For the Love of Mike

by Rhys Bowen

  “I don’t think anyone knows where she is now,” Nell said. “She came to meetings for several weeks and seemed fired up with enthusiasm. We were hopeful that she would be a real force for change because she was so articulate and unafraid to speak her mind. Then one week she didn’t come.”

  “I’m afraid I might know where she is now,” I said. “A body, resembling her description, was pulled from the East River.”

  “Oh no. A victim of foul play?” she asked.

  “The police are of the opinion that this girl took her own life.”

  Nell shook her head. “Then it is not the same person. Kathy would not have given in to despair any more than you or I would have done.”

  “My feelings exactly,” I said. “I never met her, but the face in the photograph I have is not of a weak character.”

  “You have a photograph? Then I can verify that it is the same person.”

  “I don’t have it with me,” I said. “And I don’t know if there is any point in taking this matter any further. If she is dead, then I can’t bring her back to life again.”

  “But if she is dead, then someone is responsible and should be brought to justice,” Nell said.

  It was strange to hear my own sentiments echoed back to me. “I agree. But I am not the police. I have so little to go on and no way of investigating further.”

  “You could be of help, Nell,” Jacob said. He turned to me. “Nell is a reporter by profession. She writes articles for the major newspapers to expose the corruption and abuse in this city. She has made some useful contacts in many strata of this city. And this is just the sort of challenge you enjoy, is it not, Nell?”

  I sensed that Nell was not really inclined to put herself out on my behalf, that she still had not warmed to me, but that she didn’t want to turn me down in front of Jacob. “I suppose I might be of some help, it is true,” she said.

  “Splendid.” Jacob smiled at me again. “Then why don’t we continue this conversation at another time? Where do you live, Miss Murphy?”

  “Patchin Place.”

  Finally Nell looked interested. “Patchin Place. How extraordinary. I have friends there. Do you know two delightful women called—”

  “Sid and Gus?” I asked. “I lived with them until a week ago. Now I have taken up residence across the street.”

  “What an amazing coincidence. I should most like to renew their acquaintance,” she said. “Tomorrow then?”

  I shook my head. “You forget. I am employed in a sweatshop from dawn until night and have little energy for good conversation afterward. How about Saturday night? I don’t have to rise early on Sunday morning.”

  “Saturday it is then.”

  “Am I to be included in the invitation?” Jacob asked. “Perhaps I may also be of use in your inquiry.”

  “Of course you are most welcome, Mr. Singer.”

  He bowed again. “I shall look forward to it then.”

  “Miss Blankenship? Could you come over here for moment? Bella has a question for you.” One of the girls approached Nell hesitantly.

  “Of course,” Nell said. “Excuse me.”

  I was left alone with Jacob Singer. “Have you had a cup of tea, Miss Murphy? Or one of these cookies?” He held out the tray to me. I took one.

  “I’ve never been known to turn down a cookie,” I said. “Or a biscuit as we say in Ireland, where they were luxuries reserved for special occasions.”

  “One of the best things about America, wouldn’t you say? We didn’t even have such luxuries at home in Russia. Sugar was kept hidden away in a little wooden box for special occasions.”

  His eyes, ringed by those wire spectacles, lit up with amusement. Such a pleasant face. Quite a handsome face too.

  “I am very glad that you’ll be joining us,” he said. “As you can see, we need all the help we can get.”

  “Are you involved in the garment industry yourself, Mr. Singer?” I asked.

  “He is involved in no particular industry,” Nell said, coming back to join us and slipping an arm through his. “He is a professional rabble-rouser.”

  Jacob Singer laughed. “I am employed by the United Hebrew Trades to help fledgling unions get off the ground. I was active in the Bund before I left Russia, so I have experience in civil disobedience to share. But you must excuse me, you probably have not even heard of the Bund.”

  “Oh but I have,” I said. “Rose’s brother was a member. He was executed.”

