City of Secrets

by Victoria Thompson

“That’s it.” O’Reilly had drained his beer and signaled for another.

  “What were his injuries? Jenks, I mean.”

  “His chest was crushed. The weight of the thing and the force of it hitting him did that, I guess.”

  “Not his head?”

  “Oh no. His head wasn’t hurt a bit, not even his face when he hit the sidewalk. I reckon they could have a viewing for him with no trouble at all. That’s nice for the family. It’s bad when they can’t see the dead loved one. Makes it hard to accept they’re gone.”

  Gideon could imagine. What he could not imagine was getting hit by a falling gargoyle and not having any injuries on your head. “Have you ever seen anything like that before?”

  “A falling gargoyle? Not when it hit somebody.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out why the gargoyle didn’t hit Jenks in the head if he was standing up.”

  O’Reilly shrugged. “Maybe he ducked.”

  But even if he ducked, the gargoyle wouldn’t have landed squarely on his back unless . . . “Could Jenks have already been lying down when it hit him?”

  O’Reilly glanced around as if making sure nobody was listening. Nobody was, because nobody in the bar cared what they were discussing. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, and I know this fellow was a friend of yours, but . . .” He glanced around again.

  “He wasn’t a close friend,” Gideon said quite truthfully. “And I need to know if there was anything suspicious about his death.”

  “Not suspicious, but . . . They said he’d been pretty drunk when he left the club that night.”

  “So you think he’d passed out?”

  “That’s what we figured. I didn’t tell the widow that, you understand. No sense making it harder for her. But we thought he was already down when the thing hit him.”

  “Do you usually find drunks lying facedown?”

  “We find them every way. I even saw one poor sod who drowned when he fell in the gutter and then it rained.”

  But O’Reilly didn’t know that DeForrest Jenks had not been a drunk and hadn’t habitually passed out on public streets. Or that someone who had reason to wish him dead knew something heavy was ready to fall and kill him if only he were in exactly the right place.

  “What if I told you that Jenks had enemies, someone who wanted to marry his widow?”

  “You mean she had a lover? And they wanted this Jenks out of the way?”

  Oh no, was that the first thing someone would assume? That Priscilla had been in on it, too? Of course it was, if Knight had killed Jenks and promptly married his widow, which was exactly what he’d done. “Not really, but suppose this enemy knew the gargoyle was ready to fall and only needed a push, so the enemy drugged Jenks and laid him down on the sidewalk, and then he went up on the roof and pushed the gargoyle off.”

  O’Reilly thoughtfully sipped his beer. “Did anybody see him do it?”

  “No.”

  “Did he tell anybody he did it?”

  “No.”

  “Any chance he’s going to confess he did it?”

  “I don’t know. There were two of them, and one is already dead.”

  “Which means all the other one has to do is keep his—or her—mouth shut.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’d say you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of proving it, Mr. Bates.”

  “But couldn’t the police reopen the investigation and—”

  “And what? Why would we reopen it a year later when it was ruled an accident and nobody even questioned it then and you’ve got no proof otherwise even now?”

  “What would it take to reopen the case?”

  O’Reilly shook his head at such an absurd question. “Your man would have to march down to the precinct house and confess and beg us to arrest him, because even then we’d probably just think he was drunk or insane.”

  “But—”

  “Mr. Bates, thank you for the beer. I’m sorry your friend got killed, but if what you say really happened, you’re going to have to figure out another way to get your revenge, because the police can’t help you.”

  * * *

  • • •

  DAISY WAS ENJOYING AN AFTERNOON WITH NO RESPONSIBILITIES. The maid had done the housework, and Daisy had no committee meetings or other church responsibilities, so she was free to sit back, put her feet up and read the latest salacious novel from the collection she kept locked in the safe in her husband’s office. She had to replace the dust jacket with one from a more respectable book, in case someone happened to see it, but that rarely happened.

  Today she appeared to be reading a book of sermons when the maid told her there was a man at the door who wanted to see a Matthew Honesdale and he wouldn’t believe no one named Matthew lived there.

  “Should I send him away?” the girl asked.

  “No, I’ll see him,” Daisy said, overcome with curiosity. She glanced down at her dress and sighed. She’d chosen her oldest gown today since she had not expected visitors, but it would take too long to change. The man might leave and she’d never find out what he wanted with Matthew.

  She chose to stand in the middle of the modest parlor to meet him, and the maid ushered him in and announced him as Leonard Ross. She assumed her best lady-of-the-manor expression and signaled the maid to leave the door open.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but he was a pleasant surprise: young and attractive and a little puzzled, although his checked suit offended her sense of fashion. “Mrs. Honesdale?”

  “Yes. I understand you’re looking for a Matthew Honesdale.”

  “That’s right. Your maid said he doesn’t live here, but I was told otherwise.”

  “By whom?”

  That stopped him and he winced slightly. “A friend. So you’re not his wife, Mrs. Honesdale?”

  “No, I am not. May I ask what business you have with Matthew Honesdale?”

