by Jane Steen
“She’s fairly skilled at selling and speaks well.” Mrs. Crowford was kind enough to defend me. “Elegant in her person and clean.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Gorton’s eyes were on the book, but I felt an opportunity looming.
“I’m a dressmaker by profession,” I said. “But I understand hats well enough. If I could be allowed to ask—with the little pointed collar so in demand, could we not have more of those hats that come to a peak over the forehead? There’s such a lack of balance when the rounder brim is chosen.”
Mrs. Crowford looked annoyed for a moment, but then she shrugged. She was essentially a fair woman. “It’s not such a bad suggestion, at that.”
Mr. Gorton withdrew a notebook and pencil from his pocket, licking the point of the pencil.
“Any particular color is desired?”
“Chocolate and mid-brown have been doing well, surprisingly so for spring—if they can be trimmed right. Green is popular,” I said promptly. “Of course, as soon as it gets warm, they’ll be wanting lighter shades.”
“Bien. Very well. Thank you, Miss—”
“Harvey. Thank you, sir. Mrs. Crowford.” I picked up my dusting cloth again, stepping aside to let the two of them pass. Mrs. Crowford gave me a regal nod and resumed her enumeration of sales figures.
“You’ve got a nerve,” said Miss Sweeny when Mrs. Crowford and Mr. Gorton were safely out of earshot. “Hasn’t she, Miss Green?”
The third assistant nodded morosely. She had been miserable all week owing to the fact that the troublesome tooth had been located in the front. Now her smile was ruined and her job possibly threatened. “You’d better make sure the peaked models sell, Miss Harvey. He’ll remember who suggested them if we have to send them to the basement in July.”
“They’ll sell.” I said it with as much assurance as I could muster.
“I’d say you won’t be here anyway," said Miss Dowling. "I heard that remark about being a dressmaker, and your hair is quite wrong for millinery. You should look for a position in ladies’ modes. The best way in is by selling unmentionables.”
I was beginning to suspect Miss Dowling regarded me as something of a rival, but I didn’t mind that. “You were trying to attract Mr. Gorton’s attention, weren’t you?” she continued.
“Only in the professional sense.”
I had been watching Mr. Gorton as he took his leave of Mrs. Crowford and crossed to the counter selling perfume bottles. We were in the largest sales area of the store, the room with the fountain, and the flow of customers was steady at that time of day. I saw a man enter the store and cross to the same counter, engaging Mr. Gorton in conversation. The ostensible topic of their exchange was the perfume bottles, but something about them piqued my curiosity.
“That’s the chap who was with Lizzie Allen,” I said, nudging Miss Dowling. “Talking with Mr. Gorton. See him?”
“You’ve got good eyes. I can’t make him out, but it doesn’t surprise me.” She peered shortsightedly. “He works at Field and Leiter’s, and I’ve seen him come in here alone a few times. He’s probably a spy.”
She said it so casually that I thought I might have misheard. “A what?”
Miss Green, who had been listening to our conversation, sidled closer, cheering up a little. “Don’t you know? All the department stores have people who inform on what the competition is doing. And he’s a funny one, anyhow. With a funny name—Christopher Columbus Crabb.”
“That was it.” Miss Dowling looked pleased. “I knew I’d seen him before, and now you say the name I remember it. I’ve seen him coming out of Mr. Gorton’s office.”
My fingers tingled as my heart rate increased. I moved toward a pretty young woman who was looking hard at a boater-style hat trimmed with a cascade of ribbons and silk daisies, pretending more interest in my job than in the gossip about Mr. Crabb. But even as we discussed the merits of the hat and I invited her to try it on, my mind was working furiously. Had I stumbled on something significant? Probably not. The only person likely to have any real information about Lucetta’s affair with Mr. Gorton was the man himself, and he would not speak to me. But it might be worth keeping an eye on Christopher Columbus Crabb.
22
Dismissed
“Mrs. Lillington!”
