the Bowery

by Victoria Thompson

  “But what about the father of the baby?” Maeve asked. “Wouldn’t she want to marry him?”

  “I think we can assume she didn’t or why would she have been involved with Arburn and then Robinson?”

  “So if she knew about the baby, she really did need to be saved.”

  “But she may not have known, in which case she must have had another reason. And if we assume that she wanted to be saved, she may have realized rather quickly that Arburn wasn’t fit for the task, but then she met Robinson.”

  “A man with money and power. If she needed saving, he was perfect for the job.”

  “And he had his own reasons for wanting her.”

  “What were they?

  Sarah sighed. “He thought she’d make him respectable and that he’d be accepted into society.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Yes, and Estelle may not have known what he expected, but she knew he could take care of her. And he wanted to. I think he really cared for her.”

  Maeve wrinkled her nose. “It wasn’t exactly a fairy-tale romance.”

  “How many marriages are?”

  “All right. I surrender,” Maeve said with a grin. “But who fathered Estelle’s baby?”

  “We don’t know that, and maybe we never will, but if we can figure it out, we might know who killed her.”

  “At least we know it wasn’t Robinson or Arburn.”

  “I wonder how long she’d been going on these tours,” Sarah mused. “She might have met someone else before Arburn.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose. And let’s not forget Norman Tufts. Didn’t he want to marry Estelle? And he’s been around for most of her life, so he was certainly around three months ago.”

  “Or maybe she was raped. Norman said everyone on the tours knew she was a woman, so they might have considered her fair game.”

  “Maybe we’re getting carried away here,” Maeve said. “Let’s not forget that who fathered Estelle’s baby is only important if he’s also the one who killed her.”

  “Yes, or caused her to be killed in some way. But what other reason could there be?”

  “We should be able to figure it out. Why does someone usually commit murder?”

  Sarah gave that some thought. “If it’s the heat of passion, it can be just about anything that set them off.”

  “Like jealousy or betrayal.”

  “Estelle certainly gave men reason to feel both of those. But let’s not forget money.”

  “Estelle didn’t have any money.”

  “Not of her own,” Sarah said, “but her father must have some, and he’s dying.”

  “Oh, so she’d inherit. But that only gives somebody a reason to kill him, not her.”

  “But if she’s dead, who is the next heir in line?”

  “Oh, I see,” Maeve said. “Do you mean the sister?”

  “Most likely the sister, although we can’t forget Norman, too. I asked Penelope why she wanted Norman and Estelle to marry. She said it was the only way Norman would get his rightful inheritance.”

  “His rightful inheritance?” Maeve echoed. “That sounds like something out of a penny dreadful.”

  “Doesn’t it? And why should Norman have a ‘rightful inheritance’ if he’s nothing but the child of a distant cousin?”

  Maeve studied Sarah’s face for a long moment. “You know the reason, don’t you?”

  “I have a theory, courtesy of Mrs. Ellsworth.”

  “Mrs. Ellsworth? This is so delicious. What does she think?”

  “She thinks that Norman is Penelope’s illegitimate child.”

  “What makes her think that?” Maeve asked.

  “I mentioned that Estelle was with child and then I told her that Norman was Penelope’s ward, and she immediately jumped to that conclusion because of her belief in bad blood.”

  “What’s bad blood?”

  “Weak moral fiber, in this case, that runs in families.”

  “Oh, I see. If Estelle gets pregnant out of wedlock, she must be morally weak, and if she is, she inherited that weakness.”

  “Which means her aunt might have the same moral weakness,” Sarah said. “I’m not too sure about the bad blood, but I do know that bad things keep happening in some families, generation after generation.”

  “Because bad people in the family make them happen.”

  “Yes, I think that’s a more logical explanation.”

  “And what do you think is the bad thing that keeps happening in the Longacre family?” Maeve asked. “And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You figured it out on the way over and pretended that you didn’t.”

  “I . . . Well, illegitimate children, of course. First Norman, if what we suspect is true, and after seeing Penelope’s reaction when I practically accused her, I’m sure it is, and then Estelle’s baby.”

  “Both fathered by men who can’t or won’t marry them.”

  “We don’t know that. We don’t know the circumstances of either pregnancy. And it’s possible the father of Estelle’s baby would have married her. She may not have even known about her condition.”

  “But if she had a lover already, one who’d be willing to marry her, why did she go looking for more? I don’t believe for a minute that Estelle would have married her baby’s father.”

  Sarah didn’t either, but she wasn’t going to agree with Maeve, who would demand an explanation. No, she’d keep her sordid theory a secret until she was certain it was true.

  * * *

  Frank stared at Marie O’Day for a long moment. “What do you mean, Longacre wanted Estelle for himself?”

  “Marie didn’t mean anything, did you, sweetheart?” Tom said sharply.

  “He did the same thing to Miss Penelope,” Marie continued, ignoring Tom the way he ignored her. “Kept her at home to look after him until she was too old for any other man to want her. Then as soon as Miss Estelle was old enough, he turned Miss Penelope loose and let the girl take care of him instead.”

  “She must have known some young men, though.” The evidence seemed to prove it. “Maybe at church? Or she met them when she went out.”

