Death on Hanover

by Lee Strauss

  “Beautiful spot you have here,” she said.

  Several photographs hung on the wall, including landscapes of Boston city. Her eye was drawn to an image of Long Wharf and the row of warehouses stationed there.

  “I like to watch the ships come in,” Mr. Delaney said. “Such a busy place, this harbor.”

  Haley pivoted to face him. “And yet the Depression continues.”

  “There are rich, and there are poor,” Will Delaney said sanguinely. “And so, it will always be.” His gaze stayed on her as he sipped from his crystal glass. “Now, you didn’t come here to discuss social ills, surely?”

  “I’m looking for information,” Haley said. “My brother was murdered several years ago, and his case was never solved.”

  “My sympathies, but I fail to see how I can help.”

  “I’m not sure if you can either,” Haley said. “But I have reason to believe Joe was involved in illegal fight clubs. I’ve been told you might know something about it.”

  Mr. Delaney cocked his head. “Really? And how would I know?”

  Haley shrugged. “I’m not with the police.” Not exactly a white lie. “I just want to know what happened to my brother.”

  “And how will that help you? It won’t bring him back from the dead.”

  “No, I suppose not. How did you make your fortune, Mr. Delaney?” A quick change of subject sometimes unraveled a suspect. Haley didn’t think Will Delaney would be so easily put off guard, and she was right. The man smirked.

  “Imports and exports, Dr. Higgins.”

  Not gambling and organizing underground fight clubs? She didn’t pose the question aloud.

  Mr. Delaney stood. “I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help to you on your personal quest for answers, but I am a very busy man.”

  Haley took her cue and got to her feet. She didn’t know what she’d hoped to discover by such a bold move.

  She stretched out her hand, a gesture of goodwill. Will Delaney smirked and accepted her hand, but as he stretched out his arm, the cuff of his sleeve crept up, revealing a tattoo.

  Haley pretended not to notice, but the two combat spiders etched on the inside of Mr. Delaney’s wrist was hard to miss.

  11

  Samantha panted as she rushed after Seth. “Maybe I should go inside first.” Still numb with shock that Seth Rosenbaum, in the flesh, had shown up, she followed him up the dingy steps to their second-floor apartment. It’d been so long, Samantha was surprised that Seth even remembered where they lived!

  “Just to prepare Bina,” she added. Even though it was only two floors of stairs, Samantha felt short of breath. “She’s gotten frail since you’ve been gone. You wouldn’t want her to die from shock, would you?”

  Seth stopped on the landing and considered her. “Yeah, okay. Two minutes, huh?”

  Samantha didn’t waste a second. She felt a responsibility to warn Bina, but most of all, she wanted to know where Talia was, hoping beyond hope this was the day she went to her friend Sarah’s place after school. Why didn’t she know this? She was such a terrible mother!

  Using her key to unlock the door, she stepped in quietly and closed the door behind her.

  “Bina?”

  The apartment was small, and Samantha knew that Bina had heard her come inside.

  “In the kitchen.”

  Samantha sprinted to her mother-in-law who looked up with wide eyes. “What’s the matter with you, sneaking up on me? Why are you home already?” She squinted. “Is something wrong?”

  “Where’s Talia?”

  “She’s with her friend Sarah. Why? What’s wrong? You look ill.”

  Samantha pulled out a chair and motioned with her gloved hand. “Maybe you should sit.”

  Bina, stubborn as ever, gripped the back of the wooden, ladder-back chair. “I will not. Now speak to me.”

  “It’s Seth.”

  Bina automatically paled. “They found him?”

  “No. He’s not dead, Bina. He’s alive.” Samantha stared at the door. “He’s in the hallway.”

  The knob turned as both women stared, and then the door burst open.

  “Hi, Eema! It’s me.”

  Bina’s knees gave out, and she landed on the chair.

  “Eema. I’m back.”

  Seth continued to make his pronouncement as if Samantha and Bina should break out the wine in celebration.

  Did he not realize what he’d put them through? Samantha thought.

  “Eema?” Seth said with a look of confusion.

