by Rhys Bowen
She gave me a bright smile. Then she walked through to the kitchen.
So I was obviously free to go as I pleased. I was half-tempted to linger and observe the encounter with Señor Garcia when he returned. But I wanted to make use of my freedom too. I put on my coat as the day was brisk and blustery. A chilly wind was blowing off the ocean and I had to hold on to my hat as I came down the steps onto California Street. I looked around carefully as I climbed onto the cable car. There was no sign of anyone following me. I felt an absurd sense of relief and freedom. I alighted on Kearny and walked the two blocks to Portsmouth Square and the Hall of Justice.
I didn’t have to ask to see the police chief this time as he was just coming out of the building as I approached it. I intercepted him.
“Chief Dinan,” I said.
“Mrs. Sullivan.” He gave a perfunctory bow. “A fine party last night, didn’t you think? Although I’m not one for opera myself. But the food was good, as always. Bella puts on a grand show.”
“She does,” I agreed. “I’m sorry to bother you but I wondered how I would have to proceed to have my husband’s coffin dug up and released to me. You said there would be formalities.”
“Yes, you mentioned you wished to have his coffin shipped home. There will be certain formalities to go through. We’d have to get permission from the coroner to dig up a coffin after burial. I’ll see what I can do, but I’m sure you can understand that I have a lot on my plate at this moment. Extra security for Caruso and those New York opera singers for one thing. And then I might have to testify at a rather tricky court case…”
“I do understand,” I said. “Maybe in a few days…”
“Of course.” He nodded. “I’d really like to help you.”
He started to walk away.
“One other thing,” I called after him. “My husband’s effects. Bella tells me that one of your men took away his luggage. It was a small leather suitcase with some clothes in it. Obviously I’d like that back for sentimental reasons.”
He frowned. “I don’t remember giving any order to remove his suitcase. He had identification on him when we retrieved the body.” He shook his head. “No, I’m sure we didn’t take the suitcase. I can’t help you there.”
And he went on his way, leaving me staring after him. Either he was lying or Bella was. And what could she possibly want with a couple of changes of shirts and underwear? I should ask Daniel next time I saw him whether there was anything incriminating in that case. Then I remembered he’d said he had photographs of Hatcher. So perhaps the real Hatcher knew that Daniel was on his tail and had asked the police to help him out. In which case pushing Daniel and Dennison over the cliff had conveniently killed two birds with one stone.
I realized I was alone in the city with time on my hands. What could I do to help Daniel? I decided I should first go to Mr. Paxton, just to let him know I was all right. Of course I couldn’t tell him the truth, that Daniel was alive. Nobody else could know that. But he had been so kind to me and was clearly worried when I went off with Tiny. That was understandable too. Tiny was a formidable-looking fellow, and quite an enigma to me. Bella relied on him but bossed him around. He longed for the open spaces yet he chose to stay in the city. Just what was their relationship? I wondered. Had he been more than her ranch manager? Her lover maybe? But I had not detected that spark that flashes between two people who are intimate with each other.
I followed Kearny back to Market Street and then to the Palace Hotel. Today there was a ring of policemen, some of them on horseback, surrounding the entrance to the hotel and I had to state my business before I was let through. Then I had to wait in the reception area while a message was sent up to Mr. Paxton. While I was waiting I looked up to see the journalist Mr. Hicks also loitering.
I went over to him. “Hello, Mr. Hicks. Have you found some real opera singers to interview for your newspaper?”
His face broke into a grin. “Oh, it’s you. Nice to see you again. Yes, I managed to collar a couple of them when they arrived yesterday, but I’m still hoping for a chance to chat with Mimi Adler and of course with the great man himself. He’s not venturing out of his suite and he’s giving us reporters the cold shoulder. But I’m told he has to go to the opera house later this morning to familiarize himself with the stage. So I’m planning to swoop then.” He looked at me with concern, as if he was just recalling the details of our previous encounter. “Did you find your husband? Weren’t you looking for him?”
“I’m afraid I had bad news. The worst, in fact. My husband was killed in a tragic accident. He fell from a cliff top.”
“I am most sorry to hear it. What a terrible shock for you, Mrs. Sullivan. Now I come to think of it, that’s why the name was familiar to me. I remember we printed something about it in the paper.”
“Can you remember any details?” I asked. “Were there any eyewitnesses to the tragedy? I’d dearly love to know exactly what happened. All I’ve been told is that my husband might have been seen there with another man and then the cliff top gave way.”
He gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I did little more than glance at the article. But we have back copies of the paper in our archives. Come into the Examiner building and look for yourself. It’s just down the street.”
“Thank you. I will.” I turned to move away then a brilliant idea came to me. “Mr. Hicks,” I said. “You might be able to help me in another way. My husband was on the trail of a man called Douglas Hatcher. You might have read about him. A few years ago he made a fortune selling fake oil land in Texas.”
“Yes, I remember that.” He nodded. “And absconded with the money and was never seen again.”
“It seems there were marked bills used in one of those transactions and a couple of them have shown up here in San Francisco. So it’s possible that Hatcher is here. The speculation is that he has changed his name and appearance. So I’m wondering—you must know most people in the city, especially rich people. Can you see if your paper has any photographs on file of Douglas Hatcher and whether his face resembles anyone here in the city?”