  That stopped him again. “I’m not sure I should discuss it with anybody except Mr. Honesdale. Are you sure you don’t know him?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t know him. I said he doesn’t live here.”

  To her surprise, he smiled. “Ah, that’s different. So you do know him.”

  “Mr. Ross, perhaps we should sit down. Can I offer you something to drink? Tea or coffee?”

  “I’d prefer something stronger, but coffee will do.”

  Daisy rang for the maid and offered Mr. Ross a chair near the gas fire. When the maid had gone off for the coffee, Daisy took the chair opposite his.

  “Now, perhaps you’ll tell me how you ended up here looking for Matthew.”

  He leaned back and studied her for a moment. “I was sent to find him. My . . . business associates are anxious to speak to him.”

  “And would Matthew be happy if you found him?”

  “He might be richer if I found him, so I assume that would make him happy.”

  “So you have a business proposition for him.”

  “Yes, I do. Or rather Mr. Franklin does. Mr. Franklin is my, uh, associate.”

  This was the most interesting thing that had happened to her since Endicott Knight died. “What kind of proposition would that be?”

  Ross gave her an apologetic grin. “I don’t think I could discuss it with a lady like you.”

  “Oh, I know what kind of business Matthew does, so I doubt you could shock me.”

  “Really, Mrs. Honesdale, if you just tell me where I went wrong and where I can find Mr. Honesdale, I’ll leave you to your own business. Believe me, you’ll be glad I did.”

  “I don’t think I will, Mr. Ross. I think I will worry and fret over whether I did the right thing or not, because I’m afraid I must send you away unsatisfied if you don’t tell me more.”

  At her emphasis on the word “unsatisfi
ed,” his eyebrows had risen, and she saw the unmistakable glint of interest in his dark eyes. She hardly ever saw that glint in a man’s eyes anymore, not since she’d let Matthew convince her that marrying Peter would mean a life of leisure and luxury. Before that, she’d seen it on every man who entered her house. Oh, maybe it wasn’t for her specifically, but she could elicit it at will back then with just a swish of her skirt or a flutter of her lashes. That glint made a woman feel alive.

  “I wouldn’t want to be unsatisfied, Mrs. Honesdale, but what would your husband think?”

  “He’ll think what I tell him to think.” Awareness flooded her veins. She was powerful and in control again. Oh, how she’d missed that feeling. “Now, tell me why your Mr. Franklin wants to see Matthew.”

  “You said you know about Matthew’s business.” It was a question.

  “Yes, I do. We used to be . . . partners.” Only a slight exaggeration.

  “Partners, eh?” Now he was really interested in her. “Then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. It’s not a secret or anything.”

  Daisy remembered the door was still open, and she certainly didn’t want the maid to hear what Mr. Ross had to say. She got up and closed it. When she was back in her chair, she said, “Tell me.”

  “Mr. Franklin is looking to, uh, expand his business interests into New York City.”

  “Where are his interests now?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Then he must know what he’s doing. Why does he need to consult with Matthew?”

  “He knows his business, but he doesn’t know the city. He needs a partner to introduce him to the right people.”

  And, she knew, to help him figure out whom to bribe and whom to intimidate. “And how did he settle on Matthew?”

  “Mutual friends suggested Mr. Honesdale would have the right contacts.”

  “Does your Mr. Franklin actually know Matthew?”

  “No.”

  “So Franklin would be just as happy with anyone who could give him the help he needs.”

  “Maybe. I’d have to ask him.”

  The maid tapped on the door and delivered their coffee. When she had gone, Daisy went to a cabinet and brought back a bottle of bourbon. After adding some to Mr. Ross’s coffee, she did the same to her own.

  She gave him a chance to taste his before she said, “Now tell me exactly what your Mr. Franklin’s plans are once he’s paid off the right people.”

  * * *

  • • •

  GIDEON HAD RESISTED THE URGE TO GO TO ELIZABETH AND tell her what he’d learned. What he’d learned was interesting but not helpful at all. In fact, it only confirmed her theory that the law offered no hope of justice, at least so far. So at the end of this very full day, he went to Priscilla’s bank for his long-delayed visit to see Mr. Renfroe on the slim chance he might know something about how Endicott Knight had disposed of his money.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Bates?” Renfroe asked when Gideon was seated in one of the visitor’s chairs facing Renfroe’s massive desk. Renfroe was a portly man in an expensive suit he’d had made when he weighed at least twenty pounds less than he currently did. He wore a diamond stickpin and had a heavy gold watch chain stretched across his round belly, as if it were holding his vest closed against the pressure of his girth. He made up for having no hair at all on the top of his head by sporting enormous side-whiskers.

  “Mrs. Priscilla Knight has asked me to help her settle her husband’s affairs. She was quite confused and, I must say, alarmed when you informed her about the current state of her finances.”

  “I thought she might be, which is why I made a point of informing her. Of course, I only know about the funds she and her first husband had deposited with us. Perhaps Mr. Knight merely moved those funds to another institution, but I knew Mrs. Knight would assume they were still with us. I didn’t want her to be surprised.”