  Bina found the strength to get to her feet. “My boy. Come to Eema.”

  Seth‘s long arms nearly smothered his petite mother. Bina jumped to action. “You must be hungry. I’ll make you supper, kugel, maybe? And coffee, eh? We don’t have any sugar, but it’s good black, no?”

  And suddenly, it was like Seth had never left. Bina doted, and Seth beamed.

  Samantha felt sick, confused, and somehow out of breath. “I have to go,” she said.

  “What?” Seth said sharply. “I just got home.”

  “Well, I have a job, and I can’t dictate my own hours. I’ll see you later. Bye, Bina.”

  Seth called out, “Babe!” But Samantha moved down the steps like a strong breeze. She pushed the door open and kept walking.

  Her mind spun with every clip-tap of her shoes on the sidewalk. Seth was back, but where had he come from? Where’d he been all these years? Maybe, if he showed signs of having suffered from amnesia, she could understand how he could’ve stayed away so long, but he was the same arrogant, entitled son-of-a-gun he’d been before he disappeared.

  When she looked up, she found she was at the Boston Daily Record building. Like a horse that always knows the way home, she mused. She hurried inside. The last thing she needed was to get sacked for slacking off.

  She stared blankly at the typewriter before rolling in a fresh piece of paper. What story had she even been working on, anyway?

  “Hey, doll, you okay? It’s late in the day for you around here.”

  Samantha glanced up at her cocky coworker, but her mind failed her. Instead of a snarky comeback, her eyes, to her horror, watered-up.

  In an instant, Johnny was at her desk. He squatted, eye-level, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Sam?”

  Samantha’s lips quivered. She felt a torrent building up, and helpless to defy it, she reached for a handkerchief. “It’s Seth. He’s back.”

  Stupid tears!

  Samantha pressed the handkerchief against her eyes, and when she felt the warmth of Johnny’s arms wrap around her, she just let him hold her.

  12

  Haley and Molly discussed the case over breakfast the next morning.

  “Though the North End of Boston isn’t a large landmass,” Haley said as she buttered her toast, “there are innumerable warehouses, especially on the docks, that could be used for illegal fighting clubs.”

  “What do you know so far?” Molly asked.

  “I’ve only a bit of clay as a clue to the location of the one where Cormac Keating died.” Haley sighed. She couldn’t help but feel a little deflated.

  The kettle whistle sounded for tea, and Molly rose to pour the hot water into the teapot. Mr. Midnight made his usual entrance, with a hobble and a meow, having long since learned that the whistle meant tea and thus milk. Molly added milk to the bottom of the teacups before pouring the tea, making a third pour into Mr. Midnight’s bowl.

  Haley smiled at the white mustache the cat created while vigorously lapping, his long pink tongue darting out to clean away the evidence.

  “If I could at least find the scene of the crime,” Haley went on, “maybe another clue would present itself. It’s all rather frustrating. Someone’s going to a lot of effort to clean up. We know two Keating brothers are dead, and who knows how many bodies have ended up in the harbor.”

  “Has Peter been any help?”

  “Peter?”

  Molly blinked then glanced aw
ay. “Dr. Guthrie.”

  “Oh.”

  Molly and Dr. Guthrie were on a first-name basis! How awkward. Haley couldn’t imagine ever bringing herself to call her boss by his Christian name, and she couldn’t imagine him calling her Haley either.

  “It’s not a big deal, Dr. Higgins,” Molly said. “A slip of the tongue.”

  Did Molly not notice she still called Haley Doctor?

  “Uh, no. Beyond examining the body, Dr. Guthrie’s not actively involved in this investigation.”

  Mr. Midnight, having licked his bowl clean, started on his bathing sequence—wetting his paw and swiping at his ear.

  Haley checked the time on her watch. “I should go.” If she wanted to slip out to do more investigating, she’d better have all her paperwork done before she went. “Thanks for breakfast, Molly.”

  “Will you be home for dinner?”

  An odd question. Haley rarely missed the evening meal. Did Molly want to make other plans?

