Murder in the Bowery

by Victoria Thompson

  “And do you think destroying her memory will accomplish that?”

  “We have no intention of destroying her memory. We’re only trying to determine who might have had a reason for killing her.”

  “Horace had a reason,” Miss Longacre said, nearly spitting the words. “He’d ruined her, and she was setting out to ruin him in return by taking up with a gangster.”

  “He may have had a reason, but he didn’t do it.”

  “How can you know that?” she demanded.

  “We have a witness,” Frank said. “Two, in fact. Mr. Longacre couldn’t have done it.”

  “And we also know that someone tricked Estelle into going to the Bowery that night by sending her a telegram,” Sarah said.

  Miss Longacre blinked a few times. “Why would someone do that?”

  “We were going to ask you that very thing,” Sarah said, “since you were the one who sent her the telegram.”

  “I . . . What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the telegram that you sent from the Western Union office just down the street from here telling Estelle to meet her lover that night.”

  Just then, a bell rang, startling all of them. Miss Longacre jumped to her feet and hurried off toward the kitchen, where there must have been a service entrance.

  “I guess that’s our lemonade,” Frank said, and Sarah nodded. She’d be angry at the interruption, as was he. Miss Longacre had just been upset enough to blurt out something important.

  When Miss Longacre returned with a tray of glasses, she had composed herself. She set the tray down on a table and calmly handed each of them a glass. She did not, Frank noticed, take one for herself.

  “I’m afraid I became a little emotional,” she said when she was seated again. “I’m still mourning poor Estelle, and I’m too easily upset, I’m afraid. You must be desperate indeed if you think I had anything to do with her death.”

  “We didn’t say you had anything to do with her death,” Frank said. “We’re just wondering why you sent her that telegram. And we can prove that you did, so don’t try to deny it,” he lied.

  The color returned to her face, turning it an angry scarlet. “All right, I did send it, but I had nothing to do with killing her.”

  “Why?” Sarah asked in apparent astonishment. “Why did you want her to go to the Bowery that night?”

  Miss Longacre drew a steadying breath. “It’s very simple and completely innocent.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Sarah said, although Frank was sure it was not.

  “You’re right, Marie did tell me that Estelle was with child. She also told me what . . . what Horace had done.” She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, she looked more determined than outraged. “Marie wanted me to tell Estelle about her condition and to help her. I’m not sure what Marie expected me to do, but I had the perfect solution. I’ve wanted Estelle and Norman to marry since the day she was born. Their marriage would finally make Norman a recognized member of the family.”

  “I can see why that would be important to you,” Sarah said.

  Somewhat mollified, Miss Longacre continued. “Also, Horace was never going to leave any of his fortune to Norman, but if Norman married Estelle, everything she had would be legally his. As I said, it was the perfect solution.”

  Perfect for everyone but Estelle, who obviously didn’t care a fig for Norman, but Frank kept that opinion to himself.

  “What does this have to do with sending Estelle the telegram?” Sarah asked with just the right amount of confusion on her lovely face.

  Miss Longacre sighed impatiently. “We needed to get her someplace alone so Norman could propose to her. If she didn’t know she was with child, he was going to inform her and offer to marry her and raise the child as his own. Her gangster lover wouldn’t do something like that. What man would? Especially if he knew who the father was.”

  “And would you have told him?” Frank asked, frankly curious.

  Miss Longacre gave him a quelling look. “If necessary. But I’m sure Estelle would have seen the wisdom of marrying Norman. She wouldn’t want anyone to learn the truth either.”

  “I still don’t understand why you had to go to all that trouble, though. Why couldn’t Norman just propose to Estelle at her home?” Sarah asked.

  “Because Horace had forbidden him to enter the house after he found out Norman was taking Estelle to the Bowery.”

  “I thought she was still meeting him, though,” Frank said.

  Miss Longacre’s color deepened again. “She was, at first, but once she took up with that gangster, she had no more use for Norman. She wouldn’t even reply to his messages or mine.”

  Sarah nodded her understanding. “I see, so you tricked Estelle with a message she thought was from her lover. I guess Norman knew where Estelle usually met him.”

  “Yes, he . . . he said he’d heard gossip.”

  Or Arburn had bragged to him, Frank thought.

  “And Norman was to meet her and tell her about the baby and offer to marry her,” Sarah said.

  “Yes,” she said sadly. “It was a perfect plan.”

  “Miss Longacre,” Frank said as gently as he could manage, “do you understand that this means Norman must have murdered your niece?”

  “Oh posh, Norman didn’t murder anyone. He didn’t even go to the Bowery that night.”

  “What?” Sarah said.

  “That boy . . .” Miss Longacre held her temper with difficulty. “He’s such a coward. He told me . . . He promised me . . . But in the end, he didn’t go.”

  “Why not?” Sarah asked.

  “He claimed he was afraid to go down there alone. He’d always gone with a guide, you see. I told him he was a fool, that Estelle apparently went down there alone all the time and she was a female. But by the time he confessed to me, it was too late. He’d missed his opportunity, and then we heard that Estelle hadn’t come home that night, and Horace sent for me . . .”