I turned around in alarm at hearing my real name called. I had just stepped off the horse car on my way back to Gambarelli’s, and my mind had been occupied with Sarah, with whom I’d spent a precious three hours. State Street wasn’t busy since all the stores were closed. I felt less safe with fewer people around than I usually did amid the vast crush of weekday traffic. I had become adept at riding the horse car, learning to sit near other women and to avoid any man who smelled of alcohol—as most did.
“Billy.” I was relieved to see Billy O’Dugan’s open yet shrewd face. “Please don’t call me by my name—there are good reasons why not, if you’ll trust me.”
He stared at me, taking in my plain clothing. “But you’re all right, aren’t you? Not in any kind of trouble?” He held out his arm to me. “Gave me quite a turn, seeing you step off the State Street car. We’ve all been wondering about you since Tessie won’t tell a word about your doings. Naturally, Ma and the others ask questions about you sometimes, just to be friendly. Our Tess is acting mighty mysterious in your regard.”
I sighed. Clearly, Tess’s idea of keeping a secret was presenting some challenges. “I’m quite all right. I’ll have to be mysterious too, but it’s all in a good cause.”
“And you’ve not been at home, we understood that much. Tessie’s been complaining she’s in charge of Sarah all the time.”
I bristled. “Miss Baker’s there for most of the day. Does Tess really find it a great burden to put Sarah to bed? She never did before.”
“If you ask me, it’s Aileen and Mary who are putting her up to complaining,” Billy said. “Are you going any farther? I’m on my way up to the Palmer House, but I’m not due there for another half hour. I can walk you safely to wherever you like.”
Something occurred to me. “Have you walked all the way from the Back of the Yards?” I asked.
“Sure I have,” said Billy with a grin. “I like the exercise, and it saves me the fare.” He gestured at the sky, which was a pale blue tinged with pink as the sun began its journey downward. “And it’s a fine day for a walk.”
I nodded. “I wish I could walk from Aldine Square, but I don’t suppose I should do that unaccompanied. What do you mean by saying that Aileen and Mary have been encouraging Tess to complain?”
Billy stopped short, so I had to stop too, and faced me. “I’ve been wondering whether I should come and see you about it,” he said, “only I wasn’t sure where I could find you. I don’t think it’s right, all this business about Tessie coming to live with Mary. You know they’ll be after all the money she has.” A range of emotions passed across his homely face. “They mean well, that’s the worst of it. They’ve convinced themselves they’re doing the best for Tessie and providing for Ma and Da. They’d take Tess in if she didn’t have a penny in the world—but it’s more money than they can ever spare themselves, and it’s the devil of a temptation.”
I shook my head, exasperated at what I was hearing. “If it’s money they want—”
“They won’t take yours,” said Billy. “Matter of pride, see? And they wouldn’t take Tessie’s all at once. It’d be a matter of share and share alike, all prettied up with notions about how they’re taking care of Tess and giving her a place in the world where she belongs. And Aileen would be after giving more to the church for the good they’re doing in the parish. I wouldn’t have anything to say against that if it was just her husband’s money.”
“Do you think Tess would be better off living with them though?” I had to ask the question, although I dreaded the answer.
“I do not.” Billy took my arm and began walking again. “Mary goes on about how you’re taking advantage, how you’re keeping Tess near you for the hel
p she gives you, but doesn’t Tess get help from you too? And isn’t that what a friendship is, after all?”
“Tess doesn’t have to lift a finger in my house if she doesn’t want to,” I said.
“I know it. I reckon you’re the best thing that ever happened to our Tessie, an angel of God sent to look after her.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” But I smiled all the same.
“I’ll do my best to speak up for you,” Billy said. “But I’m warning you to keep an eye on my sisters. If you want Tess to stay by your side, you might have to put up a bit of a fight.”
When I saw Tess the next Sunday, my hopes lifted a little. I had sent a note asking Mr. Nutt, our driver, to wait for me a block west and south of Gambarelli’s, where the horse car did not run. With a little thought, I was able to ensure nobody saw me heading in that direction. Having the carriage available saved me a great deal of time. I was home early enough to derive the utmost advantage from the piece of roast beef Mrs. Power had cooked for us.