He hesitated before saying, “That’s not really my beat, Mrs. Sullivan. And while Caruso is here.”
“I know,” I said. “But if you could help to nab a man who has been wanted by the federal government for years, then wouldn’t that be your ultimate scoop?”
I could see the wheels turning in his brain. He nodded. “You’re right. It would. Let me see what I can come up with. Where can I find you?”
“I’m staying with Mrs. Rodriguez,” I said.
“So you are staying with Bella? Then you’re meeting the richest people in the city already. You’re sure it’s not one of those?”
“I gather most of them have been here for a generation or more,” I said. “But I was curious about the Scottish man, Mr. Douglas. For one thing his name … Those wanting to change their identity have used their Christian names before. And he seems to have come to this country with nothing and now owns vast tracts of land.”
“Jimmy Douglas?” He frowned. “That’s interesting. You’re right. I don’t think we do know much about his past. At least, I don’t. And he’s certainly well-heeled now. Building himself a new mansion further out in Pacific Heights. Says he’s getting the prime view over the ocean.”
Over the ocean, I thought. Further out. Could he have had anything to do with following Daniel to a cliff top?
“Mrs. Sullivan,” a voice called across the marble foyer, and Mr. Paxton came toward me. “How good to see you again. I’ve been quite concerned.”
“I’m being well looked after, Mr. Paxton, and plan to go home shortly,” I said.
“You’re Paxton. The guy from the Met,” Hicks said. “Any chance of a cozy chat with Mimi Adler? I work for the Examiner and our readers are dying to hear what it’s like to sing with Caruso.”
“Miss Adler is unfortunately occupied all today. She will be going to the opera house any minute now to run throug
h scenes with Caruso,” Mr. Paxton said. “And this afternoon of course she has to rest before the performance.”
“Maybe tomorrow then? ‘My experience singing with Caruso’? It would make the front page.”
“I’ll ask her,” Mr. Paxton said. “Mimi is usually not shy about publicity. Come and see me in the morning.”
“Terrific. Thanks, Paxton. I’ll be here.” Mr. Hicks shook his hand. “And I’ll be in touch about our little matter, Mrs. Sullivan.”
Mr. Paxton looked at me inquiringly as Hicks wandered off to take up his position by the elevators. “He’s looking into a person Daniel was supposed to find here,” I said.
“Is it wise for you to get involved in your husband’s business?” Mr. Paxton asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to go home?”
“Don’t worry. I will be going home shortly. I just thought … I wanted to know the truth.”
“You won’t be going anywhere for a day or so,” Mr. Paxton said. “The trains are fully booked with those who came to hear Caruso. Tonight is the night, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“I am. Bella wanted to take me with her to the grand performance, but there are no tickets to be had.”
“I wish I could help out,” Mr. Paxton said. “But every seat in the house is taken.”
“That’s all right. I had a taste of opera last night and I don’t think I could handle a story of great tragedy in my current situation.”
He gave a commiserating smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes,” I said as a sudden thought occurred to me. “Could you find me a pen and writing paper and mail a letter for me?”
“Of course.” He went to one of the reception desks and came back with stationery headed with the Palace Hotel crest. I sat on a bench and wrote a letter to Sid and Gus. I told them that they might hear news of Daniel’s death, but that he was alive and well and we’d both be home soon. But they were to tell nobody that they knew he was alive. It was absolutely vital that nobody knew for now. I sent love to Bridie. Told them that Liam was flourishing and would soon be talking fluent Chinese.
I sealed the letter and wanted to give Mr. Paxton the money for a stamp, but he refused. I promised to look him up when I was back in New York. I would have liked to tell him that Daniel and I would have him to dinner, but of course I couldn’t. He took my hand. “You are a brave woman, Mrs. Sullivan. I am so sorry for your loss.”
We were about to part company when a voice shouted, “Stand aside, please. Out of the way. Señor Caruso is coming through.”
The elevator doors opened and a bodyguard came out, followed by a big man with dark hair and striking features. Although he was corpulent he could certainly be described as handsome and I could tell immediately that he was used to adulation. He waved regally as he crossed the foyer. He blew kisses to certain females. He had flashing dark eyes that crinkled at the sides when he smiled.
“I see you tonight,” he called to the mob of admirers. “Tonight you hear what Caruso can do. Tonight I sing my heart out for you.”
A worried-looking man rushed ahead to make sure the door was open for him.
“My automobile is here?” Caruso demanded. “I cannot stand outside in cold air. And I hope there is none of that disagreeable fog. So bad for the voice.”
Then he swept through the doors and was gone. There was a collective sigh from the spectators, as if they had just witnessed a miracle, then they broke into excited chatter.
“Are your singers just as temperamental, Mr. Paxton?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “Even more so. Picky. Superstitious. One has to witness the stage being swept before she’ll step onto it. Another won’t allow the color purple on the stage at the same time as her.”
“I’m glad I’m a normal person,” I said. “So much easier.”