  She stopped because they’d all heard the front door open and the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Norman Tufts appeared in the doorway, obviously surprised to see they had visitors. He wore a slightly rumpled brown suit, and he held a derby in his hand.

  Frank rose. “Hello, Norman.”

  He didn’t look happy to see them. “Hello, Mr. Malloy. What are you doing here?”

  “They’re just asking some questions about Estelle, dear,” Miss Longacre said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Sarah, this is Norman Tufts,” Frank said. “Norman, this is my wife.”

  Norman nodded uncertainly at Sarah. She smiled reassuringly back at him.

  “Won’t you join us, Norman?” Frank said. “We were just discussing why you didn’t go to meet Estelle in the Bowery the night she died.”

  Norman turned his startled gaze to Miss Longacre. “You said you weren’t going to tell anyone about that.”

  “She didn’t,” Frank assured him. “We found out because of the telegrams.”

  Norman’s gaze skittered from Frank to Miss Longacre and back again. “I don’t understand.”

  “I told you, it’s nothing for you to worry about,” Miss Longacre said. “I’ve already explained that you didn’t see Estelle that night.”

  Some emotion flickered across Norman’s face. Fear? Frank couldn’t be sure. “Sit down and join us. We were just offering our condolences on the loss of your cousin. You must miss her very much.”

  Norman moved cautiously to a chair and sat down slowly, as if afraid it might shatter beneath his weight. “Yes, I miss her.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Sarah said. “You must have assumed your whole life that you’d eventually marry her.”

  “That was Aunt Penny’s idea,” Norman said. “I don’t think Estelle liked me very much.”

&
nbsp; “Nonsense,” Miss Longacre said quickly. “Estelle was very fond of you.”

  “Did you like her?” Frank asked.

  Norman glanced at Miss Longacre and then glanced away when he saw her frown. “She was pretty.”

  “You weren’t really afraid to go to the Bowery, were you, Norman?” Frank asked. “You’d been there lots of times before, hadn’t you?”

  “I . . . Well, yes, I’d been there a lot, but always with Willy. He’d take us around so nothing happened to us.”

  “But it was still daylight, and they knew you down there, didn’t they? I mean, you’d been down there many times,” Frank tried.

  “Of course he hadn’t,” Miss Longacre said.

  But at the same time Norman said, “Not very many.”

  “So you weren’t afraid to go, were you? Not really.”

  “Of course not,” he said proudly.

  “Were you afraid of Estelle?”

  “No. I’m not afraid of girls.”

  “So you did go to see her that night.”

  Miss Longacre made an impatient sound. “Really, Mr. Malloy, I already told you—”

  But Frank ignored her. “You weren’t afraid, were you, Norman, and you did go to see her. You told her she was going to have a baby and she had to marry you, didn’t you?”

  “Stop this at once,” Miss Longacre said, rising to her feet, but Frank rose, too.

  “You told her she had to marry you, and what did she say? Did she laugh at you, Norman? Did she make fun of you?”

  “She was always making fun of me,” Norman cried, jumping to his feet as well. “Yes, she laughed at me. She said she’d sell herself on the street before she’d marry me!”

  “Norman, stop!” Miss Longacre cried, grabbing his arm, but he shook her off.

  “And she said we couldn’t get married even if she wanted to, not ever!”

  “Why did she say that, Norman?” Frank asked. “Why couldn’t you get married?”

  “Because . . .” He stopped, choking, nearly gagging.

  “No, Norman, don’t,” Miss Longacre begged. “Please—”

  “Because Uncle Horace is my father, too!” He turned on Miss Longacre. “She said you’re really my mother. She said Uncle Horace raped you like he’d raped her, and that she’s really my sister, and I couldn’t stand it so I put my hands around her throat to stop her because I didn’t want to hear any more, and I squeezed and I squeezed until she was finally quiet and then I left her there.”

  For a long moment, no one moved. Frank was too stunned to even breathe at first.

  Miss Longacre stared at Norman, horrified. Then her knees seemed to give out, and she collapsed back into her chair. “Oh, Norman,” she whispered.

  “Did you go back later?” Frank asked.

  Norman turned to him in surprise, as if he’d forgotten Frank was there. “No, of course not.”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I ran down the stairs and through the alley. I don’t remember seeing anyone.”

  “A boy? Did you see a boy?”

  “No, of course not. What would a boy be doing there?”

  “Oh, Norman,” Miss Longacre wailed. “You told me you were afraid to go down there.”

  “I didn’t want you to know the things she’d said, Aunt Penny. Why would she say those awful things?”

  Because they were true, Frank thought, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Norman.

  “Miss Longacre,” Sarah said, “we have to tell the police.”

  “What?” she said. “No, you can’t. He’s just a boy!”

  But of course he wasn’t a boy at all. “He killed Estelle.”

  “I didn’t kill her,” he said. “I just made her stop talking.”

  Was it possible he really didn’t know what he’d done? The boy must be even more simple than he’d seemed. But Sarah was right, he’d definitely committed murder.

  Suddenly, Frank remembered the promise he’d made to Jack Robinson. It had seemed perfectly reasonable then, but now he was no longer sure. “Sarah, we have to go.”