  “That was kind of you, Mr. Renfroe. Do you usually take such an interest in your depositors?”

  Renfroe shifted uneasily in his large leather chair. “No, I don’t, but I do try to look after the widows. My father died young, and my mother had a difficult time of it, I can tell you. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, so I offer what advice I can and try to help them.”

  “If Knight really was moving her funds to another bank, how would we find out which one?” Gideon asked to see what he’d say.

  “He would probably have documents from that bank. Checks and statements, that sort of thing.”

  “And if he didn’t?”

  Mr. Renfroe leaned back in his luxurious chair, frowning. “Mr. Bates, may I be frank with you?”

  “I hope you will be.”

  “I do not believe Knight was merely moving the funds.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he withdrew them in cash. If he were merely moving them to another bank or investing them in something like stock or property, he would have asked for a bank draft or used a check.”

  “Some people prefer to deal in cash,” Gideon suggested.

  “That may be true, but I find that legitimate business rarely requires large sums be paid out in cash.”

  “What did you suspect, Mr. Renfroe? And please be frank, because Mrs. Knight’s future depends upon it.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Bates, but I hesitate to say what I suspect because all of the possibilities are so distasteful and reflect very poorly on Mr. Knight.”

  “Then let’s speak in general terms. In your experience, what are some reasons a man would need to withdraw large sums of cash?”

  Renfroe sighed and shook his head. “As I said, all of the possibilities are distasteful. The usual one is gambling debts. Gambling has no appeal for me, but I understand it can become quite an obsession with some men.”

  “Except for an occasional game of cards at his club, I’ve never known Knight to gamble.”

  “I haven’t either, although I never knew him particularly well. Another weakness that frequently drains a man’s resources is women. I don’t mean his wife, although some wives can be extravagant, but rather a kept woman who requires support over and above the usual costs of supporting a family, and whose demands can become excessive.”

  “We’ve found no evidence of another woman.” Except for the one in the photograph.

  “And some men prefer many different women and the variety found in brothels. Customers in such establishments are encouraged to spend lavishly on liquor and entertainments, I understand.”

  Establishments that catered to men with Knight’s tastes would be more expensive than most, Gideon suspected as well.

  “I know this only from hearing the lamentations of men ruined by such practices, you understand,” Renfroe added.

  “Of course,” Gideon said, more than willing to believe him.

  Gideon waited, but Renfroe apparently had nothing else to offer. “Is that all?”

  “Probably not, but that is all I can think of at the moment.”

  “What about blackmail?”

  Plainly, Renfroe had not considered blackmail. “Good heavens, do you think Knight was being blackmailed?”

  “We have reason to believe it, yes. That is one reason I came to see you today. I wanted to know if you had any idea what Knight was doing with the money he withdrew.”

  “I told you, it was all in cash. If he had used a check or a bank draft, we would have records, but . . .”

  “Can you remember anything at all about his behavior at the bank? Was he particularly friendly with anyone in whom he might have confided? Or even someone who might have overheard him say something or have seen him with someone who might have been the blackmailer?”

  “Do blackmailers accompany their victims to the bank?” Renfroe asked, horrified.

  “I have no idea, but if anyone was with Knigh
t when he made the withdrawals, that person might know something, at least.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean. I don’t think I ever encountered Mr. Knight when he visited the bank. He never asked to see me, and why would he if his main interest was simply withdrawing as much of his wife’s money as he could?”

  “You’re probably right. Who else might have seen him?”

  “Any of the tellers. The doorman.”

  “Shall we ask them?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s wise, and I don’t want to get them upset, either. I can call them in, one by one, and ask them over the course of the day tomorrow. If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.”

  Gideon wasn’t satisfied with that. He wanted to hear their answers. “I would be happy to sit in while you question them.”

  But Renfroe was shaking his head. “I said I don’t want to upset them, and having an attorney present would do that only too well. No, I’ll make it a matter of my personal concern. They’ll be anxious to help Mrs. Knight if they can.”

  Gideon reluctantly took his leave with Renfroe’s promise to send for him when he’d finished with his task. In the meantime, he had another death to investigate.

  * * *

  • • •

  “HE WANTS TO OPEN SEVERAL HOUSES IN THE CITY,” DAISY TOLD Peter that evening. “Each of them would specialize.” She’d waited until after supper, when the maids had left for the day and they could speak privately, to tell him about Leonard Ross’s visit. They were enjoying their after-dinner coffee in the parlor she hated so much.

  “I don’t understand,” Peter said in that petulant voice that set her teeth on edge. “Why did he come here looking for Matthew?”

  “He said someone told him this was where Matthew lives. Who cares why he came here? The important thing is that we heard about this first.”

  “I don’t know why that’s important.”

  He wouldn’t. She had to think of everything. “Because this is our chance.”

  “Our chance to do what?”

  She managed not to snap at him. Patience was the key for dealing with Peter. “To finally have everything we want. Don’t you see? This Franklin needs a partner, someone who knows the city. He wants to open the first house in a respectable neighborhood and cater to the carriage trade.”