  Jacob nodded. “An all too common fate, I’m afraid. That or Siberia, which was often a death sentence in itself. I had to flee for my life when they came for us. I escaped by swimming across an ice-filled river. Not a pleasant experience, I can assure you.”

  “How terrible. I’ve heard so many tragic stories.”

  “But your country is no stranger to tragedy either,” Jacob said. “How many of your countrymen died in the great famine?”

  “That’s true enough. Everyone in our village had a story of lost relatives, including my own family. Apart from my father and my brothers I don’t think I’ve a living relative in the world.”

  “Then we are united in a struggle to make things better, are we not?” He smiled at me. His eyes held mine. I flushed and looked away.

  “Jacob is a photographer, as well as being a rabble-rouser,” Nell said. “He and I work together. I fish out the facts, he takes the pictures. Together we have been into the most disreputable parts of the city.”

  “Then I am indeed fortunate to have met both of you,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much it riles me to have to abandon my search for Katherine.”

  “Let us hope you will not have to abandon it,” Jacob said. “If Nell recognizes your photograph, then we can start to trace what happened to this unfortunate Katherine. All will be made clear on Saturday.”

  “And in the meantime,” I said in a low voice, “please don’t give away that I am not just an ordinary sweatshop girl. I am with them heart and soul in this struggle and I fear they would not trust me if they knew I was not really one of them.”

  “You can count on us to say nothing,” Jacob said and glanced across at Nell for agreement. Her face remained impassive.

  “At what time do you expect us on Saturday?” she asked.

  “Shall we say eight? We are supposed to leave work at six on Saturday, as a special gesture of beneficence.”

  Jacob laughed. “She has the Irish gift of the gab, does she not? I am so glad that your investigation brought our paths to cross, Miss Murphy.”

  “Eight o’clock on Saturday then,” Nell said. “That will work out splendidly. We’ll have time to go to the opening of that art exhibition first, Jacob. Are we done here, do you think? I am suddenly tired and would like you to walk me home.” She had her arm through his and she steered him away from me, toward the door.

  They must be sweethearts, I thought, and was surprised at the rush of disappointment that I felt.

  “I wondered where you’d got to, Molly. Have you tried these little cakes yet?” Rose took my arm and dragged me back to the group at the table.

  Fifteen

  On Saturday Sid and Gus insisted on preparing a feast at their house.

  “But it’s so long since we’ve seen Nell,” Gus said, when I tried to protest, “and we’ve been dying to meet this Jacob Singer, so you can’t be selfish and keep them to yourself.”

  “All right, if you insist,” I said, “but you have already done so much for me. Let me at least provide the food.”

  “Nonsense. You know how we love trying new recipes,” Sid said. “And we have just been reading a book about a woman who traveled alone through North Africa, disguised as a male Bedouin. Doesn’t that sound like a simply marvelous thing to do? We were all set to try it when we finished the book, but then we decided we really couldn’t abandon dear old New York and Patchin Place. So we’ve settled for the food. We shall cook couscous and kebabs—although I don’t think we can procure camel’s hump.”

>   I laughed. “Camel’s hump. Now I’ve heard everything.”

  “It is considered a great delicacy among the Bedouin,” Sid said, attempting not to smile. “But you may bring the wine and the grapes, if you insist.”

  So when I was finally released from work at six thirty-five on Saturday I wandered among the Italian food shops south of Washington Square and chose a jug of robust red wine, enclosed in a neat raffia basket. I felt very worldly carrying it home. If they could see me now in Ballykillin, I thought with a smile of satisfaction. When I arrived at 9 Patchin Place I found that Sid and Gus had been up to their old tricks—they had transformed their parlor into an Eastern boudoir, with the walls draped in velvet and gauze and the floor strewn with Oriental carpets and large pillows. They had even produced an Oriental water pipe which they insisted we should smoke later.

  Nell and Jacob arrived at eight and we had a messy meal, eating with our hands, while perched on cushions.