  “Mr. Norman looked after her when she went out, didn’t he, Tom?” Marie said.

  Tom just kept on preparing the lemonade, pouring the juice into a pitcher of water and adding sugar.

  “But Norman didn’t always go with her, did he?” Frank said.

  Tom looked up warily and Marie smiled slyly.

  “Where’d you get an idea like that?” she asked.

  “From Norman. And from the other men she used to meet.”

  “I won’t have you saying such things about Miss Estelle,” Tom said.

  “I’m sorry to have to say them, but it’s true. She used to go to the Bowery to meet men.”

  “If you know all that, why are you asking us?” Marie said.

  “I’m just wondering who knew she would sneak out at night.”

  “Wasn’t at night,” Tom said. “And she didn’t sneak.”

  “Mr. Longacre, he don’t pay any attention to what goes on here if it don’t involve him,” Marie said. “So Tom’s right, she didn’t have to sneak.”

  Tom poured lemonade into three glasses. “And mostly she went out in the afternoon. She went to concerts and museums.”

  Frank remembered those sad rooms over the saloon. “Who knew she went out?”

  “We did,” Tom said.

  “What about Mr. Longacre?”

  “I told you . . .” Marie began, but Tom silenced her with a gesture.

  He set one of the glasses in front of Frank with calm deliberation. “He knew.”

  “Longacre knew Estelle went out alone?”

  “Yes. He’d see her leave. His bedroom faces the street. Then he’d ask m
e where she went.”

  “And you told him?”

  “I told him she went to a concert or a museum, whatever I happened to think up.”

  “Did she tell you anything before she left? Some excuse?” Frank asked.

  “We’re just servants. She didn’t have to tell us anything,” Marie said. “But we’d see her when she came back. We knew she was meeting a man.”

  “And what about Longacre? Did he know, too?”

  Tom pulled himself up to his full and considerable height. “Mr. Longacre doesn’t have to tell us anything either.”

  No, of course he didn’t. Frank took a sip of the lemonade. It was very good. “Just tell me one more thing. Does Mr. Longacre ever go out at all anymore?”

  “Occasionally, when he’s feeling strong enough,” Tom said.

  “And when was the last time he felt strong enough?”

  Tom and Marie exchanged a glance, and some silent communication passed between them. Tom answered for them. “The last time he felt strong enough was a week ago last Saturday, the night Miss Estelle disappeared.”

  11

  The church was nearly full when Frank arrived, packed with row after row of boys and a sprinkling of girls. They’d cleaned up as best they could for the occasion and sat quietly and respectfully, waiting for the service to start. Frank found Gino in the last row, where he could keep an eye on the crowd. Gino moved over to make room for him.

  “Freddie had a lot of friends,” Frank observed.

  “The newsies stick together, and they always take care of one when he dies. Most of them don’t have families, and they’re all afraid of being put in an unmarked grave in a potter’s field.”

  That made sense. Nobody wanted to think their life hadn’t mattered to anyone, even kids. “Who’s that family on the front row?”

  “Rudolph Heig and his wife and children. He’s the superintendent at the Duane Street Lodging House.”

  A group of four men entered the church and stopped at the back. “That’s Robinson,” Frank told Gino. He didn’t have to say which one. Robinson was the obvious leader. The others, probably brought along for protection, hung back from him, eyeing the crowd for potential danger. He saw an empty pew and headed toward it, his men following closely behind.

  “I don’t see Arburn,” Gino said.

  “He’s probably staying out of Robinson’s way for now.”

  No sooner had Robinson and his men seated themselves than the pallbearers entered carrying the small casket. Frank picked out Kid Blink and Raven Saggio. The Kid hadn’t seemed to know Freddie when Frank and Gino were looking for him, so maybe he’d been chosen because of his position as leader of the strike. Raven was too small to offer much actual help, and he kept swiping at his red eyes with his shirtsleeve.

  The pallbearers set the casket on a stand at the front of the church, and Kid Blink took his place at the pulpit. He began by praising all the newsboys for their strength and courage, both during their normal activities and especially during the strike. He truly was a gifted speaker. When he had the boys cheering for themselves and one another, he finally mentioned the dead boy.

  “Freddie ‘Two Toes’ Bertolli was a good friend to everybody who knew him,” he began.

  “Bertolli?” Frank whispered to Gino.

  “Pop Rudolph said he thought Bert wasn’t his real name.”

  Frank nodded and continued to scan the crowd as he’d been doing since he sat down. Freddie’s killer might be in this room, although most of the more likely suspects wouldn’t even know the funeral was being held.

  When Kid Blink was finished, he invited others to come and speak. Several newsboys had a story to tell about Freddie helping them out or being a good friend. When everyone who wanted to had spoken, Kid Blink took the pulpit again.

  “It’s a dirty shame that Freddie got himself murdered. The coppers don’t care and they ain’t gonna be looking for who did it, but I’m here to tell you that somebody cares. Mr. Frank Malloy and his partner, Mr. Donatelli, are looking for the killer. Would you gentlemen please stand up?”

  Frank and Gino exchanged a glance and stood up. Surprisingly, the boys cheered them enthusiastically.