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll leave a casserole in the refrigerator, in case I’m out.”

  Haley refrained from the grumble that churned within. She had no right to negative feelings, but she didn’t like this new relationship between Molly and Dr. Guthrie. Had Haley known that Molly was so inclined, Haley would’ve tried to set her up, much earlier, with someone who wasn’t her boss.

  It was a short walk down Grover Street past the county jail and onto the hospital property. Haley, wearing a favorite pair of wide-leg slacks, hurried toward the hospital, and though she’d been sure she’d be the first to arrive, Dr. Guthrie had beaten her there. More surprisingly, he was performing a postmortem.

  “Another John Doe?” Haley asked.

  “No. Heart attack,” Dr. Guthrie grumbled. “The autopsy, requested and paid for by the family, was quite unnecessary, as nothing new has been learned.”

  Just at that moment, the intern, Mr. Martin, stepped in. “Oh good,” Dr. Guthrie said to him without a greeting. “You can sew him up.”

  “Certainly, Dr. Guthrie.” Mr. Martin had a sheet of paper in his hand. He offered it to Haley. “It’s the laboratory results on your piece of dirt.”

  Haley grabbed the sheet, read the results, and stared up blankly. “Figs?” The report was clear. Dirt from the bottom of someone’s boots had trace elements of the exotic fruit. Whoever had dumped Mr. Keating’s body at St. Stephen’s Churchyard, must work at one of the import docks, or possibly aboard one of the ships.

  It was a shot in the dark, but it was still a clue.

  Haley knew what she had to do. She made a pot of tea and brought a tray in to Dr. Guthrie. He stared back with his bushy eyebrows raised.

  “Dr. Guthrie, I wanted to let you know that I’m doing a little work for Detective Cluney and will be out for most of the morning.”

  Dr. Guthrie stirred sugar into his tea. “What kind of work? Surely not police work.”

  Haley didn’t want to get into how the detective mistrusted his force.

  He mumbled further, “They get their own funding for that.”

  And here Haley thought her boss was concerned for her safety.

  “Consider it an act of goodwill,” she said. “One day, we might need their help.”

  At first, Samantha thought she’d had a bad dream. She awoke to the morning light streaming in through threadbare curtains just before her alarm clock was about to ring. Talia was curled in an angelic ball beside her.

  But then the truth tumbled down like a lopsided wall of bricks.

  After Samantha had confided in Johnny, he insisted on driving her home in his roadster. Even though he knew she lived in the tenements, she hated having it broadcasted in such a way. Unfortunately, Seth had been standing at the living room windows and saw the whole thing.

  The fight didn’t boil until after Talia, whom Bina had collected, had fallen asleep, and Bina had done the same. Poor Talia was so confused. The father she’d longed for was a stranger, and her reaction to Seth had been such—she’d hidden behind Samantha’s skirt and was unwilling to go to him.

  Samantha had tried to explain. “She needs time to get used to you.”

  Seth had responded by smiling tightly and then pulling out a Mickey from his suit pocket. He eased off the cap and took a long swig, exhaling loudly as the bootlegged whiskey burned his throat.

  Bina had offered to put Talia to bed. Samantha wondered if the rose-colored glasses that Bina had worn for her son these last many years had come off. Samantha thought her mother-in-law actually looked frightened.

  “Was that your boyfriend?” Seth had said, his eyes flashing with daring.

  “He’s a coworker.”

  “You ran into his arms, didn’t you?”

  “No! Absolutely not.” Samantha had felt the blush of shame rise on the back of her neck. She had found comfort in Johnny’s arms, but it wasn’t like that.

  Seth had grabbed her arm then, tightly enough to leave bruises. Samantha subconsciously rubbed the tender spot as she remembered the fear. Seth had changed. The anger, bitterness, and jealousy simmered beneath the surface.

  “You won’t see him again.”

  “I can’t help but see him. We work at the same paper.”

  “I’m back now. No wife of mine needs to work.”

  “You’ve been gone a very long time, Seth Rosenbaum. You’re not about to start telling me what to do now. Besides, I’ve not seen a penny from you. How do you expect us to live?”