“I'll have to wait a good hour before I can even move,” I groaned, patting the location where my full stomach strained against my bodice. “You can’t imagine how good it is to be able to rest after eating.”
Tess had also eaten well and now pulled a small footrest to her armchair and settled herself with a pleased smile. “There’s nothing cozier than a Sunday afternoon with nothing to do.”
“But you will take me to South Park later, won’t you?” piped up a small voice from behind my chair, where Sarah was laying out her paper people in preparation for a game. “I want to see the sheep.”
“We’ll certainly go out later,” I promised. “Just give me a little time to recover from luncheon.” I stretched my aching feet out, luxuriating in the feel of the soft plush of the armchair against my back. The great advantage of less elaborate dresses was that they allowed one to actually sit instead of perch.
I never got enough sleep at Gambarelli’s so before long I was dozing, listening to Sarah’s constant babble as she invented adventures for her paper people. The sounds of children playing in the gardens filtered through from outside while Tess’s soft snores soothed rather than irritated me. The various noises were blending in my near-sleeping brain into a harmonious symphony when the doorbell rang. I half listened to Zofia’s voice and her footsteps on the stairs, only to sit bolt upright when she announced the visitor.
“Mr. Salazar, Madam.”
“Joe.” Ignoring Sarah and Tess’s stares and regardless of etiquette, I was out in the hall in a flash and had shut the door behind me.
“Is Martin all right?” was my inevitable question. I knew by now that Joe would only call if he had important news.
“He’s quite all right.” Joe’s lean face split in a smile. “It’s good news. They’ve released him to his suite at the Grand Pacific. They walked him up there at four o’clock this morning, and so far the newspapermen haven’t gotten wind of it. We’ve had Pinkerton agents watching for signs of journalists, but for now—nothing.”
“Which means I can see him. Give me five minutes.”
“Nell?” Tess called from the parlor. “Who is it?”
I opened the door. “Mr. Salazar,” I said, and Joe raised his hand in greeting.
“I have to go out. Now.” I crossed the room and dropped to my knees next to Sarah. “I’m sorry, darling.”
“But, Momma—” Sarah wasn’t given to crying or whining when plans were changed, but now there was a distinct tremor to her lower lip.
“I’ll make it up to you.” I looked over at Tess, whose face was thunderous. “And you, Tess.”
“You’re leaving me behind again.”
“I know, but—” I gestured desperately in the direction of where Sarah sat behind my armchair. “Please, Tess. I’ll explain it all when I can.”
Five minutes later, I was climbing into Joe’s landau. “They’re both upset with me now,” I said. “But I can hardly take them with me, can I?”
“I wouldn’t risk it. It’ll be difficult enough ensuring the press don’t find out about you,” Joe agreed. “They’ll understand.”
“Maybe.” The landau was a much more lively vehicle than the Katzenmeiers’ rockaway and moved forward at a good clip, smooth and comfortable. I tried to relax into the velvet upholstery of the open carriage and enjoy the sunshine, but my mind was on both the scene I’d left behind me and the practical details of the scene ahead.
“Do we have to go in at the front of the hotel?” I asked Joe.
“I’ve arranged to use the same way by which Martin was brought in,” he said. “Martin’s been at the Grand Pacific ever since he returned from Kansas, and the management is most cooperative.”
I nodded. “So tell me why he’s been let out so suddenly.”
“We found evidence that’s made it impossible for even the most corrupt of judges to hold him any longer. Our biggest problem is that it may not be possible to publicize the evidence we have, for reasons I’ll explain to you.”
“What evidence?”
“For one thing, a good thirty of the witness statements we’ve gathered, read together, make it impossible for him to have murdered Mrs. Rutherford with such a protracted struggle as clearly took place. Simply as a matter of timing, you see. He was seen entering the washroom; he was seen leaving it; he was seen ascending the staircase; and he was seen kneeling by his wife’s body. Once we worked out a system for reading the various statements together, it was clear that the timing absolved him. Then there’s the evidence of the blood.”