  “Now I know why they always have dogs around in such scenes,” Nell exclaimed, wiping a sticky chin with her napkin. “It is to clean up the food that falls around them. I feel revoltingly primitive.”

  “But remarkably free, wouldn’t you say?” Sid asked.

  I glanced at Jacob and found that he was watching me. We exchanged a smile.

  I looked at the plates, still piled high with food. I ate another grape and felt instantly guilty.

  “Doesn’t it worry you sometimes that we can go home to eat like this while those girls at the sweatshops probably go to bed hungry each night?” I looked across at Nell and Jacob.

  “I can’t let it worry me,” Nell said. “I do what I can to improve the lot of women. If I didn’t get enough to eat, I wouldn’t have the energy to accomplish what I do. And I see no sense in pretending to be poor.”

  “And I only eat such meals as this when decadent friends invite me, Miss Murphy,” Jacob said. “Then I return to starve in my garret.”

  “Only because you choose not to make money from your photographs,” Nell said, slapping his hand and laughing. “You know very well that you could be rich and famous and dine at all the best houses in town if you chose. You are a brilliant photographer. You just choose to photograph slums and strikes.”

  “You’re right. We Russians don’t know how to live without suffering,” Jacob said, also smiling, and again his gaze strayed across to me. “Miss Murphy understands. She comes from Ireland where suffering is also the way of life.”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “We are under the yolk of the English and live in squalor, but we still like to enjoy life. As long as we’ve music and a good swig of liquor, then we’re happy.”

  “Is that all it takes to make you happy?” he asked. “Music and a good swig of liquor.”

  “I didn’t say me,” I said, blushing at his teasing gaze now. “But we like good friends and good company too, and I’ll say amen to that.”

  “When are you going to show us your photographs, Jacob?” Gus asked. “I’ve been dying to see inside a photographer’s studio.”

  “You must come tomorrow then,” he said. “All of you. I shall be honored.”

  “What fun. We accept,” Sid said. “Now, shall we try the hubble-bubble?” She indicated the water pipe.

  “We have to work while our brains are still clear,” Nell said. “It was the reason we came, after all.”

  I opened my purse and took out the photos.

  “This is the Katherine I was looking for,” I said.

  Nell studied it. Jacob came to look over her shoulder. They looked at each other and nodded. “It is the same girl,” Nell said.

  I produced the picture of Katherine with Michael at her stirrup. “And this is the man she ran off with. His name is Michael Kelly. I have learned that he was involved with the Eastmans gang. But he too disappeared and the police think he might have been one of the unnamed men who have been killed in recent gang wars.”

  “All too probable,” Nell said. “They lead violent lives. What else do you know?”

  “Very little. I traced them to a boardinghouse on Division Street. They left that address without paying their rent about the same time that they disappeared.”

  Sid came to join us. “If this Katherine is dead, as Molly has told us, then why are you still searching? Shouldn’t she just write to the parents and tell them the sad truth then forget the matter?”

  “Nell and I believe, as Molly does, that Katherine would not have taken her own life,” Jacob said, glancing across at Nell for confirmation.

  She nodded. “I only met her on a few occasions but I came to admire her. She had zest and fire. She was not going to let her current circumstances browbeat her.”

  “Then I think we owe it to her to find out how she met her end,” Jacob said, “and who better to find out the truth than you, Nell? You know every back alley of this city.”

  Gus put a hand on my shoulder. “Oh dear, Molly. You should never have met these people. Now you’ve found someone to encourage your wild schemes.”

  “I don’t know that I agree with this one,” I said. “I can’t see how we can find out more than we know right now. The young woman pulled from the river is already buried in a pauper’s grave. And it would be impossible to find out if she went into the river willingly or was pushed.”

  “Not impossible,” Jacob said, leaning closer. “If we know where the body was fished from the river and about how long it had been in the water, then we should be able to guess where she was thrown in. And if she was thrown in, then someone might have seen it happen.”

  I looked at him with admiration. “And I thought I was supposed to be the investigator. You are far more suited to it than I, Mr. Singer.”