“Ah, but you are not normal. Most women would not have dared to do what you have done. And not have borne devastating news so stoically. You are a heroine, Mrs. Sullivan. I admire you greatly.”
I gave him a weak smile. It was not easy accepting praise for something I didn’t deserve. I only wished I could tell him the good news. When we’re all safely back in New York, I thought. Then I’ll surprise him.
Twenty
When I arrived back at the mansion on California Street I was admitted by Francis. There was no sign of Bella. I wondered whether Señor Garcia had come to call and what had transpired. I went into the octagon room to find Tiny sitting there. He looked up when I came in.
“You’re back, Mrs. Sullivan. Did you accomplish what you set out to do?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “The police chief says he will try to help me have Daniel’s coffin exhumed, but he’s too busy at the moment to think about it.”
“Of course he is,” Tiny agreed. “The whole city is in turmoil for various reasons. But things should quieten down when Caruso goes.”
I nodded agreement and was about to tell him that I’d seen Caruso in person when I realized it was more prudent not to let anyone know I was at the Palace or that I had written a letter and asked Mr. Hicks for help.
“So has Mrs. Rodriguez gone out?” I asked.
He grinned. “No, back to bed. She wants to rest so that she’s at her best for this evening.”
“Did the Mexican gentleman come back to visit?”
“Oh, yes. He came back. All smoothed over.” Tiny picked up the newspaper again.
“Will you be going to the opera tonight?” I asked.
“Unfortunately yes. Bella insisted. Between ourselves I don’t think she really likes opera either. But it’s the done thing right now and everyone has to be seen at the opera house tonight.”
I almost found myself regretting that I could not go. It would be the sort of thing that people would tell their children—how they heard Caruso sing. But then I remembered that he came to New York quite frequently. I’d make a point of taking Daniel sometime. And I felt a thrill of pleasure in being able to have that thought.
“You’ll be staying until they dig up your husband’s coffin, will you?” Tiny looked up from the newspaper again.
“I’m not sure. It depends how long it will take.”
“Could take ages unless you come up with the right sort of bribe.”
“Bribe? To dig up a coffin?”
“That’s how things seem to work out here. Money talks. Laws can be bent in the right circumstances. Give the police fifty dollars to get things moving and things will miraculously be speeded up. There’s not a business in San Francisco that doesn’t exist by paying bribes.”
“That’s terrible,” I said. “What if Washington finds out how things are done out here? Won’t they step in?”
“They might try to.” He grinned. “Luckily we’re a continent and two mountain ranges away from Washington. General Funston has tried to poke his nose into local affairs, without much success so far. After all the Presidio is federal land and outside of the Presidio it’s Mayor Schmitz who calls the tune.”
“And Mayor Schmitz is okay with bribes and corruption?”
Tiny laughed. “How do you think he got himself elected? This place is not for sissies, as your husband found out.”
“My husband?” I said sharply. “I was told his death was an accident. Do you know something?”
“I know he asked a lot of questions,” Tiny said. “I’m not quite sure what he was doing here but certain people in high places didn’t like it.”
“I see.” I nodded blankly as if all this was a shock to me. “Then I’d better take my son and go home as soon as possible. We might not be safe here.”
“I think that’s a wise decision, Mrs. Sullivan,” Tiny said.
I went out of the room and stood in the silence of the hallway for a moment, collecting my thoughts. So the corruption was common knowledge here. And from the easy way Tiny talked about it, he was not involved in it. I glanced back into the octagon room. Tiny was engrossed in the newspaper again. I was tempted t
o ask him if he remembered what happened to Daniel’s suitcase, but I decided to keep quiet for a while. It seemed more likely that the police had found something incriminating inside that suitcase and had destroyed it.
I sniffed as a waft of that unpleasant scent came to me. Señor Garcia’s perfume obviously lingered longer than the man himself. I went up to visit my son. He was not there and again I felt a wave of panic. I went outside and wandered around until I found him on a nearby green. He had bread in his chubby little fist and Li Na was showing him how to throw it to the pigeons. He greeted me with delight at this newfound skill.
“Niu!” he said, pointing at a pigeon. “Niu.”
“Yes, it’s new,” I agreed.
Li Na giggled. “He say ‘bird’ in my language. In Cantonese.”
“Goodness,” I replied. “He’s learning Chinese before he learns English.”
She looked pleased, then turned to Liam, who had his empty hands held up to her and was making impatient sounds. “No more bread,” she said. “We go home, have food now. Okay?”
He held out his arms to be picked up by her and I followed them back to the Rodriguez house. I found myself thinking how nice it would be to take her back to New York with me.
Back at the house I ate my own lunch, alone in the dining room. True to her promise Ellen had made me a Chinese soup. It was spicy with bits of mushroom and other vegetables in it, but it tasted wonderful and I could almost feel it doing me good.
After lunch I went up to kiss Liam before he fell asleep and then took a rest myself. I had slept so well the night before that I wasn’t tired and lay on my bed listening to the sounds of the city—the clanging of the cable car bell and the rattle of the cable as it passed us, the clip-clop of hooves as a smart carriage went past or the coughing spluttering of an automobile as it negotiated the steep hill. And closer by the cooing of a pigeon.