  He’d raised his palm, and she’d thought he would slap her, but he held his hand midair. Slowly it fell to his side.

  “Sugar. This isn’t how I imagined our reunion.”

  “I imagined it at a funeral, lowering you into the ground.”

  “You’d like that wouldn’t you.”

  Samantha was ashamed of the feelings that confirmed his accusation. She’d never wished Seth dead, but life would be easier now had it been true.

  Seth had stormed out, shouting something about her being a whore and having turned his daughter against him.

  Samantha slipped out from under the thin summer sheet, careful not to wake Talia. It would be time to rouse her for school soon, but Samantha wanted to check on the status of the rest of the apartment first. She quickly removed the plastic curlers from her hair—just in case Seth was up, then headed to the kitchen.

  Bina was tiptoeing about, preparing a pot of porridge. Her tentative, elf-like movements told Samantha that Seth likely slept it off on the couch in the living room. A peek proved that she was right. Seth, on his back, one leg hanging off the edge, and his mouth wide open, let out a low rumble snore.

  Samantha failed to understand what she’d ever seen in the man, and now, legally, he was her husband, ’til death do us part. She turned on her heel and exhaled a long sigh.

  Bina put a gnarly finger to her lips and whispered hoarsely, “Let him sleep.”

  Samantha had every intention of leaving the snoring, drooling, sinewy creature good and well alone.

  Talia responded to her admonitions for quiet. “Daddy’s been working all night,” Samantha said as an excuse. She had no idea what Seth had done through the dark hours.

  “Is he all right, Mommy?” she asked as Samantha dressed her.

  Good question. “Sure, he is. Just tired from working hard.”

  “Where was he?”

  Another good question.

  Samantha crouched to Talia’s level and smiled as she stroked her daughter’s soft hair. What she’d give to prevent heartache from ever reaching this precious child. Samantha choked down fears that her baby’s first real emotional pain would come at the hand of her own father.

  “It’s a very long story, honey, and Daddy hasn’t had a chance to tell it. The main thing is that he’s back now. Lucky, huh?”

  Talia ducked her chin. “Uh-huh.”

  “We have to eat our breakfast quietly today, then Bubba will walk you to school.”

  Samantha’s appetite failed her. Late for
work now anyway, she spent the time dressing instead. She’d done something she hadn’t done in a while with her last paycheck—bought herself a new dress. A form-fitting cotton print, it had a row of buttons down the front and a hem that flounced at her shins. A necessary expense, she reasoned. She couldn’t wear rags to work, but now, with Seth back…

  She let the thought drift.

  Despite Seth’s allegations regarding Johnny, and Samantha’s denial, she took a little extra time with her makeup. She added a wide-brimmed hat, admired the broad white ribbon and red floral enhancement, and slipped on a pair of summer gloves.

  Holding her shoes in her hand, she slipped into the kitchen to kiss Talia on the cheek. “Have a good day, honey. I’ll see you after school.”

  Bina stared at her and then the still body on the couch with unblinking bulbous eyes. If it weren’t for Talia, Samantha would catch the next train out of town, but she couldn’t leave her daughter, and she couldn’t hold down a job without someone to care for Talia.

  She was stuck.

  As easily as she could, Samantha carefully stepped through the living room, praying her stockings wouldn’t snag from a splinter on the wooden floor. She opened the door, but no matter how slowly or cautiously, it let out a squeaky whine.

  Seth snorted.

  Samantha froze.

  The blanket had shifted to expose a pale arm. Samantha squinted at the black smudge on the inside of his wrist. A spider tattoo. Not one spider but two?

  A second seemed eternal, but Seth’s breathing returned to a natural rhythm. Samantha slipped into the lobby, buckled her sandals, and hurried down the steps.

  13

  The docks along the harbor jutted eastward from Atlantic Avenue. Driving north, the first to come into view was Foster Wharf, followed by Rowes Wharf and India Wharf. The docks grew in size as the shoreline curved northward to where Central Wharf and Wet Dock, and Long Wharf were located.