  “Why so formal?” Gus said. “This is Greenwich Village. In this house we are on a first-name basis—no need for the restrictions of polite society. So it is Molly and Jacob and Nell. Is that clear?”

  Jacob glanced across at me and smiled again. “If you permit then, Molly?”

  “I shall be charmed, Jacob. And you too, Nell?” I included her hastily, just in case she thought I had any designs on her young man.

  “Absolutely. I have never been one for the conventions of polite society, which is why I have been such a trial to my parents. Twenty-eight years old and still unmarried. What is more, I told them that I see marriage as a legal method of condemning women to a life of subservience. But don’t let me start on that topic—let us get back to our foul play, which is more interesting than my lack of nuptial bliss. How do you propose we tackle this, Molly?”

  “I can ask the police if any records were taken of where the body was fished from the water and what kind of state it was in. I suppose they recorded what she was wearing, although if she wore any jewelry which might identify her, it will be in some policeman’s pocket by now.”

  Nell laughed. “I can tell you have had experience with our delightful police force since your arrival here.”

  “Including three different occasions in jail,” I said. “But I do have a—” I was about to say friend. I corrected myself “—a person I can contact who is a police captain.”

  “Splendid,” Nell said. “So you will find what details the police have on this woman. I will attempt to find out everything I can on Katherine’s life here—where she worked, whether she had a confrontation with her boss there . . .”

  I caught her gaze. “You don’t think—” I began “—she might have made a nuisance of herself at the sweatshop?”

  “Some of the sweatshop owners are in cahoots with the gangs,” Jacob said. “In the past when there have been walkout attempts, the shop owners have hired starkes—strong-arm men—to intimidate the strikers. If they had an employee who was likely to create too much trouble, the simplest thing would be to pay a gang to get rid of her.”

  “Holy Mother of God.” I put my hand to my throat. “That had never even crossed my mind. Are they that ruthless, do you think?”

  “Definitely,” Jacob said. �
�Profit means everything. Anyone who stands in the way of profit must be eliminated.”

  “In that case, finding out what happened to Katherine is all part of the same fight,” I said. I didn’t add that I was now taking over Katherine’s role. I might soon be seen as a nuisance who should be eliminated.

  Jacob looked from Nell to me. “Now that I think about it and have heard the circumstances of her disappearance, my advice to you is to let this lie,” he said quietly. “I have seen much tragedy in my life. You can’t bring this Katherine back to life. Do not risk your own lives for something that can’t be undone.”

  “Who’s talking about risking lives?” Nell demanded. “A few carefully phrased questions in the right quarter, that’s all we’re talking about. My first task will be to find out where she worked, and then to ask some discreet questions about that particular shop owner and his foremen.”

  “You will never be able to prove anything,” Jacob said. “And the deeper you delve, the greater the risk you take.”

  Nell patted his arm. “You are such a fussbudget, Jacob. Molly and I are intelligent, sensible women.”

  “I worry because I have met too many people who do not play by the rules,” he said.

  “Enough of such gloomy talk. Not allowed in this house,” Sid said firmly. “I shall now produce the hubble-bubble and we will transport ourselves into a Bedouin black tent. And since you are the only male here, Jacob, you may be the sheik!”

  We concentrated our energy on the water pipe with hilarious results, and the next morning, after our Sunday ritual of coffee and pastries at Fleishman’s Vienna Bakery on Broadway, we headed for the Lower East Side. I realized that I had become accustomed to it, as Sid and Gus pointed out sights that they found strange and exotic. “Flavors of the Levantine, Gus dear. Does this not make you want to travel there after all? We could take in the Holy Land and Egypt and then on to Morocco and the Bedouins.”

  “Think of the dirt, though,” Gus said, picking up her skirts to avoid the rotting fruit, horse manure, and other debris that cluttered the street. “The smell of this is bad enough. I do not think I have the stomach for Oriental alleyways.”