“You told me about that. There was blood on Martin’s hands and the knees of his trousers, but nowhere else.”
“Precisely. And yes, as the newspapers reported, he was holding the knife that killed Mrs. Rutherford. But all of the witness statements agree he was holding it by the tip. He said he had some idea of looking to see if he recognized it as belonging to someone in the store. But really he was so shocked by the sight of his wife’s body that he was acting like an automaton. And more importantly still—” Joe looked at me cautiously.
“Yes?”
“You may not want to hear it. It’s rather grisly.”
“I’ve told you before, Joe. Don’t spare me.”
Joe took a deep breath. “More importantly still, the pool of blood in which the knife lay—undoubtedly the gush of blood from the final, fatal cut—had already begun to form into clots. Which means it hadn’t just happened. The murderer had a few minutes to get away.”
“But you must have realized that right from the beginning. Why wasn’t Martin’s innocence established earlier?”
Joe leaned forward so that I could hear him better over the street noises. “We’d had no idea how the killer could have gotten away, which muddied the waters considerably. As soon as the realization dawned that a murder had taken place, we cleared out the customers and shut the doors. The police searched the building from top to bottom and took the names and addresses of every employee who remained in the store. Then the employees were sent to search the store again, with the exception of the murder room. A detective came and took photographic plates of that and recorded all the contents.”
“And nobody was found with any blood on them.”
“No. It’s taken a while to get statements from every single employee in the store. Not to mention checking them one against the other and going back to the witnesses to clear up some discrepancies that might be important. And we contacted every customer we could identify from the accounts as having been in the store that day. It wasn’t till the new attorney started plotting every statement against all the others—and mapped them out on a huge grid—that we realized the killer must have headed directly downstairs, either via the elevators or the main staircase. And that all the elevators and the staircase were busy at that point, and that the murderer should have been seen. A man with blood—quite a bit of blood—on his clothing would be hard to miss.”
“But he wasn’t seen.”
“And wouldn’t have gotten out any other way unless he could make himself invisible.” Joe’s eyes gleamed. “And the way to make himself invisible—”
“—would be to have no blood on his clothes. He changed his clothes.” I was catching Joe’s excitement, my heart beating rapidly. “But how?”
“The room where Lucetta was killed was the room that held the props for window-dressing,” Joe said. “Those props included men’s clothing. We sometimes use it to set off the dresses. All he had to do was to find a suitable suit of clothes, and change right where he was.”
I stared at Joe, dumbfounded. “And nobody thought of this before?”
“The rack of clothing was splashed with blood, as was everything else in the vicinity of the struggle,” Joe said. “We were lucky we locked the entire contents of the room in the basement instead of putting it all in the furnace. We scrubbed down the room, you see, after five days—when the detectives were satisfied they’d recorded all the evidence. As soon as we had the theory of the change of clothes, we searched through the pile. We found a jacket with its right sleeve stiff with dried blood. It was that and several hours of explaining to the new judge the whole business about the witness statements that got Martin freed.”
“So the case against him is dismissed?” I asked. “His name is cleared?”
Joe’s face fell. “It’s not being made public.” He held up a hand to check my exclamation. “For good reason, Nell. If the murderer simply walked out of the store with the other customers, he may think he’s safe. He may still be in Chicago. If the story of the facts as they’re now understood is released, he could disappear forever.” He looked down at his hands. “Unless the real killer is caught, Martin’s always going to be under suspicion, at least with the general public. Almost certainly with the Gambarellis. None of us want that.”
“I suppose not.” The sense of dismay I felt was smothering, extinguishing my excitement of a few minutes ago like a blanket thrown over a fire. The thought of Martin’s name being cleared had given me a momentary, selfish hope that my own undistinguished career as a private investigator could be brought to a speedy end. I thought I could go back to a normal life—a life that now included Martin. But now, I realized as the landau rolled northward, Martin could be in even greater danger than before without the prison walls to protect him. I would have to return to Gambarelli’s that evening and stay there until I’d found something that would help the man I loved.