  “These men is private detectives, and if you know anything about who killed Freddie, you can tell them. We can’t let one of our own get killed without doing something about it, can we, boys?”

  More cheers and more speech making and finally Kid Blink announced that Freddie would be laid to rest in the Linden Hill Cemetery in Brooklyn. Whoever wanted to follow the hearse across the bridge was welcome.

  The pallbearers once again lifted their small burden and carried it down the aisle. The children followed them out, with remarkable reserve. Mr. Heig stopped to shake Gino’s hand and be introduced to Frank on his way out. Finally, Frank and Gino were left alone in the church with Jack Robinson and his men.

  Frank and Gino waited while he approached. “That was clever, getting Kid Blink to point you out to all of them,” Robinson said.

  Frank decided not to mention it hadn’t been his idea. Let Robinson think well of him. “I doubt anybody knows who killed Freddie, but they might hear something.”

  “Have you found out anything yet?”

  “One thing that you might want to know.”

  Robinson stiffened, then turned to his men and motioned for them to move away. They did so, gathering by the door that stood open to the street, waiting. “What is it?” Robinson asked softly.

  “Longacre says somebody took Estelle’s body from the mortuary.”

  Robinson smiled slowly. “Is that right?”

  “Yes. He thought I did it.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “Because I was the only other person who knew who she was, I guess. Anyway, he wants her back.”

  “Does he? Well, he isn’t going to get her. She’s going to be buried in a nice cemetery with a beautiful marker.”

  “Longacre wanted to be buried next to her.”

  Robinson’s fury was instant. “Well, he won’t be.”

  “Should I tell him that?”

  “I don’t care what you tell him, but he isn’t going to get his hands on her.”

  “Do you know why she hated him so much?”

  Robinson hesitated just an instant too long. “No.”

  “All right, and don’t worry, I’m not going to tell him you have her. I just wanted to make sure it was you and not somebody we don’t even know about.”

  “Did you find out anything else?”

  “Nothing definite, but I’ll let you know the minute I’m sure of anything.”

  Robinson’s eyes were cold. “You’d better.”

  As Robinson left, followed by his men, Frank couldn’t help thinking Robinson had been putting on a show for them. He wouldn’t want his men to see him the way Frank had seen him at his house, drinking to dull the pain of losing a girl he had no right to even know.

  “Is that true? Did he really steal her body?” Gino asked.

  “So it seems. And I’m sure he didn’t steal it. He probably paid a pretty penny for the privilege of taking it. He also knows why Estelle hated her father.”

  “But he said he didn’t.”

  Frank smiled. “He was lying.”

  “Oh,” Gino said in admiration. “Did you find out anything else this morning?”

  “Oh yes. How about you?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll let you decide when you hear it.”

  “And Sarah might have some news as well. Let’s go home and find out.”

  * * *

  Upon their return home, Sarah and Maeve had stripped off their street clothes, sponged off the sweat and dirt accumulated during the trip downtown, and changed into light cotton housedresses. After paying Catherine and Brian a visit in the nursery to give Mrs. Malloy a brie
f respite, they let her resume supervising the children when they heard Gino and Malloy arrive home.

  At Sarah’s urging, the men took off their suit coats, rolled up their sleeves in deference to the heat, and greedily consumed the cold beer their maid Hattie served. The ladies received iced mineral water.

  The parlor was cool, with the heavy drapes pulled shut against the afternoon sun, and when everyone was settled, Sarah said, “Someone has stolen Estelle’s body from the mortuary.”

  “It was Jack Robinson,” Malloy said. “We saw him at Freddie’s funeral this afternoon, and he admitted it.”

  “Oh dear, I didn’t know his funeral was today,” Sarah said.

  “A boy came by our office this morning to tell us. Gino and I both went.”

  “Was it very sad?” Maeve asked.

  Malloy shook his head. “Not as sad as I expected. The boys talked about Freddie. He was a good kid. Anyway, Robinson has Estelle’s body,” he continued, making it obvious he didn’t want to talk about Freddie’s funeral anymore.

  “What is he going to do with it?” Maeve asked.

  “Nothing too scandalous,” Malloy assured her. “He wants to bury her and put up a fancy headstone, but he doesn’t want her family to know where she is.”

  “I was afraid of this,” Sarah said. “He threatened something like that when I met him in the attorney’s office. Do you think we should at least tell her family?”

  “Ordinarily, I’d say yes, but in this case, I’m not sure,” Malloy said. “Longacre said he wants to be buried beside her, but is that what she would’ve wanted?”

  “I doubt it,” Sarah said. “Maeve and I have decided she must have been desperate to get away from her father to do what she did.”

  Malloy let them discuss the proprieties of it for a minute. Then he said, “I think we can solve this pretty simply. We just wait until Robinson has buried her. He’s not going to tell us where she is, because we aren’t even going to ask, so we can’t tell the Longacres. All we can say is that we think he took her and let them ask him if they still want to.”

  “And of course he’ll refuse to tell them. Well done, Malloy,” Sarah said. He nodded to acknowledge her compliment. “Now, who wants to go first?”