  “But—”

  “We aren’t going to report this to the police for a day or two,” Frank said. “That will give you time to find an attorney.” An attorney who would help them figure out who to bribe to keep Norman from being charged, assuming Horace was willing to provide the funds. That seemed doubtful, but if Norman really was his son, perhaps he’d consider it, even though his son had murdered his daughter.

  Sarah was on her feet, and Frank took her arm and led her down the hallway to the front door. “What are you doing?” she asked in a whisper.

  He didn’t answer her until they were out in the hallway, waiting for the elevator again. “I promised Robinson that I would tell him who the killer is before reporting it to the police.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. That was before I knew who it was, though.”

  “Norman may be pathetic, but he did kill Estelle. We can’t just excuse him,” Sarah said.

  “You’re right, but can we turn him over to Robinson? I mean, I can, but can you? You know what he’ll do to him.”

  “Let me be the one to tell Robinson. If it’s possible to convince him to show mercy . . .”

  “You’re the only one who could do it,” Frank said with a weary sigh. “I hope you understand that Jack Robinson is the last gangster you are ever going to meet.”

  Sarah just smiled.

  When they left the building, they walked to the corner to find a cab, and to their surprise, newsboys were everywhere, shouting the headlines and selling newspapers to eager readers.

  “What happened?” Sarah asked.

  Frank snagged the nearest newsie and bought a copy of the World. “Is the strike over?” he asked the boy.

  “Yeah, Pulitzer and Hearst gave in,” the boy reported with a grin.

  “Is that possible?” Sarah asked Frank.

  He held up the paper, looking for a story. “Ah, it says here that the price the newsboys pay for the papers will remain the same, but the newsies will be able to get a refund on any unsold papers.”

  “So the moguls can claim they didn’t give in but the newsboys get something, too,” Sarah said.

  “Looks that way. I guess Kid Blink and his friends will be heroes now.”

  “Good for them,” Sarah said, but he could see the sadness in her eyes. She was certainly thinking of Freddie, too, and that he hadn’t lived to see their triumph.

  Frank managed to flag down a cab, and he gave the driver an address.

  “Where are we going?” Sarah asked.

  “You wanted to be the one to tell Jack Robinson. Now you’ll get your chance.”

  “Good, and on the way we can talk about something I just realized.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We still don’t know who killed Freddie.”

  * * *

  Gino sighed into the still and silent air of the office. Waiting was not a skill he had mastered, so he’d pulled some paper and a pencil out of his desk and started doodling. The doodles quickly became a list of what Will Arburn had claimed happened the night Estelle Longacre died. It all made sense, as the truth usually did. It also explained some things they hadn’t been able to understand, such as why Estelle’s body had ended up in the trunk in an alley in the Bowery. In fact, it explained everything except the beginning of the story and the end.

  The beginning was Estelle getting killed in the first place, and of course Arburn would deny doing that. Now that they knew about the telegrams and the planning the killer had done to get Estelle to the flat that night, Arburn no longer looked like a good suspect anyway. Arburn might’ve killed her in a fit of passion if he found her there, but why would he go to the trouble of luring her to the flat so
he could do it? And was he even smart enough to figure all that out? Or to send the telegram from a Western Union office near Norman Tufts’s apartment? No, that seemed much too complicated for Arburn to have planned. Which meant someone else had killed Estelle. They’d narrowed it down to either Norman or Miss Longacre or the two of them together, or maybe Jack Robinson. Robinson might’ve been clever enough to send the telegram from that particular Western Union office, and maybe he’d had an argument with Estelle that night and killed her, but why would he hire Mr. Malloy to find Estelle’s killer if he’d done it himself?

  But if either Norman or Robinson had done it, then Arburn’s story fit nicely with the facts they knew about Estelle’s body ending up in the trunk. It even explained why Freddie had gone into hiding. In fact, it explained everything up until the very end. The very end was Freddie getting killed. Mr. Malloy had suggested that maybe Freddie’s death had nothing to do with Estelle’s. That could be true, of course. People got killed in the Bowery for many reasons and sometimes for no reason at all. Street arabs like Freddie, boys with no home or family, died regularly in the city, although hardly ever from being murdered. Still, it could happen.

  But what were the odds that Freddie would somehow find out Estelle Longacre had been murdered and then turn up murdered himself a few days later without the two being connected? Not very likely. But if Norman Tufts had killed Estelle, why would he have killed Freddie? Did Freddie see something? And even if he had, how would Norman know who he was and how would he have found him days later to kill him?

  No, whoever killed Freddie had to know who he was and then had to work hard to find him. Gino and Mr. Malloy knew just how hard. And why would they need to kill the boy at all? Because he knew about Estelle’s murder, of course. Arburn had said that himself. And Freddie probably thought Arburn had done it. But Arburn thought Jack Robinson had done it, or so he claimed.

  Now if Jack Robinson had killed her and knew Freddie had seen him coming out of the flat or something, then he’d naturally want Freddie dead. That would certainly explain why he ordered Arburn to find the boy, and Arburn did believe Jack had killed Estelle, so he probably thought Jack would want to get rid of the boy, too.